Web hosting Custom Email SiteBuilder

.....All the time that Andrea and Allanon talked Brona was far away, drifting in the never-ending ocean of daydreams, immune to everything around him. He thought of nothing at this moment of forgetfulness, and he had no wish to leave the fragile fortress of his dreams and its peace. Yet, as it is with all the daydreams, they can end without warning nor provocation, and thus he came awake to the place he now was: the kitchens of Paranor. Andrea and Allanon were still talking on the same subject of their search, so he had not been gone for long.

.....He looked around the kitchen hall, Amberle was sitting to their side, a black wolf at her knee.

.....'greetings, young one,' Brona sent a telepathic transmission to the wolf. He was tired of the human system of thought, and he craved for the simple animal logic of a wolf.

.....'greetings, dark one,' the wolf sent back.

.....Brona was surprised by the force of the transmission. This wolf was a strong creature, and a wise one.

.....'one sees the love of the other to the dark one, and so does one see the love of the dark one to the other. why does not the other believe it?" asked the wolf.

.....'that one and this one are enemies, as those before us were enemies to one another as well, but I do not wish it to be so...' Brona replied, and the wolf stared at him in puzzlement

.....'yet one loves the other, so does the other love the dark one in return, and both must live. If both cannot live together--then both must learn,' the wolf said.

.....Brona fell into the void of his dreams again but was back in an instant

....."Yes, one must live, and one must learn" he said aloud then, too puzzled to conceal it.

............................................................*..... *..... *

.....Andrea listened as Allanon spoke of his and Wren's search of the lower parts of the Keep. They had found nothing unusual, except for the warded area around the library, and Mareth would have to dispel that magic.

.....As Allanon talked, Andrea found her eyes focusing again on Brona's face. He seemed very far away, and the often harsh expression had softened. He looked almost like a normal person for a few moments, not like a powerful and dangerous Warlock. Andrea thought of the feelings she had sensed in him earlier--guilt, regret; and she remembered him saying "forgive me" just before he had vanished into mist form again. His frightening behavior had been her one defense against him--if she could hate and fear him, she could stifle her emotions and go on, a little wiser perhaps, but none the worse for her bout with infatuation.

....."Yes, one must live, and one must learn," Brona said suddenly, out loud, though he was still staring into space.

.....Andrea jumped. She had been sure she was keeping her thoughts to herself. And what did he mean? That she *should* forget about him and go on with her life? That kiss meant nothing then, she told herself, it was just a reaction to our victory, nothing personal. He couldn't care for me like that, and he's telling me so. She was surprised at how much the thought hurt. I shouldn't care, I can't care, she repeated to herself. And she was a little surprised at herself when she stood up and slammed her chair back into the table.

....."Yes, I've learned. I've learned a great deal." Her voice cracked, and she fled the room.

Her natural instinct was to go to the library. In the years she had studied with her father, the library had always been her place of refuge at Paranor whenever something was troubling her, but now it was inaccessible. So she opted for her second-favorite spot: the battlements.

.....The sun had already gone down, but it was still twilight. The vast purple expanse of the heavens was spread above her, the stars beginning to appear. Andrea sat on one of the stone shelves behind the battlements and leaned her head out, letting the wind catch her hair, as if it could carry away all her emotions and leave her clean of them.

.....Yet every time she thought of Brona's words, and that he didn't--couldn't--care for her, she felt as if her soul were being cut to ribbons. Wrong or not, dangerous or not, she wanted him to love her. Maybe it was only pride--that she could refuse to love him, yes, but that he could refuse to love her...? She shook her head helplessly, tears streaming down her face.

............................................................*..... *..... *

.....Brona jumped at the sound of Allanon's voice.

....."What was that all about?"

.....So cold was it that even he, having used the same tone on more than one occasion, was startled by it. Brona let down his guard again--it was becoming a habit, and a dangerous one at that. He looked at Allanon in puzzlement, he had no answers to give to him.

....."I don't know..." Brona did not wait for Allanon to reply, jumping up from his chair and disappearing through the open door.

.....Allanon sat back as Brona went out, presumably after Andrea. The pieces had suddenly fallen into place, and Allanon grinned in spite of himself, though no one else could see it. Brona was indeed going to need all the luck that Allanon had wished him. Andrea was strong-willed girl.

.....He felt Wren leaned over, and she spoke quietly, interrupting his musings.

....."Allanon, you know something. Something that Brona, Andrea, and Mareth know as well. Something happened while I was gone. What was it? I know you may choose not to tell me, and I will respect that decision, but I ask you now what it is."

.....Allanon pondered, wondering precisely what Wren meant.

....."I am not entirely sure myself, Wren," he answered finally. "You are right that something happened. For one thing, Brona has declared his Warlock heritage openly--though he could hardly have kept that a secret after his display of power in destroying the dark army. I don't know precisely when you returned, or if you saw that. It was quite...impressive."

.....He went on. "As to anything else, I do not know. Something happened between Brona and Andrea--Brona would not tell me the details. He only said that Andrea used the forces of death to extract a vow from him, a vow that he would do no evil, and that gave Andrea a degree of control over him: the power of forbidding his actions if she deemed them evil."

.....Allanon watched Wren for the astonished reaction he expected. "You can imagine, of course, that he is not pleased by this. The promise created a mind-bond between the two...and now? You can see that they are attracted to each other, can you not? What the end of that will be, I do not know. Andrea still fears him..." Allanon trailed off, troubled by all the unpleasant possibilities that might stand in the way of his daughter's happiness.

..............................................................*..... *..... *

.....Andrea heard footsteps behind her, and her mind reached out automatically to identify who. It was Brona. She wiped the tears from her face quickly, and sniffed. She had no wish to appear any greater a fool than she must already look, storming out like that. That was a stupid thing to do! she chastised herself. Stupid and childish.

....."Andrea, why?" Brona asked quietly. "I have never meant to..." he trailed off.

.....No, he hadn't meant to. It was her own fault, believing that it meant anything...

.....Brona sat down beside her. She started trembling and struggled to stop, shocked at her lack of control.

....."I have never meant any harm...." he said.

.....Andrea look a deep breath. Get a grip, girl! she told herself.

....."I know you didn't. I'm sorry," she said, stunned that she was apologizing to the man. If someone had told her that she would do this, even two days ago, she wouldn't have believed them. "It was rude of me," she went on, but her voice was shaking now. "I shouldn't have thought you meant anything by it..."

.....She was as much as admitting that she felt something for him, and it terrified her. Surely he would use that against her somehow. She kept talking, babbling, hoping the flow of words would preserve her, knowing with despair that they only made things worse.

....."You were married before, weren't you?" she asked, thinking of the woman she had seen speaking to Brona in his vision. Nothing obvious had told her so, but as an empath, she could sense things sometimes, and it was suddenly clear to her. The woman had been so beautiful--tall and slender and fiery-haired. Andrea imagined herself--average in every way, plain as mud next to such a woman. "I understand how it is. My father...he never thought of anyone like that again, after my mother died..."

.....Andrea watched the play of intense emotions across Brona's face.

....."Yes, I was married once, long ago...she died a month after our child was born, I could not save them. I was called away on matters of Imperial state, and the Island that was our private resort went under the ocean while I was gone. I arrived to late to save them...so long ago it was..." he stared again at the empty space before him.

.....Andrea could see the pain he had felt--that he still felt, remembering--and she felt guilty that she had asked. Brona shook his head and stood up, raising her to her feet as well.

....."But we must live on. This is not about your father, is it, Andrea?" he said softly, more statement than question. "It is about you and me..." he said before he embraced her, holding her close to him, and feeling how small she was in his hands. More than anything he wanted to stay this way, holding her until the heavens would come down upon them.

.....As he held her, everything suddenly became clear to her. All the tangle of her emotions, that had prevented her from sensing his, was untangled. Perhaps it was that, in sensing his grief, she had finally found the place where her emotions ended and his began. Now she knew that he loved her. As impossible as that seemed, he loved her; and all she wanted right now was to forget everything that made it impossible, and think only of the warmth of his arms around her. She felt more tears welling up in her eyes.

....."Let me show you something" Brona said suddenly "You have our Blood--I know, don't speak, just listen," he interrupted when she tried to protest. "It can be a great gift--and a great curse. The power is within you, I can feel it building up. You must learn how to use it in order to control it. I can teach you, I can open the doors that you have never thought existed," he offered, wanting to do so much for her that he had forgotten all caution. He looked into her eyes, and the darkness finally closed around them. "If you will let me..."

.....Andrea felt her heart skip a beat. It *was* power he was offering, just as in her dream. Yet he was right. Somehow his nearness to her was waking something that had long lain dormant, just under the surface it now seemed. She could feel the stirring of magic in her blood, a magic that her father had always left quiet, that he insisted she not explore because of the dangers involved. In learning the Druid Fire, she had felt a part of that magic come to life, controlled and channeled by the spell, it was true. She had known for the first time, the feeling of raw power, the temptation of it. Somehow Brona held all that power and more, within himself, and did not lose control over it. She imagined for a terrified moment, all of that power inside her breaking loose, and she reveling in it...the most evil thing she could conceive of: the love of power itself.

....."I...I have to control it," Andrea whispered. "Please....help me."

.....Brona led Andrea inside, out of the dark. Through the shadowed halls, they went up to Brona's chambers in the tower. Andrea looked around the room, wanting to learn what she could of him from the surroundings he kept.

.....The walls were lined with bookshelves, and this she approved of. All the same, she stepped into the room with a faint hesitation, part of her mind sounding a warning of danger. Mostly it was Granny's voice in the back of her memory, chastising her for going alone with a man into his rooms, particularly under the circumstances. Though she had suspected him of evil in the not-so-distant past--and indeed, a part of her mind was still ever-wary against the possibility--she knew one thing: that he was a man of honor. She had sensed that when she made him give his promise to her on his deathbed. The very promise that had bound them together. Brona had warned her that it was a chain that would bind from both ends, but she had never suspected that it would have any effect on her like this.

.....Brona turned to look at her, and a faint glow began to rise immediately around him, a silver light that radiated out from his skin until all the room was lit by it.

....."Enter my mind, Andrea," Brona said softly.

.....Fear pulled at her, and she wondered what awaited her: terror or understanding--or perhaps both? She dared not turn back now. She took Brona's outstretched hand, and sensed....how utterly open he was! There was no duplicity in him anywhere, and everything he was stood open to her view. She was astounded by his trust, and her soul wanted to answer it. She reached out with her thoughts, and touched his mind. He drew her in gently, guiding her, showing her the way his mind structured the Warlock magic.

.....It was different from the Druid magic. And yet...Andrea realized suddenly what Brona had meant before when he called her a bridge. She had used her Druid powers innately, in the way of the Warlock powers. She realized in shock that the way she structured her magic was not so very different from the way he structured his. And yet all the magic she had ever used was Druid magic, not Warlock magic. She saw now what had happened when Risca tried to set the pathways for her to use the Druid Fire. It was counter to what was natural for her; to use the Druid magic in the Druid structure was a foreign concept.

.....All this time, she had been using a Warlock structure for her magic, and she hadn't known. Had her father known? Surely he must have suspected.... Andrea reeled at the implications.

.....Then Brona seemed to open another door, and they stepped through into...the air--it was like flying. Andrea had a sudden sense that she had left her body--a thing she did not like to do. Yet this was not the same as that disconnected, un-centered sensation. She could still sense her body, but it was as if it had changed structure drastically.

..... she thought to Brona, and it was if he were there, closer to her than the touch of mind to mind, closer than he had held her on the battlements, closer than it seemed possible to be...

..... Brona sent out his reply, attaching to it a telepathic smile, and Andrea's soul resonated with his explanation.

.....Yes! It was exactly like that. Andrea could not remember a time when the magic had not seemed a normal part of her. Now that she thought about it, the idea of magic requiring a mechanical approach seemed very awkward. There was study, yes, and practice, to learn control, but she couldn't separate herself from the magic itself--the notion of "spells" was, she realized, was completely foreign to her. Either she did something, or she did not. There was no "process" to it. The magic existed within her, and it was her will that controlled it.

.....The realization terrified her. She had not known that she was so much like Brona, that her will moved the magic in the same way. She had less magic at her command than he did, true, and her father had drummed control of it into her head until it became instinct. Yet the power of will was still there--it was still what moved her magic. And with the doors Brona might open....

.....

.....He forced the window open and stretched out into the fresh air, part of them was still inside the room, but they were roaming the winds, together.

.....Now they were truly flying, and as Brona had said, everything: touch, taste, smell, all the senses came to her--all the sounds of the forest. The dizzying flap of the bats through the night air, the buzz of insects, the scent of trees and flowers and earth and water and the faint tickle of food cooking somewhere; she *knew* it all in the way she *knew* things when she used her location sense. It was exhilarating.

.....And Brona was here. His love for her was present all around her. Since childhood, her father's love had been like a blanket around her, keeping her safe, and when he had died, that had been ripped from her, leaving her alone in the cold; even now, even that her father was alive, things were not the same--she had grown up, she had learned to live on her own and take care of herself, and Allanon had acknowledged that fact without any words being spoken between them, simply in the way he permitted her to go on taking care of herself, making her own decisions. Yet, she could feel the faint query of his mind and heart along the line that still bound them, his worry for her which, perhaps, would never cease because she was his child.

..... she answered that query, as if that were the only way to describe her joy. Then there was only Brona and the wind and their flight...

.....The feeling of freedom was wondrous, but at last the winds ceased and they found themselves hanging above some village located about twenty miles south of Paranor, still connected to each other, inseparable. This was the closeness that they knew they could not have in the solid, physical form. More than anything Brona wanted to stay this way, hanging above the tall grasses, one with the woman he loved.

.....The sky was a deep cerulean blue, with the faint golden hint of dawn in the east. The colors rushed through Andrea's senses in a way she had never known.

.....Brona finally turned them back toward Paranor. The sun would be up soon, and, as any mist, they would be pushed into a dark corner somewhere. Slowly, lazily the mist began to creep towards the Keep...

.....She could feel Brona's regret that this time must end. Slowly they seeped back into his tower room, and she could feel how his mind guided them apart again, the mist they had been coalescing into their physical forms. Andrea found herself collapsing against him--that journey and transformation had taken too much of her strength, although Brona had been the one guiding it. Her limbs felt like water, and the sensations of her physical nerves were at the same time dull and horribly, stunningly painful. The shock was almost enough to send her back into mist form, her mind seeking out those pathways, but Brona caught her.

....."No," he said, and she laid her head on his chest and wept. "It will pass..." He embraced her, preventing her from falling, his hands began to glow with a faint gray light.

.....The world was a nightmare of pain that she could not escape. Brona was holding her here, not letting her run from it. Why? Why? she thought. Why couldn't she stay forever in that state, floating free? But she knew why--she was born in a physical body and she was grounded to it. If she tried to stay in some other state too long, she would cease to have the ability to return. She would no longer be human. But am I human at all? she thought. Through the pain she felt his hands stroking her hair, the simple touch assuring her that she was indeed human. He held her close and she felt the pain begin to drain out of her. She knew he was taking it into himself. She reeled from the mix of emotions she was feeling.

.....Brona picked her up and carried her to a pile of cushions, where he set her down gently. Andrea was too weak to laugh. She was so exhausted. She could see the light of morning coming in the windows, making the remaining guttering candlelight feeble in comparison, as feeble as she felt.

....."It will take time for you to adjust," he told her. "Then we can continue your lessons when you have regained control of your body once more. It should take about thirty minutes for your muscles to adjust to the new experiences."

.....He went into the far corner of the room to find a book of the Warlock Histories. When he returned, he knelt beside her, showing her the heavy tome that he had brought back with him. The title was written in runes that she could not understand.

....."This is one of the Warlock Histories. It contains knowledge and wisdom known only to us," he explained as he handed the book to her. "It explains much about our people...and it is sacred to us as any knowledge is sacred to those who learn. I want you to have it." he smiled at her.

.....She smiled back weakly in amazement. She looked down at the book. It was a thick volume, bound differently than the Druid Histories downstairs. The letters on the cover, though they must have spelled out some sort of title, were indecipherable to her. She opened it, and found pages full of a script that she could not understand either. The characters were similar in form to the ones of the common language of the Four Lands, but there were shapes that made no sense to her eyes.

.....A new alphabet and a new language, she thought. At least that was a more mundane study than magic. Her father had taught her the gnome language, and she knew a little of the ancient Elven tongue, which some of the oldest Histories were written in. But this....

....."I can't read it," she whispered.

....."No, but you will. Let me show you." Brona placed his hand against her temple and touched her mind, differently this time. "Do you know how to read people's memories?" he asked.

....."I...not on purpose," she answered. "I just get...flashes sometimes. Then I see things from people's past, things that have happened to them..."

....."Good," Brona said. "I will teach you in time how to control that. This is not so very different. Now look at the words, and draw from my memory to read them. I'll show you how," he said, when she began to protest. "Now, read the words."

.....Andrea let her eyes drop to the page, not certain what she was supposed to do. Then suddenly the knowledge was there. Not her own knowledge, but Brona's. He had learned these words long ago, had them almost memorized.

.....The characters before her began to make sense. The sounds they represented came quickly, and she could hear them in her head. Then the meaning of the words was pressing into her... She gasped and held her head.

....."Too fast, too fast," she said. Her ears and eyes seemed to be throbbing, until she thought they would burst right out of her skull.

.....Brona raised her chin and looked at her. Did he think she was hopelessly stupid, impossibly slow?

....."At your pace," he said. "You know the contact point now." She nodded, took a deep breath with her eyes closed, then opened them again.

.....She read, slowly. Gradually she began to recognize the letters for herself, sound and meaning becoming a part of her own memory. Every time she faltered, Brona's mind was there to draw upon for the information she needed: a letter, a word, a meaning. She was too absorbed in trying to understand the language to make much sense of the text itself. But after half a dozen pages, the words began to blur in front of her eyes. So much magic...since last night...the cushions were soft... Her eyelids fell closed of their own accord, and her mind wandered through the warmth of memory and into dreams.

.....Brona watched as Andrea fell asleep, at that moment she was beautiful then ever, so peaceful, the air around her seemed to go silent, the time seemed to stop. Brona wanted to stay here forever, and just look at her, just be near to her. But he knew that could scare her away, he decided to let her sleep. He took a blanket from the far closet at covered Andrea with it. He then took the book from her hands and left the room.

.....He went down from his tower, and, without thinking, came onto the battlements, a place where everyone seemed to go when seeking peace. He did not make it as far as the edge of the wall before he met Allanon, holding tight to his scythe. Brona still held the Warlock history...

............................................................*..... *..... *

.....Allanon had been pacing the halls most of the night. At dawn he went back up to the battlements, hoping the morning air and the sunrise would clear his head, but his peace had been interrupted by a sudden sense of pain from Andrea, and then it was soothed...soothed by someone else. He had paced after that, fighting with the impulse to act, to interfere.

.....He heard footsteps behind him, and whirled around. It was Brona.

.....Brona's first impulse was to stop and ignore the man, but instead he kept going.

....."Well met, Allanon," Brona greeted the other druid in a matter of fact way, "What are you doing up, so early? Hadn't the battle drained you?" Brona asked, trying to divert Allanon's attention from the book.

....."No more so than you, apparently," Allanon answered, studying the other man. He was carrying a thick book, and Andrea was nowhere to be seen. "I've been up all night, Brona. As, I suspect, have you."

.....Allanon let his pacing naturally carry him around the Second High Druid, circling him. He could see the book clearly out of the corner of his eye as he went past. There were strange runes on the cover; Allanon could not decipher them at such a quick glimpse, but he recognized the shape of the characters: they were the language of the Warlocks.

.....Allanon stopped just beyond Brona, and turned sharply. He looked the other man directly in the eyes.

....."What have you been doing with my daughter?" he snapped.

..... thought Brona. "Nothing that could harm her," he answered calmly. "In fact, something that she will benefit from as the time passes by," he said smiling. He had lowered his usual defense just in the area of the arm that held the book, challenging Allanon to take it from him.

.....Allanon was not a fool. As much as the Druid would have liked to lay hands on the book, he suspected a trap.

....."She must learn our ways, if she is to control her magic, and to appreciate its full potential," he went on. "And she is a very good pupil at that," Brona mused.

.....He was trying to anger Allanon, he needed to find out the truth about the man, and this was one way to do that...

....."Yes, she is a good pupil," Allanon said tightly.

.....The man was trying to bait him, and he wondered how far Brona would go, and what he wanted. "I've had occasion to teach her myself. And yes, she *is* my daughter. But you knew that already."

.....Suddenly Allanon decided to try a different tactic. He let down his own guard, and sat, leaning back against the battlement.

.....Well, well, well, thought Brona, it was unwise of him.

....."There was only so much I could teach her," Allanon said with a sigh, intentionally disarmingly. "Control mostly, so that the power she had from Mareth Ravenlock of old would not break loose at some point and wreak havoc. Now you are unlocking what I so carefully locked away. I wish I were as confident that she would survive that unscathed as you are. But I know very little of Warlock magic."

....."That would explain it, otherwise you would never try to tamper with the Warlock power. It cannot be sealed away like and unwanted peace of cloth. It is a living thing, it will always find its way around the protections you set in her. For us, magic is not a tool, it is a part of us, like an arm or a leg. You cannot just cut off your arm because it can carry a sword capable of killing and expect to lead a normal life after that. Her magic is immature at this point, but it is growing at a fast rate. If she is not schooled in our ways the power will consume her."

.....Allanon resisted the impulse to shake his head. He knew that Brona was at least partially incorrect in his assessment. The first Mareth, and all of her descendants who had inherited the magic had managed to keep it locked away, and yet they had lived normal lives after doing so. Perhaps Brona thought that was not normal for a Warlock; but they hadn't been trying to *be* Warlocks, they had been trying to be normal human beings. And the power had not found a way to break loose, once it was controlled--not in Mareth, not in Adrianne.

.....The Second High Druid leaned against the battlements as well, deliberately placing the book between Allanon and himself.

.....As Allanon looked at the book he realized that he could read the title. Before, Brona had held the book upside down it seemed, for now the letters were familiar. The title was written in the ancient elven language. It was titled: "The Warlock History of the First Generation: Path to Our Power." What was Brona doing? he wondered. Why tempt him with a book of Warlock magic? Unless he suspected the truth...

.....Allanon decided to play on with his original gambit, but warily.

....."I am very concerned for my daughter's safety and well-being. I understand her and the way her mind works better than anyone else. Perhaps if I learned more about the Warlock magic, I might be able to help her..." he trailed off, glancing down at the book.

....."Yes, I also understand..." Brona said remembering the sensations, the feeling of closeness he and Andrea had shared in the mist form. He stood up and turned to look at the morning sky, leaving the book unprotected. "*You* would never understand Warlock magic. Even the Warlocks themselves do not understand it sometimes. For many generations we have tried to reach the Ravenlocks. Mareth was the younger child of the Rebel Druid, or should I say, a Druid's victim...? She had not seen him before he had been converted, she had never seen him for that matter. She did not know who she was or where she came from. The only information she had was that all Warlocks were evil. Throughout the ages we have tried to teach the Ravenlocks otherwise, but they would not listen, and so the daemons were born in their clan.

.....Evil that haunted this land of many years. Eventually we had to destroy most of them, leaving only those with less magic...but no more. There are no more Ravenlocks left, but Andrea, and she is learning, and she will escape the fate of others."

....."Fate?" Allanon asked.

.....He picked up the book casually, as if it were nothing more than any other book, and began to flip through the pages, pretending nonchalance. He had thought, when he first glanced at the cover, that the characters had been of the Warlock language. Now they appeared to be Elven. But the script inside was not. He knew a very little of the Warlock language from his extensive studies, and he suspected he could puzzle it out, given time.

....."I should like to learn something about it, all the same, even if my understanding is necessarily limited," Allanon said. Then he looked up sharply at the Warlock, dropping the pretense of being off-guard.

....."Brona, why do you treat me as if I were your natural enemy? Unless you feel the Druids *are* your natural enemies, which leads me to wonder *why* you are at Paranor. I have given you more time and space to prove yourself than you deserve, Warlock." Allanon could feel his temper slipping. "If you think I could not raise the Four Lands against you without harming the Druid cause, you are much mistaken. I would prefer not to, since it *might* harm Lady Mareth."

.....Allanon stood up, his face grim. "Brona, Andrea is my own life's blood--perhaps you do not understand that. She's no longer a child, and what you do with her is...in a sense...none of my business." Allanon looked away for a moment. "But she is still my child, nonetheless. I cannot understand why you mock me and bait me. Are you my enemy, after all?"

...............................................................*..... *..... *

.....Wren listened, still in spirit form, to Brona and Allanon's conversation. She felt guilty for doing it, but also felt that she needed to know. For some reason, she needed to. Her curiosity was too great, and she seemed frozen to the place, unwilling or unable to move away, and so she simply watched and caught several words.

....."...Andrea......my daughter..."

Wren almost jerked back to herself in surprise. Andrea was Allanon's daughter? What more was there that she did not know about her fellow Druids--even about Brona? Wren tried to look around, to see exactly the expressions on the two Druids' faces, to see what the book was that Brona held in his hands, but there were limitations to this magic, and things could not be seen clearly.

.....Wren did all she could, which was listen on. Allanon suddenly became angry, losing a little bit of his temper, questioning Brona, challenging him almost. What was going on? Wren wondered, forgetting there was nothing she could do to stop a confrontation in this form.

................................................................*..... *..... *

.....Brona smiled inwardly as he felt Allanon taking the book.

....."No, Allanon," he said. "Druids are not my enemy. But you were once long ago, and a powerful enemy you were. No more, I do not fear you." There was a faint smile on his face, and Allanon wondered with a chill whether Brona was not, at times, overcome by the Warlock

memories he possessed. That could be fatal to the Four Lands, if those memories ever ruled the man, made him the Warlock Lord again, in truth.

.....Allanon opened his mouth to reply, but suddenly Brona was gone. It was not the slow dissolve into mist this time. He had simply vanished.

....."Oh, I am still here," the voice seemed to run through his very blood. He looked down at the book--the letters were gone, but instead Brona's face was drawn on every page. "Oh, don't be surprised," the face said. "I was wondering about your identity for far too long..." Allanon tried to close the book, to throw it away, but he could not release it, his hands were locked on the cover. Then Brona's eyes flashed and Allanon felt the other enter his mind.

.....Allanon threw up his shields, trying to block the probe. He used almost every trick he had learned in 500 years of fighting, but nothing seemed to stop the Warlock. Allanon had once contemplated single combat with the Warlock Lord, as his final alternative if Shea had been killed before the quest was fulfilled. He had known it would be a desperate last gamble. He knew now that his chances of success had been very slim indeed.

.....Brona roamed, forcing Allanon's shields down, and boldly exploring the pathways of the other's magic. His explorations revealed a stunning revelation: Allanon's genetic structure was Warlock while his spirit was much older then his body! How could this be?

..... Allanon sent at Brona.

He did not know what effect, if any, the accusation had on the man, but Brona stopped the draining.

....."I see that we are much closer then I would have imagined, Allanon," Brona said, still inside his mind. "You should have told me from the beginning! I could have helped you. I shall give you what you need."

.....Allanon felt the flow reverse--instead of draining information from him, the Warlock was now infusing him with it. Warlock magic! Part of his mind reached for the knowledge, processing it, understanding it instantly because it was born in the blood of the body he now had. But the part of Allanon's mind that was all Druid, his soul, recoiled from it in shock.

.....Brona went on, his voice low in warning, "Yet, by this you are pledged. If you will use this power, you are obligated to do all that is in your power to stop the Hunt!"

.....Brona took the book from his immobilized fingers. Then there was a flash, as of fire, and he was gone.

.....The Hunt! Allanon knew now what that was, from the knowledge Brona had given him. And with his Druid memories he knew that even the Druids had not known before about the Hunt. The Troll and Dwarven hunters who had pursued the Warlocks had done so independently of the Druids. There was a single reference, he now recalled, from the time of Galaphile, about hunters who had sought to destroy the members of the Death Cult, since they were "of Brona's kind, and a threat to the strength of the Druid Council."

.....Allanon had never supposed that the line referred to the Warlock people as a whole, or that the hunters had continued their aims beyond the time of Galaphile.

.....Galaphile. As Allanon had suspected, Galaphile had been implicated by the original Brona as the real enemy. Part of the Warlock memories were Allanon's now. He had no way of knowing how much the Second High Druid had given him of those memories, and Allanon knew too well himself how easy it was to change the truth, merely by withholding portions of information, to trust completely what Brona had given him. Yet clearly, the descendants of the Warlock Lord had believed it--that it was Galaphile who had tricked Brona. Allanon resolved to search the Druid Histories of that time, perhaps to learn the truth of the matter.

.....As for the Hunt...Allanon laughed out loud. Who remained that would be an object of that Hunt? Himself, Andrea, Mareth, and Brona. Of the other three, he would cheerfully have thrown Brona to the wolves. Andrea and Mareth, on the other hand, he would preserve at the cost of his own life. Brona had let something else slip into that knowledge about the Hunt--Risca had been a hunter once, but was no longer--at least, he did not hunt Warlocks. Did Brona truly believe that his injunction would cause Allanon to hesitate in the use of the power he had just given him?

.....Instantly, the Druid sobered. He could feel the connections that had been formed in his mind, the things he now had, in theory, the ability to do; but his Druid training fought with the instinct that the Warlock magic required. No, not merely his Druid training, he realized, as he carefully, and not without difficulty, set that training in abeyance.

.....This body....

.....He could sense it all now: the Druid power that was not merely in his mind, but a part of his blood, along with the Warlock magic that also flowed there.

..... came the whisper of his new knowledge.