Brin hesitated. Her father understood that the Elven magic was a part of his children, but he did not accept that it was either a good or necessary part. You are intelligent, talented people just as you are, he would tell them. You have no need of tricks and artifices to advance yourselves. Be who and what you can without the song. Eretria had echoed that advice, although she seemed to recognize more readily than he that they were likely to ignore it when discretion suggested that they could.
In Jair’s case, unfortunately, discretion seldom entered into the picture. Jair was both impulsive and distressingly headstrong; when it came to use of the wishsong, he was inclined to do exactly as he pleased — as long as he could safety get away with it.
Still, the Elven magic worked differently with Jair…
«Brin?»
Her thoughts scattered. «Mother, I don’t see what difference it makes if Jair wants to play around with the wishsong. It’s just a toy.»
Eretria shook her head. «Even a toy can be dangerous if used unwisely. Besides, you ought to know enough of the Elven magic by now to appreciate the fact that it is never harmless. Now listen to me. You and your brother are both grown beyond the age when you need your mother and father looking over your shoulder. But a little advice is still necessary now and then. I don’t want you using the magic while we’re gone. It draws attention where it’s not needed. Promise me that you won’t use it — and that you will keep Jair from using it as well.»
Brin nodded slowly. «It’s because of the rumors of the black walkers, isn’t it?» She had heard the stories. They talked about it all the time down at the inn these days. Black walkers — soundless, faceless things born of the dark magic, appearing out of nowhere. Some said it was the Warlock Lord and his minions come back again. «Is that what this is all about?»
«Yes.» Her mother smiled at Brin’s perceptiveness. «Now promise me.»
Brin smiled back. «I promise.»
Nevertheless, she thought it all a lot of nonsense.
The packing and loading took another thirty minutes, and then her parents were ready to depart. Jair reappeared, back from the inn where he had gone to secure a special sweet as a parting gift for his mother who was fond of such things, and good–byes were exchanged.
«Remember your promise, Brin,” her mother whispered as she kissed her on the cheek and hugged her close.
Then the elder Ohmsfords were aboard the wagon in which they would make their journey and moving slowly up the dusty roadway.
Brin watched them until they were out of sight.
Brin, Jair, and Rone Leah went hiking that afternoon in the forests of the Vale, and it was late in the day when at last they turned homeward. By then, the sun had begun to dip beneath the rim of the Vale and the forest shadows of midday to lengthen slowly into evening. It was an hour’s walk to the hamlet, but both Ohmsfords and the highlander had come this way so often before that they could have navigated the forest trails even in blackest night. They proceeded at a leisurely pace, enjoying the close of what had been an altogether beautiful autumn day.
«Let’s fish tomorrow,” Rone suggested. He grinned at Brin. «With weather like this, it won’t matter if we catch anything or not.»
The oldest of the three, he led the way through the trees, the worn and battered scabbard bearing the Sword of Leah strapped crosswise to his back, a vague outline beneath his hunting cloak. Once carried by the heir–apparent to the throne of Leah, it had long since outlived that purpose and been replaced. But Rone had always admired the old blade — borne years earlier by his great–grandfather Menion Leah when he had gone in search of the Sword of Shannara. Since Rone admired the weapon so, his father had given it to him, a small symbol of his standing as a Prince of Leah — even if he were its youngest prince.
Brin looked over at him and frowned. «You seem to be forgetting something. Tomorrow is the day we set aside for the house repairs we promised father we would make while he was away. What about that?»
He shrugged cheerfully. «Another day for the repairs — they’ll keep.»
«I think we should do some exploring along the rim of the Vale,” Jair Ohmsford interjected. He was lean and wiry and had his father’s face with its Elven features — narrow eyes, slanted eyebrows, and ears pointed slightly beneath a thatch of unruly blond hair. «I think we should see if we can find any sign of the Mord Wraiths.»
Rone laughed. «Now what do you know about the walkers, tiger?» It was his pet name for Jair.
«As much as you, I’d guess. We hear the same stories in the Vale that you hear in the highlands,” the Valeman replied. «Black walkers, Mord Wraiths — things that steal out of the dark. They talk about it down at the inn all the time.»
Brin glanced at her brother reprovingly. «That’s all they are, too — just stories.»
Jair looked at Rone. «What do you think?»
To Brin’s surprise, the highlander shrugged. «Maybe. Maybe not.»
She was suddenly angry. «Rone, there have been stories like this ever since the Warlock Lord was destroyed, and none of them has ever contained a word of truth. Why would it be any different this time?»
«I don’t know that it would. I just believe in being careful. Remember, they didn’t believe the stories of the Skull Bearers in Shea Ohmsford’s time either — until it was too late.»
«That’s why I think we ought to have a look around,” Jair repeated.
«For what purpose exactly?» Brin pressed, her voice hardening. «On the chance that we might find something as dangerous as these things are supposed to be? What would you do then — call on the wishsong?»
Jair flushed. «If I had to, I would. I could use the magic…»
She cut him short. «The magic is nothing to play around with, Jair. How many times do I have to tell you that?»
«I just said that…»
«I know what you said. You think that the wishsong can do anything for you and you’re sadly mistaken. You had better pay attention to what father says about not using the magic. Someday, it’s going to get you into a lot of trouble.»
Her brother stared at her. «What are you so angry about?»
She was angry, she realized, and it was serving no purpose. «I’m sorry,” she apologized. «I made mother a promise that neither of us would use the wishsong while she and father were away on this trip. I suppose that’s why it upsets me to hear you talking about tracking Mord Wraiths.»
Now there was a hint of anger in Jair’s blue eyes. «Who gave you the right to make a promise like that for me, Brin?»
«No one, I suppose, but mother…»
«Mother doesn’t understand…»
«Hold on, for cat’s sake!» Rone Leah held up his hands imploringly. «Arguments like this make me glad that I’m staying down at the inn and not up at the house with you two. Now let’s forget all this and get back to the original subject. Do we go fishing tomorrow or not?»
«We go fishing,” Jair voted.
«We go fishing,” Brin agreed. «After we finish at least some of the repairs.»
They walked in silence for a time, Brin still brooding over what she viewed as Jair’s increasing infatuation with the uses of the wishsong. Her mother was right; Jair practiced using the magic whenever he got the chance. He saw less danger in its use than Brin did because it worked differently for him. For Brin, the wishsong altered appearance and behavior in fact, but for Jair it was only an illusion. When he used the magic, things only seemed to happen. That gave him greater latitude in its use and encouraged experimentation. He did it in secret, but he did it nevertheless. Even Brin wasn’t entirely sure what he had learned to do with it.