The Elfstones of Shannara (15 page)

They reached the cooking fire and Cephelo turned abruptly.

“Well now, which shall it be first—a meal or a bath?”

Wil did not even glance at Amberle. “A bath, I think—my sister, as well, if you can spare the water.”

“We can spare it.” Cephelo nodded, then turned. “Eretria!”

There was a whisper of silk, and Wil found himself face to face with the most stunning girl he had ever seen. She was small and delicate, in the manner of Amberle, but without the childlike innocence that marked the Elven girl. Thick, black hair tumbled in ringlets to her shoulders, framing eyes that were dark and secretive. Her face was beautiful, her features perfectly formed and immediately unforgettable. She was wearing high leather boots, dressed in pants and tunic of scarlet silk that failed to hide anything of the woman beneath. Bands of silver flashed on her wrists and neck.

Wil looked at her in astonishment and could not look away.

“My daughter.” Cephelo sounded bored. He motioned toward Amberle. “Take the Elven girl and let her bathe herself.”

Eretria smiled wickedly. “It would be much more interesting to bathe him,” she offered, nodding toward Wil.

“Just do as you're told,” her father ordered sharply.

Eretria kept her eyes on the Valeman. “Come along, girl,” she invited. She turned and was gone. Amberle followed after, looking none too happy.

Cephelo led Wil to the far side of the encampment where a series of blankets hung across a small area between two of the wagons. Within stood a tub of water. Stepping behind the blankets, Wil stripped off his clothing and laid it neatly on the ground beside him. He was well aware that the Rover was watching everything he removed, looking to see if he possessed anything of value, and he was careful to see to it that the pouch containing the Elfstones did not fall loose from its pocket within his tunic. He began to pour water over himself with a ladle, washing away the dirt and sweat of the day's travel.

“It is not often that we encounter a Healer who will treat Rovers,” Cephelo said after a moment. “We usually must care for our own.”

“I was trained by the Stors,” Wil answered him. “Their help is given freely.”

“The Stors?” Cephelo was surprised all over again. “But the Stors are all Gnomes.”

The Valeman nodded. “I was an exception.”

“You appear an exception in many ways,” the tall man declared. He seated himself on a nearby bench and watched the Valeman towel dry and begin rinsing his clothes. “We have work for you that will enable you to pay for your food and rest, Healer. There are some among us who have need of your skills.”

“I will be happy to do what I can,” Wil replied.

“Good.” The other man nodded in satisfaction. “I'll find you some dry clothing to use.”

He rose and walked away. Instantly Wil slipped the Elfstones from his tunic pocket into his boot, then quickly resumed washing out his clothing. Cephelo was back almost at once, carrying Rover silks for Wil to wear. The Valeman accepted the clothes and dressed himself. Despite the uncomfortable knot at the toe of his right boot, he pulled it on firmly, then the left boot. Cephelo summoned the old woman who had brought the water earlier to take Wil's damp clothing. The Valeman handed the clothes over without comment, knowing they would be thoroughly searched and nothing found for the effort.

Then they returned to the fire at the center of the encampment, where Amberle joined them, washed clean and dressed in clothing similar to Wil's. Each was given a plate of steaming food and a cup of wine. They sat next to the fire and ate silently while the Rovers settled about them, watching curiously. Cephelo took up a position across from them, sitting cross-legged on a wide, gold-tasseled cushion, his dark face expressionless. There was no sign of Eretria.

When the meal was finished, the Rover Leader assembled the members of his Family who needed Wil's attention. Without comment, the Valeman examined them one by one, treating a series of infections, internal disorders, skin irritations, and minor fevers. Although she was not asked to do so, Amberle worked next to him, providing bandages and hot water, aiding in the application of simple herb medicines and salves. It took the better part of an hour for Wil to complete his work. When he was finished, Cephelo stepped up to him.

“You have done your work well, Healer.” He smiled a bit too pleasantly. “Now we must see what we can do for you in return. Walk with me a bit—this way.”

He put one long arm about the Valeman's shoulders and steered him away from the fire, leaving Amberle by herself to clean up after their work. They walked toward the far side of the Rover camp.

“You say that you lost your horse last night near where we camped on the Mermidon.” Cephelo's voice was thoughtful. “What did this animal look like?”

Wil's face remained expressionless. He knew the game that was being played.

“A stallion, all black.”

“Well, now.” Cephelo appeared even more thoughtful. “We found a horse such as you have described, a very fine animal, just this morning, quite early. It wandered into our camp from out of the grasslands as we were getting our teams hitched for the day's travel. Perhaps this was your horse, Healer.”

“Perhaps,” Wil agreed.

“Of course, we didn't know whose animal he was.” Cephelo smiled. “So we brought him along with our own. Why don't we take a look at him?”

They passed through the ring of wagons into the plains beyond. Fifty feet from the camp, the Rover horses were tethered in a line. Two dark forms materialized from out of the night, Rovers armed with pikes and bows. A word from Cephelo sent them back into hiding. The tall man led Wil down the tether line to its furthest end. There stood Artaq.

Wil nodded. “That's the horse.”

“Does he bear your mark, Healer?” the other man asked, almost as if the question embarrassed him. Wil shook his head. “Ah, that is most unfortunate, for now we can't be certain that he really is your horse, can we? After all, there are a fair number of black stallions in the Four Lands, and how are we to tell them apart if their owners do not mark them? This presents quite a problem, Healer. I wish to give this horse to you, but there is a great risk to me in doing so. I mean, suppose I give him to you, as I wish to do, but then another man comes to me and tells me that he has lost a black stallion as well, and we then discover that I have mistakenly given his horse to you. Why then, I would be responsible for that man's loss.”

“Yes, that's true, I guess.” Wil nodded with just the right touch of doubt, carefully avoiding any argument with the big man's ridiculous supposition. It was, after all, just a part of the game.

“I believe you, of course.” Cephelo's bearded face turned solemn. “Certainly a Healer is to be trusted, if anyone is to be trusted in this world.” He grinned at his own humor. “However, there is still some risk to me if I choose to hand this animal over to you—I must accept that fact, being a practical man in an often hard business. And then there is the matter of feed and care given to this animal. We groomed him and tended him as we do our own; we fed him with meal we carry for our own. You will understand if I tell you that I feel we are owed something for all this.”

“Indeed.” Wil nodded.

“Well, then.” Cephelo rubbed his hands in satisfaction. “We are in agreement. All that requires settling is the price. You spoke earlier of trading something of value for a horse. Perhaps now we can make a fair exchange—whatever you carry with you in satisfaction of your debt to us. And in the bargain, I would say nothing of finding this horse to any other who might claim the loss of a black stallion.”

He winked knowingly. Wil walked up to Artaq and stroked his sleek forehead, letting the horse nuzzle up against his chest.

“I'm afraid I don't have anything of value, after all,” he said finally. “I brought nothing with me in my journey that could possibly repay you for what you've done.”

Cephelo's jaw dropped. “Nothing?”

“Nothing at all.”

“But you said you brought something of value ...”

“Oh, yes.” Wil nodded quickly. “I meant that I could offer you my services as a Healer—I thought that might have some value.”

“But you've given those services in payment of food and shelter and clothes for yourself and your sister.”

“Yes, true.” The Valeman looked less than happy with the thought. He took a deep breath. “Perhaps I could suggest something?” A look of renewed interest appeared in the other's face. “Well, it seems that we are both traveling to the Westland. If you would allow us to accompany you, we might find some opportunity to repay you yet—possibly you might have need of my skill another time.”

“That seems unlikely.” Cephelo pondered the thought. He shook his head. “You've nothing of value to give for the horse—nothing at all?”

“No, nothing.”

“That seems a poor way to travel,” the Rover muttered, rubbing his bearded chin. The Valeman said nothing, waiting. “Well, I suppose it will do no harm to have you travel with us as far as the forestland. That's only a few days travel, though, and if you've done nothing for us by then, we may have to keep the horse for our trouble. You understand that.”

Wil nodded wordlessly.

“One thing more.” Cephelo stepped close, his face no longer pleasant. “I trust that you would not be so foolish as to try to steal that horse from us, Healer. You know us well enough to realize what would happen to you if you were to try such a thing.”

The Valeman took a deep breath and nodded once more. He knew.

“Good.” The big man stepped back. “See to it that it doesn't slip your mind.” He was clearly unhappy at the way in which matters had worked out, but he shrugged his indifference. “Enough of business. Come to my home and drink with me.”

He led the way back through the caravan circle, clapping his hands sharply as he entered, calling to those within to gather and to join with wine and music in celebrating the good fortune of the day and in welcoming the young Healer who had shown them such kindness. Wil was seated next to the Leader on a cushioned bench set before the big man's wagon home as the men and women and children of the Rover camp crowded about eagerly. Wine was drawn from a great vat and cups were passed about to everyone. Cephelo came to his feet and offered a flowery toast to the good health of his Family. Cups were raised high in answer and quickly drained. Wil drank his with the rest. He looked about hurriedly for Amberle and found her seated near the perimeter of the circle of faces surrounding him. She did not look at all pleased. He wished he could take time to explain all that had happened, but that would have to wait until they had a moment alone. For now, she would simply have to bear with him.

Cups were refilled now, another toast was proposed, and they all drank again. Cephelo called loudly for the music. Stringed instruments and cymbals were brought forth, and their owners began to play. The music was at once wild, haunting, and free as it rose into the night. The laughter of the Rovers rose with it, careless and gay. More wine was poured and quickly consumed, followed by shouts of encouragement for the musicians. Wil felt himself growing light-headed. The wine was strong, too strong for one not used to drinking it as the Rovers did. He must be careful, he thought to himself, raising his cup once more as a new toast was proposed, yet sipping this time rather than draining the amber liquid. In the toe of his right boot, he felt the reassuring bulk of the Elfstones pressed against his foot.

The musicians played faster, and now the Rovers were on their feet and dancing, half a dozen or eight, forming a circle with arms interlocked as they wheeled about the fire. More rose quickly to join the procession, and those still seated began to clap wildly. Wil joined them, setting his cup on the bench beside him. When he reached down for it a moment later, it was full again. Caught up in the spirit of the music, he drank it down without thinking. The dancers broke apart, pairing off now, spinning and leaping before the flames. Someone was singing, a wistful cry that blended eerily with the music and the dance.

Then suddenly Eretria was there before him, dark and beautiful, her slender form clad all in scarlet silk. Her smile was dazzling as she reached down for his hands and brought him to his feet. She pulled him into the midst of the dancers, broke from him for an instant, and twirled away in a flash of ribbons and trailing black hair. Then she was before him once more, slim arms holding him as they danced. The fragrance of her hair and body mingled with the warmth of the wine coursing through his blood. He felt her press close against him, feather light and soft, speaking words that he could not seem to hear clearly. The movement of the dance dizzied him; everything about him began to blend in a maze of colors that whirled against the backdrop of the night. The music and the clapping roared louder, and the shouts and whistles of the Rovers. He felt himself begin to leave the ground, still holding Eretria close.

And then she was gone as well, and he began to fall.

 

XV

 

H
e came awake with the worst headache of his life. It was the sensation of being shaken like a slender branch in a high wind that brought him around, and it took him several long minutes to realize that he was stretched out in the back of one of the Rover wagons. He lay on a straw-filled pallet in a wooden frame bed against the rear wall of the mobile house, staring upward at a strange assortment of tapestries, silks and laces, and metal and wooden implements, all swaying with the motion of the wagon as it bounced and rolled across the grasslands. A shaft of bright sunlight slipped through a partly cracked window, and he knew he had slept the night.

Amberle appeared next to him, a look of reproof in her sea-green eyes.

“I don't need to ask how you're feeling this morning, do I?” she declared, her words barely audible above the rumble of the wheels. “I hope it was worth it, Valeman.”

“It wasn't.” He sat up slowly, feeling his head throb violently with the movement. “Where are we?”

“In Cephelo's wagon. Since last night, if you can remember that far back. I told them that you were still recovering from a fever and that you might be sick from more than the wine. So they put me in here with you to look after you until I was sure you were feeling better. Drink this.”

She handed him a cup with some dark liquid in it. Wil eyed the unpleasant-looking concoction suspiciously.

“Drink it,” she repeated firmly. “It's an herbal remedy for excessive use of wine. There are some things you don't need to be a Healer to know.”

He drank it down without arguing. It was then that he noticed that his boots were gone.

“My boots! What happened to . . . ?”

“Be quiet!” she warned, motioning quickly toward the front of the wagon where a small wooden door stood closed. Wordlessly, she reached beneath the bed and produced the items in question, then pulled from the sash about her waist the small leather pouch containing the Elfstones.

The Valeman sat back with a look of relief.

“The party proved to be a bit too much for you,” she continued, a trace of sarcasm in her voice. “After you passed out, Cephelo had you carried to his wagon to sleep. He was about to have that old woman strip you when I convinced him that if the fever had come back, it would be contagious and that, any case, you would be offended if your clothes were taken without your permission. Apparently he didn't consider the matter all that important because he ordered the old woman out. After he was gone, as well, I searched you and found the Elfstones.”

He nodded approvingly. “You've kept your wits about you.”

“Good thing one of us did.” She brushed aside his compliment with an arch of her eyebrows. She glanced again toward the closed door. “Cephelo left the old woman in the next compartment to keep an eye on us. I don't think he was entirely persuaded that he knows everything he should about you.”

Wil leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. “That wouldn't surprise me.”

“Then why are we still here—other than the fact that you drank too much wine last night?” she wanted to know. “For that matter, why are we here in the first place?”

He reached for the Elfstones and she gave them to him. He put the leather pouch back into his right boot and pulled both boots on firmly. Then he motioned for her to lean close.

“Because we have to find a way to get Artaq back from these people and we can't do that if we don't stay with them,” he whispered loud enough for her to hear him over the creaking of the wagon. “And there's another reason. The Demons that chased us from Havenstead will be looking for just two people—not an entire caravan. Perhaps traveling with the Rovers will throw them off. Besides, we're still traveling west, which is where we want to go, and we're traveling faster than we could on foot.”

“Fine. But this is dangerous as well, Valeman,” she pointed out. “What do you plan to do when we reach the Westland forests and Cephelo still refuses to give you Artaq?”

He shrugged. “I'll worry about that when it's time.”

“We've been over this ground before.” She shook her head in disgust. “At least you might try confiding in me a bit more than you have so far. It is not very reassuring to have to rely on you and not have the faintest idea what you're about.”

“You're right,” he agreed. “I'm sorry about last night. I should have told you more before we entered the camp, but, to tell you the truth, I hadn't made up my mind what we were going to do until just after we found it.”

“I believe that.” She frowned.

“Look, I'll try to explain some of it now,” he offered. “Rovers travel in Families—you already know that much. The term ‘Family' is somewhat misleading though, because its members are not always blood-related. Rovers frequently trade or even sell wives and children to other camps. It is a kind of communal property situation. Each Family has one Leader—a father figure who makes all the decisions. Women are considered subservient to men; that is what is called the Way. For the Rovers, that is the natural order of things. They believe quite firmly that women are to serve and obey the men who protect and provide for them. It is a tradition among them that those entering their camp should observe this custom in order to be made welcome. That's why I took the water first. That's why I left you to clean up after we treated the sick. I wanted to convince them that I understood and honored their beliefs. If they believed that, there was a chance they would give Artaq back to us.”

“It doesn't seem to have worked out that way,” Amberle remarked.

“No, not yet,” he admitted. “But they have let us come along with them; ordinarily they would not even consider such a thing. Rovers have little use for outsiders.”

“They have let us come along because Cephelo is curious about you and wants to find out more than he has been told.” She paused. “Eretria has more than a passing interest in you as well. She made that quite apparent.”

He grinned in spite of himself. “And I suppose you think I enjoyed all that dancing and drinking last night?”

“If you really want to know—yes, that is exactly what I think.”

She said it without the faintest trace of a smile. Wil sat back, his head throbbing with the movement.

“All right, I admit that I overdid it. But there was a good reason for what I did, despite what you may think. It was necessary for them to believe that I wasn't smarter than they were. If they believed that I was, we would both be dead. So I let myself drink and dance and behave as any other outsider would under the same circumstances—just to keep them from becoming suspicious.” He shrugged. “I cannot help what Eretria thinks about me.”

“I am not asking you to.” She grew suddenly angry. “I don't care what Eretria thinks about you. I only care that you don't give us both away by being foolish!”

She saw the look of surprise that crept into his eyes and she flushed darkly.

“Just be careful, will you?” she added quickly, took the empty cup from his hands, and turned away, moving to the far end of the wagon. Wil stared after her curiously.

A moment later she was back, calm and collected once more.

“There is something else you should know about. Early this morning the caravan met with an old line trapper traveling east. He had just passed through the Tirfing—the lake country fronting the Westland forests below the Mermidon. He warned Cephelo not to go in. He said there was a Devil there.”

Wil frowned. “A Devil?”

“He called it a Devil—it is a name the Rovers use for something not human, something evil.” She paused meaningfully. “It may be that this Devil is one of the Demons that has broken through the Forbidding.”

“What did Cephelo say about this Devil?”

Amberle smiled faintly. “He is not afraid of Devils. He intends to go into the Tirfing anyway—his mind is made up on that. I think he has business that requires that he pass that way. The rest of the Family is not too happy about his decision.”

Wil nodded. “I would be inclined to go along with them.”

The Elven girl gave him a long, careful look. “I would not be inclined to go along with anyone in this camp, if I were you. Keep that in mind if you are offered any more wine.”

She wheeled without a word and moved back once again to the far end of the wagon, hiding her movements from the Valeman. Wil started up after her irritably, but the pain in his head made him reconsider quickly. He sat back carefully, resting his throbbing head against a piece of woven reed backing lining the wagon wall. One thing was certain, he thought glumly. She need not worry about him drinking any more of that wine.

The caravan traveled steadily westward until midday, then halted long enough for the Rovers to partake of a quick lunch. By this time, Wil was feeling much improved and was able to eat some of the dried meat and vegetables that comprised the meal. Cephelo spoke to him briefly, inquiring politely as to his health, then moved away, his mind clearly on other matters. There were vague mutterings among the Rovers of the rumored Devil, and it was apparent to the Valeman that the Family was more than a little concerned with the old trapper's report. Rovers were a superstitious lot anyway, and Cephelo's decision to ignore a warning such as this one was not popular.

The remainder of the afternoon passed quickly. Wil took a turn at driving Cephelo's wagon while the old woman napped in the back. Amberle rode beside him as he guided the four-horse team forward in the caravan line through the broad expanse of the grasslands, humming and singing softly to herself but saying very little to him. The Valeman left her alone, concentrating on the task at hand, staring out thoughtfully into the emptiness of the plains. Several times Cephelo rode a big sorrel past them, his forest green cloak billowing out behind him, his dark face covered with a sheen of sweat from the heat of the day. Once Wil caught a quick glimpse of Artaq as the Rover relief horses were driven past the wagons toward a watering hole somewhere ahead of the caravan. He was not being ridden, and it appeared that as yet Cephelo had not decided how he would use the big black—which meant, hopefully, that he had not decided if he intended to keep him.

A little more than an hour before sunset, they entered the Tirfing, a land of small lakes and surrounding woodlands spread out beneath the rim of the grasslands. Far to the west, beneath the red ball of the setting sun, lay the dark mass of the Westland forests. The Rover wagons wound their way down out of the plains into the wooded stretches of the Tirfing along a rutted earthen trail worn by the passing of countless other travelers before them. The heat of the open grasslands dissipated quickly as they entered the sheltering trees, shadows lengthening across the trail before them with the onset of dusk. Through breaks in the woodlands, they began to glimpse bits and pieces of the lakes that dotted the country about them.

It was dark when Cephelo finally brought them to a halt in a large clearing, ringed by oaks and overlooking a small lake several hundred feet to the north. The wagons swung into the familiar circle, rumbling and creaking to a weary halt. Wil was so stiff that he could barely move. While the Rover men worked to unhitch the teams and the women began preparations for the evening meal, the Valeman climbed down gingerly from the hard board seat and tried walking off the stiffness. Amberle chose to walk another way, and he did not bother to follow her. He limped through the caravan circle to the fringes of the surrounding trees, pausing there to stretch himself painfully and allow the blood to circulate through cramped limbs.

Moments later he heard footsteps and turned to find Eretria approaching, her slim form another shadow in the evening dusk. She was dressed in high boots and leather riding clothes, a red silk scarf about her waist and another at her throat. Black hair tumbled down about her shoulders, loose and windblown. She smiled as she came up to him, her dark eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Do not stray too far, Wil Ohmsford,” she advised. “A Devil might find you and then what would you do?”

“Let him have me.” Wil grimaced, rubbing his backside. “Anyway, I do not plan on doing much straying until after I've been fed.”

He eased himself down into the tall grass, placing his back against one of the oaks. Eretria watched him wordlessly for a moment, then sat down beside him.

“Where have you been all day?” the Valeman asked conversationally.

“Watching you,” she replied, then smiled wickedly as she saw the look that appeared on his face. “You didn't see me, of course. You weren't supposed to.”

He hesitated uncomfortably. “Why were you watching me?”

“Cephelo wanted you watched.” She arched her eyebrows. “He doesn't trust you—or the Elven girl you claim is your sister.”

She was staring at him boldly now, as if daring him to contradict her. Wil felt a quick moment of panic.

“Amberle is my sister,” he stated as assertively as he could.

Eretria shook her head. “She is no more your sister than I am Cephelo's daughter. She does not look at you as a sister would; her eyes say that she is something else. Still, it makes little difference to me. If you wish that she be your sister, then so shall she be. Just don't let Cephelo catch you playing this little game.”

Now it was Wil's turn to stare. “Wait a minute,” he said after a moment's pause. “What do you mean she is no more my sister than you are Cephelo's daughter? He said you were his daughter, didn't he?”

“What Cephelo says and what is true are not necessarily the same—in fact, very seldom the same.” She leaned forward. “Cephelo has no children. He bought me when I was five from my father. My father was poor and could offer me nothing. He had other daughters, so one would not be missed. Now I belong to Cephelo. But I am not his daughter.”