The Sword of Shannara Trilogy by Terry Brooks Page B

down a side path, but when he caught sight of the two ragged, dusty figures approaching along the main walk, he stopped short. A moment later his eyes went wide with surprise.
    “Shea!” he exclaimed sharply. “What in the name of all … what happened to you?”
    He rushed over quickly to his friend and gripped the slim hand warmly.
    “Good to see you, Menion,” Shea said with a smile.
    The highlander stepped back a pace, and his gray eyes studied them shrewdly.
    “I never expected that my letter would get results this quickly….” He trailed off and studied the other’s weary face. “It hasn’t, has it? But don’t tell me—I don’t want to hear it. I’d rather assume for the sake of our friendship that you came just to visit me. And brought distrustful old Flick, too, I see. This is a surprise.”
    He grinned quickly past Shea at the scowling Flick, who nodded curtly.
    “This wasn’t my idea, you may be sure.”
    “I wish that our friendship alone were the reason for this visit.” Shea sighed heavily. “I wish I didn’t have to involve you in any of this, but I’m afraid that we’re in serious trouble and you are the one person who might be able to help us.”
    Menion started to smile, then changed his mind quickly as he caught the mood reflected in the other’s drawn face and nodded soberly.
    “Nothing funny about this, is there? Well, a hot bath and some dinner are the first order of business. We can discuss what brought you here later. Come on in. My father’s engaged on the border, but I’m at your disposal.”
    Once inside, Menion directed the servants to take charge of the Valemen, and they were led off to a welcome bath and a change of clothes. An hour later, the three friends gathered in the great hall for a dinner that would ordinarily have fed twice their number, but on this night barely satisfied them. As they ate, Shea related to Menion the strange tale behind their flight from Shady Vale. He described Flick’s meeting with the mysterious wanderer Allanon and the involved story behind the Sword of Shannara. It was necessary, despite Allanon’s order of secrecy, if he must ask Menion’s help. He told of the coming of Balinor with his terse warning, of their narrow escape from the black Skull creature, and finally of their flight to the highlands. Shea did all the talking. Flick was unwilling to enter into the conversation, resisting the temptation he felt to elaborateon his own part in the events of the past few weeks. He chose to keep quiet because he was determined not to trust Menion. He was convinced that it would be better for the Valemen if at least one of them kept his guard up and his mouth closed.
    Menion Leah listened quietly to the long tale, evincing no visible surprise until the part about Shea’s background, with which he appeared immeasurably pleased. His lean brown face remained for the most part an inscrutable mask, broken only by that perpetual half smile and the small wrinkles at the corners of the sharp gray eyes. He recognized quickly enough why the Valemen had come to him. They could never expect to make it from Leah through the lowlands of Clete and from there through the Black Oaks without assistance from someone who knew the country—someone they could trust. Correction, Menion thought, smiling inwardly—someone Shea could trust. He knew that Flick would never have agreed to come to Leah unless his brother had insisted. There had never been much of a friendship between Flick and himself. Still, they were both here, both willing to seek his help, whatever the reason, and he would never be able to refuse anything to Shea, even where there was risk to his own life.
    Shea finished his story and waited patiently for Menion’s response. The highlander seemed lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the half-filled glass of wine at his elbow. When he spoke, his voice was distant.
    “The Sword of Shannara. I haven’t heard that story in years—never really believed