«I would not lie,” Jair insisted, flushing.
«Not knowingly, perhaps,” the Elder mused. «Yet all lies are not intended. Sometimes what we believe to be truth is but a falsehood which deceives us. Perhaps that is what has happened here. Perhaps…»
«Perhaps if we waste enough time talking about it, it will be too late to do anything to help Brin!» Jair lost his temper completely. «I have not been deceived in anything! What I spoke of happened!»
The voices murmured in dissatisfaction, but immediately Browork signaled for quiet. «Show to us this pouch of Silver Dust that we might gain some measure of belief in what you say,” he ordered.
The Valeman stared at him helplessly. «It will not aid you. The dust appears as common sand.»
«Sand?» One of the Council members shook his head in disgust. «We are wasting our time, Browork.»
«Let us at least see the crystal, then,” Browork sighed.
«Or prove to us in some other way that what you say is true,” another demanded.
Jair felt his chance of convincing the Dwarves of anything slipping rapidly away. Few, if any, of the Council believed what he was telling them. They had seen nothing of Allanon or Brin; none of them had ever heard of anyone speaking with the King of the Silver River; for all he knew, they didn’t even believe that such a being existed. Now he was telling them he had given away Elfstones for magics they could not even see.
«We waste time, Browork,” the first Elder muttered once more.
«Let the Valeman be questioned by others while we get on with our business,” another said.
Again the voices rose, and this time they drowned out Browork’s pleas for silence. Almost to a man, the Dwarves of the Council and those gathered with them called for the matter to be disposed of without further delay.
«I could have told you this would happen,” Slanter whispered suddenly from behind him.
Jair went crimson with anger. He had come too far and endured too much to be shoved aside now. Give us proof, they were telling him. Make us believe.
Well, he knew how to make them believe!
Stepping forward suddenly, he lifted his hands high, then pointed into the shadows of the aisle leading back from where he stood. So dramatic was the gesture that the voices went abruptly still, and all heads turned to look. There was nothing there, nothing but darkness…
Then Jair sang, the wishsong quick and strident, and a tall, black figure wrapped in cloak and cowl emerged from out of the nothingness of the air.
The figure was Allanon.
There was a sharp gasp from those assembled. Swords and long knives slipped from their sheaths, and men bounded from their seats to defend against this shade that had emerged from the dark. Within the cowl, a dark lean face lifted to the light, eyes fixing on the men of the Council. Then Jair’s song faded and the Druid was gone.
Jair turned once more to Browork. The Dwarfs eyes were wide. «Now do you believe me?» the Valeman asked quietly. «You said you knew him; you said you fought with him at Arborlon. Was that the Druid?»
Slowly Browork nodded. «That was Allanon.»
«Then you know that I have seen him,” Jair said.
All assembled turned back now to stare at the Valeman, uneasy and shaken by what had happened. Behind him, Jair heard Slanter chuckle, a low nervous laugh. He caught a glimpse of Garet Jax from the corner of his eye. The Weapons Master had a curious, almost surprised look on his face.
«I have told you the truth,” Jair said to Browork. «I must go into the deep Anar and find Heaven’s Well. Allanon will be there with my sister. Now tell me — will you help me or not?»
Browork glanced at the other Elders. «What say you?»
«I believe what he says,” one old man ventured quietly.
«But it could yet be a trick!» another said. «It could be the work of the Mord Wraiths!»
Jair glanced quickly about. A few heads were nodding in agreement. In the smoky light of the oil lamps, suspicion and fear clouded many eyes.
«The risk is too great, I think,” yet another Elder said.
Browork rose. «We are pledged to give aid to any who seek the destruction of the Wraiths,” he said, blue eyes quick and hard. «This Valeman has told us he is allied with others of like mind and purpose. I believe him. I believe we should do what we can to aid him in his quest. I call for a vote, Elders. Give me your hands in support if you agree.»
Browork’s hand lifted high. Half a dozen more from the Council lifted with it. But the dissenters were not to be silenced so easily.
«This is madness!» one shouted. «Who will go with him? Are we to send men from the village, Browork? Who is to go on this quest to which you have so unwisely given your blessing? I call for volunteers if this is to be done!»
A scattering of voices muttered in support. Browork nodded. «So be it.» He looked about the chamber silently, his eyes shifting from one face to the next, searching, waiting for someone to accept the challenge.
«I will go.»
Jair looked around slowly. Garet Jax had come forward a — single step, gray eyes expressionless as he faced the Council.
«The King of the Silver River promised the Valeman that I would be his protector,” he said softly. «Very well. The promise shall be kept.»
Browork nodded, then looked about the room once more. «Who else among you will go?» he called out.
Elb Foraker pushed away from the wall against which he was leaning and walked over to stand with his friend. Again Browork looked out among those gathered. A moment later there was a stirring from among the men of Callahorn. A giant Borderman rose to his feet, black hair and beard close–cropped about his long, strangely gentle face.
«I’ll go,” he rumbled and came forward to stand with the others. Jair took a step back in spite of himself. The Borderman was almost as big as Allanon.
«Helt,” Browork greeted him. «The men of Callahorn need not make this quest their own.»
The big man shrugged. «We fight the same enemy, Elder. The quest appeals to me, and I would go.»
Then suddenly Edain Elessedil came to his feet. «I would go as well, Elder.»
Browork frowned. «You are a Prince of the Elves, young Edain. You are here with your Elven Hunters to repay a debt your father feels he owes from the time the Dwarves stood with him at Arborlon. Well and good. But you carry the price of the debt too far. Your father would not approve of this. Reconsider.»
The Elven Prince smiled. «There is nothing to reconsider, Browork. The debt owed in this matter is not to the Dwarves but to the Valeman and his father. Twenty years ago, Wil Ohmsford went with an Elven Chosen in search of a talisman that would destroy the Demons who had broken free of the Forbidding. He risked his life for my father and for my people. Now I have a chance to do the same for Wil Ohmsford — to go with his son, to see to it that he finds the thing he quests for. I am as able as any man here and I would go.»
Still Browork frowned. Garet Jax glanced at Foraker. The Dwarf merely shrugged. The Weapons Master looked over at the Elven Prince for a moment as if measuring the depth of his commitment or perhaps simply his chance of surviving, then slowly nodded.
«Very well,” Browork acquiesced. «five, then,”
«Six,” Garet Jax said quietly. «An even half–dozen for luck.»
Browork looked puzzled. «Who is the sixth?»
Garet Jax turned slowly about and pointed to Slanter. «The Gnome.»
«What!» Slanter’s jaw dropped. «You can’t choose me!»
«I have already done so,” the other replied. «You are the only one here who has been where we want to go. You know the way, Gnome, and you are going to show it to us.»
«I’ll show you nothing!» Slanter was livid, his face contorted with rage. «This boy… this devil… he put you up to this! Well, you have no power over me! I’ll throw you all to the wolves if you try to make me go!»