Witches’ Brew by Terry Brooks

Ben glanced at Willow. There was recognition in her eyes and something he hadn’t seen for a long time. There was fear.

“This is an Ardsheal,” the River Master said to Ben. “It is an elemental. It does not need food or drink or sleep. It requires nothing to survive. It was created by the magic of the once-fairy for a single purpose: to protect you. Willow knows. An Ardsheal is a match for anything alive. Nothing is more dangerous.”

Ben nodded in response, not certain what to say. He was not expecting this gift. He was not certain he wanted it. He glanced at the Ardsheal. It made no response. It seemed comatose.

“This creature will protect me?” he repeated.

“To the death,” the River Master said.

“An Ardsheal is very dangerous, Father,” Willow observed softly.

“Only to its enemies. Not to you. Not to the High Lord. It will serve as it is directed. In the absence of specific direction, it will do the one thing it has been set to do—it will protect you.” He looked at Willow curiously. “You are frightened of them still?”

She nodded, a strange look on her face. “Yes.”

Ben was thinking and missed the look. “Why have you chosen to give me this?” he asked finally. “I mean, the Ardsheal as opposed to another form of magic?”

“A good question.” The River Master turned to face him, the Ardsheal now become his shadow. “Rydall expects the Paladin to defend you. He must have reason to believe that at some point it will fail to do so adequately. Perhaps that will happen. The Ardsheal will be there if it does. You defend yourself against an enemy you neither know nor understand. You require a defense your enemy does not expect in return. The Ardsheal will be that defense. Take it. It will give you a measure of reassurance. It will give you time to look for Mistaya, time for all of us to look.”

He came forward a step, chiseled face bent close. “You are needed alive, High Lord Ben Holiday. If you die, there is a good chance your daughter will die with you. She serves only a single purpose: to draw you on. Once that purpose is served, what reason do you have for believing that she will be allowed to go on living? Consider carefully for a moment the nature of your enemy.”

Ben held the River Master’s gaze and did as he was bidden.

“He is right,” Willow said quietly, almost reluctantly.

Ben found himself in immediate agreement. It did not require a great deal of thought to recognize the value of a second protector. Perhaps it would give him an edge against Rydall’s creatures. If it saved him even once from having to call up the Paladin, it would have served a valuable purpose.

“I will accept your gift,” he said finally. “Thank you.”

The River Master nodded in satisfaction. “A good decision. Now come to dinner.”

* * *

The feast was a sumptuous, extravagant affair, very much in keeping with the nature of celebrations among the once-fairy. There were tables laden with food, pitchers of iced ale, garlands of flowers, children and adults dressed in bright clothing, and music and dancing everywhere. The River Master placed Ben and Willow at the head of his table, announced their presence to those assembled, welcomed them to the lake country, and toasted them on behalf of the once-fairy. All evening, while the celebration wore on, the people of Elderew came up to greet them personally, some bearing small gifts, some offering good wishes. It made Ben and Willow smile and helped them relax. For a few hours they forgot about Rydall of Marnhull and the misery he had caused them. They ate and drank and laughed with the once-fairy, caught up in the merriment and feasting, soothed by the cool breezes that blew out of the trees and by the warmth of the people surrounding them.

At midnight they retired to a small guest house provided for their lodging. They fell into bed, exhausted but smiling, lying together, holding each other against a return of the fears and doubts they had managed to put aside, falling asleep finally as exhaustion overtook them.