Ilse Witch - Terry Brooks [91]
“I’ve got no more rooms to let. Try somewhere else.”
He shook his head. “I’m not looking for a room. I’m looking for a woman called the Addershag.”
She snorted. “You’ve come too late for that. She’s been dead these past five years. News travels slowly where you come from, I guess.”
“You know this to be so? Is she really dead?”
“As dead as yesterday. I buried her out back, six feet down, standing upright so she could greet those who tried to dig her up.” She smirked. “Want to give it a try?”
He ignored the challenge. “You were her apprentice?”
The woman laughed, her face twisting. “Not hardly. I was her servant woman and the caretaker of her house. I hadn’t the stomach for what she did. But I served her well and she rewarded me in kind. You knew her, did you?”
“Only by reputation. A powerful seer. A worker of magic. Few would dare to challenge her. None, I think, even now that she is dead and buried.”
“Only fools and desperate men.” The woman glanced out at the village lights and shook her head. “They come here still, now and then. I’ve buried a few, when they didn’t listen to me about letting her be. But I haven’t her power or abilities. I just do what I was brought here to do, looking after things, taking care. The house and what’s in it are mine now. But I keep them for her.”
She stared at him, waiting.
“Who reads the future of those in Grimpen Ward now that she is gone?” he asked.
“Pretenders and charlatans. No-talent thieves who would steal you blind and send you to your death pretending it was something else entirely. They moved in the moment she was gone, laying claim to what she was, to what she could do.” The woman spit into the earth. “They’ll all be found out and burned alive for it.”
Hunter Predd hesitated. He would have to be careful here. This woman was protective of her legacy and not inclined to help. But he needed what she could give him.
“No one could replace the Addershag,” he agreed soberly. “Unless she chose someone herself. Did she ever train an apprentice?”
For a long moment, the woman just looked at him, suspicion mirrored in her sharp eyes. She brushed roughly at her ragged hair. ‘Who are you?“
“An emissary,” he said truthfully. “But the man who sent me knew your mistress well and shared her passion for magic and secrets. He, too, has lived a long time.”
Her features scrunched up like crumpled paper, and she folded her heavy arms before her defensively. “Is he here?”
“Close by. He prefers not to be seen.”
She nodded. “I know of whom you speak. But name him anyway if you wish me to believe you are his man.”
The Wing Rider nodded. “He is called Walker.”
“Hah!” Her eyes were bright with glee. “Even the vaunted Druid needed her help from time to time! That was how powerful she was, how well regarded!” There was triumph and satisfaction in her voice. “She might have been one of his order, had she wanted it. But she was never inclined to be anything other than a seer.”
“Is there, then,” he pressed gently, “another he might turn to, now that she is gone?”
The silence pressed in about them as she stood studying him anew, thinking the matter over. She knew something, but was not inclined to share it. He waited patiently on her.
“One,” the woman said finally, but spoke the word as if it left a bitter taste in her mouth. “One only. But she was not suitable. She was flawed in character and made waste of her talent. My mistress gave her every chance to be strong, and each time the girl failed. Finally, she left.”
“A girl,” Hunter Predd repeated carefully.
“Very young when she was here. Still a child. But old even then. Like she was already grown inside her child’s body. Intense and secretive, which was to her credit, but passionate, as well, which was not. Very powerful in her talent. She could see the future clearly, could mark its progress and read its signs.” The woman spat once more, her voice suddenly weary. “So gifted. More than just a seer.