The Sword of Shannara, Part 2: The Druids' Keep by Terry Brooks Page B
Authors: Terry Brooks
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charged a massive black figure bearing a huge club. Without slowing once, the black shape tore into the surprised Gnomes with indescribable fury, scattering them with great blows of the mace as if they were no more than fragile leaves. In less than a minute all the Gnomes lay motionless on the ground. Shea watched in astonishment at the edge of the trees as the huge figure approached Sheaâs rescuer, somewhat in the manner of a faithful dog seeking its masterâs approval. The stranger spoke softly to the giant for several moments, and then sauntered over to Shea while his companion remained to look after the Gnomes.
âI think thatâs about all of it,â the voice rolled out as the scarlet figure came up to the Valeman, hefting the leather pouch in his good hand.
Shea took a moment to study the manâs face, still uncertain asto who his benefactor might be. The way the man swaggered, there was no question in Sheaâs mind but that he was an arrogant fellow whose unshakable confidence in himself was probably matched only by his undeniable efficiency as a fighter. The tanned, worn face was clean-shaven except for a small mustache cut evenly above the upper lip. He had one of those faces that defied age; he looked neither old nor young, but somewhere in between. Yet his manner was youthful, and only the leathery skin and deep eyes revealed that he would never see forty years again. The dark hair seemed flecked slightly with bits of gray, though in the misty dawn light it was difficult to be certain. The face was broad and his features prominent, particularly the wide, friendly mouth. It was a handsome, beguiling type of face, but one that Shea instinctively felt was a carefully worn mask that hid the true nature of the man. The stranger stood easily before the uncertain Valeman, smiling and waiting for some indication of his attitude toward his rescuers, apparently unsure of what it might be.
âI want to thank you,â Shea quickly sputtered. âIt would have been all over for me if you hadnât â¦â
âQuite all right, quite all right. Rescuing people is not exactly our business, but those devils would cut you up for sport. Iâm from the Southland myself, you know. Havenât been back in quite a while, but itâs my home nevertheless. Youâre from there, I can tell. One of the hill communities, maybe? Of course, you have Elven blood in you, too.â¦â
He trailed off abruptly, and for an instant Shea was certain that the man not only knew who he was, but what he was, and that he had stepped from the frying pan into the fire. A quick look back at the huge creature by the fallen Gnomes was necessary to reassure the youth that this was not a Skull Bearer.
âWho are you, friend, and where are you from?â the stranger demanded suddenly.
Shea gave him his name and explained that he was from ShadyVale. He told him that he had been exploring on a river to the south when his boat overturned, and he had been washed downstream and left unconscious on a bank where the band of Gnomes had found him. The fabricated tale was close enough to the truth so that the man might believe him, and Shea was not yet ready to trust strangers with the whole truth until he knew more than he knew about these two. He concluded his story by stating that the Gnomes had found him and decided to take him prisoner. The man looked at him for a long moment, an amused smile crossing his lips as he played idly with the leather pouch.
âWell, I doubt that you have told me the whole truth.â He laughed shortly. âBut I canât blame you. If I were in your place, I wouldnât tell me everything either. There will be time enough for the truth later. My name is Panamon Creel.â
He extended his one broad hand which Shea accepted and shook heartily. The stranger had a grip like iron and the Valeman winced involuntarily at the strong handshake. The man smiled faintly and
âI think thatâs about all of it,â the voice rolled out as the scarlet figure came up to the Valeman, hefting the leather pouch in his good hand.
Shea took a moment to study the manâs face, still uncertain asto who his benefactor might be. The way the man swaggered, there was no question in Sheaâs mind but that he was an arrogant fellow whose unshakable confidence in himself was probably matched only by his undeniable efficiency as a fighter. The tanned, worn face was clean-shaven except for a small mustache cut evenly above the upper lip. He had one of those faces that defied age; he looked neither old nor young, but somewhere in between. Yet his manner was youthful, and only the leathery skin and deep eyes revealed that he would never see forty years again. The dark hair seemed flecked slightly with bits of gray, though in the misty dawn light it was difficult to be certain. The face was broad and his features prominent, particularly the wide, friendly mouth. It was a handsome, beguiling type of face, but one that Shea instinctively felt was a carefully worn mask that hid the true nature of the man. The stranger stood easily before the uncertain Valeman, smiling and waiting for some indication of his attitude toward his rescuers, apparently unsure of what it might be.
âI want to thank you,â Shea quickly sputtered. âIt would have been all over for me if you hadnât â¦â
âQuite all right, quite all right. Rescuing people is not exactly our business, but those devils would cut you up for sport. Iâm from the Southland myself, you know. Havenât been back in quite a while, but itâs my home nevertheless. Youâre from there, I can tell. One of the hill communities, maybe? Of course, you have Elven blood in you, too.â¦â
He trailed off abruptly, and for an instant Shea was certain that the man not only knew who he was, but what he was, and that he had stepped from the frying pan into the fire. A quick look back at the huge creature by the fallen Gnomes was necessary to reassure the youth that this was not a Skull Bearer.
âWho are you, friend, and where are you from?â the stranger demanded suddenly.
Shea gave him his name and explained that he was from ShadyVale. He told him that he had been exploring on a river to the south when his boat overturned, and he had been washed downstream and left unconscious on a bank where the band of Gnomes had found him. The fabricated tale was close enough to the truth so that the man might believe him, and Shea was not yet ready to trust strangers with the whole truth until he knew more than he knew about these two. He concluded his story by stating that the Gnomes had found him and decided to take him prisoner. The man looked at him for a long moment, an amused smile crossing his lips as he played idly with the leather pouch.
âWell, I doubt that you have told me the whole truth.â He laughed shortly. âBut I canât blame you. If I were in your place, I wouldnât tell me everything either. There will be time enough for the truth later. My name is Panamon Creel.â
He extended his one broad hand which Shea accepted and shook heartily. The stranger had a grip like iron and the Valeman winced involuntarily at the strong handshake. The man smiled faintly and
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