Walker took a step back, startled. He saw himself in the im-
ages, anger and defiance in his face, his feet positioned on clouds
above the cringing forms of Par and Wren and the others of the
little company who had gathered at the Hadeshom to meet with
the shade of Allanon. Thunder rolled out of a darkness that
welled away into the skies overhead, and lightning flared in
jagged streaks. Walker’s voice was a hiss amid the rumble and
the flash, the words his own, spoken as if out of his memory. I
would sooner cut off my hand than see the Druids come again!
And then he lilted his arm to reveal that his hand, indeed, was
gone.
The vision faded, then sharpened anew. He saw himself again,
this time on a high, empty ridgeline that looked out across for-
ever. The whole world spread away below him, the nations and
their Races, the creatures of land and water, the lives of every-
one and everything that were. Wind whipped at his black robes
and whistled ferociously in his ears. There was a girl with him.
She was woman and child both, a magical being, a creature of
impossible beauty. She stunned him with the intensity of her
gaze, depthless black eyes from which he could not turn away.
Her long, silver hair flowed from her head in a shimmering
mass. She reached for him, needing his balance to keep her
footing on the treacherous rock-and he thrust her violently
away. She fell, tumbling into the abyss below, soundless as she
shrank from sight, silver hair fading into a ribbon of brightness
and then into nothing at all.
Again, the vision faded, then returned. He saw himself a third
time, now in a castle fortress that was empty of life and gray
with disuse. Death stalked him relentlessly, creeping through
walls and along corridors, cold fingers probing for signs of his
life. He felt the need to run from it, knew that he must if he
were to survive-and yet he couldn’t. He stood immobile, let-
ting Death approach him, reach for him, close about him. As
his life ended, the cold filled him, and he saw that a dark, robed
shape stood behind him, holding him fast, preventing him from
fleeing. The shape bore the face of Allanon.
The visions disappeared, the colors faded, and the grayness
returned, shifting sluggishly in the lake’s phosphorescent glow.
The Grimpond brought its robed arms downward slowly, and
the lake hissed and spit with dissatisfaction. Walker Boh flinched
from the spray that cascaded down upon him.
“What say you. Dark Uncle?” the Grimpond whispered. It
bore Walker’s pale face once more.
“That you play games still,” Walker said quietly. “That you
show lies and half-truths designed to taunt me. That you have
shown me nothing of the Black Elfstone.”
“Have I not?” The Grimpond shimmered darkly. “Is it all
a game, do you think? Lies and half-truths only?” The laugh
was mirthless. “You must think what you will. Walker Boh. But
I see a future that is hidden from you, and it would be foolish
to believe I would show you none of it. Remember, Walker. I
am you, the telling of who and what you are-just as I am for
all who come to speak with me.”
Walker shook his head. “No, Grimpond, you can never be
me. You can never be anyone but who you are-a shade without
identity, without being, exiled to this patch of water for all eter-
nity. Nothing you do, no game you play, can ever change that.”
The Grimpond sent spray hissing skyward, anger in its voice.
“Then go from me, Dark Uncle! Take with you what you came
for and go!” The visage of Walker disappeared and was replaced
by a death’s head. “You think my fate has nothing to do with
you? Beware! There is more of me in you than you would care
to know!”
Robes flared wide, throwing shards of dull light into the mist.
“Hear me. Walker! Hear me! You wish to know of the Black
Elfstone? Then listen! Darkness hides it, a black that light can
never penetrate, where eyes turn a man to stone and voices turn