They destroyed most of her face and much of her back pun-
ishing her for killing the favorite dog of one of the members
of the provisional government quartered in Culhaven. She
killed the dog for food. We talked through the walls and came
to know each other. One night, less than two weeks after I
was taken, when it became apparent that the Federation had
no further interest in me and I was to be killed, Teel managed
to lure the jailor on watch into her cell. She killed him, stole
his keys, freed me, and we escaped. We have been together
ever since.”
He paused, his eyes as hard as flint. “Highlander, I think
much of you, and you must make your own decision in this
matter. But Teel and I share everything.”
There was a long silence. Morgan glanced briefly at Par and
Coll. Par had been watching Teel closely during Steff’s narra-
tion. She never moved. There was no expression on her face,
nothing mirrored in her eyes. She might have been made of
stone.
“I think we must rely on Steff’s judgment in this matter,”
Par said quietly, looking to Coil for approval. Coil nodded word-
lessly.
Morgan stretched his legs beneath the table, reached for his
ale mug and took a long drink. He was clearly making up his
own mind. “Very’well,” he said finally. “But nothing I say
must leave this room.”
“You haven’t said anything as yet worth taking out,” Steff
declared pointedly and waited.
Morgan smiled, then placed the ale mug carefully back on
the table. “Steff, we need you to help us find someone, a man
we think is living somewhere in the deep Anar. His name is
Walker Boh.”
Steff blinked. “Walker Boh,” he repeated quietly, and the
way he spoke the name indicated he recognized it.
“My friends, Par and Coil, are his nephews.”
Steff looked at the Valemen as if he were seeing them for the
first time. “Well, now. Tell me the rest of it.”
Quickly, Morgan related the story of the journey that had
brought them to Culhaven, beginning with the Ohmsford broth-
ers’ flight from Varfleet and ending with their battle with the
Shadowen at the edge of the Anar. He told of the old man and
his warnings, of the dreams that had come to Par that summoned
him to the Hadeshom, and of his own discovery of the dormant
magic of the Sword of Lean. Steff listened to it all without com-
ment. He sat unmoving, his ale forgotten, his face an expres-
sionless mask.
When Morgan was finished, Steff grunted and shook his head.
“Druids and magic and creatures of the night. Highlander, you
constantly surprise me.” He rose, walked around the table, and
stood looking at Teel momentarily, his rough face creased in
thought. Then he said, “I know of Walker Boh.” He shook his
head.
“And?” Morgan pressed.
He wheeled back slowly. “And the man scares me.” He
looked at Par and Coll. ‘ ‘Your uncle, is he? And how long since
you’ve seen him-ten years? Well, listen close to me, then.
The Walker Boh I know may not be the uncle you remember.
This Walker Boh is more whispered rumor than truth, and very
real all the same-someone that even the things that live out in
the darker parts of the land and prey on travelers, wayfarers,
strays, and such are said to avoid.”
He sat down again, took up the ale mug and drank. Mor-
gan Leah and the Ohmsfords looked at one another in silence.
At last. Par said, “I think we are decided on the matter.
Whoever or whatever Walker Boh is now, we share a common
bond beyond our kinship-our dreams of Allanon. I have to
know what my uncle intends to do. Will you help us find
him?”
Steff smiled faintly, unexpectedly. “Direct. I like that.”
He looked at Morgan. “I assume he speaks for his brother.
Does he speak for you as well?” Morgan nodded. “I see.”
He studied them for long moments, lost in thought. “Then I
will help,” he said finally. He paused, judging their reaction.
“I will take you to Walker Boh-if he can be found. But I