Then the slope crested, the trees parted at the path’s end, and there he was. Elderew stretched away before him, the city of the lake country fairies. The great, openair amphitheater where the people held their festivals stood in the foreground, gray and empty in the rainfall. Massive trees framed its walls, the lower branches connected by sawn logs to form seats, the whole ringing an arena of grasses and wild flowers. Branches interlaced overhead to create a leafy roof, the rain water dripping from its eaves in a steady trickle. Beyond, trees twice the size of California’s giant redwoods rose over the amphitheater against the clouded horizon and cradled in their branches the city proper — a broad cluster of cottages and shops interconnected by an intricate network of tree lanes and stairways that stretched from forest earth to treetop and down again.
Ben stopped, stared, and blinked away the rain that ran down his forehead into his eyes. He realized suddenly that he was gaping like the country boy come to the city for the first time. It reminded him of how much a stranger he really was in this land — even after having lived in it for over a year, even though he was its King. It underlined in bold strokes the precariousness of his situation. He had lost even the small recognition he had enjoyed. He was an outsider stripped of friends and means, almost completely reliant on the charity of others.
The River Master appeared from a small stand of trees to one side, flanked by half-a-dozen guards. Tall and lean, his strange scaled skin gleaming with a silver cast where it shone beneath his forest green clothing, the lord of the lake country fairies stalked forward determinedly. His hard, chiseled face did not evidence much in the way of charity. His demeanor, normally calm and unhurried, seemed brusque. He said something to the guide in a dialect Ben did not recognize, but there was no mistaking the tone. The guide stepped back quickly, his small frame rigid, his eyes turned away.
The River Master faced Ben. The silver diadem about his forehead flashed dully with rain water as he tilted his head up. Coarse, black hair rippled along the back of his neck and forearms. There were to be no preliminaries. “Who are you?” he demanded. “What are you doing here?”
Ben had anticipated some resistance, but nothing like this. He had expected that the River Master wouldn’t recognize him, and, sure enough, he hadn’t. But that didn’t explain why the ruler of the once-fairy people was being so deliberately unfriendly. The River Master was surrounded by guards, and they were armed. He had left the members of his family behind where always before he had gathered them about him to receive visitors. He had not waited for Ben to reach the amphitheater, the traditional greeting place for visitors. And his voice reflected undisguised anger and suspicion. Something was dreadfully wrong.
Ben took a deep breath. “River Master, it’s me, Ben Holiday,” he announced and waited. There wasn’t even a hint of recognition in the other’s dark eyes. He forged ahead. “I know I don’t look like myself, but that’s because something has been done to me. A magic has been used to change my appearance. The wizard who served the old King’s son, the one who abandoned Landover — he calls himself Meeks in my world — has returned and stolen both my identity and the throne. It’s a long story. What’s important is that I need your help. I have to find Willow.”
The River Master stared, obviously surprised. “You are Ben Holiday?”
Ben nodded quickly. “I am — even though I don’t appear to be. I’ll try to explain. I traveled back to…”
“No!” The River Master cut him short with an irritated chop of one hand. “There is only one explanation I wish to hear from you — whoever you are. I wish to know why you brought the cat.”
Now it was Ben’s turn to stare. Rain water tricked steadily down his face, and he bunked it from his eyes. “The cat?”
“Yes, the cat! The prism cat, the fairy creature who sits next to you — why did you bring it here?” The River Master was a water sprite and there were gills directly below his chin at either side of his throat. He was so agitated now that the gills fluttered uncontrollably.