There had been a long, intense moment of silence. "No," she said at last. "No, we promised father we would never try to use the Elfstones..."

"He also made us promise not to use the Elven magic, remember? But we do-even you, now and then. And isn't that what Allanon wants you to do when you reach the Mord Wraiths'

keep? Isn't it? So what's the difference between using the wishsong and the Elfstones? Elven magic is Elven magic!"

Brin had stared at him silently, a distant, lost look in her dark eyes. Then she had turned again to the blankets. "It doesn't matter. I'm not taking the Elfstones. Here, help me tie these."

And that had been that, just like the subject of his going with them into the Eastland. No real explanation had been offered; she had simply made up her mind that she would not take the Elfstones, whether she could use them or not. He didn't understand it at all. He didn't understand her. If it had been him, he would have taken the Elfstones in a moment. He would have taken them and found a way to use them, because they were a powerful weapon against the dark magic.

But Brin...Brin couldn't even seem to see the inconsistency of her agreeing to use the magic of the wishsong and refusing to use the magic of the Stones.

He went through the remainder of the morning trying to make some sense of his sister's reasoning or lack thereof. The hours slipped quickly past. Rone returned with horses and supplies, packs were loaded, and a hasty lunch consumed in the cool shade of the backyard oaks.

Then all at once Allanon was standing there again, as black in midday as at darkest night, waiting with the patience of Lady Death, and suddenly there was no time left. Rone was shaking Jair's hand, clapping him roughly on the back, and extracting a firm promise that he would look out for his patents when they returned. Then Brin was there, arms coming tightly about him and holding him close.

"Good-bye, Jair," she whispered. "Remember-I love you."

"I love you, too," he managed ands hugged her back.

A moment later, they were mounted, and the horses turned down the dirt roadway. Arms lifted in farewell, waving as he waved back. Jair waited until they were out of sight before he brushed an unwanted tear from his eye.

That same afternoon, he moved down to the inn. He did so because of the possibility voiced by Allanon that the Wraiths or their Gnome allies might already be searching for the Druid in the lands west of the Silver River. If their enemies reached Shady Vale, the Ohmsford home would be the first place they would look. Besides, it was much more interesting at the inn-its rooms filled with travelers from all the lands, each with a different tale to tell, each with some different piece of news to share. Jair much preferred the excitement of tales told over a gla.s.s of ale in the tavern hall to the boredom of an empty house.

As he went to the inn with a few personal items in tow, the warmth of the afternoon sun on his face eased a bit the disappointment he still felt at being left behind. Admittedly, there wasgood reason for. his staying. Someone had to explain to his parents when they returned what had become of Brin. That would not be easy. He visualized momentarily his father's face upon hearing what had happened and shook his head ruefully. His father would not be happy. In fact, he would probably insist on going after Brin-maybe even with the Elfstones.

A sudden look of determination creased his face. If that happened, he was going as well.

He wouldn't be left behind a second time.

He kicked at the leaves fallen across the pathway before him, scattering them in a shower of color. His father wouldn't see it that way, of course. Nor his mother, for that matter. But he had two whole weeks to figure out how to persuade them that he should go.

He walked on, a bit more slowly now, letting the thought linger in his mind enticingly.

Then he brushed it away. What he was supposed to do was to tell them what had happened to Brin and Rone and then accompany them into Leah, where they were all to remain under the protection of Rone's father until the quest was finished. That was what he was supposed to do, so that was what he would do. Of course, Wil Ohmsford might not choose to go along with this plan. And Jair was first and foremost his father's son, so it was to be expected that he might have a few ideas of his own.

He grinned and quickened his step. He would have to work on that.

The day came and went. Jair Ohmsford ate dinner at the inn with the family that managed the business for his parents, offered to lend a hand the following morning with the day's work, and then drifted into the lounge to listen to the tales being told by the drummers and wayfarers pa.s.sing through the Vale. More than one made mention of the black walkers, the dark-robed Mord Wraiths that none had seen but all knew to be real, the evil ones that could burn the life from you with just a glance. Come from the earth's dark, the voices warned in rough whispers, heads nodding all around in agreement. Better that you never encountered such as they. Even Jair found himself feeling a bit uneasy at the prospect.

He stayed with the storytellers until after midnight, then went to his room. He slept soundly, woke at daybreak and spent the morning working about the inn. He no longer felt quite so bad about being left behind. After all, his own part in all of this was important, too. If the Mord Wraiths did indeed know of the magic Elfstones and came looking for the holder, then Wil Ohmsford was in as much danger as his daughter-possibly more so. It was up to Jair, then, to keep a sharp eye open, in order that no harm befell his father before he could be properly warned.

By midday Jair's work was finished and the innkeeper thanked him and told him to take some time for himself. So he walked out into the forests in back of the inn where no one else was about and experimented for several hours with the wishsong, using the magic in a variety of ways, pleased with the control he was able to exercise. He thought again about his father's continual admonition to forgo use of the Elven magic. His father just didn't understand. The magic was a part of him, and using it was as natural as using his arms and legs. He couldn't pretend it wasn't there any more than he could pretend they weren't! Both his parents kept saying the magic was dangerous. Brin said that on occasion too, though she said it with a whole lot less conviction, since she was guilty of using it as well. He was convinced they told him that simply because he was somewhat younger than Brin and they worried more about him. He hadn't seen anything to suggest that the magic was dangerous; until he did, he intended to keep using it.

On the way back to the inn, as the first shadows of early evening began to slip through the late afternoon sunshine, it occurred to him that perhaps he ought to check the house-just to be certain that nothing was disturbed. It was locked, of course, but it wouldn't hurt to check anyway.After all, the care of the house was a part of his responsibility.

He debated the matter as he walked, finally deciding to wait until after dinner to make the inspection. Eating seemed more imperative to him at the moment than hiking up to the house.

Using the magic always made him hungry.

He worked his way along the forest trails that ran back of the inn, breathing in the smells of the autumn day, thinking of trackers. Trackers fascinated him. Trackers were a special breed of men who could trace the movements of anything that lived simply by studying the land they pa.s.sed through. Most of them were more at home in the wilderness than they were in settled communities. Most preferred the company of their own kind. Jair had talked with a tracker once-years ago now, it seemed-an old fellow brought down to the inn with a broken leg by some travelers who had chanced on him. The old man had stayed at the inn almost a week, waiting for the leg to mend sufficiently that he might leave again. The tracker hadn't wanted to have anything to do with Jair at first, despite the boy's persistence-or anything to do with anyone else, for that matter-but then Jair had showed him something of the magic-just a touch. Intrigued, the old man had talked with him then, a little at first, then more. And what tales that old man had had to tell...

Jair swung out onto the roadway beside the inn, turning into the side entry, grinning broadly as he remembered what it had been like. It was then that he saw the Gnome.

For an instant he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him and he stopped where he was, his hand fastened to the inn door handle as he stared out across the roadway to the stable fence line where the gnarled yellow figure stood. Then the other's wizened face turned toward him, sharp eyes searching his own, and he knew at once he was not mistaken.

Hurriedly, he pushed the inn door open and stepped inside. Leaning back against the closed door, alone now in the hallway beyond, he tried to calm himself. A Gnome! What was a Gnome doing in Shady Vale? A traveler, perhaps? But few Gnomes traveled this way-few, in fact, beyond the familiar confines of the Eastland forests. He couldn't remember the last time there had been a Gnome in Shady Vale. But there was one here now. Maybe more than one.

He stepped quickly away from the door and went down the hall until he stood next to a window that opened out toward the roadway. Cautiously he peered around the sill, Elven face intense, eyes searching the innyard and the fence line beyond. The Gnome stood where Jair had first seen him, still looking toward the inn. The Valeman looked about. There appeared to be no others.

Again he leaned back against the wall. What was he to do now? Was it coincidence that brought the Gnome to Shady Vale at a time when Allanon had warned that the Mord Wraiths would be looking for them? Or was it not chance at all? Jair forced his breathing to slow. How could he find out? How could he make certain?

He took a deep breath. The first thing he must remember to do was to stay calm. One Gnome presented no serious threat. His nose picked up the scent of beef stew simmering, and he thought about how hungry he was. He hesitated a moment longer, then started toward the kitchen. The best thing to do was to think matters through over dinner. Eat a good meal and decide on a plan of action. He nodded to himself as he walked. He would try to put himself in Rone's boots. Rone would know what to do if he were here. Jair would have to try to do the same.

The beef stew was excellent and Jair was starved, yet he found it difficult to concentrate on food, knowing that the Gnome was standing just outside, watching. Halfway through the meal, he remembered suddenly the empty, unguarded house and the Elfstones hidden within. Ifthe Gnome was here at the bidding of the black walkers, then he might have come for the Elfstones as well as the Ohmsfords or Allanon. And there might be others, already searching...

He shoved his plate away, drained the remainder of his ale, and hurried from the kitchen back down the hallway to the window. Carefully, he peered out. The Gnome was gone.

He felt his heart quicken. Now what? He turned and raced back down the hall. He had to get back to the house. He had to make certain that the Elfstones were secure, then...He caught himself in midstride, slowing. He didn't know what he would do then. He would have to see. He quickened his step once more. The important thing now was to see whether or not there had been any attempt to enter his home.

He pa.s.sed the side door through which he had entered and went on toward the rear of the building. He would leave by a different way just in case the Gnome was indeed looking for him-or even if he wasn't, but had become suspicious at the Valeman's furtive interest. I shouldn't have stopped to look at him, he told himself angrily. I should have kept going, then doubled back. But it was too late now.

The hallway ended at a door at the very rear of the main building. Jair stopped, listening momentarily, chiding himself for being foolish, then eased the door open and stepped out.

Evening shadows cast by the forest trees lay dark and cool across the grounds, staining the inn walls and roof. Overhead, the sky was darkening. Jair looked about quickly, then started toward the trees. He would cut through the forest to his home, staying off the roadways until he was certain that...

"Talking a walk, boy?"

Jair froze. The Gnome stepped silently from the dark trees in front of him. Hard, rough features twisted with a wicked looking smile. The Gnome, had been waiting.

"Oh, I saw you, boy. I saw you quick enough. Knew you right away. Halfling features, Elf and Man-not too many like you." He stopped a half dozen paces away, gnarled hands resting on his hips, the smile fixed. Leather woodsman's garb covered the stocky form; his boots and wristbands were studded with iron, and knives and a short sword were belted at his waist.

"Young Ohmsford, aren't you? The boy, Jair?"

The word boy stung. "Stay away from me," Jair warned, afraid now, and trying desperately to keep the fear from his voice.

"Stay away from you?" The Gnome laughed sharply. "And what will you do if I don't, halfling? Throw me to the ground, perhaps? Take away my weapons? You are a brave one, aren't you Another laugh followed, low and guttural. For the first time, Jair realized that the Gnome was speaking to him in the language used by the Southlanders rather than the harsh Gnome tongue.

Gnomes seldom used any tongue but their own; their race was an insular people who wanted nothing to do with the other lands. This Gnome had been well outside the Eastland to be so fluent.

"Now, boy," the Gnome interrupted his thoughts. "Let's be sensible, you and me. I seek the Druid. Tell me where he is, here or elsewhere, and I'll be gone."

Jair hesitated. "Druid? I don't know any Druids. I don't know what you're..."

The Gnome shook his head and sighed. "Games, is it? Worse luck for you, boy. Guess we'll have to do this the hard way."

He started toward Jair, hands reaching. Instinctively, Jair twisted away. Then he used thewishsong. There was a moment's hesitation, a moment's uncertainty-for he had never used the magic against another human-and then he used it. He gave a low, hissing sound, and a ma.s.s of snakes appeared, coiled tightly about the Gnome's outstretched arms. The Gnome howled in dismay, whipping his arms about desperately in an effort to shake loose the snakes. Jair looked around, found a broken piece of tree limb the size of a bulky walking staff, seized it with both hands and brought it crashing down over the Gnome's head. The Gnome grunted and dropped to the earth in a heap, unmoving.

Jair released the tree limb, his hands shaking. Had he killed him? Cautiously he knelt next to the fallen Gnome and felt for his wrist. There was a pulse. The Gnome was not dead, just unconscious. Jair straightened. What was he to do now? The Gnome had been looking for Allanon, knowing that he had come to Shady Vale and to the Ohmsfords, knowing...knowing who knew what else! Too much, in any case, for Jair to remain in the Vale any longer, especially now that he had used the magic. He shook his head angrily. He shouldn't have used the magic; he should have kept it a secret. But it was too late for regrets now. He didn't think the Gnome was alone. There would be others, probably at the house. And that was where he had to go, because that was where the Elfstones were hidden.

He glanced about, his thoughts organizing swiftly. Several dozen feet away was a woodbin. Seizing the Gnome's feet, he dragged him to the bin, threw back the lid, shoved his captive inside, dropped the lid down again, and put the metal bar through the catch. He grinned in spite of himself. That bin was well constructed. The Gnome wouldn't get out of there for a while.

Then he hurried back into the inn. Despite the need for haste, he had to leave word with the innkeeper where he was going-otherwise the whole community would be combing the countryside looking for him. It was one thing for Brin and Rone to disappear; that had been easy enough to explain simply by saying they had gone for a visit to Leah and he had decided to stay in the Vale. It would be quite another matter entirely if he disappeared as well, since there was no one left to alibi for him. So feigning nonchalance and smiling disarmingly, he announced that he had changed his mind and was going over to the highlands after all early the next morning.

Tonight he would stay at the house and pack. When the innkeeper thought to ask what had persuaded him to change his mind so abruptly, the Valeman quickly explained that he had received a message from Brin. Before there could be any further questions, he was out the door.

Swiftly, he melted into the woods, racing through the darkness toward his home. He was sweating profusely, hot with excitement and antic.i.p.ation. He was not frightened-not yet, at least-probably because he hadn't stopped long enough to let himself think about what he was doing. Besides, he kept telling himself, he had taken care of that Gnome, hadn't he?

Tree branches slapped his face. He hurried on, not bothering to duck, eyes riveted on the darkness ahead. He knew this section of the forest well. Even in the growing darkness, he found his way with ease, moving on cat's feet, carefully listening to the sounds about him.

Then, fifty yards from his home, he melted silently into a small stand of pine, working his way forward until he could see the darkened structure through the needled branches. Dropping to his hands and knees, he peered through the night, searching. There was no sound, no movement, no sign of life. Everything seemed as it should. He paused to brush back a lock of hair which had fallen down across his face. It should be simple. All he had to do was slip into the house, retrieve the Elfstones and slip out again. If there really wasn't anyone watching, it should be easy...

Then something moved in the oaks at the rear of the home-just a momentary shadow,then nothing. Jair took a deep breath and waited. The minutes slipped past. Insects buzzed about him hungrily, but he ignored them. Then he saw the movement a second time, clearly now. It was a man. No, not a man, he corrected quickly-a Gnome.

He sat back. Well, Gnome or not, he had to go down there. And if there was one, there were probably more than one, waiting, watching-but without knowing when or if he would return. Sweat ran down his back, and his throat was dry. Time was slipping away from him. He had to get out of the Vale. But he couldn't leave the Elfstones.

There was nothing for it but to use the wishsong.

He took a moment to pitch his voice the way he wanted, feigning the buzzing of the mosquitoes that were all around him, still lingering on in the warmth of early autumn, not yet frozen away by winter's touch. Then he glided from the pines down through the thinning forest.

He had used this trick once or twice before, but never under conditions as demanding as these.

He moved quietly, letting his voice make him a part of the forest night, knowing that if he did it all properly he would be invisible to the eyes that kept watch for him. The house drew steadily closer as he worked his way ahead. He caught sight again of the Gnome that kept watch in the trees behind the darkened building. Then suddenly he saw another, off to his right by the high bushes fronting the house-then another, across the roadway in the hemlock. None looked his way.

He wanted to run, wanted to race as swiftly as the night wind to reach the dark of the home, but he kept his pace steady and his voice an even, faint buzz. Don't let them see me, he prayed. Don't let them look.

He crossed the lawn, slipping from tree to bush, eyes darting to find the Gnomes all about him. The rear door, he thought as he went-that would be the easiest door to enter, dark in the shadow of high, flowering bushes, their leaves still full...

A sudden call from somewhere beyond the house brought him to an abrupt, frightened halt, frozen in midstride. The Gnome at the rear of the Ohmsford house stepped clear of the oaks, moonlight glinting on his long knife. Again the call came, then sudden laughter. The blade lowered. It was from neighbors down the road, joking and talking in the warm autumn night, their dinner done. Sweat soaked Jair's tunic, and for the first time he was scared. A dozen yards away, the Gnome who had stepped from the oaks turned and disappeared back into them again.

Jair's voice trembled, then strengthened, keeping him hidden. Quickly he went on.

He paused at the door, letting the wishsong die momentarily, trying desperately to steady himself Fumbling through his pockets, he at last produced the house key, fitted it to the lock, and turned it guardedly. The door opened without a sound. In an instant, he was through.

He paused again in the darkness beyond. Something was wrong. He could sense it more than describe it-it was a feeling that ran cold to the bone. Something was wrong. The house...the house was not right; it was different...He stayed silent, waiting for his senses to reveal what lay hidden from him. As he stood, he grew slowly aware that something else was in the house with him, something terrible, something so evil that just its presence permeated the air with fear.

Whatever it was, it seemed to be everywhere at once, a hideous, black pall that hung across the Ohmsford home like a death shroud. A thing, his mind whispered, a thing...

A Mord Wraith.

He quit breathing. A walker-here, in his home! Now he was really-afraid, the certainty of his suspicion driving from him the last of his courage. It waited within the next room, Jair sensed, within the dark. It would know he was here and come for him-and he would not be able to stand against it!He was certain for a moment that he would break and run, overwhelmed by the panic that coursed through him. But then he thought of his parents, who would return unwarned if he should fail, and of the Elfstones, the sole weapon that the black ones would fear-concealed not a dozen feet from where he stood.

He didn't think anymore; he simply acted. A soundless shadow, he moved to the stone hearth that served the kitchen, his fingers tracing the rough outline of the stone where it curved back along the wall in a series of shelving nooks. At the end of the third shelf, the stone slipped away at his touch. His hand closed over a small leather pouch.

Something stirred in the other room.

Then the back door opened suddenly and a burly form pushed into view. Jair stood flattened against the hearth wall, lost in the shadows, braced to flee. But the form went past him without slowing, head bent as if to find its way. It went into the front room, and a low, guttural voice whispered to the creature that waited within.

In the next instant, Jair was moving-back through the still open door, back into the shadows of the flowering bushes. He paused just long enough to see that it was the Gnome who kept watch within the oaks who had come into-the house, then raced for the cover of the trees.

Faster, faster! he screamed soundlessly.

And without a backward glance, Jair Ohmsford fled into the night.

4.

It proved to be a harrowing flight.

Once before, Ohmsfords had fled the Vale under cover of night, pursued by black things that would harry them the length and breadth of the Four Lands. It had been more than seventy years now since Shea and Flick Ohmsford had slipped from their home at the Shady Vale inn, barely escaping the monstrous winged Skull Bearer sent by the Warlock Lord to destroy them.

Jair knew their story; barely older than he, they had fled all the way eastward to Culhaven and the Dwarves. But Jair Ohmsford was no less able than they. He, too, had been raised in the Vale, and he knew something about surviving in unfamiliar country.

As he fled through the forests of the Vale, carrying with him little more than the clothes on his back, the hunting knife in his belt that all Valemen wore, and the leather pouch with the Elfstones tucked within his tunic, he did so with confidence in his ability to make his way safely to his destination. There was no panic in his flight; there was merely a keen sense of expectation.

For just a moment, when he had stood within the kitchen of his home, hidden within the shadows of the great hearth, listening to the silence, knowing that only a room away there waited one of the Wraiths, and feeling the evil of the thing permeating even the air he breathed, there had been real fear. But that was behind him, lost in the darkness that slipped steadily back into the past as he raced ahead, and now he was thinking with clarity and determination.

The destination he had chosen in fleeing the Vale was Leah. It was a three-day journey, but one he had made before and so could make without danger of becoming lost. Moreover, help that could not be found in the Vale could be found in Leah. Shady Vale was a small hamlet, its people ill-equipped to stand against the black walkers or their Gnome allies. But Leah was a city; the highlands were governed by monarchial rule and protected by a standing army. Rone Leah's father was king and a good friend to the Ohmsford family. Jair would tell him what had befallen, persuade him to send patrols south in search of his parents so that they could be warned of the danger that waited in the Vale, and then all of them would take refuge in the city until Allanon returned with Brin and Rone. It was an excellent plan to Jair's way of thinking, and he could find no reason that it wouldn't be successful.

Still, the Valeman was not about to leave anything to chance. That was the reason that he had brought the Elfstones, taking them from their hiding place where they might have been found, though taking them meant revealing to his father that he had known all along where they were hidden.

As he ran, working his way steadily through the Vale forests toward the rim of the valley, he tried to recall everything that the old tracker had told him in their talks about disguising one's trail from pursuers. Jair and the old man had played at it like a game, each contriving new and different twists to the imaginary pursuits that made up their game, each delighting the other with a kind of grim inventiveness. For the tracker, experience was the touchstone of his skill. For Jair, it was an uninhibited imagination. Now the play adventure had turned real, however, and imagination alone was not going to be enough. A bit of the old man's experience was needed, and Jair called to mind everything he could manage to remember.

Time was his most pressing concern. The quicker he reached the highlands, the quicker those patrols would leave in search of his parents. Whatever else happened, they must not be allowed to return to the Vale unwarned. Therefore, no unnecessary time must be spent in disguising his trail eastward. This decision was reinforced by the fact that his skills wereadmittedly limited in any case and by the further fact that he could not be certain that the Gnomes and their dark leader would come after him. He thought that they would, of course, particularly after hearing from the Gnome he had locked in the wood bin. But they would still have to track him, and that would slow them, down somewhat, even if they were to guess which direction he had taken. He had gained a head start on them, and he must take advantage of it. He would run swiftly and surely, his purpose fixed, and they must try to catch him.

Besides, even if they did catch up to him, he could still use the wishsong to protect himself.

By midnight, he had gained the eastern wall of the valley that sheltered Shady Vale, climbed the rock-strewn slope to its rim, and disappeared into the Duln. Using the moon and stars to mark his bearings, he made his way through the dark forest, slowing a bit to conserve his strength. He was tiring now, having had no sleep since the previous night, but he wanted to make certain that he crossed the Rappahalladran before he stopped to rest. That meant he must travel until dawn, and the journey would be a hard one. The Duln was a difficult woodland to traverse, even under the best of conditions, and darkness often made the wilderness a treacherous maze.

Still, Jair had traveled the Duln at night before, and he felt confident he could find his way. So with a careful eye for the forest tangle that stretched before him, he pushed on.

Time crawled past on leaden feet, but at last the night sky began to lighten into morning.

Jair was exhausted, his slim body numb with fatigue and his hands and face cut and bruised by the forest. Still he had not reached the river. For the first time, he began to worry that perhaps he had misplaced his sense of direction and traveled too far north or south. He was still traveling eastward, he knew, because the sun was rising directly in front of him. But where was the Rappahalladran? Ignoring the weariness and a growing sense of concern, he stumbled ahead.

The sun had been up an hour when he finally reached the banks of the river. Deep and swift, the Rappahalladran churned its way southward through the dark quiet of the forest. Jair had already shelved his plans to cross the river now. The currents were too dangerous to attempt a crossing when he was not rested. Finding a stand of pine close to the water, he stretched out within the shaded coolness of their boughs and fell quickly asleep.

He came awake again at sunset, disoriented and vaguely uneasy. It took him a moment to remember where he was and what it was that had brought him there. Then he saw that the day was gone, and he became alarmed that he had slept so long. He had intended to sleep only until midday before continuing his flight east. A whole day was too long; it gave his pursuers too much time to catch him.

He went down to the river's edge, splashed cold water on his face to bring himself fully awake and then went in search of food. He hadn't eaten anything for the past twenty-four hours, he realized suddenly, and found himself wishing that he'd taken just a moment longer in making his escape to pack a loaf of bread and some cheese. As he searched through the trees, resigned to a meal of berries and roots, he found himself thinking again about his supposed pursuers. Maybe he was worrying about nothing. Maybe no one was giving chase. After all, what would they want with him anyway? It was Allanon they wanted. The Gnome had told him that much. What had probably happened was that, after he had escaped the Vale, they had gone on their way, looking elsewhere for the Druid. If that were true, then he was breaking his neck out here for nothing.

Of course if he were wrong...

Wild berries in autumn were a scarce commodity, so Jair was forced to make a mealprinc.i.p.ally of edible roots and a few wild rhubarb stalks. Despite his general dissatisfaction with the fare, he was feeling pretty good about things by the time the meal was finished. Rone Leah couldn't have done any better, he decided. He had overcome that Gnome, secured the Elfstones from under the noses of a walker and a patrol of Gnome Hunters, escaped the Vale and was now making his way successfully toward Leah. He took a moment to envision the surprised face of his sister when he told her all that had happened to him.

And then it occurred to him, suddenly, shockingly, that he really didn't know that he would ever see Brin again. His sister was being taken by Allanon into the very heart of the same evil that had invaded his home and driven him from the Vale. He remembered again what he had felt in the presence of that evil-the terrible, overpowering sense of panic. Brin was being taken to where that evil lived, where there was not just one of the black walkers, but many. Against them she had nothing more than the strength of the magic of the Druid and her wishsong. How could Brin hope to stand against something like that? What if she were discovered before she managed to reach the book...?