Ilse Witch - Terry Brooks [49]
The Morgawr came into the room, not toward her, but away, sidling along the far wall, as if to retrieve something from the cases that lined it. A potion, perhaps? A recording of some discovery? Then he slowed and turned, and his voice was like ice. “You intend to go in his place, little witch?”
“The magic should be ours.”
“You mean yours, don’t you?” He laughed softly. “But that’s as it should be.”
“You could go with me,” she said, hoping as she said it he would not.
He cocked his reptilian head, considering. “This is your discovery and your cause. Pursue it if you wish, but without me. If the magic will belong to both of us, I am content.”
She waited, knowing there would be more. “But?” she said finally.
His eyes glimmered. “You will go alone?”
“Across the Blue Divide? No. I will need a ship and crew to take me.” She paused. “And there is a complication.”
The Morgawr laughed again, slow and faintly mocking. “I sensed as much from the way you approached this business. What sort of complication?”
She walked toward him a few steps and stopped, showing she was not afraid, that she was in command of what she intended. Presence was of great importance with Mwellrets and with the Morgawr in particular. If they thought someone confident, they were less likely to challenge. The Morgawr was a powerful warlock, and he had spent a lifetime learning to command magic that could destroy his enemies in a heartbeat. She was his equal now, but she had to be careful of him.
“Before he died, Allardon Elessedil sent the map to Paranor and summoned Walker to Arborlon.”
“The Druidl” the warlock said, loathing in his voice.
“The Druid. He arrived in time to agree upon the terms of a search for the map’s treasure before witnessing the King’s death. If luck had favored us, he would have died, as well. As it was, he lived. He will lead an Elven expedition in quest of the magic.”
The Morgawr studied her wordlessly for a moment. “A contest with your greatest enemy. How keen your anticipation must be.”
“He is a formidable opponent.”
“One you have sworn you would one day destroy.” The warlock nodded. “Perhaps that day has arrived.”
“Perhaps. But it is the magic I covet more than the Druid’s death.”
The Morgawr shifted within his cloak, and one clawed hand gestured at the air. “A Druid, some Elven Hunters, and a Captain and crew. A few others, as well, if I know Walker. He will draw a strong company to support his quest, particularly since he knows that Kael Elessedil has failed already. Even with the Elfstones to protect him, he failed.”
He glanced sideways at her. “And what of them, little witch? What of the precious Elfstones?”
She shook her head. “Nothing. He did not bring them back with him. His memories did not reveal what had become of them. Perhaps they are lost.”
“Perhaps.” His rough voice had lost its edge and taken on a contemplative tone. “Where is the Druid now?”
“He was in Bracken Clell a day ago. He left and has not yet resurfaced. My spies watch for him.”
The warlock nodded. “I leave him to you. I know you will find a way to deal with him. It is left to me to give you the rest of what you need to undertake your search—a ship, Captain, and crew, and a handful of suitable protectors. I shall supply them all, little witch. You shall have everything you need.”
She did not like the way he said it, and she knew that by doing her this favor he intended to keep close watch and perhaps even control over her while she was away from him. He did not trust her anymore. Where once he had been the teacher and she the student, now they were equals. Worse still, she knew, they were rivals—not yet at odds, but headed there. But she could not refuse his help. To do so would be to acknowledge her fear of his intentions.