He swept the memories from his mind angrily, the bitterness welling up anew. The “chosen of Allanon’ had his father said? The “cursed of Allanon’ was more like it.
The trees gave way before him abruptly, startling him with the suddenness of their disappearance. He stood at the edge of the lake, its rocky shores wending into the mist on either side, its waters lapping gently, endlessly in the silence. Walker Boh straightened. His mind tightened and closed down upon itself as if made of iron, his concentration focused, his thoughts cleared.
A solitary statue, he waited.
There was movement in the fog, but it emanated from more than one place. Walker tried to fix on it, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. From somewhere far away, above the haze that hung across the lake, beyond the rock walls of the ridgelines enfolding the narrow valley, a voice whispered in some empty heaven.
Dark Uncle.
Walker heard the words, tauntingly close and at the same time nowhere he would ever be, not from inside his head or from any other place discernible, but there nevertheless. He did not respond to them. He continued to wait.
Then the scattered movements that had disturbed the mist moments earlier focused themselves on a single point, coming together in a colorless outline that stood upon the water and began to advance. It took surer form as it came, growing in size, becoming larger than the human shape it purported to represent, rising up as if it might crush anything that stood in its way. Walker did not move. The ethereal shape became a shadow, and the shadow became a person...
Walker Boh watched expressionlessly as the Grimpond stood before him, suspended in the mist, its face lifting out of shadow to reveal who it had chosen to become.
“Have you come to accept my charge, Walker Boh?” it asked.
Walker was startled in spite of his resolve. The dark, brooding countenance of Allanon stared down at him.
The warehouse was hushed, its cavernous enclosure blanketed by stillness from floor to ceiling as six pairs of eyes fastened intently on Padishar Creel.
He had just announced that they were going back down into the Pit.
“We’ll be doing it differently this time,” he told them, his raw-boned face fierce with determination, as if that alone might persuade them to his cause. “No sneaking about through the park with rope ladders this go around. There’s an entry into the Pit from the lower levels of the Gatehouse. That’s how we’ll do it. We’ll go right into the Gatehouse, down into the Pit and back out again—and no one the wiser.”
Par risked a quick glance at the others. Coll, Morgan, Damson, the outlaws Stasas and Drutt—there was a mix of disbelief and awe etched on their faces. What the outlaw chief was proposing was outrageous; that he might succeed, even more so. No one tried to interrupt. They wanted to hear how he was going to do it.
“The Gatehouse watch changes shift twice each day—once at sunrise, once at sunset. Two shifts, six men each. A relief comes in for each shift once a week, but on different days. Today is one of those days. A relief for the day shift comes in just after sunset. I know; I made it a point to find out.”
His features creased with the familiar wolfish smile. “Today a special detail will arrive a couple of hours before the shift change because there’s to be an inspection of the Gatehouse quarters this evening at the change, and the Commander of the Gatehouse wants everything spotless. The day watch will be happy enough to let the detail past to do its work, figuring it’s no skin off their noses.” He paused. “That detail, of course, will be us.”
He leaned forward, his eyes intense. “Once inside, we’ll dispatch the night watch. If we’re quiet enough about it, the day watch won’t even know what’s happening. They’ll continue with their rounds, doing part of our job for us—keeping everyone outside. We’ll bolt the door from within as a precaution in any case. Then we’ll go down through the Gatehouse stairs to the lower levels and out into the Pit. It should still be light enough to find what we’re looking for fairly quickly. Once we have it, we’ll go back up the stairs and out the same way we came in.”
For a moment, no one said anything. Then Drutt said, his voice gravelly, “We’ll be recognized, Padishar. Bound to be some of the same soldiers there as when we was taken.”
Padishar shook his head. “There was a shift change three days ago. That was the shift that was on duty when we were seized.”
“What about that commander?”
“Gone until the beginning of the work week. Just a duty officer.”
“We’d need Federation uniforms.”
“We have them. I brought them in yesterday.”
Drutt and Stasas exchanged glances. “Been thinking about this for a time, have you?” the latter asked.
The outlaw chief laughed softly. “Since the moment we walked out of those cells.”
Morgan, who had been seated on a bench next to Par, stood up. “If anything goes wrong and they discover what we’re about, they’ll be all over the Gatehouse. We’ll be trapped, Padishar.”
The big man shook his head. “No, we won’t. We’ll carry in grappling hooks and ropes with our cleaning equipment. If we can’t go back the way we came, we’ll climb out of the Pit using those. The Federation will be concentrating on getting at us through the Gatehouse entry. It won’t even occur to them that we don’t intend to come back that way.”
The questions died away. There was a long silence as the six sifted through their doubts and fears and waited for something inside to reassure them that the plan would work. Par found himself thinking that there were an awful lot of things that could go wrong.
“Well, what’s it to be?” Padishar’s patience gave out. “Time’s something we don’t have to spare. We all know that there’s risks involved, but that’s the nature of the business. I want a decision. Do we try it or not? Who says we do? Who’s with me?”
Par listened to the silence lengthen. Coll and Morgan were statues on the bench to either side of him. Stasas and Drutt, who it seemed might speak first, now had their eyes fixed firmly on the floor. Damson was looking at Padishar, who in turn was looking at her. Par realized all at once that no one was going to say anything, that they were all waiting on him.
He surprised himself. He didn’t even have to think about it. He simply said, “I’ll go.”
“Have you lost your mind?” Coll whispered urgently in his ear. Stasas and Drutt had Padishar’s momentary attention, declaring that they, too, would go. “Par, this was our chance to get out!”
Par leaned close to him. “He’s doing this for me, don’t you see? I’m the one who wants to find the Sword! I can’t let Padishar take all the risks! I have to go!”
Coll shook his head helplessly. Morgan, with a wink at Par over Coll’s shoulder, cast his vote in favour of going as well. Coll just raised his hand wordlessly and nodded.
That left Damson. Padishar had his sharp gaze fixed on her, waiting. It suddenly occurred to Par that Padishar needn’t have asked who wanted to go with him; he simply could have ordered it. Padishar had told him earlier that he didn’t believe it was any of them—but he might have it in his mind to make sure.
“I will wait for you in the park,” Damson Rhee said, and everyone stared at her. She did not seem to notice. “I would have to disguise myself as a man in order to go in with you. That is one more risk you would be taking—and to what end? There is nothing I can offer by being with you. If there is trouble, I will be of better use to you on the outside.”
Padishar’s smile was immediately disarming. “Your thinking is correct as usual, Damson. You will wait in the park.”
It seemed to Par that he was a little too quick to agree.
Geysers exploded and died from the flat, gray surface of the lake, and the spray felt like bits of ice where it landed on Walker Boh’s skin.