Paladins of Shannara: The Black Irix (Short Story) (4 page)

“What’s the point of life without risk; doesn’t risk serve to make life sweeter?”
the thief asked them afterward. It was a question neither cared to answer, even if
speech had been readily available to them.

The way forward from there to the base of the mountains took another two hours, and
that was because gullies and sharp drops had riven the rocky, barren terrain and needed
to be carefully navigated. Progress was slow, and even after Kestra Chule’s stronghold
came into view, it took considerable time to reach it.

Time the brothers spent pondering the full extent of what they had let themselves
in for.

Because the closer they got to the fortress, the more formidable it looked. It was
a huge complex to begin with, embedded in the mountainside between two cliffs. Its
walls were high and deep, the buildings disappearing far back into the shadow of the
cliffs, with
each tier set atop a series of rocky elevations that left the stronghold hundreds
of feet high. The outer walls were manned, and the ramparts throughout bristled with
mounted crossbows and catapults of all shapes and sizes. Massive towers buttressed
the ends of those walls, and provided slits cut into the stone for firing on unfortunate
attackers.

The whole of the fortress was blackened by ash and soot and pitted by age and weather,
yet even where there were signs of erosion the huge stone blocks were so deep and
so broad that there was little impact. The gates were ironbound and twenty feet high,
their tops spiked and ragged. The guards on the wall wore heavy armor and carried
huge pikes.

Even an entire army would have trouble getting into this citadel, Shea thought.

Then it occurred to him that getting out might turn out to be every bit as hard as
getting in.

“You’re sure about this?” Shea asked Panamon Creel impulsively, but the thief just
smiled.

They rode out of the badlands and up to the huge gates, Panamon leading the way and
showing no particular concern for what lay ahead. When they arrived at the walls,
he called up to the watch to let them enter, giving his name. To the surprise of the
Ohmsford brothers, the gates opened almost at once, allowing them to pass through
and enter a courtyard where they were met by other guards. They dismounted, and their
horses were taken from them and led away. A member of the household staff, clearly
identifiable by his more ornate garb, came out to meet them and led them inside.

The interior of the stronghold wasn’t much to look at, consisting for the most part
of stone-block walls lacking decoration or softness; hard, bare surfaces were clearly
the preferred decor. They passed down countless hallways, climbed dozens of steps,
and entered and departed numerous chambers before finally reaching a dining room where
they were met by other members of the household staff and taken to seats at a long
wooden table. Platters of food were brought, and they were urged by their guide to
eat all they wanted. All three were hungry enough not to argue the matter or ask after
their host, and they set about consuming everything in sight. Ale was poured and musicians
appeared from behind curtains, and all at once it felt like a festive celebration.

“Why are they so happy to see us?” Shea asked Panamon at one point, leaning close
so that the attendants wouldn’t hear.

The thief shrugged. “I told you. Chule considers me a friend. He’s trying to make
an impression.”

Shea let the matter drop and went back to eating the first good meal they’d enjoyed
since leaving the Vale. But just as he was finishing, he noticed that a number of
guards from the gates had entered the room and were standing watch at all the doors.
A sickening feeling swept through him.

He was about to alert Flick when a small, ferret-faced man with a thick mop of black
hair and a heavy mustache entered the room and called out to Panamon in a surprisingly
deep voice.

“Well met, old friend!” he boomed. “Welcome, welcome!”

Panamon rose at once and moved out to greet him with arms open wide. Hugs and backslapping
followed, and Shea thought it all just a little overdone given what Panamon had come
here to do. But he supposed the thief felt it was necessary or he wouldn’t be doing
it.

When they finally ended their embrace, Kestra Chule turned to Shea and Flick. “And
these are your young friends.” He made it a statement of fact. Smiling broadly, his
hands extended, he walked over to greet them. “Welcome to my home. So good of you
to come.”

He shook their hands and then looked past them. “Guards,” he called out.

Before they realized what was happening, Shea and Flick had been seized and their
wrists bound. Without a word to either of them, Panamon stepped forward, reached into
Shea’s tunic, and withdrew the pouch containing the Elfstones.

“Sorry about this, Shea,” he said, hefting the pouch as he smiled at the Valeman.
“Some things can’t be helped.”

He turned away and presented the Elfstones to Chule. The other man eagerly loosened
the drawstrings and dumped the contents into his hand. “Oh, my! Look at this. The
only ones of their kind, and now they belong to me!”

Shea felt a surge of fury on watching the man fondle and caress the Elfstones. But
even now he could not bring himself to believe that this had been Panamon’s sole plan.
They had been friends for too long, had gone through so much together. He knew Panamon
Creel and he trusted him. For Panamon to betray him like this was unthinkable.

“You are the lowest sort of vermin!” Flick was screaming at the thief. “You are worse
than any snake!”

“Now, now,” Panamon soothed. “Name-calling is pointless. Best just to accept things
for what they are, Flick.”

Shea tried to think. “You know you can’t use them,” he said to Chule. “No one who
isn’t an Elf can. You’ve stolen them for nothing.”

“You don’t understand, Shea,” Panamon said. “Kestra doesn’t have any interest in using
the Elfstones. He simply wants to add them to his collection of rare artifacts. The
Stones are more valuable and unique than the Irix; anyone who is a serious collector
would want them for his own.”

“At our expense,” Flick spat at him.

“Unfortunately.”

Chule was dumping the Elfstones back in their pouch as the thief turned to him. “Better
make sure you lock those away somewhere safe,” he cautioned. “Others will hear of
this and try to find a way to relieve you of them.”

“Oh, I don’t think I have to worry about that,” the other said, grinning. “This is
a difficult place to break into. Nevertheless, I will lock them away with my other
treasures.”

“You’ll keep our bargain, I trust?” Panamon asked.

“You mean the gold I promised you? Of course.”

“I mean keeping these young men as your guests overnight and then releasing them in
the morning.”

Kestra Chule frowned. “I don’t imagine they can do anything to hurt me. But still,
we’ll see. I’ll have to think on it. Guards!” He beckoned. “Escort our young friends
to their quarters. Lock them in and keep them there until morning. I’ll decide what
to do with them then.” He glanced at Panamon. “That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.”

Panamon smiled and shrugged. “Then why don’t we sit and celebrate the successful completion
of our arrangement with a glass of ale?”

Guards grabbed Shea and Flick and steered them across the floor and out of the room.
“Release their bonds once you have them safely inside their quarters and ready to
be locked up for the night!” Chule called after them as they were led away. “Good
night, young friends! Sleep well!”

And with that the brothers were hustled from the room and down a succession of passageways
and through countless doors deep into the bowels of the stronghold. For a time,
Shea tried to keep track of their progress, but he soon grew so confused that he gave
it up. The one thing he was certain about was that they were not going to find their
way out easily.

Finally, they passed down a hallway with cell doors on either side, stopped at one
midway down, and were ushered through the doorway, where two guards held each Valeman
in turn while a third cut the bonds that secured his wrists. Then they were shoved
down on their knees while the guards backed out and the door was secured.

The brothers stood together in silence as the footfalls receded and finally disappeared.

* * *

“I’m getting the Elfstones back,” Shea declared, pacing the narrow confines of their
prison cell. “I don’t know how, but I’m going to.”

Flick sat glumly on the thin pallet rolled out on his wooden slat bed, his head in
his hands. “We should never have come here in the first place.”

Shea stopped and looked at him. “What? And miss out on these fine accommodations?”

Flick returned his gaze. He was not smiling. “I told you this would happen. I warned
you. This was Panamon’s plan all along. He was always after the Elfstones.”

Their cell was roughly ten feet by ten feet, the walls windowless and the floor bare.
The iron door through which they had entered provided the only exit. Except for a
pair of rudimentary beds and a single wooden table with a candle on it, the room was
empty of everything but themselves.

Shea stood close by the door, fruitlessly wishing it would open again. Then he moved
over to sit by Flick. “Don’t worry. Things will work out. Panamon’s got something
else in mind.”

“Why were we so stupid? Why did we let ourselves be tricked like this?” Flick lifted
his head, his brow furrowed, his face stricken. “What were we thinking?”

Yet Flick had been the one to argue against going. And Shea had to admit that, as
much as he needed to believe his friend had not betrayed him, their current situation
looked pretty bad. He could not blame Flick for feeling as he did, but still he marveled
at how his brother took an equal share of the blame on himself when all along it had
been Shea forcing
the issue.

A surge of love for his brother filled him. If he
had
led him into danger …

But no. He knew Panamon Creel. He would not leave them like this.

“Panamon has always been straightforward and honest with me,” Shea replied firmly.
“There’s something else at work here. I know there is!”

“Based on what evidence? He was never reliable. You just thought he was. You think
the best of everyone—even those who are looking to stick a knife in your back!”

Shea shrugged. “Because I prefer it that way. I’d rather think well of people than
ill. Besides, giving up the Elfstones for a mere bag of gold doesn’t make sense. Panamon
knows that’s nothing compared with what the Stones are really worth.”

“Not if you can’t make use of them. Not if you can’t sell them without losing your
head. Don’t you think that when Eventine hears of this, he will bring the entire Elven
nation down on Kestra Chule and his stronghold? It’s safer for Panamon to take the
gold and disappear.” Flick paused. “It’s also safer if he lets Chule get rid of us
so we can’t tell anyone what’s happened.”

Shea rose, moved over to the second bed, and lay down, hands behind his head. “It
doesn’t matter what you say. I can’t make myself believe Panamon lied to us about
the Irix, tricked us into coming, and then robbed us. It doesn’t feel right.”

Flick grunted. “Well, the fact that it’s happened ought to go a long ways toward convincing
you.”

“I don’t know …”

His brother lay back as well. “Go to sleep. Maybe you can dream up a way out of this.
Maybe you’ll be able to concoct a plan to get the Elfstones back from Chule.”

Shea looked over and smiled at him. “I’m glad you came with me, Flick,” he said. “I’m
sorry things turned out like they have, but I’m very glad you’re here to help me get
through them. I wouldn’t want to be here alone.”

Flick grunted and rolled over, facing away from the candlelight. “You know well enough
I wouldn’t let that happen.”

Shea closed his eyes, and after a while he could hear Flick’s breathing deepen. He
remained awake afterward for a short time, trying to work out what Panamon was up
to. But in the end his weariness dulled his thinking, and he fell asleep.

* * *

The sound of the cell door lock releasing brought him awake again. He sat up quickly,
blinking away the lingering vestiges of his sleep, his eyes adjusting to the light.

Panamon Creel stood in the doorway. Before Shea could say anything, the thief put
a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. Then he moved over to Flick, fastened
his hand over the Valeman’s mouth, and woke him. Flick struggled momentarily, but
Panamon made hushing noises, speaking to him in low tones, warning him to be silent.

“Time to be going,” he whispered. “Don’t talk. Follow my lead. Do what I do.”

Shea didn’t argue, but a surge of happiness filled him. He motioned to Flick, and
the two of them tracked Panamon out into the hallway where a pair of Chule’s guards
lay slumped on the floor.

“They were very tired,” the thief said, cocking one eyebrow.

Shea grinned, then looked over at Flick, but his brother was still scowling suspiciously.

Panamon led them down the hallway and back up through the various levels of the complex—a
slow and torturous journey in which Shea barely allowed himself to breathe. Every
so often, Panamon would stop, see something he didn’t like, and turn them back another
way. But no one saw them.

Then, finally, they were outside again, standing in an open courtyard but still inside
the fortress walls.

Panamon turned back to them and pulled them close.

“Our horses are in a stable just on the other side of that wall.” He pointed. “We
have to saddle and mount them and ride through the gates to be safe. We still have
a couple of hours before dawn to distance ourselves from Chule. But we don’t want
to drag our heels doing it. Come on.”

“Wait.” Shea grabbed his arm. “What about the Elfstones? I’m not leaving without them!”

Panamon nodded, his face expressionless. “Of course you’re not.” He reached into his
tunic, pulled out the pouch with the Elfstones, and handed them over. “That was never
the plan.”