Bearers of the Black Staff: Legends of Shannara (2 page)

He considered for a moment the ramifications of their presence. It
meant that after all these years, the wall was failing and their time of isolation was at an end. This would be difficult for many of the valley’s inhabitants to accept—Men, Elves, Lizards, Spiders, and those singular creatures that lacked a group identity. It would be impossible for some. The sect of Men who called themselves the Children of the Hawk, and who awaited the return of the leader who had brought them to the valley to protect them, would resist any suggestion of an end to the mists that did not involve his coming. Their dogma prophesied that the wall would endure until it was safe to leave the valley and the Hawk returned to lead them out again. Anything else they would call heresy; they would fight against it until the evidence stood before them, and even then they might not believe. Nothing anyone could say would change minds so settled; belief in the invisible, belief founded solely on faith, did not allow for that.

Yet he would have to try. There was no one else who would do so, if he did not.

He glanced downslope out of habit, recalling that the Seraphic who led the Children of the Hawk made his home in Glensk Wood. How ironic it would be if the creatures from the outer world were to somehow make their way to his community and introduce themselves. Would the members of the sect believe then?

Bittersweet memories flooded his mind in a sudden rush and then dissipated like morning mist.

The day brightened as the hours passed, and the sun broke through the clouds to warm the air. The brume clung to the higher elevations, catching on peaks and nestling in defiles, and shadows gathered in the deep woods in dark pools. Now that the creatures had left the snow, the Gray Man could track them less easily. But they left traces of their scent and surface marks so that following them was possible for someone with his skills.

By now he had concluded that he was at least twenty-four hours behind them. It was too long for creatures of this size not to have found something to eat. He had to hope that whatever they had found did not walk on two legs, and that was hoping for a lot. Trappers and hunters roamed these hills year-round in search of game. Some made their homes in cabins up along the snow line; some had their families
with them. They were tough, experienced men and women, but they were no match for the ones he tracked.

It frustrated him to think that this was happening now, that the ending of the barrier had come about so abruptly. There should have been some warning, some hint that change was at hand. Wasn’t that what the Seraphic preached? But no one was prepared for this; no one would know what to do. Not even himself, he acknowledged. How do you prepare for the intrusion of a world you had escaped because it was too monstrous to live in? How do you prepare for an end to everything you had believed to be permanent?

He smiled grimly. It was too bad he couldn’t ask his predecessors, those fortunate few who had found a way to survive the horrors of the Great Wars when it had seemed survival was impossible. They would know.

The ground ahead had turned damp and spongy, the snowmelt trickling off the heights in dozens of tiny streams. The Gray Man studied the ground carefully as he went, seeking the tiny indicators of his quarry’s passing, finding them less quickly now, their presence faded with the changes in temperature and time’s passage. As he slipped silently through the trees, he could hear birds singing and tiny animals rushing about, and he knew that they would not be doing so if any sort of danger were present. He had not lost ground; he had simply failed to make it up. The creatures were traveling faster at this point, perhaps because they sensed the possibility of food. He increased his own pace, worried anew.

His worry turned quickly to fear. Not a quarter of a mile farther on, he encountered a set of fresh tracks intersecting with those he followed. They were so faint he almost missed them. He knelt to study the sign, making certain of what he was seeing. These new tracks belonged to humans. It wasn’t that the makers were trying to hide their passing; it was that they knew how to walk without leaving much to follow. They were experienced at keeping their passage hidden, and they had done so here out of habit. They had come up out of the valley, perhaps from Glensk Wood, two of them. They had found the tracks of the creatures, and now they were following them also.

He brushed at the two sets of tracks with his fingertips. The tracks
of the intruders were more than a day old. The new tracks had been made less than three hours ago.

The Gray Man straightened as he rose, not liking what this meant. It was entirely possible the two from the valley had no idea what it was they were tracking. They may have had enough experience to suspect the nature of their quarry, but it was unlikely they knew of its origins. The best he could hope for now was that they appreciated the possibility of the danger they were facing so that they would be cautious in their efforts.

But he couldn’t assume anything. He could only hope.

He would have to reach them as quickly as possible if he was to save them.

He set out again, this time at a steady lope that covered the ground in long, sweeping strides.

Time was slipping away.

P
ANTERRA QU CROUCHED IN A THICK CLUSTER OF
spruce at the edge of the snow line not two hundred feet from where the bodies lay sprawled and waited for his senses to tell him it was safe to approach. Shadows pooled across the killing ground, mingling with the bloodstains that had soaked into the half-frozen earth. He studied the bodies—or more correctly, what was left of the bodies—trying to make sense of what he was seeing. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen dead people before; it was that he had never seen them so thoroughly dismembered.

He glanced through the trees at Prue, a wisp of darkness against the deep green of the woods, barely visible, even from so close. She could disappear in the blink of an eye when she chose, and no one could find her—not even him, not if she didn’t want him to. It was a trick he had never been able to master. Just now, she looked as if she wanted to disappear to some other place entirely. Her eyes were wide and frightened, waiting to see what he wanted her to do. He gave her a quick sign not to move until he called her out. He waited until he saw her nod, wanting to be sure she understood. She was only fifteen, still
learning how to be a Tracker, and he was determined to be the teacher she needed. It didn’t matter that he was only two years her senior; he was still the one responsible for them both.

He turned his attention back to the bodies, waiting. Whatever had done such terrible damage might still be lurking about, and he wanted to be sure it had moved on before he revealed himself. He kept perfectly still for long minutes, watching the surrounding trees, especially higher up on the slope, where it appeared from the blood trail that the killers had gone. Kodens, maybe. Or a wolf pack at hunt. But nothing he could imagine seemed quite right.

Finally, giving Prue a quick glance and motioning once again for her to stay where she was, he stepped out into the open and advanced on the dead. The hairs on the back of his neck rose as he approached and saw more clearly the extent of the damage that had been inflicted. Not only had the bodies been torn to pieces, but large parts were missing entirely. The bodies were so mutilated that he wasn’t even sure identification was possible. He kept switching his gaze from the dead to the upper slopes, still not sure it was safe.

When he stopped finally, he was right next to the remains. A hand and arm here, a foot there, a piece of a torso off to one side. Two bodies, he guessed. They might have fought hard to stay alive, but he didn’t think they’d ever had a chance. It looked as if they had been caught sleeping; there were blanket fragments scattered about, and the remnants of a fire pit were visible. They might have been dead almost before they knew what was happening.

He found himself hoping so.

He took a deep breath of the cold morning air to clear his head, then knelt for a closer look. His tracking skills took over instantly. He sorted through the remains more carefully now, more intensely. Two bodies, a man and a woman who had been wearing gear very much like his own. Were they Trackers? He tried to think if he knew of anyone who was missing. There were always Trackers patrolling the upper heights of the valley, always at least half a dozen at work.

Then he caught sight of the bracelet on the wrist of the severed hand a few feet off. He rose, walked over, and knelt again. The bracelet was gold, and there was a tiny bird charm dangling from a clasp.

He closed his eyes and looked away.
Bayleen.

That meant the other body was Rausha’s. He knew them both. Trackers, like himself, but older and much more experienced. He had known them for years. Prue had known them, too. Bayleen had lived a few cottages away and had often looked after Prue when she was very little.

He thought about how this might have happened, scanning the ground for a sign that would confirm his suspicions. Rausha was a big man and very strong; whatever did this would have been much stronger and would have caught him off guard completely.

He slipped the bracelet off the severed wrist and got to his feet. He looked around once more, more cautious now than ever, more aware of what it was they were up against. “Come out, Prue,” he called over to her.

He met her halfway, not letting her get any closer to the remains. When she was standing in front of him, green eyes mirroring the horror in his own, freckled face trying to look brave, he held out the bracelet.

“Oh, no, Pan,” she whispered. Tears appeared in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

“Rausha, too,” he said. He slid the bracelet into his pocket. “They must have been asleep when it happened.”

Prue put her hands over her face and began to sob. He put his arms around her and pulled her close. “Shhh, Prue, shhh. It’s all right.”

It wasn’t, of course, but it was all he could think to say. As he held her, he was reminded of how small she was. Her head barely reached his shoulders, and her body was so slight it was almost not there. He patted her head and stroked her hair. It had been a long time since he had seen her cry.

Finally she stopped and stepped back, brushing at her face with her sleeve. “What are we going to do?” she asked quietly.

“We’re going after whoever did this,” he said at once.

She looked up at him in disbelief. “You and me? We can’t do that! We’re still in training!”

“Technically,” he agreed. “But we have the authority to make decisions on our own when we’re scouting.”

The tears were gone entirely now, and a hard look had replaced them. “I don’t think Trow Ravenlock would agree with you.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

“But then he isn’t here, is he?”

Panterra gave her a quick smile. “No, he isn’t.”

She took a deep breath and exhaled. “And we’re the best ones for a job like this, aren’t we?”

She was alluding to their special talents, the ones responsible for gaining them Tracker standing at such a young age. Even at seventeen, he could decipher a trail better than anyone. He had an uncanny knack for knowing what had left it, and how long before, when others wouldn’t even know it was there. Even Trow, who was the leader of the Trackers, acknowledged as much—although he still referred to Panterra as a boy. Prue was more gifted still. She had been born with preternatural instincts that warned of impending danger even when it was not visible. It was a talent she was rumored to have inherited from someone who had come into the valley with the Hawk. She had sensed the presence of the bodies that very morning, while they were still almost a hundred yards away. Young as they were, Panterra Qu and Prue Liss were the most effective pair of Trackers in Glensk Wood and perhaps the entire valley.

“We are the best,” Panterra affirmed. “Anyone else who tries will be at much greater risk.”

“What do we do if we find the things that did this?” She gestured toward the bodies.

“Mostly, I just want to get a look at them. A larger force can always hunt them down later.” He held up one hand in a warding gesture. “I’m not suggesting you and I should try to take them on by ourselves.”

“No, I shouldn’t think so. Nor do I think we want what we’re hunting to catch us out. We have to be very careful. I don’t want to end up like Bayleen and Rausha.”

He shifted his shoulder pack, looking out across the snowy expanse and the trail of blood. “Don’t worry, we won’t.”

They set out at once, skirting the killing ground as quickly as possible, trying not to think about their friends and what it must have been like for them. They trudged up the slope in the wake of the blood
spots, no longer bothering to hide their footprints, which would have been difficult in any case given the crusty covering of snow. The things they were tracking were making no effort to hide their passing, either, their huge splayed footprints clearly outlined where their feet had sunk deep into the white. Panterra gave them a quick glance, processing the information they offered. Great fleshy pads provided balance, claws the size of a Koden’s allowed for ready purchase against the rock and frozen ground, two legs rather than four meant that they walked upright, and long strides suggested each one was well over six or even seven feet tall. Prue was right: he did not want these things to find out they were being tracked.

He glanced over at his youthful companion. He had grown up with Prue Liss; they had lived next door to each other and spent their childhoods together. The source and extent of their gifts was an open secret within their families, but otherwise kept private. Trow Ravenlock let them pair up because they had come to the Tracker cadre together and asked to be trained as a team. He might have preferred assigning each to someone older but quickly saw that they functioned best as a unit. More often than not, each knew what the other was thinking without either having spoken; each could finish the other’s sentences as if they shared the same voice.

They had been together for so long, it seemed impossible that it would ever be otherwise.