“That should give her something to puzzle out,” the shape-shifter growled softly. “If we’re lucky, she’ll think we went ashore on the far bank and track us that way.”
They moved inland again, away from the river and back toward the mountains, angling over rocky ground and dry creek beds, avoiding soft earth that would leave footprints, keeping clear of scrub where broken twigs would signal their passing. The sun was fully up, and it warmed their chilled bodies and dried their clothes. Truls Rohk slouched ahead like a great beast, all size and bulk, enigmatic and unknowable within his robes and hood. Bek, trailing after, found himself wondering if the shape-shifter ever exposed himself to the light. In the time they’d been together since meeting in the Wolfsktaag, he hadn’t done so once. That didn’t trouble Bek as it had at first, but he thought about what it would be like always to be wrapped up in cloth and never to be comfortable with showing anyone what you looked like. He wondered anew about the connection between them, a link strong enough to make the shape-shifter willing to accept his role as Bek’s protector, to come on the journey when he could just as well have refused.
They walked all day, moving out of the lowlands and into the mountains, climbing the lower slopes to a forested promontory where Bek could see the whole of the land stretching back to the river from which they had come. Truls Rohk stopped there, took a quick moment to look around, then guided Bek into the trees.
“It’s all well and good to choose a place where you can see anyone following,” he pointed out. “But if you can see them, they can probably see you, as well. Best not to chance it. There’s better ways. Once it’s dark, I’ll try one of them.”
They found a dry grassy space within a grouping of cedar and spruce and sat themselves down to eat and drink. They had water for several days more, and in the mountains replacing what they consumed would not be hard. But their food was almost gone. Tomorrow, they would have to forage. And the day after that. And so on, which made Bek wonder anew how much farther in they were going.
“We might find help in these mountains,” his companion ventured after a while, almost as if reading the boy’s mind. Bek looked at him. “Shape-shifters live in these hills. I sense their presence. They don’t know me or of my history. They might think differently about halflings than those in the Wolfsktaag. They might be willing to give us help.”
The words were soft and contemplative, almost a prayer. It surprised Bek. “How will you make contact with them?”
The other shrugged. “I won’t have to. They’ll come to us, if we continue on. We’re in their country now. They’ll know what I am and come to find out what I want.” He shook his head. “The trouble is, as a rule, shape-shifters won’t interfere in the lives of others, even their own kind, unless they have a reason to do so. We have to give them one if we want their help.”
Bek thought about it a moment. “Can I ask you something?”
The shadowed cowl shifted slightly to face him, the opening dark and empty-looking. “What would you ask of me, Bek Ohms-ford, that you haven’t asked already?”
It was said almost in challenge. Bek adjusted the Sword of Shannara where it lay at his side on the grass, then pushed back his unruly mop of dark hair. “You said shape-shifters don’t interfere in the lives of others without a reason. If that’s so, why did you choose to become involved in mine?”
There was a long silence as the other studied him from out of the blackness of the cowl. Bek shifted uncomfortably. “I know you said you felt there was a link between us, through our magic-“
“You and I, we’re alike, boy,” Truls Rohk interrupted, ignoring the rest of what Bek was trying to say. “I see myself in you as a boy, struggling to come to terms with who I was, with finding out I was different from others.”