He was signing everything he said, and now Garth made a
quick response. The old man laughed. “Will I choose to make
the journey? Yes, by golly, I think I will. I have gone about a
shades’s business for some weeks now. I believe I am entitled
to know what the culmination of that business might be.” He
paused, thoughtful. “Besides, I am not altogether sure I have
been given a choice . . .” He trailed off.
Wren glanced eastward to where the sun was a pale white ball
of fire resting atop the horizon, screened by clouds and haze, its
warmth still distant. Gulls swooped across the mirrored waters
of the Myrian, fishing. The stillness of the early morning let her
thoughts whisper undisturbed within her.
“What did my cousin. . . ?” she began, then caught herself.
The word didn’t sound right when she spoke it. It distanced her
from him in a way she didn’t care for. “What did Par say that
he was going to do?” she finished.
“He said he was going to think the matter over,” the old man
replied. “He and his brother. They were together when I found
them.”
“And my uncle?”
The other shrugged. “The same.”
But there was something in his eyes that said otherwise. Wren
shook her head. ‘ ‘You are playing with me again. What did they
say?”
The old man’s eyes narrowed. “Rover girl, you try my pa-
tience. I haven’t the energy to sit about and repeat entire con-
versations just so you can use that as an excuse for making your
decision in this matter. Haven’t you a mind of your own? If they
go, they will do so for their own reasons and not for any you
might provide. Shouldn’t you do likewise?”
Wren Ohmsford was a rock. “What did they say?” she re-
peated once again, measuring each word carefully before she
spoke it.
“What they chose!” the other snapped, his fingers flicking
his responses angrily now at Garth, though his eyes never left
Wren’s. “Am I a parrot to repeat the phrases of others for your
amusement?”
He glared at her a moment, then threw up his hands. “Very
well! Here is the whole of it, then! Young Par, his brother with
him, has been chased from Vaifleet by the Federation for mak-
ing use of the magic to tell stories of their family history and
the Druids. He thought to go home when I last saw him, to think
about the dreams a bit. He will have discovered by now that he
cannot do so, that his home is in Federation hands and his par-
ents-your own of sorts, once upon a time-are prisoners!”
Wren started in surprise, but the old man ignored her.
“Walker Boh is another matter. He thinks himself severed from
the Ohmsfoid family. He lives alone and prefers it that way. He
wants nothing to do with his family and the world at large and
Druids in particular. He thinks that only he knows the proper
uses of magic, that the rest of us who possess some small skill
are incapable of reason! He forgets who taught him what!
He …”
“You,” Wren interjected.
“… charges about on some self-proclaimed mission of. . .”
He stopped short. “What? What did you say?”
“You,” she repeated, her eyes locking on his. “You were his
teacher once, weren’t you?”
There was a moment of silence as the sharp old eyes studied
her appraisingly. “Yes, girl. I was. Are you satisfied now? Is
that the revelation you sought? Or do you require something
more?”
He had forgotten to sign what he was saying, but Garth
seemed to have read his lips in any case. He caught Wren’s
attention, nodding in approval. Always try to learn something
of your adversary that he doesn’t want you to know, he had
taught her. It gives you an edge.
“So he isn’t going then, is he?” she pressed. “Walker, I
mean.”
“Ha!” the old man exclaimed in satisfaction. “Just when I
conclude what a smart girl you are, you prove me wrong!” He
cocked an eyebrow on his seamed face. “Walker Boh says he