Bearers of the Black Staff: Legends of Shannara (45 page)

Once, Grosha had tried to take the spray away from him. The boy was a fool, but he was dangerous, too. Inch had knocked him back a dozen feet and leveled the spray at him. He might have killed him, too, if he hadn’t thought Grosha so funny at the time. He didn’t think him funny now, and sometimes he thought everyone would have been better off if he had just done what his instincts told him when he had the chance.

Maybe today
, he told himself. It was a good day for it.

After he found the girl.

The sentries brought him up to Taureq Siq’s command tent, where the Maturen was waiting for him, standing in front of the tent flaps with his sycophants and retainers and his miserable younger son. No sign of the elder, which might mean he was still inside the valley. It would be too bad for him if he was. Sider Ament would find him and put an end to him; Inch was certain of it. He’d seen the look in the other’s eyes when he’d learned the truth. Revelation, rage, and murderous determination—they were all visible. Scary, even to a seasoned veteran like himself. Sider wasn’t the kind you wanted to antagonize, and the Maturen’s elder son had gone way beyond that.

Inch came up to Taureq Siq, giving him a friendly greeting in the form of hands outstretched and palms turned up. It signified that he came openly and without bad intentions. A dreadful lie, but what could you do? The Maturen gave him a small nod and nothing more. Trusted nobody, that one. Inch knew why. Taureq was always expecting the worst of everyone and was seldom disappointed. One day Inch, too, would live up to his expectations.

He barely spared a glance at Grosha as he addressed the boy’s father in his own tongue. “
Cudjion
, Taureq. Word is you’ve made plans to make a new home in a valley beyond those mountains.” He pointed off to the east, toward where he had left Sider Ament to make his way back. “I thought you might need someone with my skills to help you get settled.”

The Maturen gave him a hard look. “How do you know of this? The Trolls don’t speak of it.”

Inch shrugged. “I met a man, one from the valley. He spoke to me about you. Said you had one of his people. He wanted to know what I could tell him about you, what I knew that might help him decide how to stop you. I told him he had better find a new home far, far away.”

Grosha started forward a step, snarling. “You spoke to someone about us?” he demanded. “You gave him information?”

“What I told him, he already knew.” Deladion Inch spoke to the father, ignoring the son. “What matters is that I know where to find the entrance to the valley, so maybe that’s information you can use. Maybe I can be of service, if there’s something in it for me.”

Taureq Siq’s face relaxed. “We already know how to get into the valley this man comes from. We know everything. Those who live there are not warriors, not trained, not skilled in fighting. They have no army, no unity of their peoples, nothing that would prevent us from taking the valley for ourselves. We don’t need you.”

Deladion Inch nodded and shrugged. “Maybe you don’t. Maybe you know all about their weapons and how to get past them. Maybe you aren’t afraid of something that can wipe out half your soldiers before you even get within bow range.”

It sounded good, even to him. The secret of the valley’s passes was compromised, along with the lack of any standing army trained to defend against invaders. But maybe the discussion hadn’t gotten to the matter of weapons.

The Maturen hesitated. “They have the same weapons we do. Except that they have one of the black staffs aiding them, as well. But one man is not enough to stop us.”

“One man, no. Fifty fire throwers and a dozen cannons that can reach a target a mile away, yes. Or am I missing something?”

Grosha spit at him. “You lie, mercenary.”

“Do I? You know this?”

“I know Elves don’t have weapons like that!”

He gave the boy a sympathetic smile. “Elves don’t
want
weapons like that. But Men do. What do your spies have to tell you of that?”

It was a calculated gamble, but it appeared to be working. There was a low muttering among those assembled, silenced quickly as Taureq Siq looked around angrily. “Do you know of these weapons?” he asked Inch. “Have you seen them?”

The big man shook his head. “Only heard of them. But I recognize how they work and what they can do from what I know of my own weapons. You don’t want to risk facing them without a plan.”

“Don’t believe him, Father!” Grosha snapped, fury twisting his blunt features. “He would say anything to share in what we have!”

Inch gave him another smile and looked at his father as if to say,
These impulsive boys, what can you do?
“You doubt what I’m saying, little pup? Let’s ask the girl, your captive from the valley. Let’s see what she says. Go ahead. Ask her.”

“We cannot ask her!” Grosha shouted, enraged. “We don’t speak the language well enough. Only Arik does. You know that!”

“I don’t know anything about it.” Inch kept his eyes on the father. “Why don’t you let me speak with her? I’ll tell you what she says. After all, I’ve got nothing to gain by lying to you about it. If I do, you’ll find out quick enough when you enter the valley and you’ll hang me from your tent pole.”

Taureq Siq was silent a moment, gesturing for his angry son to be silent, as well. He was clearly conflicted about it, but he was smart enough not to want to risk missing something important.

“All right,” he agreed finally. “But if you deceive me, you will die.” He gestured toward one of the guards. “Bring the girl.”

Grosha turned away in disgust, muttering to himself.

Deladion Inch took a deep breath as the guard departed. He was going to get his chance now, the chance he needed, but he still didn’t know how he was going to make this work. Somehow, he had to get the girl through the camp and back to the ATV if they were to have any chance of escaping. But Taureq would have his eye on him the entire time he was speaking to her, so he was going to have to be clever.

A sudden thrumming on the tent roof drew his attention. It was raining, a downpour. Funny, but he hadn’t even noticed rain clouds on his way in. He breathed in the fresh smells, the dampness and the cool. He glanced through the gap in the tent flaps; the daylight had faded, clouds covering the sun and masking the sky. It would be dark much sooner. The ground would be wet, and tracks would be hard to follow.

It took only moments before the guard returned with his prisoner. The girl was just a little thing, probably not much more than a hundred pounds, small and slender, with bright red hair and green eyes that looked right through you. She didn’t flinch from him when she saw him, clad in black leather and armor, weapons hanging off him everywhere. She simply studied him as she would an interesting specimen, trying to make something out of it.

Inch glanced at Taureq for permission to speak to her, and the Maturen nodded. The big man came forward and knelt in front of her. “You’re Prue Liss?” he asked her. “Sider Ament sends greetings.”

She stared at him, surprise reflected in her green eyes. “He sent you?”

“He did. He couldn’t come himself. Are you all right? Have you been hurt?”

She shook her head no. “What are you going to do?”

“Talk to you a minute. Ask you about weapons that your people in the valley don’t have. Pretend you’re telling me something about them. Just a quick few words. They don’t understand what we’re saying, so it’s all right. When I’m done, give me a hug. Look frightened. Can you do that? You’ll be taken back to where they’re holding you, but I’ll come for you. Understand?”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“Remember the hug,” he said.

She nodded wordlessly, eyes fixed on his face.

They talked about nothing, as he had said they would, pretending at questions and answers. It was hot inside the tent, and Deladion Inch could felt the sweat running down his back inside his heavy leathers. Outside, the rain continued to beat against the tent surface, a staccato rhythm. He tried to keep the girl’s eyes locked on his, willing her to play along, to make believe with such skill that the Trolls, who were pressing close about them, would not discover their deception. The girl
kept looking at him, staring into his eyes, understanding what was needed. She never flinched.

Inch finished, gave her a quick nod, and started to stand up. As he did, she rushed to him immediately and threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him close. He patted her comfortingly and backed her away.

Then he turned to Taureq Siq. “She confirms what I already told you. But there is some good news. Not everyone has these weapons, only the Men of the larger villages. They have some small fighting forces, too, but they aren’t well trained. You can overcome them once you know how to jam their weapons.”

Taureq Siq was watching him closely. “You will explain all this to me. But not until Arik returns. He will be here by morning. You will be our guest until he arrives.”

Your prisoner, you mean
. Inch had expected as much, but he was dismayed that the older son would be back so soon. He would have to act quickly if he wanted to get out of here alive. “I would be honored, Taureq.”

They were taking the girl back to where they had been holding her, the guard easing her toward the tent flaps and back outside. Inch glanced her way once, but paid no further attention. “I would appreciate some food and a place to sleep,” he told Siq. “I’ve been traveling all day.”

The Maturen nodded to the guards who had brought him in. “Give him what he wants, but stay with him.”

Taureq Siq turned away, his attention on something else, the interview over. Deladion Inch moved for the tent flaps, not waiting on his escort. He pushed through quickly, out into the rain, which had diminished from a downpour to a steady drizzle. Twilight had settled in, and torches burned through the gray haze, fighting back against the damp. Without seeming to do so, he scanned his surroundings, just managing to catch sight of the girl’s slight figure as she disappeared from view into a maze of tents and bodies. But he marked the direction in which she had gone, knowing it would help him find her later.

His guards caught up and motioned him in the opposite direction, staying well clear as they did so. Inch smiled and nodded, following
their lead, taking mental notes of everything as they made their way to a small, shabby tent that was perhaps fifty yards away. The tent served otherwise as a supply dump or an animal shelter, a deliberate comment on his status. On any other occasion, Deladion Inch would have been furious. But it didn’t matter here. After tonight, he would never be back.

He ducked inside the tent and settled himself on a sleeping pad amid tent coverings and piles of ties and stays, happy to discover that at least his quarters were dry. His guards brought him food, and he sat down with his dinner. Some sort of stew and warm ale. It was sufficient.

He ate and drank and then settled back to wait.

I
T WAS TWO HOURS LATER
, the bustle of activity and the drone of voices died down, the rain diminished but the darkness complete, when he peeked through a tiny gap in the tent flaps. His guards stood just outside, looking bored and uncomfortable in their heavy-weather cloaks. There was little movement in the darkness beyond; most of the torches were extinguished, the Trolls were settling in for the night. He couldn’t wait any longer. He couldn’t afford to be there when Arik Siq returned, and that could happen at any time. He would have preferred it if everyone but the watch was asleep, but you couldn’t always have what you wanted in the rescue business.

He called one of the guards into the tent and asked him for a cloak to cover himself and another to lie down on. The guard, under orders to give Inch what he wanted, did not argue. He left and returned again with two all-weather cloaks. As soon as he had gone back outside to his watch, Inch built a dummy of himself out of sacks and covered it with one of the cloaks. Then he moved to the rear of the tent, cut a slit in it with his long knife, slipped on the second cloak with the hood pulled up, peered out to be sure the way was clear, and stepped through.

In the palm of his hand, he held the receiver to the tracking device he had attached to the girl’s clothing when she hugged him. A small
red light blinked a slow, steady signal. As he got closer to her, it would blink more rapidly and brightly. It would lead him right to her.

Or so he hoped.

He was a big man, but he was among big people, so he wasn’t as noticeable as he would have been elsewhere. His cloak and hood hid his features, and the weather and darkness reduced visibility to almost nothing. No one paid any attention to him as he walked through the camp, absorbed in their own business and looking to get in out of the rain.

He glanced down at the signal to make certain it was growing stronger, that he was headed in the right direction. The signal told him he was. He could feel the old, familiar excitement flooding through him. He could feel himself giving in to its intoxicating rush, welcoming it like an old friend.

He checked the signal. It was blinking rapidly. The girl was just ahead.