Druid. She didn’t need the real thing. A close approximation would be sufficient to serve her needs.
“Relentless,” she hissed at the caull. It swung its flat, heavy head toward her watchfully. “That is what you will be for me in your search for those I hunt. Unstoppable.”
The jaws split in what might have been a smile if the beast had been capable of understanding what a smile was. It was enough to satisfy the Ilse Witch. If it accomplished what she wished, she would do the smiling for them both.
B ek trailed Truls Rohk as they entered a meadow filled with blue and yellow wildflowers. He was already beginning to tire from the pace the shape-shifter was setting, sweat coating his face and drenching his tunic. The sun was high in the midday sky and the air warm. Truls Rohk loped to the center of the meadow and stopped, looking back.
“Far enough,” he said, his ravaged face a shadow within his cowl, barely seen even in the bright midday sun. He looked back in the direction from which they had come. “We can’t outrun her forever. Sooner or later, she’ll wear us down. Something else is needed.”
Bek blew out his breath wearily and took a fresh gulp, swallowing against the dryness in his throat. “Maybe she’ll give up if we keep going.”
“Not likely. Think about it. She put aside her hunt for the Druid, her mortal enemy, to come in search of you. She put everything aside, the whole of her purpose in coming on this voyage, because of you. You think you didn’t reach her with your words and arguments, but I think maybe you did. Enough at least to make her wonder.”
Bek shook his head. “It didn’t feel like it at the time.” Truls Rohk didn’t even seem to be breathing hard, his body still and composed within his cloak, not a ripple of movement, not a stir.
“She’s tracking us with her magic, reading our passing with it. I saw the way she walked, head up, eyes forward. She wasn’t studying signs or searching for prints.” He cast about for a moment, looking off into the distance in all directions, taking in the lay of the land. “We have to throw her off, boy. Now, before this gets any tighter, before she’s so close nothing will slow her.”
He faced the boy squarely, broad-shouldered and threatening. “Time to take some responsibility for yourself. Your magic against hers—that might be the answer. It lacks power and subtlety both, but it has its uses even so. Listen to me. She’s probably reading our body heat, our movement from place to place. See if you can do the same. Watch me closely. When I disappear, track me. Use your voice, like you did on Mephitic.”
In an instant, he disappeared, right from in front of Bek, vanishing as if into vapor. The boy called up his magic and cast it about wildly, searching. Nothing happened.
The shape-shifter reappeared, right where he had been an instant before. Bek gasped at the suddenness, then shook his head angrily. “It didn’t work!” Frustration colored his words. “I can’t make it do anything!”
Truls Rohk bent close, big and menacing. “Too bad for us if you can’t, isn’t it? Try again. Cast about as if you’re throwing a net! Pretend you’re draping images with cloth. It isn’t me you’re looking for—it’s my shade. Do it!”
Again he was gone, and again Bek summoned the magic and cast it out. This time he was more successful. He caught pieces of Truls Rohk moving left to right and back again, ghostly presences that hung on the midday air.
“Better.” The shape-shifter was back in front of him again. “Once more, but hold tight to a corner of the magic you’re releasing. Then draw it in, fisherboy.”
On this try, he caught all of Truls Rohk’s movements, a series of passages clearly defined, moving all around him and back again. Like shades released from the dead, they hung suspended on the air, one after the other, each moving slowly to catch up to the next, as if runners slowed by quicksand and
“Relentless,” she hissed at the caull. It swung its flat, heavy head toward her watchfully. “That is what you will be for me in your search for those I hunt. Unstoppable.”
The jaws split in what might have been a smile if the beast had been capable of understanding what a smile was. It was enough to satisfy the Ilse Witch. If it accomplished what she wished, she would do the smiling for them both.
B ek trailed Truls Rohk as they entered a meadow filled with blue and yellow wildflowers. He was already beginning to tire from the pace the shape-shifter was setting, sweat coating his face and drenching his tunic. The sun was high in the midday sky and the air warm. Truls Rohk loped to the center of the meadow and stopped, looking back.
“Far enough,” he said, his ravaged face a shadow within his cowl, barely seen even in the bright midday sun. He looked back in the direction from which they had come. “We can’t outrun her forever. Sooner or later, she’ll wear us down. Something else is needed.”
Bek blew out his breath wearily and took a fresh gulp, swallowing against the dryness in his throat. “Maybe she’ll give up if we keep going.”
“Not likely. Think about it. She put aside her hunt for the Druid, her mortal enemy, to come in search of you. She put everything aside, the whole of her purpose in coming on this voyage, because of you. You think you didn’t reach her with your words and arguments, but I think maybe you did. Enough at least to make her wonder.”
Bek shook his head. “It didn’t feel like it at the time.” Truls Rohk didn’t even seem to be breathing hard, his body still and composed within his cloak, not a ripple of movement, not a stir.
“She’s tracking us with her magic, reading our passing with it. I saw the way she walked, head up, eyes forward. She wasn’t studying signs or searching for prints.” He cast about for a moment, looking off into the distance in all directions, taking in the lay of the land. “We have to throw her off, boy. Now, before this gets any tighter, before she’s so close nothing will slow her.”
He faced the boy squarely, broad-shouldered and threatening. “Time to take some responsibility for yourself. Your magic against hers—that might be the answer. It lacks power and subtlety both, but it has its uses even so. Listen to me. She’s probably reading our body heat, our movement from place to place. See if you can do the same. Watch me closely. When I disappear, track me. Use your voice, like you did on Mephitic.”
In an instant, he disappeared, right from in front of Bek, vanishing as if into vapor. The boy called up his magic and cast it about wildly, searching. Nothing happened.
The shape-shifter reappeared, right where he had been an instant before. Bek gasped at the suddenness, then shook his head angrily. “It didn’t work!” Frustration colored his words. “I can’t make it do anything!”
Truls Rohk bent close, big and menacing. “Too bad for us if you can’t, isn’t it? Try again. Cast about as if you’re throwing a net! Pretend you’re draping images with cloth. It isn’t me you’re looking for—it’s my shade. Do it!”
Again he was gone, and again Bek summoned the magic and cast it out. This time he was more successful. He caught pieces of Truls Rohk moving left to right and back again, ghostly presences that hung on the midday air.
“Better.” The shape-shifter was back in front of him again. “Once more, but hold tight to a corner of the magic you’re releasing. Then draw it in, fisherboy.”
On this try, he caught all of Truls Rohk’s movements, a series of passages clearly defined, moving all around him and back again. Like shades released from the dead, they hung suspended on the air, one after the other, each moving slowly to catch up to the next, as if runners slowed by quicksand and
Similar Books
