She gave the matter little thought as she made her way back to where she had hobbled and hooded her War Shrike. Although they were many and were positioned in large numbers throughout the Four Lands, she did not give up her spies easily. She was fiercely protective of them when they were as useful and reliable as this one had been.
But even the best spy could be found out and made to betray her, and she could not chance that happening here. Better to cut her losses than to take such an obvious risk. A life was a small price to pay for an edge on her greatest enemy.
But how was she to gain possession of that map? She thought momentarily of going after it herself. But to steal it from Allardon Elessedil, who would have it by now, in the heart of Elven country, was too dangerous a task for her to undertake without careful planning. She could try to intercept it on its inevitable way to her enemy, but how was she to determine the means by which it would be conveyed? Besides, she might already be too late, even for that.
No, she must bide her time. She must consider. She must find a more subtle way to get what she wanted.
She reached her mount, removed the stays and hood while keeping him in check with her magic, then mounted him behind his thick, feathered neck and above the place where his wings joined to his body, and together they lifted away. Time and cunning would reward her best, she thought contentedly, the wind rushing past her face, the smells of the forest giving way to the pure cold of the high night air that swept the clouds and circled the stars.
Time and cunning, and the power of the magic she was born to, would yield her a world.
THREE
Typical of Wing Riders in general, Hunter Predd was a pragmatic sort. Whatever unwelcome cards life dealt him he accepted as gracefully as he could and went on about his business. Journeys into the interior of the Four Lands that stretched beyond Elven territory fell into that category. He was uncomfortable with traveling anywhere inland, but especially uncomfortable with traveling to places he hadn’t been before.
Paranor was such a place.
He was surprised when Allardon Elessedil requested that he
carry the map there. Surprised, because it seemed more appropriate that a Land Elf make the journey on behalf of the King than a rider from the Wing Hove. He was a blunt, straightforward man, and he asked the King’s reason for making such a choice. The Elf King explained that the individual to whom Hunter was taking the map might have questions about it that only he could answer. Another Elf could accompany him on his journey if he wished, but another Elf could add nothing that Hunter did not already know, so what was the point?
What was needed was simple. The map must be carried to this certain individual to examine. Hunter should convey Allardon Elessedil’s respects and request that the map’s recipient come to Arborlon to discuss with the Elf King any usable translation of the writings and symbols.
There was a catch to all this, of course. Hunter Predd, who was no one’s fool, could see it coming. The Elf King saved it for last. The individual to whom the Wing Rider was to deliver the map was the Druid they called Walker, and the Rider’s destination was the Druid’s Keep at Paranor.
Walker. Even Hunter Predd, who seldom ventured off the coast of the Blue Divide, knew something of him. He was purported to be the last of the Druids. A dark figure in the history of the Four Lands, he was said to have lived for more than 150 years and to still be young. He had fought against the Shadowen in the time of Wren Elessedil. He had disappeared afterwards for decades, then resurfaced some thirty years ago. The rest of what the Wing Rider knew was even more shadowy. There was talk of Walker being a sorcerer possessed of great magic. There was talk that he had tried and failed to establish a coven. It was said he wandered the Four Lands still, gathering information and soliciting disciples. Everyone feared and mistrusted him.