pleaded with Morgan Leah-but she had been speaking to him
as well. Remember me-as if anyone who had known her could
ever forget.
Absently he turned down a corridor that led toward the
center of the Keep and the entrance to the black well that had
given birth to the magic that sealed away Paranor. His mind was
still on Quickening, and he recalled once again the vision the
Grimpond had shown him of her fate. Bitterness welled up
within him. The vision had been right, of course. The Grim-
pond’s visions were always right. First the loss of his arm, then
the loss of Quickening, then .
He stopped suddenly, startled into immobility, a statue star-
ing blankly into space at the center of the cavernous passage-
way. He had forgotten. There was a third vision. He took a steadying
breath, picturing it in his mind. He stood within an empty,
lifeless castle fortress, stalked by a death he could not escape,
pursued relentlessly .
He exhaled sharply. This castle? He closed his eyes, trying to
remember. Yes, it might have been Paranor.
He felt his pulse quicken. In the vision, he felt a need to
run, but could not. He stood frozen as Death approached. A
dark-robed figure stood behind him, holding him fast, prevent-
ing his escape.
Allanon.
He felt the silence grow oppressive. What had become of
this third vision? he wondered. When was it supposed to hap-
pen? Was it meant to happen here?
And suddenly he knew. The certainty of it shocked him,
but he did not doubt. The vision would come to pass, just as
the others had, and it would come to pass here. Paranor was
the castle, and the death that stalked him was the dark magic
called forth to seal the Keep. Allanon did indeed stand behind
him, holding him fast-not physically, but in ways stronger
still.
But there was more, some part of things that he had not yet
divined. It was not foreordained that he should die. That was
the obvious meaning of the Grimpond’s vision, what the Grim-
pond wanted Walker to think. The visions were always decep-
tive. The images were cleverly revealed, lending themselves to
more than one interpretation. Like pieces to a puzzle, you had
to play with them to discover how they fit.
Walker’s eyes prowled the dark shadows that lay all about,
hunting. What if he could find a way to turn the Grimpond’s
cleverness to his own use? What if this time he could decipher
the vindictive spirit’s foretelling in advance of its happening?
And suppose-he hardly dared let himself hope-deciphering
the vision could provide him with the key to understanding his
fate within the Druid’s Keep?
A fire began to build within him-a burning determination.
He did not have the answers he needed yet, but he had some-
thing just as good. He had a way to discover what they were.
He thought back to his entry into Paranor, to his meeting
with Cogline and Rumor. The missing pieces were there, some-
where. He retraced his reading of the Druid Histories, seeing
again the words on the pages, feeling anew the weight of the
books, the texture of the bindings. Something was there, some-
thing he had missed. He closed his eyes, picturing himself, fol-
lowing all that had happened, relating it to himself in his mind,
a sequence of events. He searched it, standing solitary in that
hall, wrapped in shadows and silence, feeling the edges of his
confusion begin to draw away, hearing sounds that were new
and welcome begin to whisper to him. He went down inside
himself, reaching for the darker places where the secrets hid
themselves. His magic rose to greet him. He could see anything
if he searched hard and long enough, he told himself. He
dropped away into the stillest, calmest part of himself, letting
everything fall away.
What had he overlooked?
Whosoever shall have the cause and the right shall wield it to its proper
end.
His eyes snapped open. His hand came up slowly along his
body, groping. His fingers found what they were seeking, care-
fully tucked within his clothing, and they closed tightly about