Finally they reached the base of the falls and continued along the dark pathway that had brought them there to emerge at last from mist and shadow into warm sunlight. They rode eastward along the banks of the river through deep grass still green and fresh beneath a scattering of pine and yellow-leaved oak. Gradually the roar of the falls subsided and the air grew less chill. In the trees about them, birds flew in sudden bursts of color.
Life had come back again to the land. Brin sighed gratefully, thinking how relieved she was to be clear of the mountains.
And then abruptly Allanon reined his horse to a stop.
Almost as if the Druid had willed that it should be so, the forest about them went still—a deep, layered silence that hung over everything like a shroud. Their horses came to a halt behind his. Valegirl and highlander stared at the big man and then at each other, surprise and wariness in their eyes. Allanon did not move. He simply sat there astride his horse, rigid against the light, staring ahead into the shadows of the forest trees and listening.
“Allanon, what… ?” Brin started to ask, but the Druid’s hand lifted sharply to cut her short.
At last he turned, and the lean, dark face had drawn tight and hard, a look within the narrow eyes that neither Valegirl nor highlander had ever seen. In that instant, without understanding why it was that the feeling had come over her, Brin was suddenly terrified.
The Druid did not speak. Instead, he smiled—a quick, sad smile—and turned away. His hand beckoned them after, and he started ahead into the trees.
They rode only a short distance through a scattering of trees and dying scrub to where a small glen opened before them beside the banks of the river. There Allanon again drew his mount to a halt and this time dismounted. Rone and Brin followed him down. Together they stood there before the horses, looking out over the glen into a deepening stand of trees beyond.
“What’s wrong, Allanon?” Brin finished the question this time.
The Druid did not turn. “Something comes. Listen.”
They waited, motionless beside him. So complete was the silence now that even the sound of their own breathing was harsh within their ears. Brin’s premonition whispered anew in her mind, come from the rain and the gray of the Dragon’s Teeth to find her. Fear stroked her skin with its chill touch and she shivered.
Suddenly, there was a sound, faint and cautious—a soft rustling of dried leaves as something moved among them.
“There!” Rone cried, his hand pointing.
Something came into view through the trees on the far side of the glen. Still hidden within the gloom, it stopped suddenly, catching sight of the three who watched it. For long moments, it stayed frozen within its shelter, invisible eyes staring out at them, a silent shadow within the dark.
Then, with swift and certain intent, it stepped from the trees into the light. The chill that had settled within Brin turned instantly to frost. She had never seen anything like the creature that stood before them now. It was man-shaped in appearance, raised upright in a half-crouch, its long arms dangling loosely before it. It was a big, strong creature, lean and heavily muscled. Its skin was a strange reddish color, drawn tight against its powerful body; it was hairless except for a thick ruff that grew about its loins. Great, hooked claws curled from its fingers and toes. Its face lifted toward them, and it was the face of some grotesque beast, blunt and scarred. Gleaming yellow eyes fixed upon their own, and its snout split wide in a hideous grin to reveal a mass of crooked teeth.
“What is it?” Rone Leah whispered in horror.
“What was promised,” Allanon replied softly, his voice strangely distracted.
The reddish thing came forward a few steps further to the edge of the glen. There it stopped and waited.
Allanon turned to the Valegirl and the highlander. “It is a Jachyra, a thing of another age, a thing of great evil. It was locked from the lands by the magic of the creatures of faerie in a time before the dawn of man—in a time even farther back than that in which the Elves created the Forbidding. Only magic of equal power could have set it free again.
He straightened and brought his black robes close about him. “It appears that I was wrong—the Mord Wraiths did anticipate that we might come this way. Only within a place like these mountains, a place where the magic still lives, could a thing like the Jachyra be set loose again. The Wraiths have given us an adversary far more dangerous than they to overcome.”
“Suppose we find out how dangerous,” Rone suggested bravely and drew forth the ebony blade of the Sword of Leah.
“No.” Allanon caught his arm quickly. “This battle is mine.”
The highlander glanced at Brin for support. “It seems to me that any battle to be fought on this journey must be fought by all of us.”
But Allanon shook his head. “Not this time, Prince of Leah. You have shown your courage and your devotion to this girl. I no longer question either. But the power of this creature is beyond you. I must face it alone.”
“Allanon, don’t!” Brin cried suddenly, grasping his arm.
He looked down at her then, the worn face and the eyes that penetrated past all that she would hide a mask of sad determination. They stared at each other, and then without quite knowing why she did so, she released him.
“Don’t,” she repeated softly.
Allanon reached to touch her cheek. At the fat side of the glen, the Jachyra gave a sudden, sharp cry that shattered the silence of the afternoon—a cry that was almost like a laugh.
“Let me come with you!” Rone Leah insisted, again starting forward.
The Druid blocked his way. “Stand fast, Prince of Leah. Wait until you are called.” The black eyes fixed those of the highlander. “Do not interfere in this. No matter what happens, stay clear. Give me your promise.”
Rone hesitated. “Allanon, I cannot…”
“Give me your promise!”
The highlander stood before him defiantly for an instant longer and then reluctantly nodded. “I promise.”
The Druid’s eyes turned back to the Valegirl one last time, a lost and distant look in the gaze they gave to her. “Keep you safe, Brin Ohmsford,” he whispered.
Then he wheeled about and started down into the glen.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Sunlight spilled from out of the cloudless blue afternoon sky to etch sharply Allanon’s tall, shadowy form as it passed against the backdrop of the forest color. Warmth and sweet autumn smells lingered in the air, a teasing whisper to the Druid’s senses, and across the woodlands a soft and gentle breeze blew down through the trees to ruffle the long, black robes.. Within its banks of still summer-green grasses, the river of the Chard Rush glimmered azure and silver, its gleam reflected coldly in the tall man’s eyes.
He was conscious of nothing now but the sleek, reddish-skinned form that crept catlike down the far slope of the glen’s shallow bowl, yellow eyes narrowed, muzzle curled back in anticipation.
Please come back! Brin cried out the words in the silence of her mind, rendered voiceless by the horror of the familiar premonition that had returned suddenly to haunt her and dance in wild glee at the edges of her sight.
It was this that the premonition had warned against!
The Jachyra dropped down upon all fours, muscles rippling in corded knots beneath the taut skin as slaver began to form about its mouth. Spikes rose along the length of its spine and flexed with the movement of its body as it crept to the floor of the sunlit glen. Muzzle lifting toward the dark figure across from it, the monster cried out a second time—that same, hideous howl that rang like maddened laughter.