Which was another sticking point with Bek. Walker had asked them to come with him on a journey and then promptly departed for regions unknown. He hadn’t waited for them to join him or offered to take them with him. He hadn’t even told them when they would see him again.
“I want you to return to Leah on the morrow,” he had advised just before they had rolled into their blankets and drifted off to an uneasy sleep. “Speak with your father. Satisfy yourselves that he has given you his permission to leave. Then pack your gear—not forgetting the sword, Quentin—saddle two strong horses, and ride east.”
East! East, for cat’s sake! Isn’t that the wrong direction? Bek had demanded instantly. Didn’t the Elves live west? Wasn’t that where their journey to follow the map was supposed to initiate?
But the Druid had only smiled and assured him that traveling east was what was needed before going on to Arborlon. They must carry out a small errand for him, an errand he had insufficient time to run. Maybe it would offer Quentin a chance to test the magic of his blade. Maybe Bek would be given an opportunity to test his intuitive abilities. Maybe they would have a chance to meet someone they would come to depend upon in the days ahead.
Well, there wasn’t much they could say to all that, so they had agreed to do as he asked. Just as Walker had known they would, Bek felt. He sensed, in fact, that Walker knew exactly how to present a request so that it would always be agreed to. When Walker spoke, Bek could feel himself agreeing almost before the words were out. Something in the Druid’s voice was compelling enough to make him want to acquiesce out of hand.
Magic’s sway, he supposed. Wasn’t that a part of the Druid history? Wasn’t that one reason why people were so afraid of them?
“This fellow we’re supposed to find,” he spoke up suddenly, halfway through the long walk home, glancing over at Quentin.
“Truls Rohk,” his cousin said.
Bek shifted the heavy pack on his back. “Truls Rohk. What kind of name is that? Who is he? Doesn’t it bother you that we don’t know the first thing about him, that Walker didn’t even tell us what he looks like?”
“He told us how to find him. He told us exactly where to go and how to get there. He gave us a message to deliver and words to speak. That’s all we need to get the job done, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what we need because I don’t know what we’re getting ourselves into.” Bek shook his head doubtfully. “We jumped awfully quick at the chance to get involved in this business, Quentin. What do we know about Walker or the Druids or this map or any of it? Just enough to get excited about traipsing off to the other side of the world. How smart is that?”
Quentin shrugged. “The way I look at it, we have a wonderful opportunity to travel, to see something of the world, something beyond the borders of Leah. How often is that kind of chance going to come along? And Father agrees that we can go. Talk about miracles!”
Bek huffed. “Talk about blackmail—that’s more likely.”
“Not Father.” Quentin shook his head firmly. “He would die first. You know that.”
Bek nodded reluctantly.
“So let’s give this a chance before we start passing judgment. Let’s see what things look like. If we think we’re in over our heads, we can always give it up.”
“Not if we’re flying somewhere out over the Blue Divide, we can’t.”
“You worry too much.”
“Sure enough. And you worry too little.”
Quentin grinned. “True. But I’m happier worrying too little than you are worrying too much.”
That was Quentin for you, never spending too much time on what might happen, content to live in the moment. It was hard to argue with someone who was so happy all the time, and that was Quentin right down to the soles of his boots. Give him a sunny day and a chance to walk ten miles and he was all set. Never mind that a thunderstorm was approaching or that Gnome Hunters prowled the region he traveled. Quentin’s view was that bad things happened mostly when you thought too much about them.
Bek let the matter drop for the rest of the way back. He wasn’t going to change Quentin’s mind, and he wasn’t sure he even ought to try. His cousin was right—he should give the idea a chance, let things develop a bit, and see where they were going.
The sun had set and the blue-green haze of twilight had begun to shroud the Highlands when the city of Leah at last came in sight. They walked out of the trees and down a long, gently sloped hillside to where Leah sat on a high plain overlooking the lowlands east and south and the Rappahalladran and the Duln Forests west. Leah sprawled outward from its compact center in a series of gradually expanding estates, farms, and cooperatives owned and managed by its citizenry. Leah had been a monarchy in the time of Allanon, and various members of the Leah family had ruled in unbroken succession for nine hundred years. But eventually the monarchy had dissolved and the Highlands had fallen under Federation sway. It was only in the last fifty years that the Federation had withdrawn to the cities below the Prekkendorran Heights, and a council of elders had taken over the process of governing. Coran Leah, as a member of one of the most famous and prestigious Highland families, had gained a seat on the council and recently been elected First Minister. It was a position that he occupied reluctantly, but worked hard at, intent on justifying the trust his people had shown him.
Quentin thought the whole governing business an appropriate one for old men. Leah was a drop in an ocean, to his way of thinking. There was so much more out there, so much else happening, and none of it was affected in even the tiniest way by events in Leah. Entire nations had never even heard of the Highlands. If he wanted to have an impact on the future of the Four Lands, and possibly even on countries that lay beyond, he had to leave home and go out into the world. He had talked about it with Bek until his cousin was ready to scream. Bek didn’t think like that. Bek wasn’t interested in affecting the rest of the world. Bek was quite content to stay pretty much where he was. He viewed Quentin’s relentless search for a way out of Leah as an obsession that was both dangerous and wrongheaded. But, he had to admit, at least Quentin had a plan for his life, which was more than Bek could say for himself.
They passed through farmlands, across horse and cattle fields, and past estate grounds and manor houses until they had reached the outskirts of the city proper. The Leah house occupied the same site on which their palace had been settled when the family ruled the Highlands. The palace had been destroyed during Federation occupation—burned, it was rumored, by Morgan Leah himself in defiance of its occupiers. In any case, Coran’s father had replaced it with a two-story traditional home, multiple eaves and dormers, long rooflines and deep alcoves, casement wraps and stone fireplaces. The old trees remained, flower gardens dotted the grounds front and rear, and vine-draped arbors arched above crushed-stone walkways that wound from the front and rear entry doors to the surrounding streets.
Lights already burned in the windows and along the paths. They gave a warm and friendly feel to the big house, and as the cousins walked up to it Bek found himself wondering how long it would be before he would enjoy this feeling again.
They ate dinner that night with the family, with Coran and Liria and the four younger Leahs. The children spent the meal clamoring for details about their adventures, especially the boar hunt. Quentin made it all sound much more exciting than it really was, accommodating his younger brothers and sisters with a wild and lurid tale about how they barely escaped death on the tusks and under the hooves of a dozen rampaging boars. Coran shook his head and Liria smiled, and any discussion of Walker’s unexpected appearance and proposed journey was postponed until later.