Ilse Witch - Terry Brooks [165]
The distraction had cost her the fragile connection she had made with the unfamiliar presence. She glanced around casually, using the time to probe anew. There was nothing there now. Perhaps a passing seabird had caused her to sense a change. Maybe there was a residual Elven presence from their contact with the Jerle Shannara.
She grimaced at the thought of the collision. An entire ocean xif air to navigate, and they had somehow managed to find their enemy. It was ironic and maddening. Still, it changed nothing. Walker would already know that she tracked him. Their encounter tonight, while unfortunate, gave away nothing of importance. He would try harder to escape her now that he realized she was close, but he would not be able to do so. Wherever he went, she would be waiting. She had made certain of that.
She took a moment longer to survey the shadows that wrapped the airship, still searching for what had eluded her, then turned away without another glance and disappeared back into her cabin to sleep.
Bek stared after the departing figure of Walker. Truls Rohk was missing, the Druid had said, a whispered utterance in the boy’s ear, and then he had walked away. Bek took another moment to let the information sink in, and then did what anyone else would have done. He went after him.
He had reason to believe, thinking it through later, that this was what Walker had intended, that it was a way to break the silence between them. If so, it worked. He caught up with the Druid as the latter slowed by the bow railing, and without even thinking about it began speaking to him.
“Where is he?” Bek demanded.
Walker shook his head. “I expect he’s on the other ship.”
With the Ilse Witch, Bek thought, but couldn’t bring himself to say so. “Why would he do that?”
“It’s difficult to say. With Truls, most things are done instinctively. Perhaps he wanted to see what he could find out over there. Perhaps he has a plan he hasn’t shared with us.”
“But if the Ilse Witch finds him...”
Walker shook his head. “There’s nothing we can do about it, Bek. He made the choice to go.” He paused. “I saw what you did to that Mwellret before Quentin stepped in. With your voice. Were you aware of what you were doing?”
The boy hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
“How long have you known you had use of this magic?”
“Not long. Since Mephitic.”
Walker frowned. “Truls Rohk, again. He showed you it was there, didn’t he? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Bek stared at him defiantly, refusing to answer. The Druid nodded slowly. “That’s right. I wasn’t confiding much in you at the time either, was I?” He studied the boy carefully. “Maybe it’s time to change all that.”
Bek felt a twinge of expectation. “Are you going to tell me who I am?”
Walker looked off into the mist-shrouded night, and there was a sense of time and place slipping away in his dark eyes. “Yes,” he said.
Bek waited for him to say something more, but Walker remained silent, lost in thought, gone somewhere else, perhaps into his memories. Behind them, the Rover crew worked to repair the damage to the aft part of the vessel, where the horns of the battering rams had absorbed most of the shock of their collision with the other airship, but portions of the deck and railing had buckled from the impact. The crew labored alone in the near dark. Almost everyone else, save the watch, had gone back to bed. Even Quentin had disappeared.
In the pilot box, Spanner Frew’s fierce dark face stared out over the controls as if daring something else to go wrong.
“I would have told you most of what I know sooner if I hadn’t thought it better to wait,” Walker said quietly. “I haven’t been any happier keeping it from you than you’ve been not knowing what it was. I wanted to be closer to our final destination, to Ice Henge and Castledown, before speaking with you. Even after the events on Mephitic and the suspicions aroused by Truls Rohk, I believed it was best.
“But now you know you have command of a magic, and it is dangerous for you not to know its source and uses. This magic is of a very powerful