Bearers of the Black Staff: Legends of Shannara (14 page)

He gave a quick warning gesture. “Don’t misunderstand me. Demons might be the most dangerous enemy, but they’re not the only worry. Not from what I’ve seen. The larger worry is the unsettled state of the different kinds of people who were the survivors of the Great Wars. Those people—those Races, more properly—took on different forms and developed different languages, and they barely knew of one another until a little more than a century ago when they stopped living in caves and hideaways and came out for a closer look around. Instead of trying to band together in a common cause, they did the exact opposite. They created new barriers to any sort of joining, making clear to anyone who wasn’t exactly like them that they didn’t trust or need their kind. It was the past all over again. Just like always, men are their own worst enemies.”

“Are you saying that what you’ve got out here is a smaller version of what we left behind five hundred years ago?” Sider stared at him. “That nothing has changed except the number of participants?”

Inch nodded. “Pretty much. Sad, huh?”

Sider rocked back and looked off into the distance. It was dark and silent and peaceful, and there was nothing to indicate anything different. Yet there it was, the truth of things from someone who ought to know. The Great Wars might be over and the Races might have changed their look and makeup, but the hostilities that had plagued the world since day one continued. It would never change, he thought. No surprise, but it was hard to acknowledge nevertheless.

“How do you fit into all this, Inch?” he asked finally. “I know what you do, but how do you choose who you work for? You said it wasn’t just the money; it was a freedom of choice. But how do you make that choice?”

“Oh, that.” Deladion Inch shrugged. “It’s not so hard, really. The communities are small, poorly trained, and not well educated, but
they’re tough-minded and determined. I find one that has a problem I can relate to and I offer to solve it. Sometimes I don’t even make the offer; I just go ahead and do it. It depends on the situation. I want things to get better; this is how I make that happen. It’s pretty clear to me, mostly.”

Sider wasn’t so sure it would be all that clear to him, but he let it go. Deladion Inch was a confident, self-assured man, and if he was any judge of ability, a dangerous one. He was probably more than a match for any two normal men and maybe more. Sider didn’t think he ever wanted to find out.

Besides, as he had said to Inch earlier, he liked him.

“What about enemies that threaten everyone?” he asked. “Any of those still out there?”

The big man shook his head. “Maybe, but we don’t know about them yet. The Trolls are the most populous people. Used to call themselves Lizards, but quit doing that a long time back. Something about wanting more respect. They live in tribes to the north. Thousands of them belong to each tribe; these are big communities. They did better after the Great Wars than the other Races, maybe because they were better protected by their mutations, maybe because they were farther away from the worst of things. In any case, they came out of it better and propagated quicker. I’ve been up that way a few times, met a few of their leaders, and seen their cities. They’re smiths and ironworkers, for the most part. They make their own weapons and armor. No one in his right mind would go up against them.

“Other than that?” He furrowed his brow. “There are rumors …” He trailed off. “But there are always rumors, aren’t there? I haven’t seen anything of the sort that you’re asking about, and neither has anyone I’ve talked to.”

“I was just wondering how big a threat those of us living in the valley might face from those of you who don’t. If agenahls are the worst of it, maybe it isn’t so bad, after all.”

Deladion Inch was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on Sider. “Well, I wouldn’t be too quick to make that presumption from anything that I’ve told you,” he said finally. “Ask yourself this. Do your people have weapons and armor? Do they have training in the use of
both? Do they know how to conduct themselves in a fight where the loser gets wiped out and the village gets burned back into the earth? If the answer is no, you’re all in a lot of trouble.”

Sider Ament didn’t say anything in response. He nodded wordlessly and thought that the other man had an important point to make. He didn’t know this world and its inhabitants, and any presumptions about what they might do or not do to his own community, once they found out about it, were reckless. The only thing he could be certain about was that if some of the former found their way into the valley and discovered some of the latter, it would happen again. The mists had dissipated, the protective walls were down, and his wards had been violated more than once. It was the beginning of the end of their old way of life and a signal that a new way must be found.

He wondered how the boy Panterra and his young friend were doing in convincing anyone in the village of Glensk Wood or in any other place they might choose to visit that this was true.

“You’ve given me a lot to think about,” he said finally, looking over at Inch. “I thank you for doing so.”

The big man smiled. “My pleasure. I hope it helped.” He reached over and touched Sider gently on the arm. “One more thing. Something I have to ask. When you’ve healed sufficiently to leave here, will you go back to the mountains and your valley home? Back to where you came from?”

Sider nodded. “I expect I will.”

“Do you have family there? A wife or children? I have none, so I have nothing to go back to and moving ahead is all I know. No ties of any sort. But is that so for you or is there someone back there who still means something to you? A loved one you think about when you’re out alone and far away from your people?”

“No, no one.” Sider hesitated. “Once, but not anymore. Not for a long time now.”

Deladion Inch shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Doesn’t change what I want to say. You speak of the way you watch over the people of your home, of the commitment that black staff requires of you once you choose to carry it. That sort of dedication, that’s very rare. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen it before. I just thought that maybe …”

He trailed off, the sentence left unfinished. “Do yourself a favor. When you get there and you’ve told your people whatever you think you need to tell them, stay there. Keep your people there, too. Don’t come out here again until you’re better prepared for it. You haven’t seen enough of what’s out here. You’ve no idea how dangerous it is. I do. And I’m telling you that you’re not ready for it.”

“Maybe that’s so,” Sider acknowledged. “But maybe I won’t have a choice in the matter.”

The big man chuckled softly. “You always have a choice, Sider. Do what I say. Stay in your valley and stay safe.”

After that, they were quiet for a long time.

I
DON’T LIKE IT THAT WE RAN AWAY,” PANTERRA WAS
saying as they climbed out of the valley in which Glensk Wood was now little more than a darker shading of color amid the green of the trees. “It makes it look like we did something wrong.”

Prue, walking to his right and just ahead, gave him a look. “It doesn’t matter what anyone thinks. What matters is the truth, and the truth is that we were just trying to help.”

“You and I and Aislinne know that. But no one else does. No one else even heard me once I got to the part about the protective wall breaking down. No one wanted to hear that the things that killed Bayleen and Rausha were from outside that wall and might be just the first of an entire world of monsters trying to break in. Who can blame them? They’re terrified of the possibility. Aren’t you?”

“I’m fifteen. Everything terrifies me.”

He laughed in spite of himself.

The sun was just cresting the jagged line of the mountains east, spearing the retreating dark with lances of gold and silver daylight, the
clouds of the previous night dissipating and leaving only heavy fog that pooled in the gaps of the peaks. The boy and the girl had been walking steadily since they had left home during the night, heading east and north toward the Elven city of Arborlon. It was a two-day walk at best, but there was no reason for them to believe that anything ahead might obstruct their passage or anyone behind find their carefully hidden tracks.

“Do you think they’ll send someone after us?” Prue asked suddenly, as if reading his thoughts.

He shook his head. “Skeal Eile? No, I think he’ll be content to have us gone. If we’re not there, we can’t repeat our story. Eile doesn’t care about us specifically—only what we might do if we continue to stir things up. He might like to have some private time with us, maybe find a way to make us recant. But he won’t waste time trying to track us down.”

“What makes you think that?” She looked irritated at the idea. “He’s already tried to kill us. Why do you think he’ll stop there?”

Pan shrugged. “I just do. All he worries about is protecting his place as leader of the Children of the Hawk. Last night is over and done with.”

They walked on in silence, concentrating on the terrain ahead, their climb steepening as they approached the rim, their eyes lowering to avoid the rising sun’s glare. The land about them was a mix of bare rock, tough mountain grasses, and small, sturdy conifers that could only live at great heights. Birds flitted past, and now and then a ground squirrel or chipmunk, but nothing bigger. Behind them, the valley that had been their home stretched away in a broad green sweep, its night-shrouded lines taking on clearer definition with the sun’s rapid approach.

Once, a hawk passed directly overhead, sailing out of the valley and toward the rim to which they were headed. They stopped as one and watched its progress as it flew east and disappeared.

“A good omen, don’t you think?” Panterra said.

Prue frowned. “Maybe.”

She didn’t say anything more, and he let the conversation lapse. But his thoughts drifted to the legend of the Hawk, to the boy who
had brought their ancestors out of the destruction of the Great Wars and into the safe haven of these connected valleys. He wished sometimes he could have been there to see it, although he had a feeling that he wouldn’t have much liked the experience if he were living it. A lot of people had died, and the survivors had endured tremendous hardship. The transition from the old life to the new must have been difficult, as well. Nothing would have been easy, even after they were safely closed away.

But why he really wished he could have been there was that he might better understand how things had come to their present state of affairs. The Children of the Hawk had been formed originally to honor the father of all the generations of survivors who had followed after the first. It had been a celebration of life and love and the durability of the human spirit. When so many had died, these few had lived. It was a wonderfully inspiring story of the human condition.

And yet it had come to this: a cult that followed a dogmatic hard line of exclusion and repression, believed its teachings alone were the way that others must follow, and claimed special knowledge of something that had happened more than five centuries ago. It did nothing to soften its rigid stance, nothing to heal wounds that it had helped to create by deliberately shunning people of other Races, and nothing to explore the possibility of other beliefs. It held its ground even in the face of hard evidence that perhaps it had misjudged and refused to consider that it was courting a danger that might destroy everyone.

How could something so wrong grow out of something that had started out so right?

They climbed on until they reached the rim, the sun now well above the horizon and moving toward midday, and turned north where the rim flattened into a narrow trail that wound through clusters of rock and small stands of alpine. The air was cold, and the winds blew in sudden, unexpected gusts that required travelers to pay attention and mind the placing of their feet. But the boy and the girl had come this way many times before, and so they knew what was required.

By midday, they had reached a point where they were starting down the other side, and in the distance they could see the gathering of lakes that marked the Eldemere, the forested waterways that formed the western boundary of Elven country.

In the distance, a rain squall was blowing across the lakes and through the woods, a ragged gray curtain that hung from towering masses of cumulus clouds.

“I think we might get wet,” Prue observed.

Panterra nodded. “I think we might also get some help from Mother Nature in covering our tracks.”

She glanced over quickly. “I thought you said Skeal Eile wouldn’t bother coming after us.”

“I did. But in case I’m wrong, it doesn’t hurt to have help.”

Prue gave him a disgusted look. “In case you’re wrong, huh.”

“Not that it’s likely, but even so.”

She grimaced. “No wonder I’m afraid of everything.”

They took some time to eat a quick lunch, watching the storm roll across the Eldemere, the clouds thick and roiling and deep. There was no lightning or thunder, and except for the sound of the wind gusting, it was oddly silent. There was movement in the leaves on the trees, from the bushes and grasses below, and on the surface of the water. The scudding clouds and breaks of sun that streamed over the canopy of the woods cast legions of moving shadows, an entire community of dark wraiths that lacked substance and purpose. The boy and the girl sat eating and watching, not quite mesmerized, but definitely captivated. It was moments like this that made them feel at home and welcome in the world. It was here in the wild, outside of walls and open to the elements, that they had always felt most at peace.

“What do you think the Elves will say when we give them Sider’s message?” Prue asked.

Pan shrugged. “I don’t know. I think they’ll listen without calling us names and looking at us like we’re bad people, though.”

He began packing up their gear, burying the remains of their lunch, scuffing over the earth, and doing what he could to hide their passing. He didn’t think anyone would find the site, since it was well off the pathway and back in the rocks where no one was likely to venture by accident, but there was no point in taking chances.