When he reached the bottom of the stairs and moved out into the courtyard the Wing Rider and Rumor were already waiting. He drew back his hood and left his head and face bare as he crossed to give greeting, There was nothing to be gained by trying to intimidate this man Clearly the Wing Rider was a tough, seasoned veteran, and he had come because he had chosen to do so and not because he had been commanded. He owed no allegiance to the Elessedils, Wing Riders were notoriously independent, almost as much so as Rovers, and if this one was here, so far from his home and people, there was good reason for it. Walker was curious to learn what that reason was.
“I am Walker,” he said, offering his hand to the Wing Rider.
The other accepted it with a nod. His gray eyes took in Walker’s dark face, black heard and long hair, strong features, high forehead, and piercing eyes. He did not seem to notice the Druid’s missing arm. “Hunter Predd.”
“You’ve come a long way, Wing Rider,” Walker observed. “Not many come here without a reason.”
The other grunted. “Not any, I should think.” He glanced around, and his eyes settled on Rumor. “Is he yours?”
“As much as a moor cat can belong to anyone.” Walker’s gaze shifted. “His name is Rumor The joke is, wherever I go, I am preceded by Rumor. It fits well with the way things have turned out for me. But I expect you already know that.”
The Wing Rider nodded noncommittally. “Does he always show up like that—in bits and pieces, sort of coming and going?”
“Mostly. You called up that you had a message from Allardon Elessedil. I gather the message is for me?”
“I t is.” Hunter Predd wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do you have any ale you can spare?”
Walker smiled. Blunt and to the point, a Wing Rider to the core.
“Come inside.”
He led the way across the courtyard to a doorway into the main keep. In a room he used for storing foodstuffs and drink and for taking his solitary meals, he produced two glasses and a pitcher and set them on a small wooden table to one side. Gesturing the Wing Rider to one seat, he took the other and filled their glasses. They drank deeply, silently. Rumor had disappeared. He seldom came inside these days unless called.
Hunter Predd put down his glass and leaned back. “Four days ago, I was patrolling the Blue Divide above the island of Mesca Rho, and I found a man in the water.”
He went on to tell his story—of finding the castaway Elf, of determining his condition, of discovering the bracelet he wore and the map he carried, of conveying him to the Healer in Bracken Clell, and of continuing on to Arborlon and Allardon Elessedil. The bracelet, he explained, had belonged to the King’s brother, Kael, who had disappeared on an expedition in search of a magic revealed in a dream to Queen Aine’s seer thirty years earlier.
“I know of the expedition,” Walker advised quietly, and bid him continue.
There wasn’t much more to tell. Having determined that the bracelet was Kael’s, Allardon Elessedil had examined the map and been unable to decipher it. That it traced his brother’s route to the soughtafter magic was apparent. But there was little else he could determine. He had asked Hunter to convey it here, to Walker, whom he believed might be able to help.
Walker almost laughed aloud. It was typical of the Elf King that he would seek help from the Druid as if his own refusal to supply it in turn counted for nothing. But he kept silent. Instead, he accepted the folded piece of weathered skin when it was offered and set it on the table between them, unopened.
“Have you provided sufficiently for your mount?” he inquired, his gaze shifting from the map to the other’s face. “Do you need to go outside again tonight?”
“No,” Hunter Predd said. “Obsidian will be fine for now.”
“Why don’t you have something to eat, a hot bath afterwards, and then some sleep. You’ve done much traveling over the past few days, and you must be tired. I will study the map, and we will talk again in the morning.”