Terry Brooks - Shannara 01 - Sword of Shannara

The Sword of Shannara by Terry Brooks

I

The sun was already sinking into the deep green of the hills to the west of

the valley, the red and gray-pink of its shadows touching the comers of the

land, when Flick Ohmsford began his descent. The bail stretched out unevenly

down the northern slope, winding through the huge boulders which studded the

rugged terrain in massive clumps, disappearing into the thick forests of the

lowlands to reappear in brief glimpses in small clearings and thinning spaces

of woodland. Flick followed the familiar trail with his eyes as he trudged

wearily along, his light pack slung loosely over one shoulder. His broad,

windburned face bore a set, placid look, and only the wide gray eyes revealed

the restless energy that burned beneath the calm exterior. He was a young man,

though his stocky build and the grizzled brown hair and shaggy eyebrows made

him look much older. He wore the loose-fitting work clothes of the Vale people

and in the pack he carded were several metal implements that rolled and

clanked loosely against one another.

There was a slight chill in the evening air, and Flick clutched the

collar of his open wool shirt closer to his neck. His journey ahead lay

through forests and rolling flatlands, the latter not yet visible to him as he

passed into the forests, and the darkness of the tall oaks and somber

hickories reached upward to overlap and blot out the cloudless night sky. The

sun had set, leaving only the deep blue of the heavens pinpointed by thousands

of friendly stars. The huge trees shut out even these, and Flick was left

alone in the silent darkness as he moved slowly along the beaten path. Because

he had traveled this same route a hundred times, the young man noticed

immediately the unusual stillness that seemed to have captivated the entire

valley this evening. The familiar buzzing and chirping of insects normally

present in the quiet of the night, the cries of the birds that awoke with the

setting of the sun to fly in search of food-all were missing. Flick listened

intently for some sound of life, but his keen ears could detect nothing. He

shook his head uneasily. The deep silence was unsettling, particularly in view

of the rumors of a frightening black-winged creature sighted in the night

skies north of the valley only days earlier.

He forced himself to whistle and turned his thoughts back to his day's

work in the country just to the north of the Vale, where outlying families

farmed and tended domestic livestock: He traveled to their homes every week,

supplying various items that they required and bringing bits of news on the

happenings of the Vale and occasionally the distant cities of the deep

Southland. Few people knew the surrounding countryside as well as he did, and

fewer still cared to travel beyond the comparative safety of their homes in

the valley. Men were more inclined to remain in isolated communities these

days and let the rest of the world get along as best it could. But Flick liked

to travel outside the valley from time to time, and the outlying homesteads

were in need of his services and were willing to pay him for the trouble.

Flick's father was not one to let an opportunity pass him by where there was

money to be made, and the arrangement seemed to work out well for all

concerned.

A low-hanging branch brushing against his head caused Flick to start

suddenly and leap to one side. In chagrin, he straightened himself and glared

back at the leafy obstacle before continuing his journey at a slightly quicker

pace. He was deep in the lowland forests now and only slivers of moonlight

were able to find their way through the thick boughs overhead to light the

winding path dimly. It was so dark that Flick was having trouble finding the

trail, and as he studied the lay of the land ahead, he again found himself

conscious of the heavy silence. It was as if all life had been suddenly

extinguished, and he alone remained to find his way out of this forest tomb.

Again he recalled the strange rumors. He felt a bit anxious in spite of

himself and glanced worriedly around. But nothing stirred on the trail ahead

nor moved in the trees about him, and he felt embarrassingly relieved.

Pausing momentarily in a moonlit clearing, he gazed at the fullness of

the night sky before passing abruptly into the trees beyond. He walked slowly,

picking his way along the winding path that had narrowed beyond the clearing

and how seemed to disappear into a wall of trees and bushes ahead. He knew

that it was merely an illusion, but found himself glancing about uneasily all

the same. A few moments later, he was again on a wider trail and could discern

bits of sky peeking through the heavy trees. He was almost to the bottom of

the valley and about two miles from his home. He smiled and began whistling an

old tavern song as he hurried on. He was so intent on the trail ahead and the

open land beyond the forest that he failed to notice the huge black shadow

that seemed to rise up suddenly, detaching itself from a great oak tree on his

left and moving swiftly toward the path to intercept him. The dark figure was

almost on top of the Vale man before Flick sensed its presence looming up

before him like a great, black stone which threatened to crush his smaller

being. With a startled cry of fear he leaped aside, his pack falling to the

path with a crash of metal, and his left hand whipped out the long thin dagger

at his waist. Even as he crouched to defend himself, he was stayed by a

commanding arm raised above the figure before him and a strong, yet reassuring

voice that spoke out quickly.

"Wait a moment, friend. I'm no enemy and have no wish to harm you. I

merely seek directions and would be grateful if you could show me the proper

path."Flick relaxed his guard a bit and tried to peer into the blackness of

the figure before him in an effort to discover some semblance of a human

being. He could see nothing, however, and he moved to the left with cautious

steps in an attempt to catch the features of the dark figure in the

tree-shadowed moonlight.

"I assure you, I mean no harm," the voice continued, as if reading the

Valeman's mind. "I did not mean to frighten you, but I didn't see you until

you were almost upon me, and I was afraid you might pass the by without

realizing I was there."

The voice stopped and the huge black figure stood silently, though Flick

could feel the eyes following him as he edged about the path to put his own

back to the light. Slowly the pale moonlight began to etch out the stranger's

features in vague lines and blue shadows. For a long moment the two faced one

another in silence, each studying the other, Flick in an effort to decide what

it was he faced, the stranger in quiet anticipation.

Then suddenly the huge figure lunged with terrible swiftness, his

powerful hands seizing the Valeman's wrists, and Flick was lifted abruptly off

the solid earth and held high, his knife dropping from nerveless fingers as

the deep voice laughed mockingly up at him.

"Well, well, my young friend! What are you going to do now, I wonder? I

could cut your heart out on the spot and leave you for the wolves if I chose,

couldn't I?"

Flick struggled violently to free himself, terror numbing his mind to

any thought but that of escape. He had no idea what manner of creature had

subdued him, but it was far more powerful than any normal man and apparently

prepared to dispatch Flick quickly. Then abruptly, his captor held him out at

arm's length, and the mocking voice became icy cold with displeasure.

"Enough of this, boy! We have played our little game and still you know

nothing of me. I'm tired and hungry and have no wish to be delayed on the

forest trail in the chill of the evening while you decide if I am man or

beast. I will set you down that you may show me the path. I warn you-do not

try to run from me or it will be the worse for you."

The strong voice trailed off and the tone of displeasure disappeared as

the former hint of mockery returned with a short laugh.

"Besides," the figure rumbled as the fingers released their iron grip

and Flick slipped to the path, "I may be a better friend than you realize."

The figure moved back a step as Flick straightened himself, rubbing his

wrists carefully to restore the circulation to his numbed hands. He wanted to

run, but was certain that the stranger would catch him again and this time

finish him without further thought. He leaned over cautiously and picked up

the fallen dagger, returning it to his belt.

Flick could see the fellow more dearly now, and a quick scrutiny of him

revealed that he was definitely human, though much larger than any man Flick

had ever seen. He was at least seven feet tall, but exceptionally lean, though

it was difficult to be certain about this, since his tall frame was wrapped in

a flowing black cloak with a loose cowl pulled close about his head. The

darkened face was long and deeply lined, giving it a craggy appearance. The

eyes were deep-set and almost completely hidden from view by shaggy eyebrows

that knotted fiercely over a long flat ruse. A short, black beard outlined a

wide mouth that was lust a line on the face-a line that never seemed to move.

The overall appearance was frightening, all blackness and size, and Flick had

to fight down the urge building within him to make a break for the forest's

edge. He looked straight into the deep, hard eyes of the stranger, though not

without some difficulty, and managed a weak smile.

"I thought you were a thief," he mumbled hesitantly.

"You were mistaken," was the quiet retort. Then the voice softened a

bit. "You must learn to know a friend from an enemy. Sometime your life may

depend upon it. Now then, let's have your name."

"Flick Ohmsford."

Flick hesitated and then continued in a slightly braver tone of voice.

"My father is Curzad Ohmsford. He manages an inn in Shady Vale a mile or

two from here. You could find lodging and food there."

"Ah, Shady Vale," the stranger exclaimed suddenly. "Yes, that is where I

am going." He paused as if reflecting on his own words. Flick watched him

cautiously as he rubbed his craggy face with crooked fingers and looked beyond

the forest's edge to the rolling grasslands of the valley. lie was still

looking away when he spoke again.

"You . . . have a brother."

It was not a question; it was a simple statement of fact. It was spoken

so distantly and calmly, as if the tall stranger were not at all interested in

any sort of a reply, that Flick almost missed hearing it. Then suddenly

realizing the significance of the remark, he started and looked quickly at the

other."How did . . .?"

"Oh, well," the man said, "doesn't every young Valeman like yourself

have a brother somewhere?"

Flick nodded dumbly, unable to comprehend what it was that the other was

trying to say and wondering vaguely how much he knew about Shady Vale. The

stranger was looking questioningly at him, evidently waiting to be guided to

the promised food and lodging. Flick quickly turned away to find his hastily

discarded pack, picked it up and slung it over his shoulder, looking back at

the figure towering over him.

"The path is this way." He pointed, and the two began walking.

They passed out of the deep forest and entered rolling, gentle hills

which they would follow to the hamlet of Shady Vale at the far end of the

valley. Out of the woods, it was a bright night; the moon was a full white

globe overhead, its glow clearly illuminating the landscape of the valley and

the path which the two travelers were following. The path itself was a vague

line winding over the grassy hills and distinguishable only by occasional

rain-washed ruts and fiat, hard patches of earth breaking through the heavy

grass. The wind had gathered strength and rushed at the two men with quick

gusts that whipped at their clothing as they walked, forcing them to bow their

heads slightly to shield their eyes. Neither spoke a word as they proceeded,

each concentrating on the lay of the land beyond, as new hills and small

depressions appeared with the passing of each traveled knoll. Except for the

rushing of the wind, the night remained silent. Flick listened intently, and

once he thought he heard a sharp cry far to the north, but an instant later it

was gone, and he did not hear it again. The stranger appeared to be

unconcerned with the silence. His attention seemed to be focused on a

constantly changing point on the ground some six feet in front of them. He did

not look up and he did not look at big young guide for directions as they

went. Instead, he seemed to know exactly where the other was going and walked

confidently beside hum.

After a while, Flick began to have trouble keeping pace with the tall

man, who traveled the path with long, swinging strides that dwarfed Flick's

shorter ones. At times, the Valeman almost had to run to keep up. Once or

twice the other man glanced down at his smaller companion and, seeing the

difficulty he was having in trying to match strides, slowed to an easier pace.

Finally, as the southern slopes of the valley drew near, the hills began to

level off into shrub-covered grasslands that hinted at the appearance of new

forests. The terrain began to dip downward at a gentle slope, and Flick

located several familiar landmarks that bounded the outskirts of Shady Vale.

He felt a surge of relief in spite of himself. The hamlet and his own warm

home were just ahead.

The stranger did not speak a single word during the brief journey, and

Flick was reluctant to attempt any conversation. Instead, he tried to study

the giant in quick glimpses as they walked, without permitting the other to

observe what he was doing. He was understandably awed. The long craggy face,

shaded by the sharp black beard, recalled the fearful Warlocks described to

him by stern elders before the glowing embers of a late evening fire when he

was only a child. Most frightening were the stranger's eyes-or rather the

deep, dark caverns beneath the shaggy brows where his eyes should be. Flick

could not penetrate the heavy shadows that continued to mask that entire area

of his face. The deeply lined countenance seemed carved from stone, fixed and

bowed slightly to the path before it. As Flick pondered the inscrutable

visage, he suddenly realized that the stranger had never even mentioned his

name. The two were on the outer lip of the Vale, where the now clearly

distinguishable path wound through large, crowded bushes that almost choked

off human passage. The tall stranger stopped suddenly and stood perfectly

still, head bowed, listening intently. Flick halted beside him and waited

quietly, also listening, but unable to detect anything. They remained

motionless for seemingly endless minutes, and then the big man turned

hurriedly to his smaller companion.

"Quickly! Hide in the bushes ahead. Go now, run!"

He half pushed, half threw Flick in front of him as he raced swiftly

toward the tall brush. Flick scurried fearfully for the sanctuary of the

shrubbery, his pack slapping wildly against his back and the metal implements

clanging. The stranger turned on him and snatched the pack away, tucking it

beneath the long robe.

"Silence!" he hissed. "Run now. Not a sound"

They ran quickly to the dark wall of foliage some fifty feet ahead, and

the tall man hurriedly pushed Flick through the leafy branches that whipped

against their faces, pulling him roughly into the middle of a large clump of

brush, where they stood breathing heavily. Flick glanced at his companion and

saw that he was not looking through the brush at the country around them, but

instead was peering upward where the night sky was visible in small, irregular

patches through the foliage. The sky seemed clear to the Valeman as he

followed the other's intense gaze, and only the changeless stars winked back

at him as he watched and waited. Minutes passed; once he attempted to speak,

but was quickly silenced by the strong hands of the stranger, gripping his

shoulders in warning. Flick remained standing, looking at the night and

straining his ears for some sound of the apparent danger. But he heard nothing

save their own heavy breathing and a quiet rush of wind through the weaving

branches of their cover.

Then, just as Flick prepared to case his tired limbs by sitting the sky

was suddenly blotted out by something huge and black that floated overhead and

then passed from sight. A moment later it passed again, circling slowly

without seeming to move, its shadow flanging ominously above the two hidden

travelers as if preparing to fall upon them. A sudden feeling of terror raced

through Flick's mind, trapping it in an iron web as it strained to flee the

fearful madness penetrating inward. Something seemed to be reaching downward

into his chest, slowly squeezing the air from his lungs, and he found himself

gasping for breath. A vision passed sharply before him of a black image laced

with red, of clawed hands and giant wings, of a thing so evil that its very

existence threatened his frail life. For an instant the young man thought he

would scream, but the hand of the stranger gripped his shoulder tightly,

pulling him back from the precipice. Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the

giant shadow was gone and the peaceful sky of the patched night was all that

remained.

The hand on Flick's shoulder slowly relaxed its grip, and the Valeman

slid heavily to the ground, his body limp as he broke out in a cold sweat. The

tall stranger seated himself quietly next to his companion and a small smile

crossed his face. He laid one long hand on Flick's and patted it as he would a

child's.

"Come now, my young friend," he whispered, "you're alive and well, and

the Vale lies just ahead."

Flick looked up at the other's calm face, his own eyes wide with fear as

he shook his head slowly.

"That thing! What was that terrible thing?"

"Just a shadow," the man replied easily. "But this is neither the place

nor the time to concern ourselves with such matters. We will speak of it

later. Right now, I would like some food and a warm fire before I lose all

patience."

He helped the Valeman to his feet and returned his pack to him. Then

with a sweep of his robed arm, he indicated that he was ready to follow if the

other was ready to lead. They left the cover of the brush, Flick not without

misgivings as he glanced apprehensively at the night sky. It almost seemed as

if the whole business had been the result of an overactive imagination. Flick

pondered the matter solemnly and quickly decided that whatever the case, he

had had enough for one evening: first this nameless giant and then that

frightening shadow. He silently vowed that he would think twice before

traveling again at night so far from the safety of the Vale.

Several minutes later, the trees and brush began to thin out and the

flickering of yellow light was visible through the darkness. As they drew

closer, the vague forms of buildings began to take shape as square and

rectangular bulks in the gloom. The path widened into a smoother dirt road

that led straight into the hamlet, and Flick smiled gratefully at the lights

that shone in friendly greeting through the windows of the silent buildings.

No one moved on the road ahead; if it had not been for the lights, one might

well have wondered if anyone at all lived in the Vale. As it was, Flick's

thoughts were far from such questions. Already he was considering how much he

ought to tell his father and Shea, not wishing to worry them about strange

shadows that could easily have been the product of his imagination and the

gloomy night. The stranger at his side might shed some light on the subject at

a later time, but so far he had not proved to be much of a conversationalist.

Flick glanced involuntarily at the tall figure walking silently beside him.

Again he was chilled by the blackness of the man. It seemed to reflect from

his cloak and hood over his bowed head and lean hands, to shroud the entire

figure in hazy gloom. Whoever he was, Flick felt certain that he would be a

dangerous enemy.

They passed slowly between the buildings of the hamlet, and Flick could

see torches burning through the wooden frames of the wide windows. The houses

themselves were long, low structures, each containing only a ground floor

beneath a slightly sloping roof, which in most instances tapered off on one

side to shelter a small veranda, supported by heavy poles affixed to a long

porch. The buildings were constructed of wood, with stone foundations and

stone frontings on a few. Flick glanced through the curtained windows,

catching glimpses of the inhabitants, the sight of familiar faces reassuring

to him in the darkness outside. It had been a frightening night, and he was

relieved to be home among people he knew.

The stranger remained oblivious to everything. He did not bother with

more than a casual glance at the hamlet and had not spoken once since they had

entered the Vale. Flick remained incredulous at the way in which the other

followed him. He wasn't following Flick at all, but seemed to know exactly

where the Valeman was going. When the road branched off in opposite directions

amid identical rows of houses, the tall man had no difficulty in determining

the correct route, though he never once looked at Flick nor even raised his

head to study the road. Flick found himself trailing along while the other

guided.

The two quickly reached the inn. It was a large structure consisting of

a main building and lounging porch, with two long wings that extended out and

back on either side. It was constructed of huge logs, cut and laced on a high

stone foundation and covered with the familiar wood shingle roof, this

particular roof much higher than those of the family dwellings. The central

building was well lighted, and muffled voices could be heard from within,

interspersed with occasional laughter and shouts. The wings of the inn were in

darkness; it was there that the sleeping quarters of the guests were located.

The smell of roasting meat permeated the night air, and Flick quickly led the

way up the wooden steps of the long porch to the wide double doors at the

center of the inn. The tall stranger followed without a word.

Flick slid back the heavy metal door latch and pulled on the handles.

The big door on the right swung open to admit them into a large lounging room,

filled with benches, high-backed chairs, and several long, heavy wooden tables

set against the wall to the left and rear. The room was brightly lit by the

tall candles on the tables and wall racks and by the huge fireplace built into

the center of the wall on the left; Flick was momentarily blinded as his eyes

adjusted to this new light. He squinted sharply, glancing past the fireplace

and lounging furniture to the closed double doors at the back of the room and

over to the long serving bar running down the length of the wall to his right.

The men gathered about the bar looked up idly as the pair entered the room,

their faces registering undisguised amazement at the appearance of the tall

stranger. But Flick's silent companion did not seem to see them, and they

quickly returned to their conversation and evening drinks, glancing back at

the newcomers once or twice to see what they were going to do. The pair

remained standing at the door for a few moments more as Flick looked around a

second time at the face of the small crowd to see if his father were present.

The stranger motioned to the lounging chairs on the left.

"I will have a seat while you find your father. Perhaps we can have

dinner together when you return."

Without further comment, he moved quietly away to a small table at the

rear of the room and seated himself with his back to the men at the bar, his

face slightly bowed and turned away from Flick. The Valeman watched him for a

moment, then moved quickly to the double doors at the rear of the room and

pushed through them to the hallway beyond. His father was probably in the

kitchen, having dinner with Shea. Flick hurried down the hall past several

closed doors before reaching the one that opened into the inn kitchen. As he

entered, the two cooks who were working at the rear of the room greeted the

young man with a cheerful good evening. His father was seated at the end of a

long counter at the left. As Flick had anticipated, he was in the process of

finishing his dinner. He waved a brawny hand in greeting.

"You're a bit later than usual, son," he growled pleasantly. "Come over

here and have dinner while there's still something to eat."

Flick walked over wearily, lowered the traveling pack to the floor with

a slight clatter, and perched himself on one of the high counter stools. His

father's large frame straightened itself as he shoved back the empty plate and

looked quizzically at the other, his wide forehead wrinkling.

"I met a traveler on the road coming into the valley," Flick explained

hesitantly. "He wants a room and dinner. Asked us to join him."

"Well, he came to the right place for a room," the elder Ohmsford

declared. "I don't see why we shouldn't join him for a bite to eat-I could

easily do with another helping."

He raised his massive frame from the stool and signaled the cooks for

three dinners. Flick looked about for Shea, but he was nowhere in sight. His

father lumbered over to the cooks to give some special instructions on

preparing the meal for the small party, and Flick turned to the basin next to

the sink to wash off the dirt and grime from the road. When his father came

over to him, Flick asked where his brother had gone.

"Shea has gone out on an errand for me and should return on the moment,"

his father replied. "By the way, what's the name of this man you brought back

with you?"

"I don't know. He didn't say." Flick shrugged.

His father frowned and mumbled something about closemouthed strangers,

rounding off his muffled comment with a vow to have no more mysterious types

at his inn. Then motioning to his son, he led the way through the kitchen

doors, his wide shoulders brushing the wall beyond as he swung to his left

toward the lounging area. Flick followed quickly, his broad face wrinkled in

doubt.The stranger was still sitting quietly, his back to the men gathered at

the serving bar. When he heard the rear doors swing open, he shifted about

slightly to catch a glimpse of the two who entered. The stranger studied the

close resemblance between father and son. Both were of medium height and heavy

build, with the same broad, placid faces and grizzled brown hair. They

hesitated in the doorway and Flick pointed toward the dark figure. He could

see the surprise in Curzad Ohmsford's eyes as the innkeeper regarded him for a

minute before approaching. The stranger stood up courteously, towering over

the other two as they came up to him.

"Welcome to my inn, stranger," the elder Ohmsford greeted him, trying

vainly to peer beneath the cloak hood that shadowed the other's dark face. "My

name, as my boy has probably told you, is Curzad Ohmsford."

The stranger shook the extended hand with a grip that caused the stocky

man to grimace and then nodded to Flick.

"Your son was kind enough to show me to this pleasant inn." He smiled

with what Flick could have sworn was a mocking grin. "I hope you will join me

for dinner and a glass of beer."

"Certainly," answered the innkeeper, lumbering past the other to a

vacant chair where he seated himself heavily. Flick also pulled up a chair and

sat down, his eyes still on the stranger, who was in the process of

complimenting his father on having such a fine inn. The elder Ohmsford beamed

with pleasure and nodded in satisfaction to Flick as he signaled one of the

men at the serving bar for three glasses. The tall man still did not pull back

the hood of the cloak shading his face. Flick wanted to peer beneath the

shadows, but was afraid the stranger would notice, and one such attempt had

already earned him sore wrists and a healthy respect for the big man's

strength and temper. It was safer to remain in doubt.

He sat in silence as the conversation between his father and the

stranger lengthened from polite comments on the mildness of the weather to a

more intimate discussion of the people and happenings of the Vale. Flick

noticed that his father, who never needed much encouragement anyway, was

carrying the entire conversation with only casual questions interjected by the

other man. It probably did not matter, but the Ohmsfords knew nothing about

the stranger. He had not even told them his name. Now he was quite subtly

drawing out information on the Vale from the unsuspecting innkeeper. The whole

situation bothered Flick, but he was uncertain what he should do. He began to

wish that Shea would appear and see what was happening. But his brother

remained absent, and the long-awaited dinner was served and entirely consumed

before one of the wide double doors at the front of the lobby swung open, and

Shea appeared from out of the darkness.

For the first time, Flick saw the hooded stranger take more than a

passing interest in someone. Strong hands gripped the table as the black

figure rose silently, towering over the Ohmsfords. He seemed to have forgotten

they were there, as the lined brow furrowed more deeply and the craggy

features radiated an intense concentration. For one frightening second, Flick

believed that the stranger was somehow about to destroy Shea, but then the

idea disappeared and was replaced with another. The man was searching his

brother's mind.

He stared intently at Shea, his deep, shaded eyes running quickly over

the young man's slim countenance and slight build. He noted the telltale Elven

features immediately-the hint of slightly pointed ears beneath the tousled

blond hair, the pencil-like eyebrows that ran straight up at a sharp angle

from the bridge of the nose rather than across the brow, and the slimness of

the nose and jaw. He saw intelligence and honesty in that face, and now as he

faced Shea across the room, he saw determination in the penetrating blue

eyes-determination that spread in a flush over the youthful features as the

two men locked their gazes on one another. For a moment Shea hesitated in awe

of the huge, dark apparition across the room. He felt unexplainably trapped

but, bracing himself with sudden resolve, he walked toward the forbidding

figure.

Flick and his father watched Shea approach them, his eyes still on the

tall stranger and then, as if suddenly realizing who he was, the two rose from

the table. There was a moment of awkward silence as they faced one another,

and then all the Ohmsfords began greeting each other at once in a sudden

jumble of words that relieved the initial tension. Shea smiled at Flick, but

could not take his eyes off the imposing figure before him. Shea was slightly

shorter than his brother and was therefore even more in the shadow of the

stranger than Flick had been, though he was less nervous about it as tie faced

the man. Curzad Ohmsford was talking to him about his errand, and his

attention was momentarily diverted while he replied to his father's insistent

questions. After a few preliminary remarks, Shea turned back to the newcomer

to the Vale.

"I don't believe we have met, yet you seem to know me from somewhere,

and I have the strangest feeling that I should know you."

The dark face above him nodded as the familiar mocking smile crossed it

fleetingly.

"Perhaps you should know me, though it is not surprising that you do not

remember. But I know who you are; indeed, I know you well."

Shea was dumbfounded at this reply and, unable to respond, stood staring

at the stranger. The other raised a lean hand to his chin to stroke the small

dark beard, glancing slowly around at the three men who waited for him to

continue. Flick's open mouth was framing the question on the minds of all the

Ohmsfords, when the stranger reached up and pulled back the cowl of his cloak

to reveal clearly the dark face, now framed by long black hair, cut nearly

shoulder length and shading the deep-set eyes, which still showed only as

black slits in the shadows beneath the heavy brows.

"My name is Allanon," he announced quietly.

There was a long moment of stunned silence as the three listeners stared

in speechless amazement. Allanon-the mysterious wanderer of the four lands,

historian of the races, philosopher and teacher, and, some said, practitioner

of the mystic arts. Allanon-the man who had been everywhere from the darkest

havens of the Anar to the forbidden heights of the Charnal Mountains. His was

a name familiar to the people of even the most isolated Southland communities.

Now he stood unexpectedly before the Ohmsfords, none of whom had ventured

outside their valley home more than a handful of times in their lives.

Allanon smiled warmly for the first time, but inwardly he felt pity for

them. The quiet existence they had known for so many years was finished, and,

in a way, it was his responsibility.

"What brings you here?" Shea asked at last.

The tall man looked sharply at him and uttered a deep, low chuckle that

caught them all by surprise.

"You, Shea," he murmured. "I came looking for you."

II

Shea was awake early the next morning, rising from the warmth of his bed to

dress hastily in the damp cold of the morning air. He had arisen so early, he

discovered, that no one else in the entire inn, guest or family, was yet

awake. The long building was silent as he moved quietly from his small room in

the rear of the main section to the large lobby, where he quickly started a

fire in the great stone hearth, his fingers almost numb with cold. The valley

was always strikingly cold in the early-morning hours before the sun reached

the rim of the hills, even during the warmest seasons of the year. Shady Vale

was well sheltered, not only from the eyes of men, but from the fury of

perverse weather conditions that drifted down from the Northland. Yet while

the heavy storms of the winter and spring passed over the valley and Shady

Vale, the bitter cold of early morning all year round settled into the high

hills, holding until the warmth of the noonday sun filtered down to chase away

the chill.

The fire crackled and snapped at the wood as Shea relaxed in one of the

high, straight-backed chairs and pondered the events of the previous evening.

He leaned back, folded his arms for warmth, and hunched down into the hard

wood. How could Allanon have known him? He had seldom been out of the Vale and

would certainly have remembered the other man if he had met him while on one

of his infrequent journeys. Allanon had refused to say more on the subject

after that one declaration. He had finished his dinner in silence, concluding

that further talk should wait until the next morning, and he became once again

the forbidding figure he had first appeared when Shea entered the inn that

evening. His meal completed, he had asked to be shown, to his room so that he

might sleep, and then excused himself. Neither Shea nor Flick could get him to

say one word further about the trip to Shady Vale and his interest in Shea.

The two brothers had talked alone later that night, and Flick had related the

story of his encounter with Allanon and the incident with the terrifying

shadow.

Shea's thoughts drifted back to his initial question-how could Allanon

have known him? Mentally he retraced the events of his life. Hs early years

were a vague memory. He did not know where he bad been born, although sometime

after the Ohmsfords had adopted him, he had been told that his place of birth

was a small Westland community. His father had died before he was old enough

to form a lasting impression, and now he could recall almost nothing of him.

For a time his mother had kept him, and he could recall bits and pieces of his

years with her, playing with Elven children, surrounded by great trees and

deep green solitude. He was five when she became suddenly ill and decided to

return to her own people in the hamlet of Shady Vale. She must have known then

that she was dying, but her first concern was for her son. The journey south

was the finish for her, and she died shortly after they reached the valley.

The relatives his mother had left when she married were gone, all but

the Ohmsfords, who were no more than distant cousins. Curzad Ohmsford had lost

his wife less than a year earlier, and was raising his son Flick while he

managed the inn. Shea became a part of their family, and the two boys had

grown up as brothers, both bearing the name Ohmsford. Shea had never been told

his true name, nor did he care to ask. The Ohmsfords were the only family that

meant anything to him, and they had accepted him as their own. There were

times that being a half-blood bothered him, but Flick had stoutly insisted

that it was a distinct advantage because it gave him the instincts and

character of two races to build upon.

Yet nowhere could he remember an encounter with Allanon. It was as if

the event had never really occurred. Perhaps it never had. He shifted around

in the chair and gazed absently into the fire. There was something about the

grim wanderer that frightened him. Perhaps it was his imagination, but he

could not shake off the feeling that the man could somehow read his thoughts,

could see right through him whenever he chose to do so. It seemed ridiculous,

but the thought had lingered with the Valeman since the meeting in the lobby

of the inn. Flick had remarked on it too. And he had gone further than that,

whispering in the darkness of their sleeping room to his brother, fearful that

he might in some way be overheard, that he felt Allanon was dangerous.

Shea stretched himself and sighed deeply. Already it was becoming light

outside. He rose to add some more wood to the fire, and heard the sound of his

father's voice in the hallway, grumbling loudly about matters in general.

Sighing in resignation, Shea put aside his thoughts and hastened to the

kitchen to help with the morning preparations.

It was almost noon before Shea saw any sign of Allanon, who had

evidently kept to his room for the duration of the morning. He appeared quite

suddenly from around one corner of the inn as Shea relaxed beneath a huge

shade tree at the rear of the building, absently munching on a quick luncheon

he had prepared for himself. His father was occupied within, and Flick was off

somewhere on an errand. The dark stranger of the previous night seemed no less

forbidding in the noon sun, still a shadowed figure of tremendous height,

though he appeared to have changed his cloak from black to a light gray. The

lean face was slightly bowed to the path before him as he walked toward Shea

and seated himself on the grass next to the Valeman, gazing absently at the

hilltops to the east which appeared above the trees of the hamlet. Both men

were silent for several long minutes, until at last Shea could stand it no

longer.

"Why did you come to the vale, Allanon? Why were you looking for me?"

The dark face turned toward him and a slight smile played across the

lean features.

"A question, my young friend, that cannot be as easily answered as you

would like. Perhaps the best way in which to answer you is first to question

you. Have you read anything of the history of the Northland?"

He paused.

"Do you know of the Skull Kingdom?"

Shea stiffened at the mention of the name-a name that was synonymous

with all the terrible things in life, real and imagined, a name used to

frighten little children who had been bad or to send shivers down the spines

of grown men when stories were told before the dying coals of a late evening

fire. It was a name that hinted of ghosts and goblins, of the sly forest

Gnomes of the east and the great Rock Trolls of the far north. Shea looked at

the grim visage before him and nodded slowly. Again Allanon paused before

continuing.

"I am a historian, Shea, among other things-perhaps the most widely

traveled historian alive today, since few besides myself have entered the

Northland in over five hundred years. I know much about the race of Man that

none now suspect. The past has become a blurred memory, and just as well

perhaps; for the history of Man has not been particularly glorious in the last

two thousand years. Men today have forgotten the past; they know little of the

present and less of the future. The race of Man lives almost solely in the

confines of the Southland. It knows nothing at all of the Northland and its

peoples, and little of the Eastland and Westland. A pity that Men have

developed into such a shortsighted people, for once they were the most

visionary of the races. But now they are quite content to live apart from the

other races, isolated from the problems of the rest of the world. They remain

content, mind you, because those problems have not as yet touched them and

because a fear of the past has persuaded them not to look too closely at the

future."

Shea felt slightly irritated by these sweeping accusations, and his

reply was sharp.

"You make it sound like a terrible thing to want to be left alone. I

Terry Brooks - Shannara 01 - Sword of Shannara

相关推荐

开通VIP享超值会员特权

作者详情

相关内容

热门标签

举报选择: