Paladins of Shannara: The Black Irix (Short Story) (5 page)
Read Paladins of Shannara: The Black Irix (Short Story) Online
Authors: Terry Brooks
Shea felt a rush of joy. So he was right. Panamon hadn’t betrayed them after all.
“What was the plan?”
“Later. When we are well away.”
They slipped through a door in the wall that housed the stable, found their horses,
saddled them, and rode down a narrow corridor along the outer wall to the main gates.
Guards stepped forward and stopped them, their faces dark with suspicion and their
pikes held ready. “Where do you think you’re going?” one asked.
“Back to where we came from,” Panamon answered. “Chule told us we could leave in the
morning. Morning is here. We want to get an early start on the day. We have a long
way to ride, and the hardest part is getting out of the Northland.”
The guards exchanged an uneasy glance. “No one told us about this.”
“No? Then maybe no one thought it was something you needed to be told. Maybe they
thought you could figure out what needed doing on your own. But if that’s not so,
why doesn’t one of you go back inside and wake Kestra Chule to ask him? Or you could
just detain us for another four hours until he wakes up on his own. I will ask him
then how you two happened to be chosen for this duty.”
The guards shifted uneasily, hefting their pikes in a threatening way and still blocking
the gates as they looked back and forth between Panamon and the Ohmsfords and each
other. There was a long few moments as they silently debated their options. Finally,
one stepped aside and signaled up to the walls to winch open the gates.
Minutes later, Panamon was leading the Ohmsfords back through the ravines of the terrain
that bordered the keep, moving slowly but steadily away from its imprisoning walls.
They rode in silence, concentrating on finding a safe path through the treacherous
landscape using what dim light the cloud-obscured quarter moon and scattered stars
could provide. Shea kept looking back over his shoulder at Flick, who was bringing
up the rear. Flick kept looking back at Kestra Chule’s black fortress.
But there was no sign of activity on the walls and no sign of any pursuit. It seemed
they had gotten away cleanly.
And with the Elfstones safely back in hand! Shea kept reaching up to feel their bulk
inside his tunic pocket, fingering their familiar outline, reassuring himself that
they were really there.
By sunrise, they had reached the banks of the River Lethe and were crossing the old
wooden bridge to the northern fringes of the Streleheim and the promise of safety,
and the Valeman could stand it no longer.
He rode up next to Panamon and caught his eye. “What just happened back there? What
was that all about?”
Panamon looked over. Flick had ridden up to hear, as well. “A little sleight of hand,”
the thief answered with a shrug. “I knew Kestra Chule from his time in Varfleet, in
days now gone, when he was a buyer and seller of stolen goods. We were friendly enough;
I was a thief, he was a buyer. Eventually, he became a collector. He found that fortress
we just left—perhaps once occupied by Trolls or even Skull Bearers, but then abandoned—and
he moved in.
“A while back, while doing a bit of business with me, he mentioned that he was looking
for someone to build him a vault to house some very valuable artifacts and precious
metals from his collection. After a few drinks, he bragged about how he had recovered
a Black Irix. He wouldn’t tell me how he came by it at first, but then he mentioned
that he’d had to move half a mountain to reach it.
“So I told him I’d heard a story about a Troll who had worn the Black Irix who’d died
in the collapse of a mountain. He cocked an eyebrow at me in a way that told me we
were talking about the same thing. So I mentioned the name of a vault builder I knew.
Chule went to him, was shown the vault he wanted, was told how to set the locks to
his own satisfaction, and the sale was made. Chule hauled the vault back to his fortress
and installed it. He set the locks with his own set of numbers and twists of the dial,
and put the Irix inside along with the rest of his treasure.”
Panamon laughed. “He even bragged on it afterward. How clever he was! How foolproof
his protections! But I knew something he didn’t. Vault makers always put in a backup
set of numbers and twists in their locks so that if something goes awry with the code
entered by the owner, there is another way of getting inside. I went to the vault
maker who had sold his product to Chule and convinced him to give me that information.
He was willing enough once I handed over a substantial sum of money. He was never
going to attempt anything against a man like Chule. What did he care what my intentions
were?
“So now I had the means to steal the Irix. What I didn’t have was a means of finding
out where inside the fortress Chule had installed his vault and whether or not the
Irix was inside it. Before going in, I had to know both. And I couldn’t very well
ask Chule.”
“That’s why you came to Shady Vale,” Shea said. “You knew I could find out by using
the Elfstones.”
“Well, that was part of it,” Panamon acknowledged. “The other part involved persuading
you to go with me into the keep. Because I needed something to convince Chule my intentions
were good. He’d always kept me at arm’s length before, and I needed to get much closer
than that. So I told him I would bring him the only Elfstones in existence. Of course,
I demanded a huge fortune for this, all of which is now safely tucked away in my gear.”
He patted the blanket and bags strapped across the rear of his horse. “Right inside
there.
“I gave you up to Chule so he would think well enough of me to engage in a little
celebration afterward. That allowed me to slip a sleeping potion into his drink. After
that, it was simply a matter of relieving him of the Elfstones, leaving him asleep
on the couches to ostensibly retire to my bedchamber, but instead going to his, finding
and opening the safe the Elfstones had revealed earlier, and taking out the Irix.
“Once that was accomplished, I came to find you and get you out of there. My initial
plan was to leave things as they were until this morning so we could simply ride out
together and leave him none the wiser until he decided to have a look inside his safe.
But I didn’t like what he had to say earlier about letting you go. I think maybe he
intended to make sure you never told anyone he had the Stones. And since I had put
you in harm’s way, I thought it my obligation to take you out again.”
“You should have told me what you were intending,” Shea said. “That was a terrible
thing you did.”
Panamon gave one of his maddening shrugs. “But it was done for the right reason—to
recover the Irix and return it to Keltset’s people. Exactly what I told you I intended
from the first.” He sighed deeply. “I’m sorry, Shea. And Flick, too. But I couldn’t
tell you ahead of time; you might have inadvertently given the game away if you had
known. Worse, you might have refused me right out of hand. It was a huge gamble, but
I had to take it.”
His familiar grin reappeared. “Life is a gamble, isn’t it?”
“It’s certainly a gamble where you’re concerned,” Flick snapped.
“He’ll come after you, won’t he?” Shea asked suddenly. “He’ll know you stole the Irix
and took back the Elfstones, and he’ll hunt you down.”
Panamon nodded. “He’ll try. But I’m not so easy to catch.”
“That won’t stop him. You know it won’t.”
“Maybe not. But I might have mentioned something to the Trolls about his illicit acquisition.
They didn’t seem too happy about it. I think they will be watching for him to emerge
from behind his walls into the open. When he does …”
They were passing through the area where they had encountered the Harrgs two nights
earlier, and the sun was just cresting the horizon, sending its muted light through
the cloud banks and mist, when Panamon reined in his horse.
“I leave you here to continue on to the Vale. Ride straight through the rest of today
and for as much of tonight as you can manage. Keep close watch. I don’t think they
will catch up to you, but you want to be careful anyway.”
“Where will you go?” Flick asked. He almost sounded sorry about it.
The thief pointed west. “I have a delivery to make, and the sooner it’s done, the
better. Temptation is a terrible thing, and I would hate to give in to it here.”
“If you do, we will come looking for you,” Shea declared. “And we will find you, too.”
Panamon Creel laughed. “I don’t for a moment doubt it. Good-bye, Shea. Good-bye, Flick.
I hope you will find a way to forgive me for what I did. I hope that what I am about
to do will put paid to my debt to you both and persuade you my intentions were always
the best.”
Off he rode, galloping swiftly away. They watched him until he was only a speck on
the distant horizon.
As he disappeared from view, Shea heaved a sigh. He had never really believed that
Panamon had decided to abandon them. He had never been convinced—even though the evidence
suggested otherwise and Flick kept insisting he was wrong—that his friend intended
to leave them in the hands of Kestra Chule. This wasn’t the Panamon Creel he knew.
In spite of his other faults, it wasn’t the sort of man he was.
Looking back on it now, he had never been so happy to be proven right.
* * *
Flick, on the other hand, was thinking of Audrana Coos, thinking of the very last
words she had spoken to him after noticing the turbulence in the waters of the scrye
bowl and advising him of his brother’s fate.
He will go on a quest, and you cannot stop him from doing so. Nor should you
.
Indeed. Shea
had
needed to go. He needed to help Panamon retrieve the Black Irix, and he needed to
know it would be returned to Keltset’s people. Flick had doubted the woodswoman and
he had doubted Panamon Creel, and he should have managed to muster the faith that
had sustained his brother. What was it his brother had said when they were locked
in that cell? That it was better to think well of people than ill.
Next time they encountered Panamon, he promised himself, he would to do the same.
It would be almost three years before that happened, and when it did Flick would find
himself struggling to keep this promise.
But that’s a story for another time.
Can’t wait for the thrilling conclusion to The Dark Legacy of Shannara?
Well, fear not; salvation will be at hand! Look for:
WITCH WRAITH
Book Three of The Dark Legacy of Shannara
Coming in summer 2013.
Here is a glimpse of what is still to come:
Railing Ohmsford stood alone at the bow of the
Quickening
and looked out at the starlit darkness. They were anchored for the night, the airship
nestled in a copse of fir and hemlock, the sway of the ship in the soft breezes barely
noticeable. It was well after midnight, and he should have been sleeping with the
others. But sleep did not come easily these days, and when it did come it was haunted
and left him racked with a deep sense of unease. Better to stay awake where he could
try to do something to control his thoughts, as dark as they were. Better to face
his demons standing up, prepared to fight them off and hold them at bay.
He could not banish them, of course. He could not send them back to the empty places
where they sometimes went to hide, although increasingly less so these days.
Not that it mattered. He knew their faces. He knew their names.
Fear: that he might not be able to find Grianne Ohmsford and bring her back to face
the Straken Lord because she was dead. Or because she was alive but could not be persuaded
to leave the sanctuary in which she had placed herself, unwilling to risk a confrontation
of the sort he was proposing. Or simply because she was Grianne and she had never
been predictable.
Doubt: that he was doing the right thing in making this journey into the back of beyond
because of a hope that had so little chance of succeeding. He should have been seeking
his brother in the Forbidding, hunting for him there and bringing him out again in
spite of the odds. Time was running out with every passing hour, and his brother was
alone and had no one to help him and no way of knowing if help would ever come. Redden
depended on him, and it must seem to his brother as if Railing had abandoned him.
Shame: that he was deceiving his companions on this quest, that he was keeping information
from them that might dissuade them from continuing. The King of the Silver River had
warned him that nothing would happen as he imagined, that there would be results he
had not foreseen. The Faerie creature had told him he should turn back and travel
instead into the Forbidding—the one place he knew he could never enter, so great was
his terror at the prospect.
He felt himself to be a coward and a deceiver. He was consumed by his doubts and his
shame, and it was growing increasingly harder not to reveal this to the others. He
tried to keep it hidden, masked by his false words and acts, but it was eating at
him. Destroying him.
He was crying again, silently and all at once, tears leaking from his eyes and despair
filling his heart.
He left the vessel’s bow and walked back toward the stern, moving quietly, trying
not to disturb the sleepers. Some were on deck, wrapped in blankets; some were below,
rolled into hammocks. All slept save two of the Rover crew, who kept watch fore and
aft. He saw the one at the stern and turned aside before he reached the man to take
up a position near the starboard railing. Small creaks sounded as ropes and lines
pulled taut and released again, and snores rose out of the shadows. He liked this
quiet time, this confluence of shadows and sleep. Everything was at peace.
He wished he could be as well.
It had only been two days now since they had set out from the Rainbow Lake, even though
it felt more like twenty. They had debated among themselves that morning, on waking,
as to the best route for their journey. The Charnals were unknown country to all but
Skint. Even Farshawn and his Rovers had not come this way before. Railing and Mirai
had traveled the Borderlands while conveying spare parts and salvage to customers,
but had not gone farther north.
Railing favored coming up from the Rainbow Lake, following the corridor that snaked
between the Wolfsktaag and the Dragon’s Teeth to the Upper Anar, and then continuing
on through Jannisson Pass east of the Skull Kingdom and its dangers and straight along
the western edge of the Charnals to the Northland city of Anatcherae—much the same
route his grandfather Penderrin had taken while searching for the tanequil all those
years ago. From Anatcherae, once resupplied, they could continue on to their destination.
But Skint had thought differently.
What they needed most, he declared, was a guide, someone who was familiar with the
Charnals and could help them find the ruins of Stridegate, where it was said the tanequil
might be found. There were few who could do that, and he was not one. In point of
fact, he knew of only one man who could help them with this, one whose loyalty and
knowledge they could depend upon. And even he would need persuading.
His name was Challa Nand, and he made his home in the Eastland town of Rampling Steep.
But finding him would require that the company fly
Quickening
east of the Charnals and through the Upper Anar. It would necessitate abandoning
the western approach to Stridegate and finding one that came in from the east. Challa
could show them, if they were able to persuade him to their cause.
Railing knew he could rely on the ring given to him by the King of the Silver River
to show them the way, but using it would mean either telling them about his meeting
with the Faerie creature or lying about where he had gotten the ring. The ring could
always be a backup if the need arose; the better choice was to keep it a secret for
now.
So he agreed to Skint’s proposal, and the others went along, all of them keenly aware
that they were in unfamiliar territory and needed to reduce the risks they would encounter.
Now here they were, on their way to Rampling Steep, anchored at the northern edge
of Darklin Reach not far from where the Rabb River branched east into the Upper Anar.
If he listened closely, Railing could hear the murmur of the river’s waters as they
churned their way out of the mountains on their journey west to the plains and from
there to the Mermidon. It was a distance of hundreds of miles, and it made him wonder
if anyone had ever followed the river all the way from end to end. He supposed Gnome
or Dwarf trappers and traders might have done so at some point, but he doubted that
any had ever made a record of it.
“What are you doing?”
Mirai Leah was standing next to him. He hadn’t heard her come up, hadn’t realized
she was there. He shrugged. “Can’t sleep.”
“Standing out here isn’t going to help. You need to get some rest. Are you all right?”
He gave her a quick glance. Her hair was rumpled, and she was yawning. “You look like
the one who ought to be sleeping.”
“I would be if I weren’t worried about you. What’s bothering you, Railing?”
He could have given her a whole raft of answers, starting with how he felt about her
and what it would mean to him if he caused her harm. But all he said was, “Nothing.
I just couldn’t sleep.”
She draped an arm over his shoulders. Her touch made him shiver. “How long have we
known each other?”
“Seems like forever. Since we were pretty small, anyway. I still remember when your
parents brought you for your first visit. They came to see Mother. I didn’t like you
then. You were kind of bossy.”
“Not much has changed. I’m still kind of bossy. So when I ask you what’s bothering
you, it’s because I know something is. So what’s up?”
He brushed his red hair back and faced her. “Leaving Redden is eating at me. I can’t
stand it that I’m not going after him.”
“Then why aren’t you?”
“Because I think this is the better choice.”
“Because you believe Grianne Ohmsford is alive and will come to Redden’s aid?” She
studied him a moment. “We’ve already discussed this, and I don’t think that’s what’s
troubling you at all. I think there’s something else, something you are keeping to
yourself. Redden’s not here to confide in, so maybe you ought to try telling me.”
Here was his opportunity. She had called him out on what she clearly recognized, and
he could unburden himself by telling her about his meeting with the King of the Silver
River. He could admit what he was doing, how he was manipulating them. But that was
something he would never do. He didn’t want her judging him. He wanted her to love
him unconditionally and fully. He always had.
He fingered the ring, tucked deep in his pant pocket. “I need to go back to sleep.
I’m sorry I woke you.” He started to walk away, and then he stopped and turned around.
“I want
you to know that I’m doing the best I can. If anything happens to Redden because of
me, I don’t think I could stand it. I need you to believe that. I need you to support
me and to …”
He trailed off. He couldn’t make himself speak the words:
Love me
. “Good night.”
“I will always support you, Railing,” she called after him.
Without looking back, he gave her a wave and disappeared back down the hatchway into
the hold of the airship.
