The Sword of Shannara, Part 1: In the Shadow of the Warlock Lord (30 page)

HEN
S
HEA FINALLY
opened his eyes, it was midafternoon of the following day. He found himself resting comfortably in a long bed, tucked in with clean sheets and blankets, his hunting clothes replaced by a loose white gown tied about his neck. On the bed next to him lay the still-sleeping Flick, his broad face no longer drawn and pale, but alive once more with the color of life and peaceful in slumber. They were in a small, plaster-walled room with a ceiling supported by long wooden beams. Through the windows, the young Valeman could see the trees of the Anar and the shining blueness of the afternoon sky. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious or what had happened during that time to bring him to this unknown place. But he felt certain that the creature of the Wolfsktaag had nearly killed him, and that Flick and he owed their lives to the men of the company. His attention was quickly drawn to the opening door at one end of the small room and the appearance of an anxious Menion Leah.

“Well, old friend, I see that you’ve come back to the world of the living.” The highlander smiled slowly as he came over to the bedside. “You gave us quite a scare there for a while, you know.”

“We made it, didn’t we?” Shea grinned happily at the familiar joking voice.

Menion nodded briefly and turned to the supine figure of Flick, who had stirred slightly beneath the covers and was beginning to
awake. The stocky Valeman opened his eyes slowly and looked up hesitantly, seeing the grinning face of the highlander.

“I knew it was too good to be true,” he groaned painfully. “Even dead, I can’t escape him. It’s a curse!”

“Old Flick has fully recovered as well.” Menion laughed shortly. “I hope he appreciates the work it took to carry that cumbersome body of his all this way.”

“The day you do any honest work, I’ll be amazed,” mumbled Flick, trying to clear his sleep-fogged eyes. He looked over at a smiling Shea and grinned back with a short wave of greeting.

“Where are we anyway?” asked Shea curiously, forcing himself to sit up in bed. He was still feeling weak. “How long have I been unconscious?”

Menion sat down on the edge of the bed and repeated the entire tale of their journey after escaping the creature in the valley. He told them of the march to the Pass of Jade and the encounter with the Gnomes there, the plan to get them by, and the results. He faltered a bit retelling of Hendel’s sacrifice to the company. Shocked looks registered on the Valemen’s faces on hearing of the gallant Dwarf’s grisly death at the hands of the enraged Gnomes. Menion quickly continued with the remainder of the story, explaining how they had wandered through the Anar until discovered by Allanon and the strange people called Stors, who had treated their wounds and brought them to this place.

“This land is called Storlock,” he concluded finally. “The people here are Gnomes who have dedicated their lives to healing the sick and injured. It’s really amazing what they can do. They have a salve which, when applied to an open wound, closes it up and heals it over in twelve hours. I saw it work myself on an injury Dayel received.”

Shea shook his head in disbelief and was about to ask for further details when the door again opened to admit Allanon. For the first time he could remember, Shea thought the dark wanderer
actually seemed happy, and detected a sincere smile of relief on the grim face. The man walked quickly over to them and nodded in satisfaction.

“I am certainly pleased that you have both recovered from your wounds. I was gravely concerned about you, but it appears the Stors have done their work well. Do you feel recovered enough to get out of bed and walk around a bit, perhaps to have some food?”

Shea looked inquiringly over at Flick, and they both nodded.

“Very well, then, go along with Menion and test your strength,” the historian suggested. “It is important that you feel well enough to travel again soon.”

Without further word, he left by the same door, shutting it softly behind him. They watched him go, wondering how he could continue to be so coldly formal in his attitude toward them. Men-ion shrugged, advising them that he would find their hunting clothes which had been taken out and cleaned. He left and quickly returned with their clothing, whereupon the Valemen rose weakly from their beds and dressed while Menion told them a little more about the Stors. He explained that he had mistrusted them at first because they were Gnomes, but his fears had rapidly vanished upon watching them care for the Valemen. The others in the company had slept well into the morning before waking and were scattered now about the village, enjoying their brief respite on the journey to Paranor.

The three left the room shortly thereafter and entered another building that served as a dining hall for the village, where they were given generous portions of hot food to appease their ravenous appetites. Even with their injuries, the Valemen found themselves able to put away several helpings of the nourishing meal. After finishing, Menion led them outside where they encountered a fully recuperated Durin and Dayel, both delighted to see the Valemen back on their feet. At Menion’s suggestion, the five walked to the south end of the village to see the wondrous Blue Pond that the highlander
had been told about by the Stors earlier in the day. It took only a few minutes for them to reach the small pond, and they sat at its edge beneath a huge weeping willow and gazed in silence at the placid blue surface. Menion told them that the Stors made many of their salves and balms from the waters of that pond, which were said to have special healing elements that could be found nowhere else in the world. Shea tasted the water and found it different from anything he had ever encountered, but not at all displeasing to drink. The others tried it as well and murmured their approval. The Blue Pond was such a peaceful place that for a moment they all sat back and forgot their hazardous journey, thinking about their homes and the people they had left behind.

“This pond reminds me of Beleal, my home in the Westland.” Durin smiled to himself as he ran a finger through the water, tracing out some image from his mind. “There, you can find the same sort of peace we have here.”

“We’ll be back there before you know it,” Dayel promised, and then added eagerly, almost boyishly, “And I’ll be married to Lynliss and we’ll have many children.”

“Forget it,” declared Menion abruptly. “Stay single and stay happy.”

“You haven’t seen her, Menion,” Dayel continued brightly. “She is like no one you have seen—a gentle, kind girl, as beautiful as this pond is clear.”

Menion shook his head in mock despair and slapped the frail Elf on his shoulder lightly, smiling his understanding of the other’s deep feeling for the Elven girl. No one spoke for a few minutes as they continued to gaze with mixed feelings at the blue waters of the Stor pond. Then Shea turned to them questioningly.

“Do you think we are doing the right thing? I mean going on this trip and all. Does it all seem worth it to you?”

“That seems funny coming from you, Shea,” remarked Durin thoughtfully. “The way I see it, you have the most to lose by coming
along. In fact, you are the whole purpose of this journey. Do you feel it’s worth it?”

Shea considered for a moment while the others looked on silently.

“That’s not really a fair question to ask him,” defended Flick.

“Yes, it is,” Shea cut in soberly. “They are all risking their lives for me, and I’ve been the only one expressing any doubts about what we’re doing. But I can’t answer my own question, even to myself, because I feel I still don’t know exactly what’s happening. I do not think that we have the whole picture before us.”

“I know what you mean,” Menion agreed. “Allanon hasn’t told us everything about what we’re doing on this trip. There’s more to this business about the Sword of Shannara than we know.”

“Has anybody ever seen the Sword?” Dayel asked suddenly. The others shook their heads negatively. “Maybe there is no Sword.”

“Oh, I think that the Sword exists, all right,” Durin declared quickly. “But once we get it, what do we do with it? What can Shea do against the power of the Warlock Lord, even with the Sword of Shannara?”

“I think we must trust to Allanon to answer that when the time comes,” another voice said.

The new voice came from behind the five, and they turned around sharply, breathing an audible sigh of relief when it was Balinor who appeared. Even as he watched the Prince of Callahorn stroll over to them, Shea wondered to himself why it was that they all still felt an unspoken fear of Allanon. The borderman smiled a greeting to Shea and Flick and seated himself with the others.

“Well, it appears that our hardships in coming through the Pass of Jade were worth it after all. I’m glad to see that you’re all right.”

“I’m sorry about Hendel.” Shea sounded awkward to himself. “I know he was a close friend.”

“It was a calculated risk that the situation demanded,” replied
Balinor softly. “He knew what he was doing and what the chances were. He did it for all of us.”

“What happens next?” asked Flick after a moment.

“We wait for Allanon to decide on our route for the last leg of the journey,” replied Balinor. “Incidentally, I meant what I said about trusting him. He is a great man, a good man, though it may appear otherwise at times. He tells us what he feels we ought to know, but believe me, he does the worrying for us all. Do not be too quick to judge him.”

“You know that he hasn’t told us everything,” Menion stated simply.

“I am certain he has told us only part of the tale.” Balinor nodded. “But he is the only one who realized the threat to the four lands in the first place. We owe him a great deal, and the very least of that is a little trust.”

The others nodded slowly in agreement, more for the reason that they all respected the borderman than because they felt convinced by his reassurances. This was especially true of Menion, who recognized that Balinor was a man of great courage, the kind of man whom Menion looked to as a leader. They spoke no more on the matter, but turned to a further discussion of the Stors, their history as a branch of the Gnome nations, and their long, abiding friendship with Allanon. The sun was setting when the tall historian appeared unexpectedly and joined them by the Blue Pond.

“After I am finished with you I want the Valemen back in bed for a few hours’ rest. It probably wouldn’t hurt the rest of you to get some sleep as well. We will leave this place some time around midnight.”

“Isn’t this a little sudden after the wounds Shea and Flick received?” Menion asked cautiously.

“That cannot be helped, highlander.” The grim face seemed black even in the fading sunlight. “We are all running out of time. If word of our mission, or even our presence in this part of the
Anar, reaches the Warlock Lord, he will try to move the Sword immediately, and without it this journey is pointless.”

“Flick and I can make it,” Shea declared resolutely.

“What will be the route?” Balinor asked.

“We will cross the Rabb Plains tonight, a march of about four hours. If we are lucky, we will not be caught out in the open, although I am quite sure the Skull Bearers will still be searching for both Shea and myself. We can only hope they haven’t managed to trace us into the Anar. I hadn’t told you before, because you had enough to concern you, but any use of the Elfstones pinpoints our position to Brona and his hunters. The mystical power of the stones can be detected by any creature of the spirit world, warning him that sorcery similar to his own is being used.”

“Then, when we used the Elfstones in the Mist Marsh …” Flick began in horror.

“You told the Skull Bearers exactly where you were,” Allanon finished with that infuriating smile. “If you hadn’t lost yourselves in the mist and the Black Oaks, they might have had you right there.”

Shea felt a sudden chill sweep over him as he recalled how close they had felt to death at the time, little realizing how much danger they were really in from the creatures they feared the most.

“If you knew that use of the stones would attract the spirit creatures, then why didn’t you tell us?” demanded Shea angrily. “Why did you give them to us to use for protection when you knew what would happen?”