Witches’ Brew by Terry Brooks

“We will not be disturbed here,” he advised, his strange eyes giving a cursory glance about at the sun-filled clearing. He looked back at them. When he spoke, his tone was accusatory. “You should have told me you were sending Mistaya here. I would have sent an escort to protect her.”

“There wasn’t time,” Ben responded calmly, cutting short the retort he was tempted to make. “I thought Questor Thews and a dozen King’s Guards sufficient protection. I hoped Rydall would be concentrating on me.”

“Mistaya is his tool now to use against you,” the River Master declared bitterly.

“Have you learned anything?” Willow asked in an attempt to deflect his anger.

The River Master shook his head. “This is what I know. I was able to discover the place where the attack took place. There was a significant amount of magic used in Mistaya’s taking. Traces of it still lingered several days after. I could not determine their source. There were no signs of attackers or defenders. There were no footprints leading away from the battle site.”

Ben did not miss the other’s choice of words. Battle site. He forced his thoughts away. “No footprints. How could that be?”

The River Master’s chiseled features tilted into shadow. “Either everyone was destroyed or travel by foot wasn’t necessary for the survivors.” He paused. “As I said, there was significant magic employed in the attack.”

“Have you discovered anything since?”

The River Master shook his head. “I have never heard of Rydall or Marnhull. They do not exist within Landover’s boundaries. Marnhull must lie somewhere without. I have tried to trace Rydall and his black-cloaked companion without success. I have watched for them; I have laid traps. They are nowhere to be found.”

“Nor Mistaya and her escort?”

“No.”

Ben nodded. He looked at Willow and read the disappointment in her eyes. She had been hoping that some small bit of good news might be waiting for them.

“So we are no closer to finding Mistaya than before,” he finished, trying not to sound bitter. “Why did you summon us, then?”

The River Master sat delicately poised on the edge of his bench, staring over at them with no expression visible on his face and no emotion revealed in his eyes. “I requested your presence,” he corrected, his voice flat and calm. “I wish to offer my help in returning Mistaya to her home. It is true that I have not been able to do much as yet, but perhaps I can make up for that now.”

He paused, waiting for their response. Ben nodded in acquiescence. “Any help you might give would be greatly appreciated,” he said.

It seemed to reassure the River Master. There was a barely perceptible relaxing of his shoulders. “I know we have not been friends,” he said quietly. “I know our relationship has not been a warm one.” He looked from Ben to Willow, including them both in this assessment. “This does not mean I wish you any harm. I do not. You know as well how strongly I feel about Mistaya. Nothing must be allowed to happen to her.”

“No,” Ben agreed.

“Can you find her?” Willow asked suddenly.

The River Master hesitated. “Perhaps.” He gave her an appraising look. “I would not discount too quickly the possibility that you will find her yourself. Nor would I discount the possibility that she will find a way to get free on her own. She is a very resourceful child. And very powerful. She has great magic, Willow. Did you know that?”

Willow and Ben exchanged another glance, one of surprise. They shook their heads in unison.

“I sensed it the moment we met,” the River Master advised. “Her power is latent but definitely there. She is a once-fairy of extraordinary potential, and once she discovers her talent, the possibilities are limitless.”

Ben stared, trying to decide if this was good. He had never considered seriously that Mistaya might have the use of magic. It seemed ridiculous to him now that he hadn’t. Her heritage allowed for it, and her odd growth pattern certainly suggested it. But she was his daughter, and the fact remained that he had never wanted to believe that she might be anything different from what he expected.