Ilse Witch Read Online Free PDF

waters of a little cove thatpooled off the stream that ran not far from her home and try to imagine how she would look when grown. She had not thought herself pretty then, when it mattered to her. She did not think herself pretty now, when it did not.
    There was warmth and tenderness in her face and eyes as she bent to kiss the ruined man on his lips. She held the kiss long enough to draw the breath from his lungs, and then he died.
    “Be at peace, Kael Elessedil,” she whispered in his ear.
    She went from the Healer’s home as she had come, hooded once more, a shadowy presence that drew no notice by its passing. The attendants would come awake after she was gone, unaware that anything had transpired, not sensing they had slept or that time had passed.
    The Ilse Witch was already sifting through the images she had culled, weighing her options. The magic Kael Elessedil had discovered was priceless. Even without knowing exactly what it was, she could sense that much. It must be hers, of course. She must do what he had failed to do—find it, claim it, and retrieve it. It was protected in some way, as such magic necessarily would be, but there were no defenses she could not overcome. Her course of action was already decided, and only a settling of the particulars remained.
    What she coveted, even if she did not require it in order to succeed, was the map.
    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 hadfinished 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 supremacy, 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 handsin 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