Bearers of the Black Staff: Legends of Shannara (42 page)

“Was a week or two ago. He might have moved closer to the mountains by now. He’s expecting a meeting with us in about six days. The girl’s being held as insurance. Of course, holding her isn’t going to get him what he wants, but I can’t just leave her.”

“Sounds like you have a reason for rescuing this girl that goes beyond what you’re telling me.”

“I do. It has to do with the boy. I can explain it, if you want.”

Deladion Inch shook his head. “Don’t bother. I can get you past the watch and inside the Troll camp, but I don’t know about finding your girl. The Drouj are a big tribe—thousands strong. Finding where they’ve got her won’t be easy. You don’t happen to speak the language, do you?”

“Not theirs. Our Trolls speak something else.”

“Guess you can’t ask them where she is, then. Too bad.” He stood up. “Let’s have something to eat while I think about it.”

They set about preparing a dinner, Inch fixing the food while Sider set the table with plates and utensils. He was surprised to see that his host had a large collection of mixed pieces of china and glassware, salvaged somehow from the contents of these ruins or others, all of
it neatly stacked and shelved. He wouldn’t have thought it of Inch, but then he’d always suspected that the big man was more than he seemed.

They ate, washing down the food with more glasses of ale. Sider was growing sleepy and changed out his ale for water. Deladion Inch laughed on seeing him do so, remarking that his guest had a low tolerance of spirits and common sense both.

“I’m curious about this Troll that got the boy free,” the big man said after they had set aside their plates. “How did he manage that?”

Sider shrugged. “According to the boy, he was part of an exchange of eldest sons. His father sent him to the Drouj in exchange for Taureq’s eldest. It was some sort of pact to solidify an alliance.”

Deladion Inch laughed. “That’s a new twist on things. Taureq normally doesn’t form alliances; he simply crushes his enemies. What tribe of Trolls did he make this alliance with?”

“Karriak.”

“Karriak?” Inch repeated carefully. “You must have heard wrong.”

“Maybe. I only heard the story once.”

“Reason I say that, the Drouj wiped out the Karriak several years ago. Every last one of them. Taureq and his sons saw to that. I remember hearing about it. Pretty ugly stuff.”

Sider stared at him, the first faint twinges of concern surfacing. “Maybe I misheard. Might be another tribe, then? I think Taureq and the Maturen of the other tribe were related. Or the one split off from the other some time in the past.”

Deladion Inch studied him wordlessly for a moment, his brow furrowing. “What’s the name of this Troll, Sider?”

The Gray Man saw it coming at him through a flash of understanding, but couldn’t do anything about it. “Arik Sarn.”

The big man nodded slowly. “Interesting. Something you should know. Taureq Siq has two sons. The younger is a bloodthirsty little weasel named Grosha. The older, the more intelligent and dangerous of the two, is called Arik.”

The two men stared at each in silence for a long moment, considering the implications. “Arik Siq,” Sider said quietly. “And we brought him back into the valley with us, to the Elven home city.”

Deladion Inch nodded. “A fox in the henhouse. Sounds like Arik’s way. I know them all, the whole miserable family. Grosha has Skaith Hounds for pets. Wanted to feed me to them once upon a time. Would have done it, too, but I had the flechette with me and warned him that his pets would be chopped meat if he set them on me. He hasn’t had a kind word for me since.”

“Describe the older son to me,” Sider said.

The big man did so. The description fit Arik Sarn perfectly. Sider thought it through. The Troll had tricked his captives into thinking he was a friend, using them to gain entrance into the valley, his intention all along. Holding Prue Liss hostage was just a subterfuge. What Taureq Siq needed was a pair of eyes and ears inside the valley to tell him what was going on. His elder son would gather what knowledge he could, and then he would use it against the defenders. He wasn’t waiting for a response to his demand. He was preparing for an attack.

Sider told Deladion Inch what he thought was happening, wanting to be certain he was right about this, needing another opinion that he could trust. It was quick in coming. “Always very smart about how best to do things, that one. His father relies on him for that. What are you going to do?”

Sider took a deep breath. “Go back on my word.”

“Which word would that be?” Inch looked vaguely amused.

“Promising not to ask you to get involved. Can’t keep that promise now. I need you to go into the Troll camp and bring the girl out.”

Deladion Inch shook his head, glanced down at his hands and then off into the far corners of the room. Sider waited patiently.

Finally, the big man looked over at him again. “You’ve got sand, Sider Ament, I’ll give you that. All right, I’ll go. I haven’t anything better to do. I’ll bring her out. Where do you want her?”

“I’ll draw you a map. Can you leave right away? Tomorrow morning?”

“I can leave now, if you want. What is it you plan to do? Go back inside the valley and find your lying friend?”

Sider nodded. “I don’t like the idea of him there another second longer than he has to be. I’m worried that he has something else planned. Maybe I can reach him before he manages to slip away.”

“Then we’ll both go.” Deladion Inch seemed almost eager. “You to your valley and me to Taureq Siq. But first we’ll share one last glass of ale, provide us with some additional fortification for what lies ahead. It’ll be cold and wet out there, Sider. And it’ll be dangerous.”

They drank their ale slowly, sitting together in silence, watching the fire die out as it turned slowly to ashes. Sider thought about how blind he had been to the possibility that Arik Sarn might have been using Panterra for his own purposes. He hadn’t considered things carefully enough, too wrapped up in the rush to get back into the valley and sound the alarm, too quick to act and not careful enough to think it through. Now he would pay the price. Or someone would. He didn’t like thinking about who that someone might be.

Deladion Inch drained the last of his ale and stood. “If you’re ready, let’s be off. We can take my crawler as far as you want. Then you can walk from there. Solar-powered, fully charged. A beast, left over from the old days. Still works. You should have one for your line of work, too. But mine’s the last, so I guess you’re out of luck. Ready?”

They walked from the room and down corridors and stairs toward the ground level. Inch was carrying his flechette and another short-barreled, black metal weapon that looked somewhat similar. He wore knives and bore packs whose contents were hidden from view and made no sound as they shifted about inside the canvas. Deladion Inch was a walking arsenal.

“One last thing,” the big man said as they stopped at the doorway leading out. “You watch yourself with Arik Siq. He might look harmless, might even seem so, but he’s very dangerous. Not impulsive and brash like his little brother. Be careful.”

Sider nodded. “I’ll do that. You better worry about yourself. You’re the one going into a camp filled with unfriendly Trolls. They might decide you’re not there for any good reason.”

“By the time they figure that out, I’ll be gone again. And the girl with me. What’s her name again?”

“Prue. Prue Liss.”

Inch stuck out his hand and gripped Sider’s firmly. “Good seeing you, Sider. It’s always interesting. Be looking for you down the road. We’ll tell our stories then over fresh glasses of ale.”

“We’ll do that,” Sider agreed.

The two men smiled at each other, broke their handshake, and went out the door into the night.

O
NE THING EVERY ELF WHO KNEW XAC WEN
had to admit about him, besides the fact that he was annoyingly omnipresent and intrusive: he didn’t miss much. If you wanted to know what was going on in a particular part of the city of Arborlon or even beyond, or if you were curious to know where someone had gone or why, he was the one to ask. His parents had given up trying to keep him under control years ago—forget about during the day when he was all over the place, but even at night when he should have been asleep. Xac Wen told everyone who asked that he didn’t need to sleep. A couple of hours were sufficient, and the rest of the time he wanted to be out looking around.

Which was what he was doing when he caught sight of Arik Sarn walking alone down a back road of the sleeping city shortly after midnight. He might have been out for a stroll, but Xac knew you didn’t carry a backpack and weapons when you were just taking the air. He might have been on his way to visit someone, but you didn’t often go visiting after midnight and you didn’t do it in a furtive way. Well, usually you didn’t. He was also alone, which meant that for some reason his Elven guards had failed in their duty to keep an eye on him at all times.

This was troubling to the boy, and he watched from the shadows as the Troll moved past, never once indicating that he knew the boy was there. But Xac knew that grown-ups were very good at pretending not to have noticed you when in fact they had. So he waited until the Troll was out of sight, ducked back behind the buildings, and moved through the trees along a little-used path that would bring him out where the road the Troll was following would converge with a larger one.

But Arik Sarn failed to appear. Xac waited until he was sure the Troll wasn’t coming, thought about it a moment, and then hurried off to the
Carolan to have a look around. He went swiftly, angling away from where he was certain the Troll must have gone, small and silent as he sped through shadowed trees and down narrow lanes, avoiding houses and people, staying out of the light. When he reached the gardens and the bluff edge, he was winded and breathing heavily. Without showing himself, he dropped down while still out of sight, crawled into the flowering bushes, and lay flat against the ground, listening. He wanted to lift his head for a look, but his instincts warned him against it.

He waited a long time.

Then he heard the soft pad of footfalls from not very far away. They would start up and stop and then start up again. Someone was searching through the gardens and taking their time doing so, looking down every row carefully.

Searching for what?

For him?

He felt chills ripple down his spine at the possibility and inched closer to the bushes next to him, slowly wedging himself under them until they covered him completely. He tucked in his arms and legs. He tried to will himself to disappear.

He waited some more.

Suddenly the Troll appeared at the head of the row of bushes in which he hid, a long knife in one hand as he peered left and right, studying everything. Xac Wen quit breathing. He fought down the urge to jump up and run. He had been right not to risk showing himself, but maybe wrong in coming here at all.

After a long time, the Troll moved away.

Xac waited, still barely breathing, still pressing himself against the earth. He could almost feel the Troll’s eyes watching him, could imagine the big hands fastening on his shoulders and yanking him to his feet. He could imagine that and a whole lot more he didn’t want to dwell on.

When enough minutes had passed that he felt safe again, he cautiously inched out from under the bushes and began crawling toward the bluff edge. It took him a long time, and by the time he had completed his journey his clothes were torn and filthy.

From his hiding place at the Carolan’s rim, he could look down
the switchback length of the Elfitch. Nothing looked out of place. The watch was on duty, the torches that lit the ramp were burning, and the ramp itself was otherwise deserted. He glanced from right to left along the edge of the bluff. Nothing in either direction.

He took a deep breath and wondered what he should do.

Then he caught sight of something moving. Below the Elfitch, not far from where the northern boundary of the tree line began, a solitary figure slid through the shadows.

It was the Troll.

Xac Wen watched him until he was out of sight, and then he got to his feet and stood looking down at the darkness, wondering whom he should tell.

P
HRYNE AMARANTYNE HAD BEEN BACK IN ARBORLON
for less than four hours when she got the summons from her grandmother. By then, if Xac Wen was to be believed, Arik Sarn had been gone from the city for twice that long, leaving behind two dead Home Guards and a lot of angry Elves. She had rushed back with the Orullians in tow to prevent just this sort of tragedy, convinced that her revelation about the Troll was no fantasy. She turned out to be right, but she arrived too late to make any difference.

What she had realized belatedly was this: If the Trolls were not bothering with finding a way into the valley, didn’t that suggest they already knew a way? But that seemed impossible, given that none of them had ever entered. Except, she corrected herself quickly, for Arik Sarn. He was inside because she and her friends had brought him inside. Put that together with the fact that he was drawing what appeared to be pictures of flowers but could just as easily have been maps, and you had the distinct possibility of a betrayal. After all, what
they knew of the Troll was based on what Pan had told them and what little they had observed, which wasn’t really very much. Recognizing the possibility had opened the door to the chilling prospect that they had all missed seeing the truth of things—Arik Sarn was another of the enemy that would see them destroyed.