Bearers of the Black Staff: Legends of Shannara (29 page)

Arik Sarn was nodding. “Listen. She knows.”

“You have to do this for both of us,” Prue continued. “If we both die here, nothing will have been accomplished. If you are free, at least you can warn everyone about what is happening, and maybe you can find a way to come back for me.” Her grip on his arm tightened. “I know you can do this, Pan. I believe in you.”

Panterra dropped his head, running his hand across his brow and through his hair in an unmistakable gesture of dismay. “I should never have suggested going back,” he muttered. “What a fool!”

Prue was having none of it. “You did the right thing and probably saved both our lives. Nothing else we said or did was going to make things any better. You can see that as well as I. This is the best way. I can wait for you; I won’t be hurt. They won’t do anything to me. Not until they know what’s going to happen with the meeting you suggested.”

Arik Sarn leaned forward. “We will come back for her,” he said. “You and I. I promise. We will come.”

Panterra Qu looked at them in turn, wishing he could think of something else to say, something that would change what was happening. But there was nothing to say, nothing to do. He knew that as well as they did. He took a deep breath. “They won’t hurt her?” he asked the Troll. “Are you certain of this?”

The other nodded. “I am certain.”

Pan shook his head one final time. “I don’t know. I just don’t.”

But he did know, and the matter was decided by then. Sarn had fresh clothes brought for him, released him from his chains, and gave him time to dress. When the Troll returned with packs of supplies for them, Pan could barely make himself look at Prue, still clothed in rags, still chained in place.

He knelt next to her and hugged her close. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

She hugged him back. “You do what’s needed. I’ll be waiting for you. I’ll be ready when you come.”

He didn’t even consider mentioning the obvious, although they were both thinking it.
If he did come; if he would come at all.
But he had said he would, she was expecting him to keep his word, and so he had to. Nothing less was acceptable. It didn’t matter what obstacles he faced. He would not leave her here to die.

He rose and gave her a long look. He wanted to say more, couldn’t think what it should be, and so managed only a quick smile and good-bye before turning away so he wouldn’t see her cry. Or, if he were honest about it, so that she wouldn’t see him.

Arik Sarn led him through the tent flaps and back outside. He went obediently, as if walking in a dream. He could not seem to focus his thoughts, to gather his scattered wits. Everything felt surreal and disconnected. The day was winding down, the light gone gray and hazy east, the sunshine fading rapidly west, the surrounding land layered in shadows. He stood in the midst of the tents and the Trolls, a stranger in a hostile land, wondering how in the world he had gotten there. Sarn took his arm, guiding him through the tents, through a sea of watchful eyes and pointing fingers, the sounds of guttural Troll voices trailing after them, guilt and fear riddling him with wormholes that threatened to reduce him to dust.

“This feels wrong,” he said at one point, but his companion ignored him.

A little later, the Troll spoke softly and motioned to one side. Taureq Siq and his son stood watching them, their Troll faces impassive, their ridged bodies statues against the moving backdrop of the camp. Neither attempted words or gestures, but simply observed as Panterra and his minder passed by. Again Panterra felt something tug at him in warning, a chance missed, a mistake made, a hidden regret that later would become obvious to him. He tried to think what it could be, to see it behind its concealment, but nothing would come to him.

Then they were through the camp and outside its perimeters, walking away from all the activity, the eyes, the pointing, the whispers and shouts that trailed after.

From the guilt and from Prue.

Panterra knew she would not want him to think this way, but a voice inside his head kept whispering that he could not pretend he didn’t see the truth of things: that he was abandoning her, that he was leaving her to a fate he couldn’t even begin to imagine.

That he would never see her again.

T
HEY WALKED EAST FOR ALMOST A MILE
without speaking, the darkness ahead growing stronger and deeper as the light faded away.
Panterra walked without thinking about what he was doing, beginning to ponder instead how he was going to explain himself to those he had left behind, how he could possibly justify his actions. It didn’t matter to him what necessity required or common sense dictated or anything else that had to do with cause and effect. Seeking reason where there was no reason to be found was the last refuge of those who had acted inappropriately; that was what appeared to him to be true here. Nothing could explain leaving Prue. Nothing could make up for losing her.

Arik Sarn seemed to recognize what he was going through. The Troll walked apart and did not attempt to engage him in conversation. The trek occupied their efforts and kept them from needing to do more than to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, eating up the distance and time that remained between them and the mountains they were heading for.

Once, Panterra stopped completely, turned and looked back. “I can’t do this,” he said, as much to himself as to his companion.

He stood there in the ensuing silence, considering his options, weighing his chances if he turned around now and crept back under cover of darkness, sought out the tent in which Prue was imprisoned, broke apart her chains and set her free. It was possible, he thought. It was something he could do, an action he could take and complete.

He thought about it for a long time. Then reason intruded and prevailed.

The boy and the Troll walked on again.

They were still within sight of the camp as they climbed a rise through a scattering of large boulders and deep depressions when a cloaked form stepped from concealment and blocked their way. Panterra started wildly and Arik Sarn produced a short sword with serrated edges as if conjuring it out of thin air, but the appearance of a black staff carved through with runes froze both in place.

“Late for a twilight stroll, young Panterra,” the newcomer offered mildly. “Or have you secured your freedom? Is your unexpected companion friend or foe?”

Sider Ament!
Pan practically fell over himself with relief.

“I thought I would have to come get you on my own, but you’ve saved me the trouble,” the Gray Man continued. “Your would-be rescuers
and like-minded fools are back up in the rocks, waiting for us. We should join them.” He gave Arik Sarn a sharp look. “What’s become of Prue Liss?”

Panterra started to speak, couldn’t, gestured back over his shoulder at the Troll camp and shook his head.

“Like that, is it?” Sider Ament walked over and put an arm around the boy’s shoulder. “We’ll have to go get her back then, won’t we? But first you must tell me everything. Both of you. Come now.”

And turning away, he led them up into the rocks and out of view.

I
T WAS A WEARY AND DISPIRITED LITTLE GROUP THAT
walked on past midnight and well into early morning before reaching the base of the mountains that warded their valley destination. By then, everyone was exhausted, all but one of them having slept little or not at all for the past two days.

But more disturbing to Panterra Qu than their lack of rest was their barely concealed distrust of Arik Sarn.

“I don’t care what he did for you,” Tasha whispered at one point when they were walking apart from the others during their homeward trek, the sky gone black and star-speckled and the wind a low wail across the flats. “He will revert to his own kind at some point; it’s the nature of things. Don’t trust him. I’m warning you.”

“He troubles me,” Tenerife added. “He has a look. Darker than what he shows on the surface, rougher-edged. He’s hiding something.”

Phryne wouldn’t come close to either one of them, and even Sider Ament was not convinced. “You are right to feel grateful for his help,” the Gray Man said. “But temper your gratitude with caution and
remember that things aren’t always what they seem. Remember that these are not people of the same sort as the ones you have known.”

The Troll didn’t do much to encourage them to feel differently. He barely spoke to any of them, relying on Pan to explain what had happened and make clear his part in the matter. He seemed wary of all of them, but particularly of Sider, from whom he continually shied away. Pan saw the way he looked at the black staff, saw the fear and uncertainty in his eyes, and realized that the Troll knew something of this part of their history, too.

When Pan asked him about it, the two of them briefly trailing the others, the Troll said, “You said nothing of a black staff wielder, of a user of magic. It is dangerous to be close to one. There are stories of them and their magic sticks, of fire that consumes, that burns everything to ash. They fought demons in the old days, the stories tell. All were supposed to be dead. Trolls don’t like magic or magic wielders. We don’t trust any of it.”

There was nothing for it, of course. None of them had been there to see how the Troll had protected him. He could hardly expect that they would become instant friends, since Sarn was allied with the bunch that had made Prue and himself prisoners in the first place. Such friendships took time and required trust not easily given. But they did not send him back; nor did he ask to go. An uneasy acceptance of the situation was reached, an accord that would at least allow them to travel together as their shared purpose required.

Which, of course, was Taureq Siq’s demand for a meeting. All involved clearly understood it to be a preliminary step to invading their homeland. But Panterra had not hesitated to tell them of it right from the start. It was necessary they know everything, that they be fully aware of what was at stake when they reentered the valley and stood before Oparion Amarantyne.

This was their intention, of course, agreed to from the beginning by all of them. The Elf King was the leader they had the best chance of convincing; there was no one better to approach. With Phryne and the Orullians spearheading the effort and the Gray Man and Panterra in support, the King would have to listen and consider. In the end, Panterra was willing to bet, he would have to act, as well. Oparion Amarantyne
commanded the largest and most powerful fighting force in the valley; he could not just stand by if convinced of the impending invasion. And if he agreed to rouse the other Races to stand and fight with him, they had a chance of keeping Taureq Siq and his Drouj from the valley.

Of course, there was still the matter of getting Prue back safely, and their chances of doing that were less easily measured.

“Listen to me,” the Gray Man had said to Pan after all was revealed and the question of Prue’s fate was a cloud they could not get out from under. “Listen carefully, because this will not be easy for you to hear. We can’t go back for her just yet. No, say nothing until I finish. We cannot go back because we must first go to our people and set them to the task of saving themselves. It is the life of one girl versus the lives of thousands. We must act responsibly and choose the latter. Once we have done what we can in the valley, then we can act to save Prue Liss. She will not be forgotten or abandoned. But she must wait her turn, and you must be patient.”

There were a dozen arguments that Panterra could have made about this approach, though he knew that doing so would achieve nothing. The Gray Man was right about the importance of delivering a warning first. But Pan made up his mind that before any meeting with Taureq Siq and its inevitable fallout, he would go back for Prue. He didn’t know what he would do when he found her. He did not know if anyone would go with him or if he would end up going alone. He only knew that whatever the case, he was going.

Besides, he could not shake the nagging feeling that Sider Ament would do whatever was expedient in all matters, this one included. If it became impractical for him to do something about Prue, he would find an excuse for abandoning her. It wasn’t that he didn’t mean what he said or didn’t intend to do what he could; his work as a bearer of the black staff simply meant that he must always balance gains and losses in making his choices, and that sacrifices were inevitable. Panterra understood why this was so for the Gray Man. But he would not allow Prue to become one of those sacrifices.

When they stopped for the night—as Sider had decided they should, too much in need of rest to complete the journey on a single trek—Panterra took his doubts and his fears to one side, away from the others. He watched as the Orullians rolled themselves into their blan
kets and went straight to sleep. He watched Arik Sarn do the same. Phryne lay down close to him, her face turned away. Even Sider, positioning himself at the edge of their concealment where he could look back across the valley, found rest of a sort, his eyes fixed and staring, his gaze blank, his breathing slow and even in the silence. Pan needed to sleep, too, but he was still thinking of Prue, still caught up in his regret and shame at leaving her behind. Her skills and experience notwithstanding, she had been his responsibility in their partnership as Trackers and in their relationship as childhood friends, and he would never be able to get past that. It didn’t matter that she had absolved him and told him to go; the guilt was still there, a raw wound that would not close.