This island was different from the other two, as Walker had known it would be. Mephitic was low and broad, comprising rolling hills, thickly wooded forests, and wide smooth grasslands. It lacked the high cliffs of Shatterstone and the barren rocky shoals of Flay Creech. It was much larger than either, big enough that in the haze of the midday autumn light, Walker could not see its far end. It did not appear forbidding. It had the look of the Westland where it bordered the Plains of Streleheim north and abutted the Myrian south. As the airship descended toward its shores and began a slow circle about its coastline, he could see small deer grazing peacefully and flocks of birds in flight. Nothing seemed out of place or dangerous. Nothing threatened.
Walker found what he was looking for on their first pass. A massive castle sat on a low bluff facing west, backed up against a deep forest and fronted by a broad plain. The castle was old and crumbling, its portcullis collapsed, its windows and doors dark empty holes, and its battlements and courtyards deserted. It had been a mighty fortress in another age and time, and its walls and outbuildings sprawled across the grasslands for perhaps a mile in all directions. The castle proper was as large as Paranor and every bit as formidable.
Unlike the other two islands, where only the name had been given, Mephitic had been carefully drawn on the castaway’s map. The fortress, in particular, had been noted. The third and final key, the map indicated, was hidden somewhere inside.
Walker folded himself into his black robes and stared at the castle. He was aware of the growing dissatisfaction of the ship’s company. He understood that some of it was due entirely to him. He had indeed distanced himself from them in a very deliberate fashion, but not without consideration for the consequences and not for the reasons they thought. Their disgruntlement and unrest were side effects he could not avoid. He knew things they did not, and one of them had prompted him to keep everyone at arm’s length since his recovery.
That would change once he had possession of the third key and could instill in the ship’s company a reasonable expectation of reaching the safehold the keys would unlock.
Not that anything was as simple as it appeared on the surface, or even that anything was what it appeared.
He felt a bitter satisfaction in knowing the truth, but it did nothing to make him feel better. Hunter Predd had a right to be angry with him for keeping secrets. They all had a right to be angry, more so than they realized. It reminded him anew of his own bitter feelings toward the Druids in times past. He knew the nature of their order. They were wielders of power and keepers of secrets. They manipulated and deceived. They specialized in creating events and directing lives for the greater good of the Four Lands. He had wanted no part of them then and wanted little now. Although he had become one of them, a part of their order and their history, he had promised himself that things would be different with him. He had sworn that in carrying out the admittedly necessary task of implementing order and wielding magic in a way that would unite the Races, he would not resort to their tactics.
He was finding out anew how hard that vow was to keep. He was discovering firsthand the depth of his own commitment to their cause and to his duty.
He ordered Redden Alt Mer to take the Jerle Shannara down to the plain in front of the castle and to anchor her several hundred yards away and in the open so that all approaches could be watched. He called the ship’s company together and told them he would take a scouting party into the castle now, before dark, for a look around. Perhaps they would find the key at once, as they had on the other two islands. Perhaps they would even manage to secure it quickly and escape. But he did not want to run the risks of Shatterstone, so he would proceed cautiously. If he sensed any form of danger, they would turn back at once and begin again tomorrow. If it took them longer to achieve their objective because of his caution, so be it.
He chose Panax, Ard Patrinell, and six Elven Hunters to go with him. He considered Quentin Leah, then shook his head. He did not even glance at Bek.
The scouting party descended from the airship by rope ladder and set off across the flats for the castle. Wading through waist-high grasses, they reached the castle’s west entry, a drawbridge that was lowered and rotting and a portcullis that was raised and rusted in place. They stopped long enough for the Druid to read the shadows that lay pooled at every silent opening, dark hollows within the walls of stone and mortar, then crossed the drawbridge warily and entered the main courtyard. Dozens of doors opened through walls and dozens of stairs led into towers. Walker scanned them all for whatever might threaten and found nothing. There was no sign of life and no indication of danger.
But he could sense the presence of the key, faint and distant, somewhere deep inside the keep. What sort of guardian kept watch over it? One is everything and nothing and will steal your soul. The words of the seer echoed in the silence of his mind, enigmatic and troubling.
Walker stood in the courtyard for a long time making sure of what his senses told him, then started ahead once more.
They combed the ruins from tower to cellar, dungeon to spire, hall to courtyard, and parapet to battlement, crisscrossing its maze swiftly, but thoroughly. Nothing interfered with their efforts, and no dangers presented themselves. Twice, Walker thought they were close to the key, able to sense its presence more strongly, to feel its peculiar mix of metal and energy reaching out to him. But each time he believed himself close, it eluded him. The second time, he divided the Elven Hunters into pairs and sent two with Ard Patrinell, two with Panax, and two with himself in an effort to surround it. But no one found anything.
Their search was frustrating in other ways, as well. The fortress was a puzzling warren of chambers, courtyards, and halls, and all sense of direction disappeared once they were inside. The searchers constantly found themselves going around in circles and ending up back where they started. Worse, led astray by a deceived sense of direction, they were as likely to find themselves outside the walls at the end of a corridor’s turn or stairwell’s twist as they were inside. It was irksome and somewhat troubling to the Druid, but he could find no reason for it beyond the construction of the keep. Probably it had been designed to confuse enemies. Whatever the case, all efforts at completing a successful search were thwarted as they found themselves starting over time and again.
Finally, they gave it up. The afternoon sun had drifted west to the horizon, and Walker did not want to get caught inside the castle after dark. The keep might be less friendly then, and he didn’t want to find that out the hard way. Even though they hadn’t discovered it, he knew the key was close at hand. It was only a matter of time before their search was concluded.
He returned to the ship and called his first meeting of the company’s inner circle in almost two months to give his report and express his confidence. Redden Alt Mer, Rue Meridian, Ard Patrinell, Ahren Elessedil, Ryer Ord Star, Quentin Leah, and Bek Rowe were all there, and all were heartened by what they heard. Tomorrow they would resume their search for the final key, he concluded, and this time their efforts would prove successful.
At dawn, Walker took everyone with him but the Rovers, Ryer Ord Star, Truls Rohk, and Bek. He could see the disappointment and hurt in Bek’s eyes, but there was no help for it. Again they searched diligently, taking all day to do so, and again they found nothing. Walker sensed the presence of the key just as he had the day before, unmistakable and clear. But he could not find it. Without results, he combed the castle for magic that might conceal it. He kept a wary eye out for whatever guarded it—for he knew something must be doing so—but could identify nothing.