might try to do to escape would be futile. But that was too
simplistic. And it made no sense. Why would Allanon send him
all this way to certain death? There had to be another interpre-
tation, another meaning. The one he favored was the one that
ended one life and began another, that established him once and
for all as a Druid.
Cogline was not so sure. Walker had guessed wrong on both
of the Grimpond’s previous visions. Why was he so convinced
that he was not guessing wrong here as well? The visions were
never what they seemed, devious and twisted bits of half-truth
concealed amid lies. He was taking a terrible gamble. The first
vision had cost him his arm, the second Quickening. Was the
third to cost him nothing? It seemed more reasonable to believe
that the vision was open to a number of interpretations, any one
of which could come to pass in the right set of circumstances,
including Walker’s death. Moreover, it bothered Cogline that
Walker had no clear idea of how use of the Black Elfstone was
to effect his transformation, how it was to subdue the Druid
watchdog, how Paranor itself was to be brought fully alive-or
how any of this was to work. It could not possibly be as easy
as Walker made it sound. Nothing involving use of the Elven
magic ever was. There would be pain involved, enormous effort,
and the very real possibility of failure.
So they had argued, back and forth, for longer than Walker
cared to admit, until now, hours later, they were too tired to
do anything but exchange a final round of perfunctory admon-
ishments. Walker’s mind was made up, and they both knew it.
He was going to test his theory, to seek out and confront the
thing that Allanon had let loose within Paranor and use the
magic of the Black Elfstone to resecure it. He was going to
discover the truth about the Black Elfstone and put an end to
the last of the Grimpond’s hateful visions.
If he could make himself rise from this table, take up the
talisman, and go forth.
Though he had sought to keep it hidden from Cogline with
hard looks and confident words, his terror bound him. So much
uncertainty, so many guesses. He forced his fingers to close
again over the Black Elfstone, to grip so hard he could feel pain.
“I will go with you,” Cogline offered. “And Rumor.”
“No.” .
“We might be able to help in some way.”
“No,” Walker repeated. He looked up, shaking his head
slowly. “Not that I wouldn’t like you to. But this isn’t something
you can help me with, either of you. It isn’t something anyone
can help me with.”
He could feel an ache where his missing arm should be, as
if it were somehow there and he simply couldn’t see it. He
shifted uneasily, trying to relieve muscles that had tightened and
cramped while he had stayed seated with the old man, argu-
ing. The movement gave him impetus, and he forced himself to
rise. Cogline stood with him. They faced each other in the half-
light, in the fading transparency of the Keep.
“Walker.” The old man spoke his name quietly. “The Druids
have made us both their creatures. We have been twisted and
turned in every direction, made to do things we did not wish to
do and become involved in matters we would rather have left
alone. I would not presume to argue with you now the merits
of their manipulation. We are both beyond the point where it
matters.”
He leaned forward. “But I would tell you, would ask you to
remember, that they choose their paladins wisely.” His smile
was worn and sad. “Luck to you.”
Walker came around the table, wrapped his good arm about
the old man, and hugged him tight. He held him momentarily,
then released him and stepped away.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
There was nothing more to be said. He took a deep breath,
walked over to scratch Rumor between his cocked ears, gazed
into the luminous eyes, then turned and disappeared out the
door.