«The truth! What do you know about the truth?» Slanter was incredulous. «You spoke with the King of the Silver River, did you? He gave you magic, did he? And now we’re supposed to go traipsing off into the deep Anar, are we? And not just into the Anar, but right into the teeth of the black walkers! Into the Maelmord! You’re mad, boy! That’s the only truth there is in any of this!»
Jair reached into his tunic and brought forth the pouch containing the Silver Dust. «This is the Dust he gave me, Slanter. And here.» He pulled the vision crystal on its silver chain free of his neck. «You see? I have the things he gave me, just as I said. Look for yourself.»
Slanter threw up his hands. «I don’t want to look! I don’t want anything to do with any of this! I don’t even know what I’m doing here!» He wheeled about suddenly. «But I’ll tell you this — I’m not going into the Anar, not with a thousand crystals or a whole mountain of Silver Dust! Find someone else who’s tired of living and leave me be!»
Garet Jax was back on his feet. He came over to Jair, took the pouch from the Valeman’s hand, slipped the drawstrings open, and peered inside. Then he looked up again at Jair.
«Looks like sand to me,” he said.
Jair glanced down hurriedly. Sure enough, the contents of the pouch looked exactly like sand. There was not a sparkle of silver to be seen in the supposed Silver Dust.
«Of course, the color might be a guise to protect against theft,” the Weapons Master mused thoughtfully, a distant look in his eyes.
Slanter was aghast. «You don’t really believe…»
Garet Jax cut him short. «I don’t believe much of anything, Gnome.» His eyes were hard again as they shifted to Jair. «Let’s put this magic to the test. Take out the vision crystal and sing to it.»
Jair hesitated. «I don’t know how.»
«You don’t know how?» Slanter sneered. «Shades!»
Garet Jax didn’t move. «This seems like a good time to learn, doesn’t it?»
Jair flushed and looked down at the crystal. Neither of them believed a word he had told them. He couldn’t really blame them, though. He wouldn’t have believed it himself if it hadn’t happened to him. But it had, and it had been all too convincing not to be real.
He took a deep breath. «I’ll try.»
He began to sing softly to the crystal. He held it cupped within his hands like a fragile thing, the silver chain dangling down through his fingers. He sang without knowing what it was he should sing or how he could bring the crystal to life. Low and gentle, his voice called to it and asked that it show him Brin.
It responded almost instantly. Light flared within his palms, startling him so that he nearly dropped the crystal. A living thing, the light shimmered a brilliant white, expanding until it was the size of a child’s ball. Garet Jax bent close, his lean face intense. Slanter edged his way back from across the clearing.
Then abruptly Brin Ohmsford’s face appeared Within the light, dark and beautiful, framed by mountains whose slopes were stark and towering against a dawn less friendly than their own.
«Brin!» Jair whispered.
He thought for a moment she might reply, so real was her face within the light. Yet her eyes were far distant in their vision, and her ears were closed to his voice. Then the vision faded; in his excitement, Jair had ceased to sing, and the crystal’s magic was spent. The light was gone in the same moment. Jair’s hands cupped the crystal once more.
«Where was she?» he asked hurriedly.
Garet Jax shook his head. «I’m not sure. Perhaps…» But he did not finish.
Jair turned to Slanter, but the Gnome was shaking his head as well. «I don’t know. It happened too fast. How did you do that, boy? It’s that song, isn’t it? It’s that magic you have.»
«And the magic of the King of the Silver River,” Jair added quickly. «Now do you believe me?»
Slanter shook his head glumly. «I’m not going into the Anar,” he muttered.
«I need you, Slanter.»
«You don’t need me. With magic like that, you don’t need anyone.» The Gnome turned away. «Just sing your way into the Maelmord like your sister.»
Jair forced down the anger building within him. He shoved the crystal and the pouch with the Silver Dust back into his tunic. «Then I’ll go alone,” he declared heatedly.
«No need for that quite yet.» Garet Jax swung his pack over his shoulder and started across the clearing once more. «First we’ll see you safely to Culhaven, the Gnome and me. Then you can tell the Dwarves this story of yours. The Druid and your sister should have passed that way by now — or word of their passing reached the Dwarves. In any case, let’s find out if anyone there understands anything of what you’ve been telling us.»
Jair stalked after him hurriedly. «What you’re saying is that you think I made this all up! Listen to me a minute. Why would I do that? What possible reason could I have? Go on, tell me!»
Garet Jax snatched up the Valeman’s cloak and blanket and shoved them at him as they went. «Don’t waste your time telling me what I think,” he replied calmly. «I’ll tell you what I think when I’m ready.
Together they disappeared into the trees, following the trail that led east along the banks of the Silver River. Slanter watched them until they were out of sight, his rough yellow face twisting with displeasure. Then, picking up his own pack, he hastened after, muttering as he went.
Chapter Twelve
For the better part of three days, Brin Ohmsford and Rone Leah rode north with Allanon toward the Keep of Paranor. The path chosen by the Druid was long and circuitous, a slow hard journey through country made rugged by steep slides, narrow passes, and choking forest wilderness. But at the same time the path was free of the presence of Gnomes, Mord Wraiths, and other evils that might beset the unwary traveler, and it was for this reason that Allanon had made his choice. Whatever else must be endured on their journey north, he was determined that in the making of that journey he would take no further chances with the life of the Valegirl.
So he did not take them through the Hall of Kings as he had once done with Shea Ohmsford, a match that would have forced him to leave their horses and proceed afoot through the underground caverns that interred the kings of old, where traps could be triggered with every step forward and monsters guarded against all who trespassed. Nor did he take them across the Rabb to the Jannisson Pass, a ride through open country where they might be easily seen and which would take them much too close to the forests of the Eastland and the enemy they sought to avoid. Instead; he took them west along the Mermidon through the deep forests that blanketed the lower slopes. of the Dragon’s Teeth from the Valley of Shale to the mountain forests of Tyrsis. They rode west until at last they reached the Kennon Pass, a high mountain trail that led them far into the Dragon’s Teeth to emerge miles further north within the forests that bound the castle of Paranor.
It was at dawn of the third day that they came down from the Kennon into the valley beyond, a dawn gray and hard as iron, clouded over and cold with winter’s chill. They rode in a line, traversing the narrow pass through mountains bare and stark as they loomed against the morning sky, and it was as if all life had ceased to be. Wind swept the empty rock with fierce gusts, and they bent their heads against its force. Below, the forested valley that sheltered the castle of the Druids stretched dark and forbidding before them. A faint, swirling mist hid the distant pinnacle of the Keep from their eyes.
As they rode, Brin Ohmsford struggled with an unshakable sense of impending disaster. It was a premonition really, and it had been with her since they had left the Valley of Shale. It tracked her with insidious purpose, a shadow as murky and cold as the land she rode through, an elusive thing that lurked within the rocks and crags, flitting from one place of hiding to another, watching with sly and evil intent. Hunched down within her riding cloak, drawing what warmth she could from the bulky folds, she let her mount choose its path on the narrow trail and felt the weight of the presence as it followed after.