Perhaps. And perhaps not. Her father would argue the matter, she knew, maintaining that the Druid had been corrupted by the power as surely as the Dark Lord, if only in a different way. For Allanon was also governed in his life by the power he wielded and by the secrets of its use. If his sense of responsibility was of a higher sort and his purpose less selfish, he was nevertheless as much its victim. Indeed, there was something strangely sad about Allanon, despite his harsh, almost threatening demeanor. She thought for a time about the sense of sadness that the Druid invoked in her — a sadness her father had surely never felt — and she wondered how it was that she felt it so keenly.
«I’m back!»
She turned, startled. But it was only Rone, calling up to her from the campsite in the pine grove below the rise. She climbed to her feet and started down.
«I see that the Druid hasn’t returned yet,” the highlander said as she came up to him. He had a pair of wild hens slung over one shoulder and dropped them to the ground. «Maybe we’ll get lucky and he won’t come back at all.»
She stared at him. «Maybe that wouldn’t be so lucky.»
He shrugged. «Depends on how you look at it.»
«Tell me how you look at it, Rone.»
He frowned. «All right. I don’t trust him.»
«And why is it that you don’t?»
«Because of what he pretends to be: protector against the Warlock Lord and the Bearers of the Skull; protector against the Demons released from the old world of faerie; and now protector against the Mord Wraiths. But always, it’s with the aid of the Ohmsford family and their friends, take note. I know the history, too, Brin. It’s always the same. He appears unexpectedly, warning of a danger that threatens the races, which only a member of the Ohmsford family can help put an end to. Heirs to the Elven house of Shannara and to the magics that belong to it — those are the Ohmsfords. First the Sword of Shannara, then the Elfstones and now the wishsong. But somehow things are never quite what they seem, are they?»
Brin shook her head slowly. «What are you saying, Rone?»
«I’m saying that the Druid comes out of nowhere with a story designed to secure Shea or Wil Ohmsford’s aid — and now your aid — and each time it’s the same. He tells only what he must. He gives away only as much as he needs give away. He keeps back the rest; he hides a part of the truth. I don’t trust him. He plays games with people’s lives!»
«And you believe that he’s doing that with us?»
Rone took a deep breath. «Don’t you?»
Brin was silent a moment before answering. «I’m not sure.»
«Then you don’t trust him either?»
«I didn’t say that.»
The highlander stared at her a moment, they slowly settled himself on the ground across from her, folding his long legs before him. «Well, which way is it, Brin? Do you trust him or don’t you?»
She sat down as well. «I guess I haven’t really decided.»
«Then what are you doing here, for cat’s sake?»
She smiled at his obvious disgust. «I’m here, Rone, because he needs me — I believe that much of what I have been told. The rest I’m not sure about. The part he keeps hidden, I have to discover for myself.»
«If you can.»
«I’ll find a way.»
«It’s too dangerous,” he said flatly.
She smiled, rose, and came over to where he sat. Gently she kissed his forehead. «That’s why I wanted you here with me, Rone Leah — to be my protector. Isn’t that why you came?» He flushed bright scarlet and muttered something unintelligible, and she laughed in spite of herself. «Why don’t we leave this discussion until later and do something with those hens. I’m starved.»
She built a small cooking fire while Rone cleaned the hens. Then they cooked and ate the birds together with a small portion of cheese and ale. They ate their meal in silence, seated back atop the small rise, watching the night sky darken and the stars and gibbous moon cast their pale silver light on the waters of the lake.
By the time they had finished, night had fallen and Allanon still had not returned.
«Brin, you remember what you said before, about my being here to protect you?» Rone asked her after they had returned to the fire. She nodded. «Well, it’s true — I am here to protect you. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you — not ever. I guess you know that.»
He hesitated, and she smiled through the dark. «I know.»
«Well.» He shifted about uneasily, his hands lifting the battered scabbard that housed the Sword of Leah. «There’s another reason I’m here, too. I hope you can understand this. I’m here to prove something to myself.» He hesitated again, groping for the words to explain. «I am a Prince of Leah, but that’s just a title. I was born into it, just like my brothers — and they’re all older. And this sword, Brin.» He held up the scabbard and its weapon. «It isn’t really mine; it’s my great–grandfather’s. It’s Menion Leah’s sword. It always has been, ever since he carried it in search of the Sword of Shannara. I carry it — the ash bow, too — because Menion carried them and I’d like to be what he was. But I’m not.»
«You don’t know that,” she said quickly.
«That’s just the point,” he continued. «I’ve never done anything to find out what I could be. And that’s partly why I’m here. I want to know. This is how Menion found out — by going on a quest, as protector to Shea Ohmsford. Maybe I can do it this way, too.»
Brin smiled. «Maybe you can. In any case, I’m glad you told me.» She paused. «Now I’ll tell you a secret. I came for the same reason. I have something to prove to myself, too. I don’t know if I can do what Allanon expects of me; I don’t know if I am strong enough. I was born with the wishsong, but I have never known what I was meant to do with it. I believe there is a reason for my having the magic. Maybe I will learn that reason from Allanon.»
She put her hand on his arm. «So you see, we’re not so different after all, are we, Rone?»
They talked a while longer, growing drowsy as the evening lengthened and the weariness of the day’s travel overcame them. Then at last their talk gave way to silence, and they spread their bedding. Clear and cool, the autumn night wrapped them in its solitude and peace as they stretched out next to the dark embers of the fire and pulled their blankets close.
They were asleep in moments.
Neither saw the tall, black–robed figure who stood in the shadow of the pines just beyond the fire’s light.
When they awoke the following morning, Allanon was there. He was seated only a few yards away from them on a hollow log, his tall, spare form wraithlike in the gray light of early dawn. He watched silently as they rose, washed, and ate a light breakfast, offering no explanation as to where he had been. More than once the Valegirl and the highlander glanced openly in his direction, but he seemed to take no notice. It was not until they had packed their bedrolls and cooking gear and brought the horses in to be saddled that he finally rose and came over to them.
«There has been a change of plans,” he announced. They stared at him silently. «We are no longer going east. We are going north into the Dragon’s Teeth.»
«The Dragon’s Teeth?» Rone’s jaw tightened. «Why?»
«Because it is necessary.»
«Necessary for whom?» Rone snapped.
«It will only be for a day or so.» Allanon turned his attention to Brin now, ignoring the angry highlander. «I have a visit to make. When it is finished, we will turn east again and complete our journey.»
«Allanon.» Brin spoke his name softly. «Tell us why we must go north.»