Terry Brooks - The Scions of Shannara

They stayed on the road for another hundred yards, then turned into the forest. They were on the very edge of the village now, almost due north, and the sounds of insects began to break through the stillness. They slipped along silently through the trees, Teel pausing now and then to listen before continuing on. The smell of wild-flowers filled the air, sweet and strong against the reek of garbage.

Then Teel stopped at a line of thick brush, pushed the branches aside, reached down to grip a hidden iron ring and pulled. A trapdoor lifted clear of the earth to reveal a stairway. They felt their way along its walls until they were completely inside and crouched there in the dark. Teel secured the trapdoor behind them, lit a candle and took the lead once more. The company started down.

It was a short descent. The stairs ended after two dozen steps and became a tunnel, the walls and ceiling shored by thick wooden beams and pinned by iron bolts. Teel offered no explanation for the tunnel, but simply moved ahead into it. Twice the tunnel branched in several directions, and each time she made her choice without hesitating. It occurred to Par that if they had to find their way out again without Teel, they probably couldn’t do it.

The tunnel ended minutes later at an iron door. Teel struck the door sharply with the hilt of her dagger, paused, then struck it twice more. The locks on the other side snapped free and the door swung open.

The Dwarf who stood there was no older than they, a stout, muscular fellow with a shading of beard and long hair the color of cinnamon, a face that was scarred all over, and the biggest mace Par had ever seen strapped across his back. He had the top half of one ear missing and a gold ring dangling from the remainder.

“Morgan!” he greeted and embraced the Highlander warmly. His smile brightened his fierce countenance as he pulled the other inside and looked past him to where Par and Coll stood nervously waiting. “Friends?”

“The best,” Morgan answered at once. “Steff, this is Par and Coll Ohmsford from Shady Vale.”

The Dwarf nodded. “You are welcome here, Valemen.” He broke away from Morgan and reached out to grip their hands. “Come take a seat, tell me what brought you.”

They were in an underground room filled with stores, boxed, crated and wrapped, that surrounded a long table with benches. Steff motioned them onto the benches, then poured each a cup of ale and joined them. Teel took up a position by the door, settling carefully onto a small stool.

“Is this where you live now?” Morgan asked, glancing about. “It needs work.”

Steff’s smile wrinkled his rough face. “I live in a lot of places, Morgan, and they all need work. This one is better than most. Underground, though, like the others. We Dwarves all live underground these days, either here or in the mines or in our graves. Sad.”

He hoisted his mug. “Good health to us and misfortune to our enemies,” he toasted. They all drank but Teel, who sat watching. Steff placed his mug back on the table. “Is your father well?” he asked Morgan.

The Highlander nodded. “I brought Granny Elise a little something to buy bread with. She worries about you. How long since you’ve been to see her?”

The Dwarf’s smile dropped away. “It’s too dangerous to go just now. See my face?” He pointed, tracing the scars with his finger. “The Federation caught me three months back.” He glanced at Par and Coll conspiratorially. “Morgan wouldn’t know, you see. He hasn’t been to see me of late. When he comes to Culhaven, he prefers the company of old ladies and children.”

Morgan ignored him. “What happened, Steff?”

The Dwarf shrugged. “I got away—parts of me, at least.” He held up his left hand. The last two fingers were missing, sheared off. “Enough of that, Highlander. Leave off. Instead, tell me what brings you east.”

Morgan started to speak, then took a long look at Teel and stopped. Steff saw the direction his gaze had taken, glanced briefly over his shoulder and said, “Oh, yes. Teel. Guess I’ll have to talk about it after all.”

He looked back at Morgan. “I was taken by the Federation while raiding their weapons stores in the main compound in Culhaven. They put me in their prisons to discover what I could tell them. That was where they did this.” He touched his face. Teel was a prisoner in the cell next to mine. What they did to me is nothing compared to what they did to her. They destroyed most of her face and much of her back punishing her for killing the favorite dog of one of the members of the provisional government quartered in Culhaven. She killed the dog for food. We talked through the walls and came to know each other. One night, less than two weeks after I was taken, when it became apparent that the Federation had no further interest in me and I was to be killed, Teel managed to lure the jailor on watch into her cell. She killed him, stole his keys, freed me, and we escaped. We have been together ever since.“

He paused, his eyes as hard as flint. “Highlander, I think much of you, and you must make your own decision in this matter. But Teel and I share everything.”

There was a long silence. Morgan glanced briefly at Par and Coll. Par had been watching Teel closely during Steff’s narration. She never moved. There was no expression on her face, nothing mirrored in her eyes. She might have been made of stone.

“I think we must rely on Steff’s judgment in this matter,” Par said quietly, looking to Coll for approval. Coll nodded wordlessly.

Morgan stretched his legs beneath the table, reached for his ale mug and took a long drink. He was clearly making up his own mind. “Very well,” he said finally. “But nothing I say must leave this room.”

“You haven’t said anything as yet worth taking out,” Steff declared pointedly and waited.

Morgan smiled, then placed the ale mug carefully back on the table. “Steff, we need you to help us find someone, a man we think is living somewhere in the deep Anar. His name is Walker Boh.”

Steff blinked. “Walker Boh,” he repeated quietly, and the way he spoke the name indicated he recognized it.

“My friends, Par and Coll, are his nephews.”

Steff looked at the Valemen as if he were seeing them for the first time. “Well, now. Tell me the rest of it.”

Quickly, Morgan related the story of the journey that had brought them to Culhaven, beginning with the Ohmsford brothers’ flight from Varfleet and ending with their battle with the Shadowen at the edge of the Anar. He told of the old man and his warnings, of the dreams that had come to Par that summoned him to the Hadeshorn, and of his own discovery of the dormant magic of the Sword of Leah. Steff listened to it all without comment. He sat unmoving, his ale forgotten, his face an expressionless mask.

When Morgan was finished, Steff grunted and shook his head. “Druids and magic and creatures of the night. Highlander, you constantly surprise me.” He rose, walked around the table, and stood looking at Teel momentarily, his rough face creased in thought. Then he said, “I know of Walker Boh.” He shook his head.

“And?” Morgan pressed.

He wheeled back slowly. “And the man scares me.” He looked at Par and Coll. “Your uncle, is he? And how long since you’ve seen him—ten years? Well, listen close to me, then. The Walker Boh I know may not be the uncle you remember. This Walker Boh is more whispered rumor than truth, and very real all the same—someone that even the things that live out in the darker parts of the land and prey off travelers, wayfarers, strays, and such are said to avoid.”

He sat down again, took up the ale mug and drank. Morgan Leah and the Ohmsfords looked at one another in silence. At last, Par said, “I think we are decided on the matter. Whoever or whatever Walker Boh is now, we share a common bond beyond our kinship—our dreams of Allanon. I have to know what my uncle intends to do. Will you help us find him?”