Then the tattered cloak that wrapped Truls Rohk’s broad, rangy form billowed once and settled about his shoulders, the edges trailing stray threads and ragged strips of cloth. Hands and feet moved like clubs within the circle of darkness he cast, but no face could be seen within the shadows of his cowl. If not for his vaguely human form, Truls Rohk could as easily have been a beast of the sort that prowled those mountains.
“Panax,” he hissed. “Why are you here?”
He spoke the Dwarf’s name with recognition, but without warmth or pleasure. His voice bore the sharp whine of metal scraping metal, and ended with the sound of steam released under pressure. Bek had forgotten the Dwarf. Battle-ax lowered to his side, Panax stood straight and unbowed in the presence of the dark creature that confronted them. But there was a tenseness in his rough features and wariness in his eyes.
“Walker has sent you a message,” he said to the apparition.
Truls Rohk made no move to come forward. “Walker,” he repeated.
“These are Highlanders,” Panax continued. “The tall one is Quentin Leah. The younger is his cousin, Bek Rowe. They were entrusted to carry the message to you.”
“Speak it,” Truls Rohk said to the cousins.
Bek looked at Quentin, who nodded. Bek cleared his throat. “We’ve been asked to tell you that Walker is preparing to undertake a journey by airship across the Blue Divide. He goes in search of a safehold in an unknown land. The safehold contains a treasure of great value. He says to tell you that others search for it, as well, one of them a warlock called the Morgawr and one a sorceress called the Ilse Witch.”
“Hsssshh! Dark souls!” Truls Rohk spat sharply, the sound so venomous it stopped Bek right in the middle of his speech. “What else, boy?”
Bek swallowed thickly. “He says to tell you that his enemies have already killed the Elf King, Allardon Elessedil, and a castaway who carried back a map of the safehold. He says to tell you he needs you to come with him to help in the search and to protect against those who would prevent it.”
There was a long silence, then a cough that might have been a laugh or something less pleasant. “Lies. Even with only one arm, Walker can protect himself. What does he really need?”
Bek stared at the other in confusion and fear, then glanced at both Quentin and Panax, found no help, and shook his head. “I don’t know. That was all he told us. That was the whole message, just as he gave it to us. He wants you to—”
“He wants more than he says!” The raspy voice grated and hissed. “You, Highlander.” He gestured vaguely within his cloak toward Quentin. “What magic do you wield?”
Quentin did not hesitate. “An old magic, just this night recovered. This sword belongs to my family. It was given its magic, I’m told, in the time of Allanon.”
“You wield it poorly.” The words were cutting and dismissive. “You, boy.” Truls Rohk spoke once more to Bek. “Have you magic as well?”
Bek shook his head. “No, none.”
He was aware that Truls Rohk was studying him carefully, and in the stillness that followed, it seemed as if something reached out and touched him, brushing against his forehead with feathery lightness. It was there and gone so quickly that he might only have imagined it.
Truls Rohk moved a step to his right, and the movement revealed a flash of arm and leg of huge proportions, all muscle and thick hair, bare to the mountain night. Bek had a strong sense that the other was stooped within his cloak, affecting a kind of guarded crouch, a readiness that never left him. As big as Truls Rohk already seemed, Bek believed he would be much bigger still if he was to stand upright. Nothing got that big that wasn’t a Rock Troll, but Truls Rohk lacked a Rock Troll’s thick hide and cumbersome, deliberate movements. He was too quick and fluid for that, and his skin was human.
“The Druid sent you to be tested,” he growled softly. “Tested against your own fears and superstitions. Your magic and your grit are untried weapons.” He gave a low chuckle that died away into the familiar hiss. “Panax, are you party to this game?”
The Dwarf grunted irritably. “I play no games with anyone. I was asked to see these Highlanders into the Wolfsktaag and out again. You seem to know more about this than I do.”
“Games within games,” the shadowy form murmured, stalking a few steps to the right, then turning back again. This time Bek caught a glimpse of a face within the hood, just a momentary illumination by the edges of the firelight. The face was crisscrossed with deep, scarlet welts, and the flesh looked as if it had been melted like iron in a furnace. “Druid games,” Truls Rohk went on, disappearing again into shadow. “I do not like them, Panax. But Walker is always interesting to watch.” He paused. “Maybe these two, as well, hmmm?”
Panax seemed confused and said nothing. Truls Rohk pointed at Quentin. “Those wolves would have had you if not for me. Better practice your sword’s magic if you expect to stay alive for very long.”
Bek felt the other’s eyes shift and settle on him. “And you, boy, had better not trust anyone. Not until you learn to see things better than you do now.”
Bek was conscious that both Quentin and Panax were looking at him, as well. He wanted to ask Truls Rohk what he was talking about but cowed by the giant’s size and dark mystery, he was afraid to question him.
Truls Rohk spat and wheeled away. “Where do you go to meet Walker?” he called over his shoulder.
“Arborlon,” Bek answered at once.
“Then I’ll see you there.” His words were soft and whispery. “Now get out of these mountains, quickly!”
There was a rush of wind, cold and sharp, and a whisper of movement in the night. Bek and Quentin shrank involuntarily from both, shielding their eyes. Behind them, the fire flickered and went out.
When they looked back toward the silent darkness, Truls Rohk was gone.
Far south, below the Highlands of Leah, the Prekkendorran Heights, and the older, more industrialized cities, Wayford and Sterne, in the Federation capital city of Arishaig, Minister of Defense Sen Dunsidan was awakened by a touch on his shoulder.
His eyes blinked open and he stared through the gloom toward the ceiling without seeing anything, uncertain what had disturbed him. He was lying on his back, his big frame sprawled on the oversize bed, the sleeping room cool and silent.
“Wake up, Minister,” the Ilse Witch whispered.
His eyes settled on her slender, cloaked form as she bent over him. “Dark Lady of my dreams,” he greeted with a sleepy smile.
“Don’t say anything more, Minister,” she advised, stepping back from him. “Rise and come with me.”
She watched him do as he was told, his strong face calm and settled, as if it were not at all unexpected that she should appear to him like this. He was a powerful man, and the effective exercise of his power relied in part on never seeming surprised or afraid. He had been Minister of Defense of the Federation for better than fifteen years, and he had achieved his longevity in that position in part by burying a lot of men who misjudged him. He seemed mild and even detached at times, just an observer on the edges of the action, just a man eager to make things right for everyone. In truth, he had the instincts and morals of a snake. In a world of predators and prey, he preferred to take his chances as the former. But he understood clearly and unequivocally that his survival depended on keeping his preference secret and his ambitions concealed. When he felt threatened, as perhaps he did now, he always smiled. But the smile, of course, hid the teeth behind.
The Ilse Witch led him wordlessly from his sleeping chamber down the hall to his study. His study was his place of business, and he would understand from her taking him there that there was business to be done. He was a man of huge appetites, and he was accustomed to satisfying them when he chose. She did not want him mistaking her purpose in coming to his bedchamber for something other than what it was. She had seen the way he looked at her, and she did not care for what she saw in his eyes. If he were to attempt to put his hands on her, she would have to kill him. She did not mind doing so, but it would accomplish nothing. The best way to prevent that from happening was to make it clear from the outset that their relationship was not about to change.