As he stood looking out over the treetops to the first faint silvery lightening of the eastern sky, Rumor padded up to join him. The big cat sat beside him, as if seeking his companionship. Walker smiled. Each was all the other could turn to for comfort, he mused.
Ever since the shade of Allanon had appeared. Ever since they had been locked in limbo in lost Paranor. Ever since he had brought the Druid’s Keep back into the world of men by becoming the newest member of the order. Ever since Cogline had died.
All the rest were gone, too, from that earlier time—the Ohmsfords, Morgan Leah, Wren Elessedil, Damson Rhee, all of them. Rumor and he alone survived. They were outcasts in more ways than one, solitary wanderers in a world that had changed considerably during the time of his sleep. But it wasn’t the changes in the Four Lands that worried him this morning. It was his sense that the events that would transpire because of his reading of the map and his search for the magic it detailed would require him to become what he had always worked so hard to avoid—a Druid in the old sense, a manipulator and schemer, a trader in information who would sacrifice who and what he must to get what he believed necessary. Allanon, of old. It was what he had always despised about the Druids. He knew he would despise it in himself when it surfaced.
And surface it would, perhaps changing him forever.
The sun crested the horizon in a splash of brilliant gold. The day would be clear and bright and warm. Walker felt the first rays of sunlight on his face. Such a small thing, but so welcome. His world had shrunk to almost nothing in the past few years. Now it was about to expand in ways he had barely imagined possible.
“Well,” he said softly, as if to put the matter to rest.
He knew what he must do. He must go to Arborlon and speak with Allardon Elessedil. He must convince the Elven King they could work together in an effort to discover the secret of the map. He must persuade him to mount an expedition to go in search of the magic of which the map spoke, with Walker in command. He must find a way to make the Elven King his ally without letting him see that it was the Druid’s idea.
He must reveal just enough of what he knew and not too much.
He must be cautious.
He blinked away his weariness. He was Walker, the last of the Druids, the last hope for the higher ideals his order had espoused so strongly when it had been formed. If the Four Lands were to be united in peace, the magic must be controlled by a Druid Council answerable to no single government or people, but to all. Only he could achieve that. Only he knew the way.
He bent to Rumor and placed his hand gently on the broad head. “You must stay here, old friend,” he whispered. “You must keep watch for me until I return.”
He rose and stretched. Hunter Predd slept in a darkened room and would not wake for a while yet. Time enough for Walker to catch an hour’s sleep before they departed. It would have to be enough.
With the moor cat trailing after him, fading and reappearing like a mirage in the new light, he abandoned his watch and descended the stairs into the Keep.
FOUR
His worn black flight leathers creaking softly, Redden Alt Mer strode through the Federation war camp on his way to the airfield, and heads turned. For some it was the mane of red hair streaming down past his shoulders like fiery threads that drew attention. For some it was the way he carried himself, fluid, relaxed, and selfassured, a big man who exuded strength and quickness.
For most, it was the legend. Seventyeight confirmed kills in 192 missions, all flown in the same airship, all completed without serious mishap.
It was good luck to fly with Redden Alt Mer, the old boots swore. In a place and time where an airman’s life expectancy was rated at about six months, Alt Mer had survived for three years with barely a scratch. He had the right ship, sure enough. But it took more than that to stay alive over the front, It took skill, courage, experience, and a whole basketful of that most precious of commodities, luck. The Captain had all of them. He was steeped in them. He’d lived almost his whole life in the air, a cabin boy at seven, a First Officer by fifteen, a Captain by twenty. When the winds of fortune shifted, the old boots said, Redden Alt Mer knew best how to ride them.