Allanon's Quest by Terry Brooks Page A

small table in the back of the room and the two men who occupied it. A moment later, both men rose, having suddenly decided that it was time to leave although neither could have said why.
    He gave it a moment, then crossed to the table the men had vacated and sat down.
    After a few minutes, the barkeep wandered over.
    “Long trip?” He was a large, heavyset man with big features and a dour look. For an Elf, he looked downright sullen. “I know everyone in the village,” he added. “You’ve come from somewhere else.”
    Allanon nodded. “A cold tankard of ale would ease my weariness.”
    The barkeep nodded and wandered off, and Allanon looked around at the room’s patrons, his gaze moving from face to face, making sure that nothing seemed out of place and no one appeared to be a threat. By the time he had finished, the barkeep had returned.
    “Anything else?” He set the tankard of ale down and waited. “Something to eat, maybe?”
    The Druid shook his head. “Do you know where I can find a man called Derrivanian?”
    “Might. What’s your business?”
    “My business is my own.”
    “Maybe so, but I don’t like sending trouble to other people’s doorsteps. Trouble finds them quick enough without my help.”
    “I intend no trouble.” Allanon brushed the rain from his shoulders and sat back. “He is an old friend. I knew him when he served as record keeper for the Elessedils.”
    “Oh, you know of that? So maybe you are a friend. But where’s the proof? What’s to say you aren’t here to collect a bill or cause some other sort of mischief?”
    Allanon gave him a look. “Derrivanian is an old man with an old wife and an old dog, and he hasn’t got much of anything to give and no history of ever having done anyone harm. Why don’t you just tell me where he lives?”
    The barkeep shook his head. “I need something more than your word before I tell you anything. I don’t much like the look of you—all in black, dark-faced, and grim. You’re a big man used to getting his way. Well, I’m a big man, too, and I’m not afraid of you.”
    Allanon went very still. “It isn’t me you should fear, barkeep.” He locked eyes with the man. “Ask yourself this. Are you sure enough of yourself that you would risk a meeting with some who might not ask any questions but simply tear the information from you? Would you risk a meeting with those they call Skull Bearers?”
    The barkeep paled. “Do not speak that name in here!”
    “What name should I speak, then? I gave you Derrivanian. Should I give you another? The Warlock Lord’s name, perhaps? Or is there another you would prefer me to speak?”
    The barkeep backed away. “I want you out of here! Take your business elsewhere and seek your answers from another.”
    Allanon shook his head. “I have no time for asking others. I have chosen to ask you, and I will have my answers now. Look at me. Where will I find Eldra Derrivanian?”
    The barkeep tried to back away, but suddenly his strength failed, and he found himself rooted in place. His face tightened with his efforts to free himself, and it was clear he saw something new in the Druid’s eyes that made him realize what he was up against.
    “Answer me,” Allanon ordered.
    “Take the road west out of the village.” The barkeep was speaking in a different voice, one dredged up from the dark places you hide when you are very afraid. “Go about five hundred yards. Look for a fence and a wooden gate inset with the carved image of a rooster. He can be found there.”
    Allanon nodded. “My thanks. Now forget you ever saw me. Forget this conversation. Forget everything but your purpose in coming to my table with my tankard of ale.” He paused. “What was it you wanted to ask me again?”
    The barkeep’s eyes, which had lost focus, suddenly seemed clear again. “Something to eat, maybe?”
    When the barkeep had left the table, Allanon took a few minutes to finish the tankard of ale, relishing the cold