Finally the River Master stepped back. There was a hint of confusion in the dark eyes. “I am sorry, but I cannot help you,” he said finally. “Magic has indeed been used to alter your appearance. But the magic is not of another’s making — it is of your own.”
Ben stared. “What?”
“You have made yourself who and what you are,” the other said. “You must be the one to change yourself back again.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense!” Ben exploded. “I haven’t done a thing to change what I look like — it was Meeks! I watched him do it! He stole the medallion of the Kings of Landover and gave me… this!”
He yanked the tarnished image of Meeks from his tunic and thrust it out angrily, almost as if to snap it from its chain. The River Master studied it a moment, touched it experimentally, then shook his head. “The image graven here is clouded in the same manner as your appearance. The magic at work is again of your own making.”
Ben’s jaw tightened, and he snatched the medallion back again. The River Master was talking in riddles. Whatever magic was at work was most assuredly not of Ben’s making. The River Master was either mistaken or misled — or he was deliberately trying to confuse Ben because he still didn’t trust him.
The River Master seemed to read his mind. He shrugged. “Believe me or don’t — the choice is yours. What I tell you is what I see.” He paused. “If this new medallion you wear was given to you by your enemy, perhaps you should discard it. Is there a reason you keep it?”
Ben sighed. “Meeks told me that the medallion would let him know what I was about. He warned that a certain magic protects against trying to remove it — a magic that could kill me.”
“But is that so?” the other asked. “Perhaps the wizard lied,”
Ben hesitated before replying. He had considered that possibility before. After all, why should he believe anything Meeks told him? The problem was that there was no way to test the truth of the matter without risking his life.
He lifted the tarnished medallion before him experimentally. “I have given it some thought…” he began.
Then out of the corner of his eye, he saw Edgewood Dirk stir. The cat’s head lifted, and the green eyes snapped open. It was almost as if the cat had roused himself from his near-comatose state for the express purpose of seeing what Ben would do. The strange eyes were fixed and staring. Ben hesitated, then slowly lowered the medallion back inside his tunic. “I think maybe I need to give it some more thought,” he finished.
Dirk’s eyes slipped closed again. The black face lowered. Rain beat down steadily in the momentary stillness, and a long peal of thunder rolled across the lake country from somewhere east. Ben experienced a strange mix of frustration and anger. What sort of game was the cat playing now?
The River Master moved back to the other bench and remained standing. “It appears I cannot help you after all,” he advised. “I think that you had better go — you and the cat.”
Ben saw his chance for any help slipping away. He rose quickly. “At least tell me where to find Willow,” he begged. “She said she was coming here to the lake country to learn the meaning of her dream. Surely she would come to you for help.”
The River Master studied him silently for a moment, considering in his own mind things hidden from Ben, then shook his head slowly. “No, High Lord or pretender — whichever you are — she would not.”
He came partway around the stump once more, then stopped. Wind blew sharply at his cloak, and he pulled it close to ward away the chill of the rain. “I am her father, but not the parent from whom she would seek help when it was needed. I was never that. I have many children by many wives. Some I am closer to than others. Willow has never been close to me. She is too much like her mother — a wild thing who seeks only to sever ties, not to bind them. Neither seeks companionship from me; neither ever did. The mother came to me only once, then was gone again, back into the forest…”