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 Ilse Witch (Book Excerpt)
by Terry Brooks
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Sliding through the darkness of Bracken Clell, she gave consideration to how
she might gain possession of it. The Wing Rider had taken it to Allardon
Elessedil in Arborlon, along with Kael Elessedil's bracelet. The Elven King
would recognize the importance of both, but he would not be able to translate
the writings on the map. Nor would he have the benefit of his now dead
brother's thoughts, as she did. He would seek help from another in deciphering
the mysterious symbols to determine what his brother had found.
Who would he turn to?
She knew the answer to her question almost before she had finished asking it.
There was only one he could ask. One, who would be sure to know. Her enemy,
one-armed and dark-browed, crippled of body and soul. Her nemesis, but her
equal in the nuanced wielding of magic's raw power.
Her thinking changed instantly with recognition of what this meant. Now there
would be competition in her quest, and time would become precious. She would
not have the luxuries of long deliberation and careful planning to sustain her
effort. She would be faced with a challenge that would test her as nothing
else could.
Even the Morgawr might choose to involve himself in a struggle of this
magnitude.
She had slowed perceptibly, but now she picked up her pace once more. She was
getting ahead of herself. Before she could return to the Wilderun with her
news, she must conclude matters here. She must tie up loose ends. Her spy was
still waiting to learn the value of his information. He would expect to be
complimented on his diligence and well paid for his efforts. She must see to
both.
Still, as she moved silently through the village and nearer to her spy's rooms,
her thoughts kept returning to the confrontation that lay ahead, in a time too
distant yet to fix upon, in a place perhaps far removed from the lands she
traveled now--a confrontation of wills, of magics, and of destinies. She and
her adversary, locked in a final struggle for supremancy, just as she had
dreamed they would one day be--the image burned in her thoughts like a hot coal
and fired her imagination.
Her spy was waiting for her when she entered his rooms. "Mistress," he
acknowledged, dropping obediently to one knee.
"Rise," she told him.
He did so, keeping his gaze lowered, his head bent.
"You have done well. What you told me has opened doors that I had only dreamed
about."
She watched him beam with pride and clasp his hands in anticipation of the
reward she would bestow upon him. "Thank you, Mistress."
"It is for me to thank you," she replied. She reached into her robes and
withdrew a leather pouch that clinked enticingly. "Open it when I am gone,"
she said quietly. "Be at peace."
She left without delay, her business almost finished. She went from the
village to the decaying cottage that belonged to her spy, uncaged her birds,
and sent them winging back into the Wilderun. She would find them waiting
within her safehold when she returned. The spy would have no further use for
them. Within the bag of gold she had given him nested a tiny snake whose bite
was so lethal that even the smallest nick from a single fang was fatal. Her
spy would not wait until morning to count his coins; he would do so tonight.
He would be found, of course, but by then the snake would be gone. She guessed
that the money would be gone almost as fast. In quarters of the sort where her
spy lived, it was well known that dead men had no need for gold.
She gave the matter little thought as she made her way back to where she had
hobbled and hooded her War Shrike. Although they were many and were positioned
in large numbers through the Four Lands, she did not give up her spies easily.
She was fiercely protective of them when they were as useful and reliable as
this one had been.
But even her best spy could be found out and made to betray her, and she could
not chance that happening here. Better to cut her losses than to take such an
obvious risk. A life was a small price to pay for an edge on her greatest
enemy.
But how was she to gain possession of that map? What subterfuge could she
employ that her formidable adversary could not penetrate?
She thought momentarily of going after the map herself. But to steal it from
Allardon Elessedil, who would have it by now, in the heart of Elven country,
was too dangerous a task for her to undertake without careful planning. She
could try to intercept it on its inevitable way to her enemy, but how was she
to determine the means by which it would be conveyed? Besides, she might
already be too late, even for that.
No, she must bide her time. She must consider. She must find a more subtle
way to get what she wanted.
She reached her mount, removed the stays and hood while keeping him in check
with her magic, then mounted him behind his thick, feathered neck and above the
place where his wings joined to his body, and together they lifted away. Time
and cunning would reward her best, she thought contentedly, the wind rushing
past her face, the smells of the forest giving way to the pure cold of the high
night air that swept the clouds and circled the stars.
Time and cunning, and the power of the magic she was born to, would yield her a
world.
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Copyright © 2000 by Terry Brooks, all rights reserved. This information came directly from the official website of Terry Brooks at http://www.terrybrooks.net and is printed with their permission.
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