That was another puzzle. It was certainly true that the magic used her as much as she used it. She remembered her anger against the men from west of Spanning Ridge at the Rooker Line Trading Center and how Allanon had shown her what the magic could do to those trees so closely intertwined. Savior and destroyer—she would be both, the shade of Bremen had warned. And now the Grimpond had warned her, too.
Cogline whispered something at her side, then danced away as Kimber Boh told him to behave. Her thoughts scattered momentarily, and she watched the old man slip into the forest wilderness, laughing and chittering like one half gone into madness. She breathed the cool afternoon air deeply, seeing the shadows of early evening beginning to slip down about the land. She found herself missing Allanon. Odd that she should, for his dark and formidable presence had been small comfort to her in the days that she had traveled with him. But there had been that strange kinship between them, that sense of understanding, and of being in some way similar…
Was it the magic they shared—the wishsong and the Druid power?
She found tears forming in her eyes as she pictured his broken form once again, slumped down within that sunlit glen, bloodied and torn. How terrible he had looked to her, stricken by impending death, his hand lifting to touch her forehead with his blood… A lonely, worn figure in her mind, steeped not so much in Druid power as in Druid guilt, he had bound himself by his father’s oath to purge the Druids of the responsibility they bore for unleashing the dark magic into the world of men.
And now that responsibility had been passed to her.
Afternoon faded into evening, and the little company passed down out of the Anar wilderness into the valley of Hearthstone. Brin ceased to puzzle over the words of the Grimpond and began to think instead of what she was to. tell her companions and what she was to do with the small bit of knowledge that she had gained. Her own lot in this matter was fixed, but not so that of the others—not even Rone. If she were. to tell him all that she had been told by the Grimpond, perhaps he could be persuaded to let her go on alone. If it was predetermined that she must go to her death, perhaps she could at least keep him from going to his.
An hour later they were gathered together before the fireplace in the little cottage, drawn up in covered chairs and on benches—Brin, the old man, the girl, and Rone Leah. The warmth of the flames danced off their faces as the night settled down, cold and still. Whisper slept peacefully upon his rug, his giant body stretched full-length before the fire. Invisible most of the day on their journey to and from the Grimpond, the moor cat had reappeared on their return and promptly curled up in his favorite resting spot.
“The Grimpond appeared to me in my own image,” Brin began quietly as the others listened. “It took my face and taunted me with what it said I was.”
“It plays those games,” Kimber said sympathetically. “You must not be bothered by it.”
“All lies and deceits! It is a dark and twisted thing,” Cogline whispered, his sticklike frame hunched forward. “Locked within its pool since before the loss of the old world, speaking riddles no man could hope to unravel—or woman either.”
“Grandfather,” Kimber Boh cautioned gently.
“What was it that the Grimpond had to say?” Rone wanted to know.
“What I have told you,” Brin replied. “That the Sword of Leah is in the hands of the Spider Gnomes, pulled from the waters of the Chard Rush. That the way into the Maelmord without being seen by the walkers is through the sewers of Graymark.”
“There was no deceit in this?” he pressed.
She shook her head slowly, thinking of the dark way in which she had used the wishsong’s magic. “Not in this.”
Cogline snorted. “Well, the rest was lies, I’ll wager!”
Brin turned to him. “The Grimpond said that death would come to me in the Maelmord—that I could not escape it.”
There was a hushed silence. “Lies, just as the old man says,” Rone muttered finally.
“The Grimpond said that your death awaits you there as well; Rone. It said that we both carry the seeds of that death in the magic we would wield—yours in the Sword of Leah, mine in the wishsong.”
“And you believe that nonsense?” The highlander shook his head. “Well, I don’t. I can look after the both of us.”
Brin smiled sadly. “But what if the Grimpond’s words are not lies? What if that part, too, is truth? Must I bear your death on my conscience, Rone? Will you insist on dying with me?”
Rone flushed at the rebuke. “If I must. Allanon made me your protector when I sought to be so. What manner of protector would I be if I were to abandon you now and let you go on alone? If it is predetermined that we should die, Brin, then let that not be on your conscience. Let it be on mine.
Brin had tears in her eyes again and she swallowed hard against the feelings coursing through her.
“Girl, girl, no crying now, no crying!” Cogline was suddenly on his feet, shuffling over to where she sat. To her surprise, he reached up gently and brushed the tears away. “It’s all games with the Grimpond, all lies and half-truths. The shade predicts everyone’s death as if it were blessed with special insight. Here, here. What can a spirit thing know of death?”
He patted Brin on the shoulder, then scowled inexplicably at Rone, as if the fault were somehow his, and muttered something about dratted trespassers.
“Grandfather, we must help them,” Kimber said suddenly.
Cogline wheeled on her, bristling. “Help them? And just what is it that we’ve been doing, girl? Gathering firewood?”
“No, I don’t think that, grandfather, but…”
“But nothing!” Crooked arms gestured impatiently. “Of course we’re going to help them!”
Valegirl and highlander stared at the old man in astonishment. Cogline cackled shrilly, then kicked at the sleeping Whisper and brought the cat’s whiskered face up with a jerk. “Me and this worthless animal—we’re going to help all we can! Can’t be having tears like those! Can’t be having guests wandering all over the place with no one to show them the way!”
“Grandfather…” the girl started to interrupt, but the old man brushed her aside.
“Haven’t had a run at those Spider Gnomes for some time now, have we? Good idea to let them know that we’re still here in case they think we moved out. Up on Toffer Ridge, they’ll be—no, not this time of year. No, they’ll be down off the ridge to the moor with the season’s change at hand. That’s their ground; that’s where they’d take a sword like that if they pulled it from the river. Whisper will track it for us. Then we’ll turn east, skirt the moor, and cross to the Ravenshorn. Day or two, maybe, all told.”
He wheeled back again. “But not you, Kimber. Can’t have you out and about in that country. Walkers and all are too dangerous. You stay here and keep the home.”
Kimber gave him a hopeless look. “He still thinks of me as a child. I am the one who should worry for him.”
“Ha! You don’t have to worry for me!” Cogline Snapped.
Kimber smiled indulgently, her pixie face calm. “Of course I have to worry for you. I love you.” She turned to Brin. “Brin, you have to understand something. Grandfather never leaves the valley anymore without me. He requires the use of my eyes and my memory from time to time. Grandfather, don’t be angry with what I say, but you know that sometimes you are forgetful. Besides, Whisper will not always do what you tell him. He will disappear on you when you least want him to, if you try to go alone.”
Cogline frowned. “Stupid cat does that, all right.” He glanced down at Whisper, who blinked back at him sleepily. “Waste of my time trying to teach him differently. Very well, I suppose we’ll all have to go. But you keep out of harm’s way, girl. Leave that part to me.”
Brin and Rone exchanged hurried glances.