astonishment the old man began speaking to the Rover in his
own language, signing, telling him what he had already told
Wren, and adding that he meant no harm. Garth hesitated, ob-
viously surprised, then sat back watchfully.
“How did you know to do that?” Wren demanded. She had
never seen anyone outside the Rover camp master Garth’s lan-
guage.
“Oh, I know a thing or two about communication,” the old
man replied gruffly, a self-satisfied smile appearing. His skin
was weather-browned and seamed, his white hair and beard
wispy, his lank frame scarecrow-thin. A gathering of dusty gray
robes hung loosely about him. “For instance,” he said, “I know
that messages may be sent by writing on paper, by word of
mouth, by use of hands . . .”He paused. “Even by dreams.”
Wren caught her breath sharply. “Who are you?”
‘ ‘Well, now,” the old man said, “that seems to be everyone’s
favorite question. My name doesn’t matter. What matters is that
I have been sent to tell you that you can no longer afford to
ignore your dreams. Those dreams. Rover girl, come from Al-
lanon.”
As he spoke he signed to Garth, repeating his words with the
language of his fingers, as dexterous at the skill as if he had
known it all his life. Wren was aware of the big Rover looking
at her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the old man. “How do
you know of the dreams?” she asked him softly.
He told her who he was then, that he was Cogline, a former
Druid pressed back into service because the real Druids were
gone from the Four Lands and there was no other who could go
to the members of the Ohmsford family and warn them that the
dreams were real. He told her that Allanon’s ghost had sent him
to convince her of the purpose of the dreams, to persuade her
that they spoke the truth, that the Four Lands were in gravest
danger, that the magic was almost lost, that only the Ohmsfords
could restore it, and that they must come to him on the first
night of the new moon to discover what must be done. He fin-
ished by saying that he had gone first to Par Ohmsford, then to
Walker Boh-recipients of the dreams as well-and now finally
he had come to her.
When he was done, she sat thinking for a moment before
speaking. “The dreams have troubled me for some time now,”
she confessed. “I thought them dreams like any other and noth-
ing more. The Ohmsford magic has never been a part of my
life . . .”
“And you question whether or not you are an Ohmsford at
all,” the old man interrupted. “You are not certain, are you? If
you are not an Ohmsford, then the magic has no part in your
life-which might be just as well as far as you’re concerned,
mightn’t it?”
Wren stared at him. “How do you know all this, Cogline?”
She didn’t question that he was who he claimed; she accepted it
because she believed that it didn’t really matter one way or the
other. “How do you know so much about me?” She leaned
forward, suddenly anxious. “Do you know the truth of who I
really am?”
The old man shrugged. “It is not nearly so important to know
who you are as who you might be,” he answered enigmatically.
“If you wish to leam something of that, then do as the dreams
have asked. Come to the Hadeshom and speak to Allanon.”
She eased away slowly, glancing momentarily at Garth before
looking back. “You’re playing with me,” she told the old man.
“Perhaps.”
“Why?”
“Oh, quite simple, really. If you are intrigued enough by
what I say, you might agree to do as I ask and come with me. I
chose to chastise and berate the other members of your family.
I thought I might try a new approach with you. Time grows
short, and I am just an old man. The new moon is only six days
distant now. Even on horseback, it will require at least four days
to reach the Hadeshom-five, if I am to make the journey.”