“The Sword of Leah,” Brin pressed harshly. “Where can it be found? Tell me!”
Anguish wrenched the Grimpond through and through as she touched him in taunting strokes with the feel of what had been lost. “Spider Gnomes!” the shade cried desperately. “The blade lies within their camp, snatched from the waters of the Chard Rush, gathered in by the nets and snares they keep fastened to its banks!”
Abruptly, Brin drew back the magic of the wishsong, filled with the memories and the sensations of the old life. She drew it clear in a swift, painless rush, freeing the imprisoned shade from the trappings that had bound it. The echoes of the song lingered in the stillness that hung across the empty lake, dying into a single haunting note that rang in the midday air. It was a note of forgetfulness—a sweet, ghostly cry that left the Grimpond as it had been.
There was a long, terrible silence then. Slowly Brin rose to her feet and stared full into the face that was the mirror of her own. Something deep within her howled in dismay as she saw the look that came upon that face. It was as if she had done this to herself!
And the Grimpond realized now what had been done. “You have tricked from me the truth, dark child!” the shade wailed bitterly. “I sense that you have done so. Ah, black you are! Black!”
The shade’s voice broke, and the gray waters boiled and steamed. Brin stood frozen at the edge of the lake, afraid to turn away or to speak. Inside, she was empty and cold.
Then the Grimpond lifted its robed arm. “One last game then, Valegirl—something back from me to you! Let this be my gift! Look into the mist, here beside me where it forms—look closely now! See you this!”
Brin knew then that she should flee, but somehow she could not. The mist seemed to gather before her, swirling and spreading in a sheet of gray that lightened and smoothed. A slow, shimmering motion rippled across its surface like still water disturbed, and an image formed—a figure, crouched low within a darkened cell, his movements furtive…
Jair snatched back the vision crystal, thrusting it deep within his tunic, praying that the shadows and the gloom hid from the Mwellret what it was that he did. Perhaps he had been quick enough. Perhaps…
“Ssaw the magicss, Elfling,” the harsh voice rasped, dashing his hopes. “Ssenssed all along that the magicss were yourss. Sshare them with me, little friend. Sshow what you have.”
Jair shook his head slowly, fear mirrored in his blue eyes. “Stay away from me Stythys. Stay back from me.”
The Mwellret laughed—a low, guttural laugh that echoed in the emptiness of the cell and the long corridors beyond. The creature swelled suddenly within the dark robes, rising up against the dim light like a monstrous shadow.
“Threatenss me, ssmall one? Crussh you like a tiny egg if you usse the magicss on me. Sstay quiet now, little friend. Look into my eyess. Ssee the lightss.”
Lidded, scaled eyes glimmered, cold and compelling. Jair forced his own eyes down, knowing that he could not look, that if he did so he would belong once again to the creature. But it was so hard not to look. He wanted to see into those eyes; he wanted to be drawn into them and the peace and serenity that waited there.
“Ssee, Elfling,” the monster hissed.
Jair’s hand closed about the small bulk of the vision crystal until he could feel the edges cutting into his palm. Concentrate on the pain, he thought frantically. Don’t look. Don’t look!
Then the Mwellret hissed angrily and one hand lifted. “Give to me the magicss! Give them to me!”
Voiceless, Jair Ohmsford shrank back from him…
The Grimpond’s robed arm came down sharply and the screen of mist dissolved and was gone. Brin lurched forward desperately, stepping off the rock-strewn shoreline into the gray waters of the lake. Jair! That had been Jair in the images! What was it that had happened to him?
“Did you enjoy that game, Brin of the Vale people?” whispered the avatar harshly, the waters roiling once again beneath where it hung. “Did you see what has happened to your precious brother whom you thought safe within the Vale? Did you see?”
Brin fought back against the rage that welled up within her. “Lies, Grimpond. You tell only lies this time.”
The shade chuckled softly. “Lies? Think what you wish, Valegirl. A game is only a game, after all. A diversion from the truth. Or is it truth revealed?” Robed arms drew close, the mist swirling. “Dark you are, Brin of Shannara, of Ohmsford, of history spawned. Dark as the magic with which you play. Go from me, now. Take what you have learned of the clown prince’s magic and the passage to your death. Find what you seek and become what you surely will! Get you gone from me!”
The Grimpond began to fade back into the gray mist that rolled behind it over the lake’s murky waters. Brin stood transfixed upon the shoreline, wanting to hold the shade back, but knowing that this time she could not.
Suddenly the shade paused in its retreat, red eyes narrowing into slits within the mist robes. Brin’s own face leered back at her, a twisted mask of evil. “See me as you are, Brin of the Vale people. Savior and destroyer, mirror of life and death. The magic uses all, dark child—even you!”
Then the Grimpond disappeared back into the wall of the mist, its laughter soft and wicked in the deep silence. Soundlessly, the grayness closed about it and it was gone.
Brin stared after it a moment, lost in a gathering of fears, doubts, and whispered warnings. Then slowly she turned and walked back to the trees.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Dark and forbidding, the Mwellret Stythys advanced through the gloom of the little cell, and Jair backed slowly away.
“Give to me the magicss,” the monster hissed, and the crooked fingers beckoned. “Releasse them, Elfling.”
The Valeman retreated further into the shadows, the chains that bound his wrists and ankles dragging. Then the cell wall was pressing into his back and there was nowhere left to go.
I cannot even run from him! he thought desperately.
A soft scraping of leather boots on stone sounded from the cell entry and the Gnome jailer appeared from the corridor beyond. Head lowered into shadow, the hooded form passed silently through the open doorway into the room. Stythys turned at the other’s approach, cold eyes glittering with displeasure.
“Ssent not for little peopless,” the Mwellret muttered darkly, and the scaled hands motioned the Gnome away.
But the jailer paid no heed. Mute and unresponsive, he shuffled past the lizard creature as if he had not seen him and came directly toward Jair. Head still lowered, hands tucked deep into the folds of the ragged cloak, the Gnome slipped wraithlike through the dark. Jair watched his approach with mingled surprise and uncertainty. As the little man came closer, the Valeman shrank back in repulsion against the stone of the cell wall, the iron of his chains clanking as he raised his hands defensively.
“Sstand away, little peopless!” Stythys rasped, angry now, and his scaled body drew itself up menacingly.
But the Gnome jailer had already reached Jair, a hunched and voiceless thing as he stood before the Valeman. Slowly the cowled head lifted.
Jair’s eyes went wide. The Gnome in the ragged cloak and hood was not the jailer!
“Need a little help, boy?” Slanter whispered.
Then a black-clad form leaped from the shadowed corridor without, and the slender blade of a long sword pressed up against the throat of an astonished Stythys, forcing him back against the cell wall.
“Not a sound from you,” Garet Jax warned. “Not a twitch. Either, and you’ll be dead before you finish!”
“Garet, you’re alive!” Jair exclaimed in disbelief.
“Alive and well,” the other replied, but the hard gray eyes never moved from the Mwellret. “Hurry and set the Valeman free, Gnome.”