He knew it as surely as he knew he was already too late to stop her.
Fool! You fool!
He was down out of the tree in a heartbeat and racing back through the night the way he had come.
When his sister walked out of the trees, Bek was still sitting on the ground where the shape-shifters had left him. He was not panicked by her appearance and did not try to escape. He had known she would come. The shape-shifters had told him so, and he had believed them. He had thought about running from her, fleeing deeper into the mountains, but had decided against it. Do not run away from her again, they had said. He did not know why, but he believed them to be right. Running would solve nothing. He must stand and face her.
He rose as she approached, staying calm, oddly at peace with himself. He wore the Sword of Shannara strapped across his back, but he did not reach for it. Weapons would not serve his cause; fighting would not aid him. His sister, the Ilse Witch, would react badly to either, and he needed her to want to keep him safe. Perhaps it was his encounter with the shape-shifters that left him feeling as if no harm could come to him in the mountains. Whatever harm she might do to him, she would wait to do elsewhere. That would give him time to find a way to make her see the truth.
“You don’t seem surprised to see me,” she offered mildly, moving fluidly within her tied-up robes, her face lost in shadow beneath her hood. Her eyes were on him, searching. “You knew I would come, didn’t you?”
“I knew. Where is Truls Rohk?”
“The shape-shifter?” She shrugged. “Still looking for me where I can’t be found. He’ll come too late to help you this time.”
“I don’t want his help. This is between you and me.”
She stopped a dozen paces away, and he could feel her tension.
“Are you ready to admit to me that you lied about who you are? Are you willing to tell me why you did so?”
He shook his head. “I haven’t lied about anything. I am Bek. I am your brother. What I told you before was true. Why can’t you believe me?”
She was silent a moment. “I think you believe it,” she said finally, “but that doesn’t make it true. I know more of this than you do. I know how the Druid works. I know he seeks to use you against me, even if you don’t see it.”
“Let’s say that’s true. Why would he do so? What could he hope to gain?”
She folded her arms into her robes. “You will come with me back to the airship and wait for me there while I find him and ask him. You will come willingly. You will not try to escape. You will not try to harm me in any way. You will not use your magic. You will agree to all this now. You will give me your word. If you do so, you have a chance to save your life. Tell me now if you will do as I ask. But be warned—if you lie or dissemble, I will know.”
He thought about it, standing silent in the night, facing her through a wash of moonlight, and then nodded. “I’ll do what you ask.”
He felt her humming softly, her magic reaching out to him, surrounding and then infusing him, a small tingle of warmth, probing. He did not interfere, simply waited for her to finish.
She came forward and stood right in front of him. She reached up and lowered the hood so he could see her strong, pale, beautiful face. Grianne. His sister. There was no anger in her eyes, no harshness of any sort. There was only curiosity. She reached out and touched the side of his face, closing her eyes momentarily as she did so. Again, he felt the intrusion of the wishsong’s magic. Again, he did not interfere.
When she opened her eyes again, she nodded. “Very well. We can leave now.”
“Do you want my weapons?” he asked her quickly.
“Your weapons?” She seemed startled by the question. She glanced at the sword and long knife perfunctorily. “Weapons are of no use to me. Leave them behind.”
He tossed the long knife aside, but left the Sword of Shannara in place. “I can’t give up the sword. It isn’t mine. It was given to me in trust, and I promised I would look after it. It belongs to Walker.”
She gave him a sharp look. “To the Druid?”
He was taking a chance telling her this, but he had thought it through carefully and the risk was necessary. “It is a talisman. Perhaps you know of it. It is called the Sword of Shannara.”
She came right up against him, her face only inches from his own, her startling blue eyes boring into his. “What are you saying? Give it to me!”
He did so, handing it over obediently. She snatched it from him, stepped back again, and examined it doubtfully. “This is the Sword of Shannara? Are you certain? Why would he give it to you?”
“It’s a long story. Do you want to hear it?”
“Tell me on the way.” She handed the talisman back. “You bear the weight of it while we travel. Just don’t let me find it in your hands again.”
“You can keep it if you want.”
There was a flicker of amusement on her pale face. “I don’t need you to tell me that. I can take it from you whenever I choose. Make sure you remember.”
She started away, not bothering to look back to see if he was following. He hesitated a moment, then started after her. “What about Truls Rohk?”
She cast a quick glance over one shoulder, and the hard determination that had stamped her features so clearly on their first encounter was back in place. “He’ll find you gone when he returns, but I don’t think he will do anything about it.”
She didn’t explain further. Bek knew that even if he asked her to do so, she wouldn’t. With an apprehensive glance back at the deserted clearing, he followed her into the night.
Truls Rohk flew through the darkness, a silent shadow twisting past trees and leaping over gullies and ravines. He was driven by fear for the boy and anger at himself. He had been unforgivably careless, and Bek Ohmsford would pay the price for it if he didn’t reach him in time.
All about him, the forest was a silent curtain behind which eyes watched and waited.
He ascended the mountain slope at a dead run, alert for the presence of the witch and her caull, sensing neither yet, but knowing they must be close. He tried to calculate how far ahead of him they might have gotten, but it was impossible to do. At best, he could only hazard a guess. He had lost track of time while watching from his perch, while being deceived by those magic-induced wraiths. He knew he had to assume the worst, that she had reached the boy already, that she had made him her prisoner, and that it would be up to the shape-shifter to set him free again.
When he reached the place within the trees where he had left the boy, the clearing was empty, the boy gone, and the scent of the witch everywhere. Silence layered the open space as he entered it, watchful still, cautious of traps she might have left. It was beginning to rain, the drops falling in a soft patter on the dry moonlit earth, staining it the color of the shadows.
The boy’s long knife lay to one side, discarded. He walked over and knelt to pick it up. As he did so, the caull slid from the forest shadows behind him. Silky smooth and powerful, massive jaws gaping wide, it launched itself at his head.
13
A handful of the Rindge took Quentin Leah and his companions from the ruins of Castledown back to their village. Most stayed to finish setting traps for the mysterious wronks, but the one who had spoken with Panax, along with several of his fellows, broke off from the main group to act as escort. Although the Rindge made no mention of it, the bloodied, ragged, and worn condition of their visitors made it obvious they needed food, rest, and medical treatment. Quentin and company, while reluctant to break off their search for the others, realized they were in no condition to continue. If they were to be effective in finding their missing friends, they would first need to eat, dress their wounds properly, and sleep in a safe place. Moreover, the Rindge might prove helpful in telling them how and where to direct their efforts once they resumed looking.