Yet somewhere at the back of his mind, almost buried in the wall of determination that buttressed everything to which he committed himself, a tiny fragment of doubt tugged in warning.
“Well, it appears that there is nothing I can say on the matter that will change your minds,” Abernathy declared to the room at large, drawing Ben’s attention back again. The dog peered at him over the rims of his glasses, pushed the spectacles farther up on his nose, and assumed the posture of a rejected prophet. “So be it. When will you depart. High Lord?”
There was an awkward silence. Ben cleared his throat. “The quicker I go, the quicker I can return.”
Willow rose and stood before him. Her arms went about his waist, drawing him close. They held each other for a moment as the others watched. Ben could feel something stir in the sylph’s slender body — a kind of shiver that whispered of unspoken fears.
“I imagine it would be best if we all got about our business,” Questor Thews said quietly.
No one replied. The silence was enough. Dawn was already stretching into midmoming and there was a shared need to make use of the day ahead.
“Come back safe to me, Ben Holiday,” Willow spoke into his shoulder.
Abernathy heard the admonishment and glanced away. “Come back safe to us all,” he said.
Ben did not waste any time in setting out.
He retired directly to his bedroom after departing the dining hall and packed the duffel he had brought with him from the old world with the few possessions he felt he would need. He changed back into the navy blue sweat suit and Nikes he had worn over. The clothes and shoes felt odd after Landover’s apparel, but comfortable and reassuringly familiar. He was going back at last, he thought as he changed. He was finally going to do it.
He went from the bed chamber down a set of back stairs and through a number of private halls to a small courtyard just off the front gates where the others waited. The morning sun shone from a cloudless blue sky against the white stone of the castle, flashing in blinding streaks where it caught the silver trim. Warmth eased from the earth of the island on which Sterling Silver sat and gave the day a lazy feel. Ben breathed the freshness of the day and felt the castle stir in response beneath his feet.
He locked hand to wrist firmly with the kobolds Bunion and Parsnip, returned Abernathy’s stiff, formal bow, embraced Questor, and kissed Willow with a passion usually reserved for deepest night. There was not much talking. All the talking had already been done. Abernathy again warned against Meeks, and this time Questor cautioned him as well.
“Be careful, High Lord,” the wizard advised, one hand gripping Ben’s shoulder as if to hold him back. “Though shut in a foreign world, my half-brother is not entirely shorn of his magic. He is still a dangerous enemy. Watch out for him.”
Ben promised he would. He walked with them through the gates, past the sentries stationed on day watch and down to the shore’s edge. His horse waited on the far bank, a bay gelding he had named Jurisdiction. It was his private joke that wherever he traveled on horseback, he always had Jurisdiction. No one other than himself understood what he was talking about.
A squad of mounted soldiers waited there as well. Abernathy had insisted that within the kingdom, at least, Landover’s King would not travel without adequate protection.
“Ben.” Willow came to him one final time, her hands pressing something into his. “Take this with you.”
He glanced down covertly. She had given him a smooth, milky-colored stone intricately marked with runes.
Willow closed his hands back about it quickly. “Keep the stone hidden. It is a talisman often carried by my people. If danger threatens, the stone will heat and turn crimson. That way you will be warned.”
She paused, and one hand reached up to stroke his cheek softly. “Remember that I love you. I will always love you.”
He smiled reassuringly, but the words bothered him as they always did. He didn’t want her to love him — not so completely, not so unconditionally. He was frightened of what that meant. Annie had loved him like that — his wife, Annie, now dead, apart of his old life, his old world, killed in that car accident that sometimes seemed as if it had happened a thousand years ago, but more often seemed to have happened yesterday. He wasn’t willing to risk embracing that kind of love and losing it a second time. He couldn’t. The prospect terrified him.