It was nearing dusk when they reached another shelter the Speakman favored, this one a cliff face riddled with caves in which any number of creatures might dwell. Farshaun, working the controls, set the airship down on a flat close by the base of the cliffs. When she was anchored, he climbed down with the Ard Rhys, the big Troll Captain Garroneck, and the Gnome Tracker Skint. Skint prowled the flats for a time, working his way toward the cliff face, and then nodded to them. There were signs of a human presence, and they were very recent. They led upward toward the caves.

The Speakman, if he was the one who had left the signs, could probably be found there.

Even though it was almost dark by then, the Ard Rhys wanted to act on this information immediately. Waiting risked losing their quarry, and she didn’t want to waste any more time hunting for him. So with Farshaun, Garroneck, and Skint in tow, she went looking.

Redden and Railing, standing at the bow of the Walker Boh, watched them set out across the flats to where a series of steep, narrow trails wound upward along the cliff face.

“Do you think he’s up there?” Railing asked.

Redden shrugged. “I wish they’d let us go with them.”

“I got the feeling the Ard Rhys didn’t want us to hear whatever the Speakman had to say.”

“I got that feeling, too.”

“She’s worried about us.”

“She thinks we’re young.”

“We are young.”

“You know what I mean. That we’re boys, not men. Still growing up and maybe not as dependable as she might like. We’re only here because Allanon’s shade said we should be. No one, her included, knows the reason the shade told her that.”

They watched silently as the little party reached the base of the cliffs and began to climb the trails leading up to the caves. The sun was far west, approaching the horizon, a screen of mist turning it a deep gold as the eastern sky darkened with night’s approach.

Redden sensed a presence at his elbow and found one of the Druids standing next to him, watching the searchers climb. There had been little contact between the brothers and the other Druids since they had set out, the latter keeping apart from everyone but the Ard Rhys and two men and one woman they had brought with them. Redden searched his memory for the name of the man standing next to him.

“That Gnome might be the best Tracker alive,” the Druid offered, nodding toward the cliffs. “If anyone can find this seer, he can.”

Redden nodded, still trying to remember the man’s name. Carrick, that was it.

“The Ard Rhys tells us you both have use of the wishsong.” His narrow features gave him a predatory look. “Have you practiced with it much?”