Terry Brooks - The Sword of Shannara

The dashing stranger smiled happily at the expression of gratitude, obviously pleased at the unexpected compliment.

«No thanks are necessary; I told you that,” he replied. «Come over here and sit with me for a moment while we wait for Keltset to finish his task. We must talk more about what brought you to this part of the country. It’s very dangerous in these parts, you know, especially traveling alone.»

He led the way over to the nearest tree where he sat down wearily, resting his back against the slender trunk. He still held the pouch with the Elfstones in his one good hand, and Shea did not feel that he should bring that subject up just yet. Hopefully, the stranger would ask if they belonged to him, and he could recover them and be on his way to Paranor. The others in the company would be looking for him by now, either along the eastern edge of the Dragon’s Teeth or farther up near Paranor.

«Why is Keltset searching those Gnomes?» the youth asked after a moment’s silence.

«Well, there might be some indication of where they are from, where they were going. They might have some food, which we could use right now. Who knows, they might even have something valuable…?»

He trailed off sharply and looked questioningly at Shea, one hand balancing the leather pouch with the Elfstones before the Valeman’s eyes, holding it like bait before the hunted animal. Shea swallowed hard and hesitated, realizing suddenly the man had sensed all along that the stones belonged to him. He had to do something quickly, or he would give himself away.

«They belong to me. The pouch and the stones are mine.»

«Are they now?» Panamon Creel grinned wolfishly at the youth. «I don’t see your name on the pouch. How did you come by them?»

«They were given to me by my father,” Shea lied quickly. «I’ve had them for years. I carry them everywhere — a sort of good–luck piece. When the Gnomes captured me, they searched me and took the pouch and the stones away. But they are mine.»

The scarlet–clad rescuer smiled faintly and opened the pouch, pouring the stones into his open palm, holding the pouch with the wicked–looking pike. He hefted them and held them up to the light, admiring their brilliant blue glow. Then he turned back to Shea, raising his eyebrows quizzically.

«What you say may be true, but it may be that you stole them. They look rather valuable to be carrying around as a good–luck charm. I think I should keep them until I am satisfied that you are the true owner.»

«But I have to go — I have to meet my friends,” Shea sputtered desperately. «I can’t stay with you until you’re certain I own the stones!»

Panamon Creel rose slowly to his feet and smiled down, tucking the pouch and its contents into his tunic.

«That should pose no problem. Just tell me where I can reach you, and I’ll bring the stones to you there after I’ve checked out your story. I’ll be down in the Southland in several months or so.»

Shea was absolutely beside himself with anger, and he leaped to his feet in a rage.

«Why, you’re nothing but a thief, a common highwayman!» he stormed, bracing the other defiantly.

Panamon Creel erupted suddenly into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, holding his sides in mirth. He finally regained control of himself, shaking his head in disbelief as the tears rolled down his broad face. Shea looked on in astonishment, unable to see what was so humorous about the accusation. Even the huge Rock Troll had stopped momentarily and turned to look at them, his placid face dark and expressionless.

«Shea, I have to admire a man who speaks his mind,” exclaimed the stranger, still chuckling in delight. «No one could accuse you of being unperceptive!»

The irate Valeman started to make a hasty retort and then caught himself quickly as the facts of the situation recalled themselves sharply in his puzzled mind. What were these two strange companions doing in this part of the Northland? Why had they bothered to rescue him in the first place? How had they even known he was a prisoner of the small band of Gnomes? He realized the truth in an instant; it had been so obvious that he had overlooked it.

«Panamon Creel, the kind rescuer!» he mocked bitterly. «No wonder you found my remark so amusing. You and your friend are exactly what I called you. You are thieves, robbers, highwaymen! It was the stones you were after all along! How low can you be…?»

«Watch your tongue, youngster!» The scarlet stranger leaped in front of him, brandishing the iron pike. The broad face was distorted in sudden hate, the constant smile suddenly villainous beneath the small mustache as anger flashed sharply in the dark eyes. «What you may, think of us had best be kept to yourself. I’ve come a long way in this world, and no one has ever given me anything! Since this is so, I let no man take anything away!»

Shea backed away guardedly, terrified that he had foolishly overstepped his bounds with the unpredictable pair. Undoubtedly, his own rescue had been almost an afterthought on their part, their primary concern having been the theft of the Elfstones from the Gnome raiders. Panamon Creel was no one to fool around with, and a reckless tongue at this stage of the game could cost the Valeman his life. The tall thief stared balefully at his frightened captive a moment longer and then stepped back slowly, the angered features relaxing and a faint hint of his former good–naturedness returning in a quick smile.

«Why should we deny it, Keltset and I?» He swaggered backward and around a few paces, wheeling abruptly on Shea again. «We are wayfarers of fortune, he and I. Men who live by their wits and by their cunning — yet we are no different than other men, save in our methods. And perhaps our disdain for hypocrisy! All men are thieves in one way or another; we are simply the old–fashioned type, the honest type who are not ashamed of what they are.»

«How did you happen on this camp?» Shea asked hesitantly, fearful of aggravating the temperamental man further.

«We came across their fire last night, just after sunset,” the other replied easily, all traces of hostility gone. «I came down to the edge of the clearing for a closer look and saw my little yellow friends playing with those three blue gems. I saw you as well, all trussed up for delivery. So I decided to bring Keltset down and kill two birds with one stone — ah, ha, you see, I wasn’t lying when I told you that I did not like to see a fellow Southlander in the hands of those devils!»

Shea nodded, happy to be free, but unsure whether he was better off now than when he had been a prisoner of the Gnomes.

«Quit worrying, friend.» Panamon Creel recognized the unspoken fear. «We don’t mean you any harm. We only want the stones — they’ll bring a good price, and we can use the money. You’re free to go back to where you came from anytime.»

He turned away abruptly and walked over to the waiting Keltset, who was standing obediently next to a small pile of arms, clothing, and assorted articles of value that he had collected from the fallen Gnomes.

The huge frame of the Troll dwarfed the normally large figure of his companion; the dark, barklike skin made him appear somewhat like a gnarled tree casting its shadow over the scarlet–clad human The two conversed briefly, Panamon speaking in low tones to his giant friend while the other replied with sign language and nods of his broad head. They turned to the pile of goods, which the man shuffled through quickly, casting most of the effects aside as useless junk. Shea watched momentarily, uncertain what he should do next. He had lost the stones, and without them he was virtually defenseless in this savage land. He had lost his companions in the Dragon’s Teeth, the only ones who would stand with him, the only ones who could really help him recover the stones. He had come so far that it was unthinkable to turn back now, even if he thought he could do so safely. The others in the company depended on him, and he would never desert Flick and Menion whatever the dangers involved.