Allardon Elessedil stared hard at him, but the Druid held his gaze and kept his expression neutral. The seconds dragged past with neither man speaking further, eyes locked.
“I cannot agree,” the Elven King repeated firmly.
Walker’s brow creased thoughtfully. “I will make a bargain with you,” he said. “A compromise of our positions. You will share fully in what I find, magic or no. But we shall make an agreement as to the nature of that sharing. That which you can use without my help, I will give to you freely. That which only I can use belongs to me.”
The King studied him. “The advantage is yours in this bargain. You are better able to command the use of magic than I or my people.”
“Magic that is Elven in nature will be readily understood by Elves and should belong to them. The Elfstones, for example, if found, belong to you. But magic that has another source, whatever its nature, cannot be claimed by Elves alone, especially if they cannot wield it.”
“There is no magic in the world except that which was handed down by the Elves out of the world of Faerie! You know that!”
“Then you have nothing to worry about.”
The King shook his head helplessly. “There is a trick in all this.”
“Describe it, then.”
“All right, all right!” The Elf sighed. “This matter has to be resolved. I’ll accept your compromise. That magic that is Elven in nature and can be commanded by us is ours. The rest stays with the Druid Council. I don’t like this bargain, but I can live with it.”
They shook hands wordlessly. Walker rose, squinting against the sharp glare of the sunrise as he looked east over the trees. His black robes rippled softly in the breeze. Allardon Elessedil stood up with him. The sharp features looked pinched and tired despite the early hour. “What do you intend to do now?”
The Druid shifted his gaze back to the King. “I’ll need the use of the Wing Rider and his Roc.”
“Hunter Predd? I’ll speak with him. Will you fly to Bracken Clell?”
“Will you go with me, if I do?” the Druid countered. “Or have you done so already?”
Allardon Elessedil shook his head. “I’ve been waiting on you.”
“It is your brother, perhaps, who lies dying in the Healer’s home, Elven King.”
“Perhaps. But it’s been thirty years, and he’s been dead to me a long time already.” The King sighed. “It complicates things if I go with you. Home Guard will insist on going as well, to protect me. Another Roc will be needed. It might be better if I remain here.”
Walker nodded. “I’ll go alone then, and afterwards farther on to find a ship and crew.”
“I could help you with that.”
“You could, but I would prefer that you helped me in another way if you choose to remain here. There are certain things I want from a ship and crew that will take us in search of the map’s treasure, things that I must determine for myself. But I will rely on you to select those who would defend us. Elven Hunters, of course, but perhaps a handful of others as well. Bordermen and Dwarves, I should think. Are you willing to find them for me?”
The Elven King nodded. “How many do you wish?”
“Two dozen to choose from, no more.”
They began to walk back across the heights, moving toward the gardens once more, taking their time. All around them, the city of Arborlon was waking.
“Two dozen is a small number of blades and bows on which to depend,” the King observed.
“Three ships with full crews and dozens of Elven Hunters were apparently too few, as well,” Walker pointed out. “I prefer to rely on speed and stealth and on the heart and courage of a few rather than on sheer numbers.”
“One ship is all you will take, then?”
“One will suffice.”
Allardon Elessedil hunched his shoulders, his eyes lowered. “Very well. I will not go with you myself, as I have said, but I will want to send someone in my place.”
“Send anyone you like, only …”
Walker was shading his eyes against the sun’s brightness as he spoke or he would have missed the flash of the metal blade as it was hurled. The assassin was one of the gardeners, inconspicuous in his working clothes, just another worker at his job. He had come to his feet as if to move his tools, and suddenly the knife appeared.
Walker’s swift gesture sent the blade spinning harmlessly, knocked aside as if it had struck a wall.
By now, the second assassin was attacking, this one with a blowgun. Another of the seeming gardeners, he knelt in a patch of bright yellow daffodils and fired three darts in rapid succession. Walker yanked the King aside and blocked that attack as well. A third assassin came at them with a rapier and a knife. All of the assassins were Elves, their features unmistakable. But their eyes were fixed and unseeing, and the Druid knew at once that they had been mind-altered to assure their compliance in making the attack.
Screams rose across the Carolan as the other Elves realized what was happening. Black Watch soldiers charged to the King’s defense, massive pikes lowered. Elven Hunters appeared, as well, lean, swift forms bolting from the trees. All were too far away.
Walker gestured toward the assassin with the rapier and knife, and a massive, ethereal form materialized before the man, a giant moor cat lunging out of nowhere to intercept him. The man screamed and went down, weapons flying as the beast sailed into him and vanished, leaving him huddled and cringing against the earth. The remaining two assassins charged, as well, silent and determined, skirting the third man, madness in their empty eyes. They barreled into the Druid and were cast aside as if made of paper. Black robes flaring like shadows released, Walker turned from one to the other, stripping them of weapons and blunting their attacks.
But the Home Guard and Black Watch were close enough now to respond as well. Frightened for their king, they acted instinctively and unwisely to protect him. A hail of spears and arrows took down the assassins, leaving them sprawled on blood-soaked earth, their lives draining away. Even the third man was caught in the barrage, come back to his feet too quickly to be spared. Walker yelled at the Elves to stop, to leave the assassins to him, but he was too late to save them.
Too late, as well, to save Allardon Elessedil. An arrow meant for the assassins struck the Elf King squarely in the chest. He gasped at the impact, lurched backwards, and went down in a heap. Walker had no chance to save him. Focused on stopping the assassins, he could not react to the King’s guards in time.
The Druid knelt at the King’s side, lifted his shoulders, and cradled his head in his lap. “Elven King?” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”
Allardon Elessedil’s eyes were open, and his gaze shifted at the sound of the Druid’s voice. “I’m still here.”
Elven Hunters had surrounded them, and there were calls for a Healer and medicines. The heights were a maelstrom of activity as Elves pushed forward from every quarter to see what had happened. Black Watch formed a ring about their stricken ruler and pushed the crowds back. The assassins lay dead in their own blood, their lifeless forms bathed in sunlight and bedded in deep grasses.
Allardon Elessedil was coughing blood. “Call a scribe,” he gasped. “Do it now.”
One was found almost at once, a young man, barely grown, his face white and his eyes frightened as he knelt next to the king.
“Move everyone back but this boy, the Druid, and two witnesses,” Allardon Elessedil ordered.
“High Lord, I cannot …,” a Captain of the Home Guard began softly, but the King motioned him away.
When an area had been cleared around them, the Elven King nodded to the scribe. “Copy down what I say,” he whispered, keeping his eyes on Walker as he spoke. “Everything.”
Carefully, detail by detail, he repeated the agreement that he had reached with the Druid moments earlier. A voyage was to be undertaken with Walker as its leader. The purpose of the voyage was to follow the route described on a map carried by the Druid, a copy of which was held by the King’s scribe at the palace. A search for the missing blue Elfstones was to be undertaken. And on and on. Slowly, painstakingly, he repeated it all, including the bargain struck regarding the recovery of magic. A Healer appeared and began work on the injury, but the King kept talking, grimacing through his pain, his breathing raspy and thick and his eyes blinking as if he was fighting to see.