Terry Brooks - The Sword of Shannara

Shea was certain that this was the end for the man, and he prepared to leap from the cover of the trees to try to aid him. But the amazing stranger shrugged off the first onslaught of Gnome hunters as if they were mice, cutting through their disorganized assault and leaving two writhing on the earth with fatal wounds. Then he gave a sharp cry as the second wave of attackers moved in, and from out of the shadows on the other side of the camp 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 Shea’s rescuer, somewhat in the manner of a faithful dog seeking its master’s 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.

«I think that’s about all of it,” 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 man’s face, still uncertain as to who his benefactor might be. The way the man swaggered, there was no question in Shea’s 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.

«I want to thank you,” Shea quickly sputtered. «It would have been all over for me if you hadn’t…»

«Quite all right, quite all right. Rescuing people is not exactly our business, but those devils would cut you up for sport. I’m from the Southland myself, you know. Haven’t been back in quite awhile, but it’s my home nevertheless. You’re from there, I can tell. One of the hill communities, maybe? Of course, you have Elven blood in you, too…»

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.

«Who are you, friend, and where are you from?» the stranger demanded suddenly.

Shea gave him his name and explained that he was from Shady Vale. 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.

«Well, I doubt that you have told me the whole truth.» He laughed shortly. «But I can’t blame you. If I were in your place, I wouldn’t tell me everything either. There will be time enough for the truth later. My name is Panamon Creel.»

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 released his grip, pointing to the dark giant behind them.

«My companion, Keltset. We’ve been together for almost two years now and I never had a better friend, although I could have wished for a more talkative one, perhaps. Keltset is a mute.»

«What is he?» asked Shea curiously, watching the great figure lumber slowly about the little clearing.

«You certainly are a stranger to this part of the world.» The other laughed in amusement. «Keltset is a Rock Troll. His home was in the Charnal Mountains until his people made an outcast of him. We’re both outcasts in this thankless world, but life deals a different hand to each, I suppose. We have no choice in the matter.»

«A Rock Troll,” Shea repeated wonderingly. «I’ve never seen a Rock Troll before. I thought they were all savage creatures, almost like animals. How could you…?»

«Watch your tongue, friend,” the stranger warned sharply. «Keltset doesn’t like that kind of talk, and he is just sensitive enough to step on you for using it. Your problem is that you look at him and see a monster, a misshapen creature unlike you or me, and you wonder if he’s dangerous. Then I tell you that he’s a Rock Troll, and you’re twice as certain he’s more animal than man. Part of your limited education and lack of practical experience, I warrant. You should have traveled with me during the last few years — ha, you would have learned that even a friendly smile shows the teeth behind!»

Shea looked closely at the giant Rock Troll as Keltset bent idly over the fallen Gnomes, glancing about for anything he might have missed in his extensive search of their garments and packs. Keltset was basically man–shaped, dressed in knee–length pants and a tunic belted with a green cord. About the neck and wrists he wore protective metal collars. His really different feature was the strange, almost barklike skin that covered the entire body, coloring it something on the order of meat well done, but not yet charred. The dark face was small featured, blunt and nondescript, with a heavy brow and deep–set eyes. The extremities were the same as a man’s except for the hands. There was no little finger on either hand — only a thumb and three stout, powerful fingers nearly as large as the Valeman’s small wrists.

«He doesn’t look very tame to me,” Shea declared quietly.

«There you are! The perfect example of a hasty opinion totally without foundation. Just because Keltset doesn’t look civilized and doesn’t appear an intelligent creature on the face of things, you label him an animal. Shea, my boy, you may believe me when I say that Keltset is a sensitive man with the same feelings as you or I. Being a Troll in the Northland is every bit as normal as being an Elf in the Westland and so on! You and I are the strangers in this part of the world.»

Shea looked carefully at the broad, reassuring face, the easy smile that seemed to come so naturally, and he instinctively distrusted the man. These two were more than travelers passing through this country who had seen his plight and had come to his aid out of love for their fellowman. They had stalked that Gnome encampment with skill and cunning, and when discovered, destroyed the entire Gnome patrol with ruthless efficiency. As dangerous as the Rock Troll appeared, Shea was certain that Panamon Creel was twice as deadly.

«You are most certainly better informed on the matter than I,” admitted Shea, choosing his words carefully. «Being from the Southland, and having traveled little outside of its borders, I am unfamiliar with all life in this region of the world. I owe you both my life, and my thanks go to Keltset as well.»