Read Online Willow by Wayland Drew - Free Book Online Page B

they stroked their beards, and nodded, and looked away. But when he asked if they would take him there, they sadly shook their heads. That was beyond their power, they told him. Not even they, with all their craft and stealth, with all their caves and passages through the mountains, could go to Tir Asleen.
    A hundred questions flooded out of Vohnkar, but the elves would say no more. Steadfastly they closed their wise eyes and bowed their small and bearded heads. However, they told him, because of his devotion to Tir Asleen, he should wear forever this gift, this silver elfin ring, cunningly crafted and engraved. Then they wrapped him well in furs, and took him through their passages and high passes to a place where, far in the distance, he could see the looming mass—not of Tir Asleen—of Nockmaar.
    When he saw that dark and smoking castle, when he heard for the first time the distant howls of Death Dogs and felt the dread of Bavmorda’s power in his stomach, Vohnkar knew that his adventure had ended and his duty had begun. He understood why he had become a warrior in the long years of that circling quest. He must give up his own freedom for the safety of Nelwyn Valley. He must dedicate his skill to his people and, with all his heart and strength, fight to protect them from the savagery of Nockmaar.
    And that is what Vohnkar did . . .
    The fire had burned low. The baby had fallen asleep, smiling, during Vohnkar’s tale. “And now, my friends,” the warrior said as he rose, “I believe there was another reason for that quest, although I do not understand it, or know what Fate we are moving in, Willow Ufgood, you and I.”
    Vohnkar gently unbent the child’s arm to reveal the Sign on the inside of her elbow. Beside it he held the mark engraved on his silver elf-ring.
    They were the same.
    As they traveled the next day, Willow often felt traces of the old road under his feet—the earth packed firm by generations of boots or hooves and trundling wheels. Occasionally there was even a stretch of cobblestones. Where the Freen meandered, the abutments of old bridges still lay among the rushes at the fords.
    North of Nelwyn Valley, however, they left the last vestiges of the road behind, and they began to encounter many difficulties. The path wound away from the river into thick forest. Uprooted trees and jumbled rocks had fallen across it, and the travelers often had to make long and exhausting detours. Several times they stumbled on the sites of ancient battles or ambuscades, where rusting weapons and armor poked out of the roots and where yellowing bones lay strewn like sticks. Once Burglekutt kicked aside what he thought was a boulder and shrieked when a helmeted skull rolled face-up, leering at him. Once in the wind they heard a strange creaking, and came upon thirteen skeletons swaying in a macabre dance on rope so rotten that even as they watched one of the gibbets broke, dropping its grisly load clattering to the ground. Farther on, Vohnkar pointed grimly at a place where a horse and rider had died together against a tree, and creepers had bound their bones together. Many times they came upon the corpses of trolls, sitting or lying, years dead, their skin dried tough as oak, their agate eyes still blazing hatefully.
    Evil and death, death and Evil; the two mingled as palpable as smoke in that foul forest, and they were glad to leave it behind.
    The region they entered, however, was even more terrible. Some blight had stunted all vegetation there. The forest grew in its usual profusion and variety, but to only a fraction of its height. Oak trees that should have risen a hundred feet and cast a huge umbrella were now only a little taller than the Nelwyns. Birch groves were even shorter. There was no friendly cover in that region, and on the slopes on the far side, they could see dark horsemen passing.
    “We’ll wait for night,” Vohnkar grunted.
    They made a little camp at the edge of the woods and rested and ate.