Ilse Witch - Terry Brooks [93]
A soft rustle broke his concentration, and he looked up as Hunter Predd materialized out of the night. The Wing Rider was alone.
“Did you find her?” the Druid asked at once.
Hunter Predd shook his head. “She’s been dead five years. The woman who looked after her told me so.”
Walker took a long, slow breath and exhaled. Disappointment welled up inside. A lie? No, a lie of that sort wouldn’t stand up for long. He should have known of the seer’s death, but he had shut himself away in Paranor for the better part of twenty years and much of what had happened in the world had passed him by completely.
The Wing Rider seated himself on a stump and drank from his water skin. There is another possibility. Before she died, the seer took an apprentice.“
“An apprentice?” Walker frowned.
“A girl called Ryer Ord Star. Very talented, according to the woman I spoke with. But she had some sort of falling out with the Addershag. The woman hinted that it had something to do with a flaw in the girl’s character, but wouldn’t say more. She said I should ask her myself if I wanted to know. She lives not far from here.”
Walker thought it through quickly, weighing the possible risks and gains. Ryer Ord Star? He had never heard of her. Nor had he heard of the Addershag taking an apprentice. But then he hadn’t heard of the seer’s death either. What he knew or didn’t know of the larger world the past few years was not the most accurate measure of its truths. Better to find things out for himself before deciding what was or wasn’t so.
“Show me where she is,” he said.
Hunter Predd led him along a series of trails that circumvented the center of Grimpen Ward and avoided contact with its denizens. Darkness hid their passage, and the forests were a vast, impenetrable maze into which only they appeared to have ventured. Distant and removed, the sounds of the village rose up in tiny bursts within the cloaking silence, and slivers of light appeared and faded like predators’ eyes. But both Wing Rider and Druid knew how to walk undetected, and so their passing went unnoticed.
As he slipped through the dark tangle of the trees, Walker’s thoughts crowded in on him. His opportunities, he sensed, were slipping away. Too many he had depended on were dead—first Allardon Elessedil, then the castaway, and now the Addershag. Each represented information and assistance that would be difficult, if not impossible, to replace. The loss of the Addershag troubled him most. Could he manage without a seer’s visions in this endeavor? Allanon had done so, years earlier. But Walker was not chiseled from the same rock as his predecessor and made no claims to being his equal. He did what he could with what he had, mostly because he understood the need for doing so and not because he coveted the role into which he had been cast. Druids had traditionally desired their positions in the order. The mold had been broken with him.
He did not like thinking about who he was and how he had gotten to be that way. He did not like remembering the road he had been forced to travel to become what he had never intended to be. It was a bitter memory he carried and a difficult burden he bore. He had become a Druid because of Allanon’s machinations and Cogline’s urgings and in spite of his own considerable misgivings because, in the end, the need for his doing so was overwhelming. He had never thought to have anything to do with the Druids, never thought to be part of what they represented. He had grown up with a determination to stay apart from the legacy that had claimed so many of his family—the legacy of the Shannara. He had vowed to take his life in another direction.
But this is old news, he admonished himself even as he remembered the early fire of his doomed commitment to change what was fated. He supposed what pained him most, what weighed so heavily on his conscience, was not the breaking of the vow itself, which he could justify in