doit.
Yet the old man had not forbidden Coil to come. Nor had the
dreams. Neither had warned against it.
They had simply ignored him.
Why would that be?
The morning lengthened, and a wind came up. The brothers
rigged a sail and mast using the canvas tarp and one of the oars,
and soon they were speeding across the Rainbow Lake, the wa-
ters slapping and foaming about them. Several times they almost
went over, but they stayed alert to sudden shifts in the wind and
used their body weight to avoid capsizing. They set a southwest
course and by early afternoon had reached the mouth of the
Rappahalladran.
There they beached the skiff in a small cove, covered it with
rushes and boughs, left everything within but the blankets and
cooking gear, and began hiking upriver toward the Duln for-
ests. It soon became expedient to cut across country to save
time, and they left the river, moving up into the Highlands of
Lean. They hadn’t spoken about where they were going since
the previous evening, when the tacit understanding had been
that they would debate the matter later. They hadn’t, of course.
Neither had brought the subject up again, Coil because they
were moving in the direction he wanted to go anyway, and Par
because he had decided that Coil was right that some thinking
needed to be done before any trip back north into Callahom was
undertaken. Shady Vale was as good a place as any to complete
that thinking.
Oddly enough, though they hadn’t talked about the dreams or
the old man or any of the rest of it since early that morning,
they had begun separately to rethink their respective positions
and to move closer together-each inwardly conceding that
maybe the other made some sense after all.
By the time they began discussing matters again, they were
no longer arguing. It was midaflemoon, the summer day hot
and sticky now, the sun a blinding white sphere before them as
they walked, forcing them to shield their eyes protectively. The
country was a mass of rolling hills, a carpet of grasses and
wildflowers dotted with stands of broad-leafed trees and patches
of scrub and rock. The mists that blanketed the Highlands year-
round had retreated to the higher elevations in the face of the
sun’s brightness and clung to the tips of the ridgelines and bluffs
like scattered strips of linen.
‘ ‘I think that woodswoman was genuinely afraid of the old
man,” Par was saying as they climbed a long, gradual slope
into a stand of ash. “I don’t think she was pretending. No one’s
that good an actor.”
Coil nodded. “I think you’re right. I just said all that earlier
about the two of them being in league to make you think. I can’t
help wondering, though, if the old man is telling us everything
he knows. What I mostly remember about Allanon in the stories
is that he was decidedly circumspect in his dealings with the
Ohmsfords.”
“He never told them everything, that’s true.”
‘ ‘So maybe the old man is the same way.”
They crested the hill, moved into the shade of the ash trees,
dropped their rolled-up blankets wearily and stood looking out
at the Highlands. Both were sweating freely, their tunics damp
against their backs.
“We won’t make Shady Vale tonight,” Par said, settling to
the ground against one of the trees.
‘ ‘No, it doesn’t look like it.” Coil joined him, stretching until
his bones cracked.
“I was thinking.”
“Good for you.”
“I was thinking about where we might spend the night. It
would be nice to sleep in a bed for a change.”
Coil laughed. “You won’t get any argument out of me. Got
any idea where we can find a bed out here in the middle of
nowhere?”
Par turned slowly and looked at him. “Matter-of-fact, I do.
Morgan’s hunting lodge is just a few miles south. I bet we could
borrow it for the night.”
Coil frowned thoughtfully. “Yes, I bet we could.”
Morgan Leah was the eldest son in a family whose ancestors
had once been Kings of Leah. But the monarchy had been over-