Terry Brooks - First King of Shannara

Retten Kipp hung spread-eagled from the barn door, where nails had been driven through his hands and feet to hold him in place. Blood dripped from his wounds and stained the splintered wood. Hair and clothes drooped limply, as if from the stick frame of a scarecrow. But then Kipp’s head lifted slightly. The old Tracker, though dying, was still alive.

Tay sank down, eyes closing momentarily. Rage and fear coursed through him, struggling for control of his reason. No wonder the Gnomes had not worked harder at hiding their presence. With Retten Kipp to bait their trap, they knew the Elves must show themselves. He fought to bring his feelings under control, staring grim-faced at Jerle Shannara.

His friend’s blue eyes were cold and steady as he bent close.

“Do they have Preia as well?” he whispered.

Tay did not reply. He did not trust himself. Instead, he closed his eyes a second time and sent his threads of magic into the house and barn, searching for the Elf girl. There was risk in this, but he saw no other way. He took his time, going deep inside each building to make certain.

Then he let his eyes open again. “No,” he breathed.

Jerle nodded, letting nothing show in his face of what that meant to him. His mouth twisted. His words were barely audible.

“We cannot save Retten Kipp—but we cannot leave him either.”

He stared at Tay, waiting. Tay nodded. He knew what Jerle was asking. “I understand,” he breathed softly.

This would be dangerous, he knew. The Gnome Hunters might not sense his use of the magic, but a Skull Bearer most certainly would. He had not discovered any of the winged hunters in his search for Preia, but they might be deliberately concealing themselves. This trap might have been designed specifically for him, one of the Druids they hunted, to bring him to them and then to draw him out. If a Skull Bearer was present and he did what Jerle wanted, they were lost. Still, there was little choice. Jerle was right. They could not leave Kipp to die this way.

He summoned his magic and wrapped himself in its dark cloak, stirring the air about him with its power, feeling the heat of its passion rise within his chest. He kept his eyes open, for this time his use of the magic would require sight and direction. His face altered and assumed the character of a death mask. He watched Jerle shrink from him, dismayed. He understood the look.

Then he lifted his head just high enough so that he could see Retten Kipp’s ragged, tortured form and spun the magic toward him along the slender thread of his lifeline. He proceeded cautiously, testing the ether he penetrated, wary of what he might find waiting. But nothing revealed itself, and so he continued on.

When he reached Retten Kipp’s heart, when he could feel his pain and suffering, when he could hear the sound of his ragged breathing as if it were his own, he drew away the air that fed the old man’s failing lungs and then waited patiently until his breathing stopped.

When it was finished, he slid down next to Jerle, his face shiny with sweat. There were tears in his eyes. “Done,” he whispered.

Jerle Shannara put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently to comfort him. “It was necessary, Tay. He was in pain. We could not simply leave him.”

Tay nodded wordlessly, knowing Jerle was right, but knowing as well that his friend would not have to live with the memory of Retten Kipp’s life thread pulsing gently between his fingers and then going still. He felt cold and empty. He felt ravaged and abandoned.

Jerle beckoned to him, and together they made their way back along the ditch and through the fields, leaving the outpost and its inhabitants, living and dead, behind.

It took them the better part of an hour to reach their comrades.

By now it was nearing midafternoon, and the sun was lowering toward the jagged tips of the Breakline. They walked into its burning glare, half-blind when they were forced to move out of the shadow of the fields and hills and along the flats. Tay continued to lead, his magic spread out before them in a wide net, searching. He had checked for pursuit after their return from the farmhouse, but found none. Ahead, however, there were hints of Gnome Hunters at almost every turn. He could not tell how strong the parties were, but there were several. They had discussed waiting until dark before proceeding, but had decided it was more dangerous to remain in one place than to go on. Jerle stayed close, guiding him toward the secondary outpost that lay a few miles farther on, hopeful that this one might not have been discovered. Neither spoke. All about them, the others of the company scanned the countryside for enemies.

Then suddenly Vree Erreden was at Tay’s elbow, his small, slight form pressing close, his pinched face eager. “There!” He pointed sharply left. “Horses, a dozen or more, hidden in that draw!”

Tay and Jerle stopped and stared, seeing nothing beyond a line of fields planted thick with early corn.

The locat’s eyes darted from one face to the other, his impatience obvious. “Don’t waste your time looking! You can’t see them from here!”

“Then how do you know?” Jerle asked quickly.

“Intuition!” the other snapped. “How else?”

The big man glanced over doubtfully. “The outpost we seek lies just ahead. Are there horses there as well?”

Vree Erreden’s voice was sharp with urgency. “I only know what my intuition tells me! There are horses left, in a draw beyond those hills!” He pointed again for emphasis.

Jerle Shannara frowned, irritated by the other’s insistence.

“What if you are wrong, locat? How far is it to this draw that none of us can see?”

Tay held up his hand quickly to forestall Vree Erreden’s angry reply. He stood silent a moment, weighing the choice, then gazed out across the fields one final time. “Are you sure about the horses?” he asked the small man quietly.

The look the other gave him was withering. Tay’s smile cocked slightly, and he nodded. “I think we should see what lies left.”

Despite Jerle’s continued misgivings, they changed course, making their way across the flats. The central bowl of the Sarandanon spread away before them, the planting fields a sprawling patchwork quilt of raw earth and new crops. They were out in the open now and clearly visible to whoever might be looking for them. There was no help for it. Whichever way they traveled they were exposed, and Tay took what comfort he could from that, because they were moving away from the outpost and if Vree Erreden was mistaken or had somehow been misled, their chances of escape were diminished considerably. Tay tried not to worry. It was for this that he had brought the locat—his ability to sense what even Druid magic could not. The little man would not have said anything if his instincts were not strong. He knew the risks of their situation as well as Tay.

Tay’s net of magic spread wider in search of enemies, and now he found them. They came swiftly from the north, a Gnome patrol on horseback, still some distance away, but racing across the flats.

He could not see them yet, but there was no mistaking their intent.

He shouted a quick warning to Jerle, and the members of the little company began to run. Ahead, the fields abutted a line of low hills. The draw must lie beyond, Tay thought. And the horses as well, he prayed, for they were too far now from the outpost to escape any other way.

Then more Gnomes appeared, a new band, this one spilling out of its hiding place within the outpost, which was now barely visible through the stalks of corn. These Gnomes were afoot, but began a determined charge forward to intercept the Elves, obviously intent on slowing them until the arrival of their mounted brethren. Tay gritted his teeth as he ran. There was no help to be had from the outpost. Now there was only Vree Erreden’s intuition and the draw.