“You are awfully bold to speak those words to me,” he said finally.
Walker nodded. “I am only telling you this so that I may better understand your thinking on the matter. If Ahren Elessedil is to go with me, I would like to know why.”
The young King smiled. “My father never liked you. He respected you, but he never liked you. Were you this bold with him?”
“More so, I would guess.”
“But it never helped you, did it? He never agreed to support you in your bid for an independent Druid Council, convened anew at Paranor. I know. He told me.”
Walker waited.
“You risk all that now by challenging me. Part of your bargain with my father was his agreement to support a new Council of Druids on your successful return. You’ve worked twentyfive years for that end. Would you give it all up now?”
Still Walker waited, silent within his black robes.
Kylen Elessedil stared at him a moment more, then judging that nothing further was to be gained, said, “Ahren will accompany you as my personal representative. I cannot go, so he will go in my place. This is an Elven expedition, and its goals and concerns are peculiarly Elven in nature. Kael Elessedil’s disappearance must be explained. The Elfstones, if they can be found, must be returned. Any magic that exists must be claimed. These are Elven matters. Whatever happens, there must be an Elessedil in attendance. That is why my brother is going, and that is the end of the matter.”
It was a firm decision, one rendered and dismissed for good.
Walker could see that nothing was to be gained by arguing further. Whatever his convictions and concerns on the subject of Ahren Elessedil, Walker knew when it was time to back off. “So be it,” he acknowledged, and turned the discussion to other matters.
It was after midnight when Quentin shook Bek awake from the sleep that had claimed him an hour before. With no further word from Walker on the fate of the expedition and its members, they had retired from the palace gardens and been shown to their sleeping quarters by another of the silent Home Guard. Panax was snoring in another room. Ard Patrinell and Hunter Predd had disappeared.
“Bek, wake up!” Quentin urged, pulling on his shoulder.
Bek, still catching up on sleep lost during their journey west out of the Wolfsktaag, dragged himself out of his cottony slumber and opened his eyes. What s the matter?
“Hunter Predd just returned from the palace, where he’s spoken with Walker.” Quentin’s eyes were bright and his voice excited. “I heard him come in and went to see what he’d learned. He said to tell you goodbye for now. He’s been sent to the coast to recruit two more Wing Riders from the Hove. The decision’s been made. We leave in two days!”
“Two days,” Bek repeated, not yet fully awake.
“Yes, cousin, but you didn’t hear me clearly. I said we are going, you and I!” Quentin laughed gleefully. “Walker kept us both! He’s leaving behind three of the Home Guard and taking only a single Healer. I don’t know, maybe there was someone else left off the list, as well. But he kept us! That’s what matters! We’re going, Bek!”
Afterwards, Quentin fell into bed and off to sleep so quickly that Bek, now awake, was unable to measure the time lapse between the two. It seemed somehow inevitable that he should be going. Even when Hunter Predd had warned that there were too many chosen for the voyage and some would be left behind, it had never occurred to him that he would be one of them. It was logical that he would be, of course. He was the youngest and the least skilled. On the face of things, he was the most expendable. But something in the Druid’s insistence that he come, coupled with his encounters with the King of the Silver River and Tails Rohk, had convinced him that his selection was no afterthought and was tied inextricably to secrets of the past and to resolution of events yet to be determined. Bek was there because it was necessary for him to be so, and his life was about to change forever.