by Terry Brooks
They waited for Bunion to return, cautious enough to decide to take the kobold with them for added protection. Leaving instructions with a chosen few as to what should be done in their absence, canceling all remaining appointments into the next week, and declaring the King to be on holiday, Ben and Willow departed from a side door on the east, took the lake skimmer across to the far shore, and met Bunion, who was already in place with Ben’s bay gelding, Jurisdiction, and Willow’s white-faced sorrel mare, Crane. With Bunion afoot and leading the way, they mounted their horses and trotted off into the night.
They journeyed until it was almost dawn. By then they were well away from Sterling Silver and closing on the lake country. Some miles short of the Irrylyn they turned into a heavy grove of ash and hickory, dismounted, tethered their horses, rolled into light blankets, and fell asleep. While the seemingly tireless Bunion maintained watch, they rested until midmorning of the following day. When they awoke, Willow unpacked the cheese, bread, fruit, and ale she had brought for them, and they consumed it in a sunny space at the base of a gnarled old shagbark. Bunion appeared momentarily to snatch a few bites, then set out again, anxious to let the people of the lake country know they were coming. Once they were within the lake country, they all agreed, Rydall would have a hard time reaching them.
When Ben and Willow had finished eating, they rode out again to the south. Bunion would find them along the way. The morning was sultry and still, and the sun’s heat beat down on the forestland like a blacksmith’s hammer. No breeze came to cool them in their travels, and when they reached the Irrylyn, Willow pulled Crane into the shelter of a cove along the lake shore, dismounted, tied her horse to a tree, stripped off her clothing, and walked into the water. Ben followed. They swam in the lake for a time, floating on their backs, looking up at the tree limbs and the sky, not saying anything. Ben was reminded anew of how impetuous Willow was. He remembered the first time he had met her, here in the waters of this lake just after sunset, waiting for him without knowing who he would be. You are for me, she had told him. It was foretold at the time of my conception. I knew you would come.
She swam over to him now, embraced him, kissed him, and said, “I love you.” Then she swam away again.
They emerged from the lake cool and refreshed, dressed anew, remounted, and started out again. They rode until after midday, when they were closing on the old growth that marked the boundary of Elderew and the country of the once-fairy. Bunion was waiting where the trail began to melt away into weeds. The River Master was expecting them, he reported. Guides would meet and escort them into the city a little farther on.
They left the trail where it ended and began to snake their way through monstrous fir and spruce, shagbark hickory and white oak, red elm and ash. The trees towered overhead, shutting out the sky, closing off the light. It was dark and chilly in spots, some of which never saw the sun. It was still, as if nothing lived in these woods. But already Ben could feel the eyes watching.
When the ground turned soft and the air began to smell of swamp and bog, the guides they had been promised appeared, creatures with green hair trailing off their heads and limbs like tree silk, lean, wiry figures that blended with the forest and could ease through any opening, no matter how narrow and obstructed. Their guides took them on a lengthy circuitous path through the great trees and across uncertain ground. To either side faces appeared out of newly formed mist, eyes bright and curious, there one moment and gone the next. Swamp closed about to either side, and water creatures lifted from the mire and out of the grasses to watch them pass.
Time ebbed. Elderew lay deep within the old growth, warded by elements of nature and magic, and no one passed within unless invited. The once-fairy were a secretive people, suspicious of the world without, cautious of the creatures who inhabited it. Ben had gone a long way toward removing that suspicion and fear, and the people of the lake country now traveled forth into other parts of Landover and on occasion brought outlanders back. But old habits and deep-rooted doubts died hard, and it would be some time yet before the barriers came down completely.
Ben could have found his way to Elderew using Willow or Bunion, but it would have been rude to ignore tradition and hospitality. The River Master’s guides were a courtesy extended to those who were welcome. Ben forced himself to be patient. Soon the swamp areas were behind them, and they were climbing back toward solid ground. The trees were larger here, older and more established, hardwoods that had been alive for two hundred years and more. The air turned fresh and warm with the smell of sun and wildflowers. A scattering of people appeared. A few offered shy greetings. Children were among them, darting boldly between the horses, laughing and teasing. The trail reappeared, starting up again out of nowhere, well worn and broad where the trees opened up for it. Ahead, the city of Elderew came into view, a marvel of engineering and ingenuity that never failed to impress Ben.
The city was situated in a stand of massive old hardwoods that were even larger than the redwoods of California. The boughs of these trees were interlocked to form pathways above the earth, and the city rose in levels from the ground to the middle branches of the old growth, cradled like a series of toys in a child’s arms. Homes and shops lined roads and tree lanes, an intricate webwork of pathways. Sunlight spilled through the canopy of limbs in long streamers that dappled the shadows and lit the natural gloom brightly. People scurried everywhere, the once-fairy an industrious folk who understood the importance of hard work. Much of that work was with small magics, their stock-in-trade. Much of it dealt with healing and sustaining their forest world. It was intriguing to discover how many aspects of their life they could affect with their efforts. Ben Holiday, as Landover’s King, was still just beginning to learn.
Willow gave Ben a reassuring smile, her promise that her home city was still a friend to them. They rode on in silence, Bunion afoot before them with their guides, watching Elderew’s complexity unfold as the trees spread wider and the city levels grew more visible. Ahead, the amphitheater that served as the site for the many celebrations of the once-fairy opened out to them in greeting. Formed of trees interlaced in a vast horseshoe, with seats on branches that started high up and ran downward to the arena floor, the amphitheater was as impressive as the city it served.
The River Master was waiting for them at its entry, standing amid his retainers, dressed in simple, nondescript clothing. If you did not know who he was, you would not have been able to pick him out by what he wore. You might have done so by his bearing, however. He was a tall, slender, impressive-looking man, a water sprite with silvery skin so grainy that it resembled fish scales, with thick black hair that, like Willow’s, ran down the underside of his forearms and the back of his calves, and with features so stark and sharp that they might have been hewn from stone. His face was an expressionless mask, but his eyes were bright and quick, and Ben had learned to read the River Master’s thoughts from what he found there.
The River Master came up to them as they slowed and dismounted, moving at once to Willow, embracing her stiffly, whispering to her that he was glad she had come. Willow embraced him back, equally uncomfortable with the greeting. Their relationship remained an uneasy one, distant and mired in mistrust. Willow’s mother was a wood nymph so wild that she could not survive anywhere but in the forest, and Willow’s father had never gotten over her refusal to live with him. Willow had been a constant reminder to him while she was growing of the woman he had loved and had not been able to hold for more than a single night. He had resented his daughter for what she represented, abandoning her emotionally from childhood on, leaving her to grow up alone. Even after she was grown, he found her a source of disappointment. He had not approved of her marriage to Ben, a human and an outlander despite being named Landover’s newest King. Willow, he thought, had betrayed her people. It had taken time for him to accept her decision. He was less cool and aloof toward her these days than he had once been, but the old memories died hard for both.
Y
et the River Master genuinely cared for Mistaya, the differences between father and daughter somehow bypassed in his bonding with his granddaughter. If there was anything he could do to help the little girl, it was certain he would spare no effort. It was for this reason that Ben and Willow had agreed to come to Elderew.
The River Master turned from his daughter and gave Ben a formal bow. It was as much as Ben could expect. He nodded back.
“There will be a dinner in your honor tonight,” the River Master advised, surprising them both. “While preparations are being made, come speak with me a bit.”
He led them from the arena, where tables and benches were being set up and colored cloths laid out, to the park that fronted Elderew and ran back to the city’s closest buildings. Children raced past them as they walked, heedless of the adults who called after them in admonishment. It reminded Ben of other times and places, of Annie and the children they might have had, of Chicago parks in the summertime, of dreams long since abandoned. But the memory lingered only a moment. He thought seldom of his old world these days. He had little reason to do so.
They passed through the play area to a walkway that followed along a stream, weaving and dodging through shaggy conifers as if looking to stay out from underfoot. The children and their guardians faded behind, reduced to distant shouts and laughter. The three walked alone now, though it was certain that the River Master’s guards kept pace somewhere in the trees, silent and unseen. When they reached a deserted glade where a pair of benches faced each other across a pond rimmed with flower beds, the River Master beckoned them to take seats. Ben and Willow sat on one bench, and the River Master automatically moved to the other.
“We will not be disturbed here,” he advised, his strange eyes giving a cursory glance about at the sunfilled clearing. He looked back at them. When he spoke, his tone was accusatory. “You should have told me you were sending Mistaya here. I would have sent an escort to protect her.”
“There wasn’t time,” Ben responded calmly, cutting short the retort he was tempted to make. “I thought Questor Thews and a dozen King’s Guards sufficient protection. I hoped Rydall would be concentrating on me.”
“Mistaya is his tool now to use against you,” the River Master declared bitterly.
“Have you learned anything?” Willow asked in an attempt to deflect his anger.
The River Master shook his head. “This is what I know. I was able to discover the place where the attack took place. There was a significant amount of magic used in Mistaya’s taking. Traces of it still lingered several days after. I could not determine their source. There were no signs of attackers or defenders. There were no footprints leading away from the battle site.”
Ben did not miss the other’s choice of words. Battle site. He forced his thoughts away. “No footprints. How could that be?”
The River Master’s chiseled features tilted into shadow. “Either everyone was destroyed or travel by foot wasn’t necessary for the survivors.” He paused. “As I said, there was significant magic employed in the attack.”
“Have you discovered anything since?”
The River Master shook his head. “I have never heard of Rydall or Marnhull. They do not exist within Landover’s boundaries. Marnhull must lie somewhere without. I have tried to trace Rydall and his black-cloaked companion without success. I have watched for them; I have laid traps. They are nowhere to be found.”
“Nor Mistaya and her escort?”
“No.”
Ben nodded. He looked at Willow and read the disappointment in her eyes. She had been hoping that some small bit of good news might be waiting for them.
“So we are no closer to finding Mistaya than before,” he finished, trying not to sound bitter. “Why did you summon us, then?”
The River Master sat delicately poised on the edge of his bench, staring over at them with no expression visible on his face and no emotion revealed in his eyes. “I requested your presence,” he corrected, his voice flat and calm. “I wish to offer my help in returning Mistaya to her home. It is true that I have not been able to do much as yet, but perhaps I can make up for that now.”
He paused, waiting for their response. Ben nodded in acquiescence. “Any help you might give would be greatly appreciated,” he said.
It seemed to reassure the River Master. There was a barely perceptible relaxing of his shoulders. “I know we have not been friends,” he said quietly. “I know our relationship has not been a warm one.” He looked from Ben to Willow, including them both in this assessment. “This does not mean I wish you any harm. I do not. You know as well how strongly I feel about Mistaya. Nothing must be allowed to happen to her.”
“No,” Ben agreed.
“Can you find her?” Willow asked suddenly.
The River Master hesitated. “Perhaps.” He gave her an appraising look. “I would not discount too quickly the possibility that you will find her yourself. Nor would I discount the possibility that she will find a way to get free on her own. She is a very resourceful child. And very powerful. She has great magic, Willow. Did you know that?”
Willow and Ben exchanged another glance, one of surprise. They shook their heads in unison.
“I sensed it the moment we met,” the River Master advised. “Her power is latent but definitely there. She is a once-fairy of extraordinary potential, and once she discovers her talent, the possibilities are limitless.”
Ben stared, trying to decide if this was good. He had never considered seriously that Mistaya might have the use of magic. It seemed ridiculous to him now that he hadn’t. Her heritage allowed for it, and her odd growth pattern certainly suggested it. But she was his daughter, and the fact remained that he had never wanted to believe that she might be anything different from what he expected.
“You did not tell her?” Willow asked quietly.
The River Master shook his head. “It was not my place. I understand that much about being a grandfather.”
“Will Rydall sense her potential for magic?” Ben asked suddenly.
The River Master considered. “If he is a creature of magic himself, as he appears to be—if he is one of us, for instance, a once-fairy, a being who wields magic—then I would have to say that he will recognize her power.”
“But she doesn’t know, so having the use of magic won’t help her,” Ben reasoned. “Unless Rydall reveals the truth to her. Or unless she discovers it on her own.”
The River Master shrugged. “I only tell you of her magic so you will understand that she is not entirely helpless in this situation. She is a resourceful and independent child in any case. She may find a way to save herself.”
“But you will continue your own search for her,” Willow pressed. “You will not abandon your efforts to help her.”
The River Master nodded. “I will not stop looking for her until she is found. I will leave nothing to chance, Willow. You know me better than that.” He sounded rebuked. “But the immediate help I can offer is not to her but to you. Or, more correctly,” he amended, looking at Ben, “to you.”
A small yellow-and-black speckled bird flew down out of the trees and landed at the far edge of the pond. It regarded them solemnly, bright-eyed and watchful, then stopped quickly to drink. It bobbed up and down a few times, then took wing and was gone. The River Master watched after it thoughtfully.
“The danger is to you, High Lord,” he advised, returning his gaze to Ben. “Rydall, whoever he is and wherever he comes from, is looking to destroy you. He uses Mistaya to this end, and whoever stoops to using a child to devise the death of an enemy is dangerous indeed. I heard about the attacks of yesterday. The risk to you is great, and it will not lessen until Mistaya is recovered and Rydall defeated. But this may take time. It will not come easily. Meanwhile, we must find a way to keep you alive.”
Ben was forced to smile. “I’m doing the best I can, I promise you.”
The River Master nodded. “I am quite certain. The problem is, you lack sufficient r
esources. You have no magic to ward against Rydall’s, save that of the Paladin. Rydall knows this; I expect he is counting on it. Something is strange about this challenge he has set you. Seven champions sent to destroy the Paladin, and if one succeeds, you agree to abdicate. Why? Why play this game? Why not simply order you from the throne now or kill your daughter?”
“I have wondered about that as well,” Ben acknowledged.
“Then you will appreciate it when I tell you that there is more to this game than is being revealed. Rydall is keeping something important from you. He is hiding a surprise.” The River Master looked away. “So perhaps you should have a surprise for him.”
He stood up abruptly. “I have one I think you might appreciate. Come with me.”
Ben and Willow rose, and the three of them walked from the glade farther into the forest. They went only a short distance, weaving down a small pathway that led back into a thickly grown mass of spruce and fir. The ground was carpeted with needles, and the air was heavy with their scent. It was exceptionally quiet within those trees, sounds cushioned by the forest floor and the heavy green boughs that swept downward about them.
The sun was sinking to the west into the trees, a red orb in a purple haze. Twilight filled the woodlands with long shadows and cool places that whispered of night’s coming.
They reached a second clearing. A figure stood there waiting, cloaked and hooded. It did not move as they came into view. It stayed perfectly still.