Ilse Witch (20 page)

He pondered at length the implications of an encounter with her, of a confrontation he was almost certain he could not avoid. He mulled the consequences of cruel chance and unkind fate, of opportunities lost and games played, and waited patiently for nightfall.

When it was dark, he made his way through March Brume, his progress hidden by a mist come in off the water with the temperature’s drop and the rain’s passing. The forges and shipyards had emptied with the end of the workday, and the sound of the surf lapping against the shoreline was clearly audible in the ensuing silence. Vendors had closed their shops, and peddlers had stowed their wares. The taverns, eating establishments, and pleasure houses were packed full and boisterous, but the streets were mostly deserted.

Several times, he stopped in the shadows and waited—listening and watching. He did not pursue a direct route to his
destination, but instead worked his way through the village in an oblique fashion, making certain he was not followed. Even so, he was uneasy. He was inconspicuous enough to those who did not know to look for him, but easily recognizable by those who did. The Ilse Witch would have advised her spies of his appearance. He might have been wiser to disguise himself. But that was hindsight talking, and hindsight was of little use now.

At the end of Verta Road, cloaked in the mist and silence, he stood in the faint light of a streetlamp. The docks stretched away oceanside, the stark, spectral forms of partially formed ship hulls and support cradles outlined by the lights of the village. No one moved in the night’s gloom. No sounds broke the steady roll and hiss of the surf.

He had been in place for only a few minutes when a man materialized out of the dark and walked toward him. The man was tall and had flaming red hair worn long and tied back with a brightly colored scarf. A Rover, by the look of him, he walked with the slightly rolling gait of a sailor, and his cloak billowed open to reveal a set of flying leathers. The man smiled easily as he came up to Walker, as if they were old friends reuniting after a long separation.

“Are you called Walker?” he asked, coming to a stop before the Druid. His gold earrings glittered faintly in the streetlamp’s hazy light.

Walker nodded.

The other bowed slightly. “I’m Redden Alt Mer. Cicatrix tells me you have plans for a journey and need help with the preparations.”

Walker frowned. “You don’t have the look of a shipbuilder.”

Redden Alt Mer grinned broadly. “That’s probably because I’m not one. But I know where to find the man you need. I know how to put you aboard the fastest, most agile ship ever built, enlist the best crew who ever sailed the open sky, and then fly you to wherever you want to go—because
I’ll be your Captain.” He paused, cocking his head. “All for a price, of course.”

Walker studied him. The man was cocky and brash, but with a dangerous edge to him, as well. “How do I know you can manage all this, Redden Alt Mer? How do I know you’re the man I need?”

The Rover managed a look of complete astonishment. “Cicatrix sent me to you; if you trusted him enough to find me in the first place, that should be enough.”

“Cicatrix has been known to make mistakes.”

“Only if you cheated him of his fee, and he wants to teach you a lesson. You didn’t, did you?” The Rover sighed. “Very well. Here are my credentials, since I see that my name means nothing to you. I was born to ships and have sailed them since I was a boy. I have been a Captain for most of my life. I have sailed the entire Westland coast and explored most of the known islands off the Blue Divide. I have spent the last three years flying airships for the Federation. More to the point, I have never, ever, been knocked out of the skies.”

“And should I trust you enough to believe you speak the truth?” Walker moved a step closer. “Even though you place an assailant at my back with a drawn dagger, waiting to strike me down should you feel I do not?”

Alt Mer nodded slowly, the grin still in place. “Very good. I know something of Druids and their powers. You are the last of your kind and not well respected in the Four Lands, so I felt it wise to test you. A real Druid, I am told, would sense an assailant’s presence. A real Druid would know if he was threatened.” He shrugged. “I was simply being cautious. I meant you no offense.”

Walker’s dark face did not change expression. “I take none. This is to be a long and dangerous journey, should we agree that you are the right man to make it, Redden Alt Mer. I understand that you don’t want to attempt it in the company of a fool or a liar.” He paused. “Of course, neither do I.”

The Rover laughed softly. “Little Red!” he called.

A tall, auburn-tressed woman emerged from the misty dark behind Walker, eyes sweeping the shadows, suggesting she was even less trusting of him than her companion was. When she nodded to Alt Mer, and he back to her, agreeing between them that all was well, the resemblance was unmistakable.

“My sister, Rue Meridian,” Alt Mer said. “She’ll be my navigator when we sail. She’ll also watch my back, just as she did here.”

Rue Meridian extended her hand in greeting, and Walker took it. Her grip was strong and her eyes steady as they met his own. “Welcome to March Brume,” she said.

“Let’s move out of the light while we conduct our business,” Alt Mer suggested cheerfully.

He led his sister and Walker away from the streetlamp’s hazy light and into a darkened alleyway that ran between the buildings. On the road behind them, a small boy darted past, chasing after a metal hoop he rolled ahead of him with a stick.

“Now then, to business,” Redden Alt Mer said, rubbing his hands with enthusiasm. “Where is this journey to take us?”

Walker shook his head. “I can’t tell you that. Not until we’re safely away.”

The Rover seemed taken aback. “Can’t tell me? You want me to sign on for a voyage that has no destination? Do we go west, east, north, south, up or down—?”

“We go where I say.”

The big man grunted. “All right. Do we carry cargo?”

“No. We go to retrieve something.”

“How many passengers will we carry?

“Three dozen, give or take a few. No more than forty.”

The Rover frowned. “For a ship that size, I’ll need a crew of at least a dozen, including Little Red and myself.”

“I’ll allow you ten.”

Alt Mer flushed. “You place a good many constraints on us for someone who knows nothing of sailing!”

“How well do you intend to pay?” his sister interjected quickly.

“What would be your normal rate of pay for a long voyage?” Walker queried. Now they were down to the part that mattered most. Rue Meridian glanced at her brother. Alt Mer thought about it, then provided a figure. Walker nodded. “I’ll pay that much in advance and double it when we return.”

“Triple it,” Rue Meridian said at once.

Walker gave her a long, considering look. “What did Cicatrix tell you?”

“That you have rich friends and powerful enemies.”

“Which are good reasons to hire us,” her brother added.

“Especially if the latter are allied with someone whose magic is as powerful as your own.”

“Someone who can kill with little more than the sound of her voice.” Redden Alt Mer smiled anew. “Oh, yes. We know something of the creatures that live in the Wilderun. We know something of witches and warlocks.”

“Rumor has it,” his sister said softly, “that you were standing next to Allardon Elessedil when he was killed.”

“Rumor has it that he struck some sort of bargain with you, and that the Elves intend to honor it.” Alt Mer cocked one eyebrow quizzically.

Walker glanced out at the darkness of Verta Road, then back at the red-haired siblings again. “You seem to know a great deal.”

The Rover Captain shrugged. “It is our business to know, when we are being asked to put our lives at risk.”

“Which brings up an interesting point.” The Druid gave them both a considering look. “Why do you want to come with me on this voyage? Why choose to involve yourselves in this venture when there are other, less dangerous expeditions?”

Redden Alt Mer laughed. “A good question. A question that requires several answers. Let me see if I can provide them for you. First, there is the money. You offer more than we can make from anyone else. A great deal more. We’re
mercenaries, so we pay close attention when the purse offered is substantial. Second, there are the unfortunate circumstances surrounding our recent leave-taking from the Federation. It wasn’t altogether voluntary, and our former employers could decide to come looking for us to settle accounts. It might be best if we were somewhere else if that happens. A long voyage out of the Four Lands would provide them with sufficient time to lose interest.

“And third,” he said, smiling like a small boy with a piece of candy, “there is the challenge of making a voyage to a new land, of going somewhere no one else has gone before, of seeing something for the first time, of finding a new world.” He sighed and gestured expansively. “You shouldn’t underestimate what that means to us. It’s difficult to explain to someone who doesn’t fly or sail or explore like we do, like we’ve done all our lives. It is who we are and what we do, and sometimes that counts for more than anything.”

“Especially after our experience with the Federation, where we hired out just for the money,” his sister growled softly. “It’s time for something else, something more fulfilling, even if it is dangerous.”

“Don’t be so quick to demystify our thinking, Little Red!” her brother reproved her sharply. He cocked a finger at the Druid. “Enough about the reasons for our choices. Let me tell you something about yours, about why you chose to involve yourself with us. I don’t mean Little Red and myself, personally—though we’re the ones you want. I mean the Rovers. You are here, my friend, because you’re a Druid and we’re Rovers, and we have much in common. We are outsiders and always have been. We are outcasts of the lands, just barely tolerated and suspiciously viewed. We are comfortable with wanderlust and the wider view of the world, and we do not see things in terms of nationalities and governments. We are people who value friendship and loyalty, who prize strength of heart and mind as well as of body, but who value good judgment even more. You can be the bravest soul who
ever walked the earth and be worthless if you do not know when and where to choose your battles. How am I doing?”

“A little long-winded,” Walker offered.

The tall Rover laughed gleefully. “A sense of humor in a Druid! Who would have thought it possible? Well, you catch my drift, so I needn’t go on. We are made for each other—and for quests that most would never dream of even considering. You want us, Walker, because we will stand against anything. We will go right into death’s maw and give a yank of his tongue. We will do it because that is what life is for, if you are a Rover. Now tell me—am I wrong?”

Walker shook his head, as much in dismay as in agreement.

“He actually believes all this,” his sister declared ruefully. “I worry that it might prove contagious and that one day soon we will both become infected and then neither one of us will be able to think straight.”

“Now, now, Little Red. You’re supposed to stand up for me, not knock me down!” Alt Mer sighed and stared at Walker with his cheerful gaze. “There is also, of course, the inescapable fact that almost no one else of talent and nerve would give you the time of day in this business. Rovers are the only ones bold enough to accept your offer while still respecting your need for secrecy.” He grinned. “So, what’s it to be?”

Walker pulled his black robes more closely about him, and the mist that had filtered into their dark alleyway stirred in response. “Let’s sleep on it. Tomorrow we can have a talk with your shipbuilder and see if he backs you up. I’ll want to see his work and judge the man himself before I commit to anything.”

“Excellent!” the big Rover exclaimed joyfully. “A fair response!” He paused, a shadow of regret crossing his broad face. “Except for one thing. Sleep is out of the question. If you’re interested in our services, we’ll have to leave here tonight.”

“Leave?” Walker didn’t bother to hide his surprise.

“Tonight.”

“And go where?”

“Why, wherever I say,” the Rover answered, feeding Walker’s words back to him. He grinned at his sister. “I’m afraid he thinks me none too bright after all.” He turned back to Walker. “If the shipbuilder you wanted could be found in March Brume, you wouldn’t need us to locate him for you, would you? Nor would he be of much use if he conducted his business openly.”

Walker nodded. “I suppose not.”

“A short journey is required to provide you with the reassurances you seek—a journey that would best be begun under cover of darkness.”

Walker glanced skyward, as if assessing the weather. He couldn’t see moon or stars or fifty feet beyond the fog. “A journey we will make on foot, I hope?”

The big Rover grinned anew. His sister cocked her eyebrow reprovingly.

Walker sighed. “How soon do we leave?”

Redden Alt Mer draped one companionable arm over Rue Meridian’s shoulders. “We leave now.”

The boy with the iron hoop and stick remained hidden in the deep shadows of the dockyards across the way until the trio emerged from the alleyway and disappeared up the road. Even then, he did not move for a long time. He had been warned about the Druid and his powers, and he did not wish to challenge either. It was enough that he had found him; nothing more was required.

When he was confident he was alone again, he left his hiding place, hoop and stick abandoned, and raced toward the woods backing the village. He was small for his age and wild as an animal, lean and wiry and unkempt, not quite a child of the streets, but close. He had never known his father and had lost his mother when he was only two. His half-blind grandmother had raised him, but had lost all control before he was
six. He was bright and enterprising, however, and he had found ways to support them both in a world that otherwise would have swallowed them whole.

In less than an hour, sweaty and dirt-streaked from his run, he reached the abandoned farm just beyond the last residences of March Brume. His labored breathing was the only sound that broke the silence as he entered the ruined barn and moved to the storage bins in back. Within the more secure one on the far right were the cages. He released the lock, slipped inside the bin, lit a candle, and scribbled a carefully worded note.