empty, unguarded house and the Elfstones hidden within. If the Gnome was here at the bidding of the black walkers, then he might have come for the Elfstones as well as the Ohmsfords or Allanon. And there might be others, already searching…
He shoved his plate away, drained the remainder of his ale, and hurried from the kitchen back down the hallway to the window. Carefully, he peered out. The Gnome was gone.
He felt his heart quicken. Now what? He turned and raced back down the hall. He had to get back to the house. He had to make certain that the Elfstones were secure, then… He caught himself in midstride, slowing. He didn’t know what he would do then. He would have to see. He quickened his step once more. The important thing now was to see whether or not there had been any attempt to enter his home.
He passed the side door through which he had entered and went on toward the rear of the building. He would leave by a different way just in case the Gnome was indeed looking for him — or even if he wasn’t, but had become suspicious at the Valeman’s furtive interest. I shouldn’t have stopped to look at him, he told himself angrily. I should have kept going, then doubled back. But it was too late now.
The hallway ended at a door at the very rear of the main building. Jair stopped, listening momentarily, chiding himself for being foolish, then eased the door open and stepped out. Evening shadows cast by the forest trees lay dark and cool across the grounds, staining the inn walls and roof. Overhead, the sky was darkening. Jair looked about quickly, then started toward the trees. He would cut through the forest to his home, staying off the roadways until he was certain that…
«Talking a walk, boy?»
Jair froze. The Gnome stepped silently from the dark trees in front of him. Hard, rough features twisted with a wicked looking smile. The Gnome, had been waiting.
«Oh, I saw you, boy. I saw you quick enough. Knew you right away. Halfling features, Elf and Man — not too many like you.» He stopped a half dozen paces away, gnarled hands resting on his hips, the smile fixed. Leather woodsman’s garb covered the stocky form; his boots and wristbands were studded with iron, and knives and a short sword were belted at his waist. «Young Ohmsford, aren’t you? The boy, Jair?»
The word boy stung. «Stay away from me,” Jair warned, afraid now, and trying desperately to keep the fear from his voice.
«Stay away from you?» The Gnome laughed sharply. «And what will you do if I don’t, halfling? Throw me to the ground, perhaps? Take away my weapons? You are a brave one, aren’t you.
Another laugh followed, low and guttural. For the first time, Jair realized that the Gnome was speaking to him in the language used by the Southlanders rather than the harsh Gnome tongue.
Gnomes seldom used any tongue but their own; their race was an insular people who wanted nothing to do with the other lands. This Gnome had been well outside the Eastland to be so fluent.
«Now, boy,” the Gnome interrupted his thoughts. «Let’s be sensible, you and me. I seek the Druid. Tell me where he is, here or elsewhere, and I’ll be gone.»
Jair hesitated. «Druid? I don’t know any Druids. I don’t know what you’re…»
The Gnome shook his head and sighed. «Games, is it? Worse luck for you, boy. Guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.»
He started toward Jair, hands reaching. Instinctively, Jair twisted away. Then he used the wishsong. There was a moment’s hesitation, a moment’s uncertainty — for he had never used the magic against another human — and then he used it. He gave a low, hissing sound, and a mass of snakes appeared, coiled tightly about the Gnome’s outstretched arms. The Gnome howled in dismay, whipping his arms about desperately in an effort to shake loose the snakes. Jair looked around, found a broken piece of tree limb the size of a bulky walking staff, seized it with both hands and brought it crashing down over the Gnome’s head. The Gnome grunted and dropped to the earth in a heap, unmoving.
Jair released the tree limb, his hands shaking. Had he killed him? Cautiously he knelt next to the fallen Gnome and felt for his wrist. There was a pulse. The Gnome was not dead, just unconscious. Jair straightened. What was he to do now? The Gnome had been looking for Allanon, knowing that he had come to Shady Vale and to the Ohmsfords, knowing… knowing who knew what else! Too much, in any case, for Jair to remain in the Vale any longer, especially now that he had used the magic. He shook his head angrily. He shouldn’t have used the magic; he should have kept it a secret. But it was too late for regrets now. He didn’t think the Gnome was alone. There would be others, probably at the house. And that was where he had to go, because that was where the Elfstones were hidden.
He glanced about, his thoughts organizing swiftly. Several dozen feet away was a woodbin. Seizing the Gnome’s feet, he dragged him to the bin, threw back the lid, shoved his captive inside, dropped the lid down again, and put the metal bar through the catch. He grinned in spite of himself. That bin was well constructed. The Gnome wouldn’t get out of there for a while.
Then he hurried back into the inn. Despite the need for haste, he had to leave word with the innkeeper where he was going — otherwise the whole community would be combing the countryside looking for him. It was one thing for Brin and Rone to disappear; that had been easy enough to explain simply by saying they had gone for a visit to Leah and he had decided to stay in the Vale. It would be quite another matter entirely if he disappeared as well, since there was no one left to alibi for him. So feigning nonchalance and smiling disarmingly, he announced that he had changed his mind and was going over to the highlands after all early the next morning. Tonight he would stay at the house and pack. When the innkeeper thought to ask what had persuaded him to change his mind so abruptly, the Valeman quickly explained that he had received a message from Brin. Before there could be any further questions, he was out the door.
Swiftly, he melted into the woods, racing through the darkness toward his home. He was sweating profusely, hot with excitement and anticipation. He was not frightened — not yet, at least — probably because he hadn’t stopped long enough to let himself think about what he was doing. Besides, he kept telling himself, he had taken care of that Gnome, hadn’t he?
Tree branches slapped his face. He hurried on, not bothering to duck, eyes riveted on the darkness ahead. He knew this section of the forest well. Even in the growing darkness, he found his way with ease, moving on cat’s feet, carefully listening to the sounds about him.
Then, fifty yards from his home, he melted silently into a small stand of pine, working his way forward until he could see the darkened structure through the needled branches. Dropping to his hands and knees, he peered through the night, searching. There was no sound, no movement, no sign of life. Everything seemed as it should. He paused to brush back a lock of hair which had fallen down across his face. It should be simple. All he had to do was slip into the house, retrieve the Elfstones and slip out again. If there really wasn’t anyone watching, it should be easy…
Then something moved in the oaks at the rear of the home — just a momentary shadow, then nothing. Jair took a deep breath and waited. The minutes slipped past. Insects buzzed about him hungrily, but he ignored them. Then he saw the movement a second time, clearly now. It was a man. No, not a man, he corrected quickly — a Gnome.
He sat back. Well, Gnome or not, he had to go down there. And if there was one, there were probably more than one, waiting, watching — but without knowing when or if he would return. Sweat ran down his back, and his throat was dry. Time was slipping away from him. He had to get out of the Vale. But he couldn’t leave the Elfstones.
There was nothing for it but to use the wishsong.
He took a moment to pitch his voice the way he wanted, feigning the buzzing of the mosquitoes that were all around him, still lingering on in the warmth of early autumn, not yet frozen away by winter’s touch. Then he glided from the pines down through the thinning forest. He had used this trick once or twice before, but never under conditions as demanding as these. He moved quietly, letting his voice make him a part of the forest night, knowing that if he did it all properly he would be invisible to the eyes that kept watch for him. The house drew steadily closer as he worked his way ahead. He caught sight again of the Gnome that kept watch in the trees behind the darkened building. Then suddenly he saw another, off to his right by the high bushes fronting the house — then another, across the roadway in the hemlock. None looked his way. He wanted to run, wanted to race as swiftly as the night wind to reach the dark of the home, but he kept his pace steady and his voice an even, faint buzz. Don’t let them see me, he prayed. Don’t let them look.
He crossed the lawn, slipping from tree to bush, eyes darting to find the Gnomes all about him. The rear
