Jair thought it over a moment, then nodded his agreement. He was famished.
«Done, then.» The Gnome came over and slipped free the gag. One hand fastened tightly to Jair’s chin. «Your word now — let’s have it. No magic.»
«No magic,” Jair repeated, wincing.
«Good. Good.» The Gnome let his hand drop. «You’re one who keeps his word, I’m betting. Man’s only as good as his word, you know.» He reached down to his waist for a hard leather container, released the stopper and brought it up to the Valeman’s lips. «Drink. Go on, take a swallow.»
Jair sipped at the unknown liquid, his throat dry and tight. It was an ale, harsh and bitter, and it burned all the way down. Jair choked and drew back, and the Gnome recapped the container and returned it to his belt. Then he sat back on his haunches, grinning.
«I’m called Slanter.»
«Jair Ohmsford.» Jair was still trying to swallow. «I guess you knew that.»
Slanter nodded. «I did. Should have found out a bit more, it appears. Quite a chase you took me on.»
Jair frowned. «How did you manage to catch up to me? I didn’t think anyone could catch me.»
«Oh, that.» The Gnome sniffed. «Well, not just anyone could have caught you. But then I’m not just anyone.»
«What do you mean?»
The Gnome laughed. «I mean I’m a tracker, boy. It’s what I do. Fact is, it’s what I do better than just about anyone else alive. That’s why they brought me, the others. That’s why I’m here. I’ve been tracking.»
«Me?» Jair asked in astonishment.
«No, not you — the Druid! — The one they call Allanon. It was him I was tracking. You just happened to cross my path at the wrong time.»
A look of bewilderment crossed the Valeman’s face. This Gnome was a tracker? No wonder he hadn’t been able to escape him as he would have another man. But tracking Allanon… ?
Slanter shook his head helplessly and climbed to his feet. «Look, I’ll explain it all to you, but first let’s have something to eat. I had to carry you down from that hunting lodge two miles distant, and you may look small but you weigh better than your size. Worked up a pretty good appetite while you rested. Sit still, now — I’ll put something on the fire.»
Slanter retrieved a knapsack from the other side of the clearing, pulled clear some cooking utensils and within minutes had a beef and vegetable stew simmering over the fire. The smell of the cooking food wafted through the night air to Jair’s nostrils, and his mouth began to water. He was beyond famished, he decided. He had not had a decent meal since he had left the inn. Besides, he needed to keep his strength up if he was to have any chance of escaping this fellow, and he had every intention of doing so at the first opportunity.
When the stew was finished, Slanter brought it over to where he was tied and hand–fed him mouthfuls, sharing the meal with him. The food tasted wonderful, and they ate all that there was, together with an end of bread and some cheese. Slanter drank more of the ale, but gave Jair sips from a cup of water.
«Not a bad stew if I do say so myself,” the Gnome remarked afterward, bent next to the fire to scrape clean the pan. «Learned a few useful things over the years.»
«How long have you been a tracker?» Jair asked him, intrigued.
«Most of my life. Began learning when I was your age.» He finished with the cookware, stood up and came back over to the Valeman. «What do you know about trackers?»
Briefly Jair told him about the old tracker who had boarded at the inn, of their conversations, and of the tracking games they’d played while the man’s leg had healed. Slanter listened quietly, obvious interest reflected in his rough yellow features. When Jair had finished, the Gnome sat back, a distant look in his sharp eyes.
«I was like you once, long time ago. Used to think about nothing but being a tracker. Left home with one finally — an old Borderman. I was younger than you. Left home, went right out of the Eastland into Callahorn and the Northland. Gone better than fifteen years. Traveled all the lands at one time or another, you know. As much of them in me as Eastland Gnome. Odd, but I’m kind of a homeless sort because of it. Gnomes don’t really trust me, because I’ve been away too long, seen too much of what else there is ever to really be the same as them. A Gnome who’s not a Gnome. I’ve learned more than they ever will, shut away in the Eastland forests like they are. They know it, too. They barely tolerate me. They respect me, though, because I’m the best that there is at what I do.»
He glanced sharply at Jair. «That’s why I’m here — because I’m the best. The Druid Allanon — the fellow you don’t know, remember? — he came into the Ravenshorn and Graymark, tried to get down into the Maelmord. But nothing goes down into that pit, not Druid nor Devil. The Wraiths knew he was there and went after him. One walker, a patrol of Gnome Hunters, and me to track. Tracked to your village, then waited for someone to show. Thought someone would, even though it was pretty clear that the Druid had already gone elsewhere. And who should appear but, you?»
Jair’s mind was racing. How much does he know? Does he know the reason that Allanon came to Shady Vale? Does he know about the… ? And suddenly he remembered the Elfstones, tucked hastily within his tunic when he fled the Vale. Did he still have them? Or had Slanter found them? Oh, shades!
Eyes still fixed on those of the Gnome, he shifted cautiously against the ropes that bound him, trying to feel the pressure of the Stones against his body. But it was hopeless. The ties knotted his clothing and gave him no sure feel for what he still had on him. He dared not look down, even for an instant.
«Ropes cutting a bit?» Slanter asked suddenly.
He shook his head. «I was just trying to get comfortable.» He forced himself to sit back and relax. He changed the subject back. «Why did you bother coming after me if you were supposed to be tracking Allanon?»
Slanter cocked his head slightly. «Because I was tracking the Druid to find out where he went, and I’ve done that. He went to your village, to your family. Now he’s gone back to the Eastland — isn’t that right? Oh, you needn’t answer. At least not to me. But you will have to answer to those who came with me when they get here in the morning. A bit slow they are, but sure. I had to leave them to be certain I caught you. You see, they want to know something of Allanon’s visit. They want to know why he came. And unfortunately for you, they want to know one thing more.»
He paused meaningfully, eyes boring into Jair. The Valeman took a deep breath. «About the magic?» he whispered.
«Sharp fellow.» Slanter’s smile was hard.
«What if I don’t want to tell them?»
«That would be foolish,” the Gnome said quietly.
They stared at each other wordlessly. «The Wraith would make me tell, wouldn’t he?» Jair asked finally.
«The Wraith is not your problem.» Slanter snorted. «The Wraith’s gone north after the Druid. The Sedt is your problem.»
The Valeman shook his head. «Sedt? What is a Sedt?»
«A Sedt is a Gnome chieftain — in this case, Spilk. He commands the patrol. A rather unpleasant fellow. Not like me, you see. Very much an Eastland Gnome. He would just as soon cut your throat as look at you. He’s your problem. You’d better answer the questions he asks.»
He shrugged. «Besides, once you’ve told Spilk what he wants to know, I’ll do what I can to see that you’re released. After all, our fight’s not with the Vale people. Our fight’s with the Dwarves. Not to disappoint you, but you’re really not all that important. That magic of yours is what’s interesting. No, you answer the questions and I think you’ll be turned loose quick enough.»