Terry Brooks - The Sword of Shannara

Panamon Creel cast a short glance over his shoulder to see if the Valeman had made any move to leave, and a faint trace of surprise registered on his handsome face when he saw the youth still standing where he had left him.

«What are you waiting for?»

Shea shook his head slowly, indicating that he wasn’t quite sure. The tall thief watched him a moment longer, and then waved him over with a short smile.

«Come on and have a bite to eat, Shea,” he invited. «The least we can do is feed you before you start back for the Southland.»

Fifteen minutes later the three were seated around a small campfire, watching strips of dried beef warm enticingly in the smoking heat. The mute Keltset sat silently next to the little Valeman, the deep eyes fixed on the smoking meat, the huge hands clasped childlike as he squatted before the small fire. Shea had an uncontrollable urge to reach out and touch the strange creature, to feel the rough, barklike skin. The features of the Troll were indescribably bland even from this close distance. The Troll never moved while the meat was cooking, but sat absolutely still like some immobile rock that time and the ages had passed by without changing. Panamon Creel glanced over once and noticed Shea casting a watchful eye on the huge creature. He smiled broadly, one hand coming across to clap the startled Valeman on the shoulder.

«He won’t bite — long as he gets fed! I keep telling you the same thing, but you don’t listen. That’s youth for you — wild and fancy free and no time for the old folks. Keltset is just like you and me, only bigger and quieter, which is what I like in a partner in this line of work. He does his job better than any man I’ve ever worked with, and I’ve worked with quite a few, I can tell you.»

«He does what you tell him, I suppose?» Shea asked shortly.

«Sure he does, sure he does,” came the quick answer, then the scarlet figure bent closer to the other’s pale face, the iron pike coming up sharply in emphasis. «But don’t get me wrong, boy, because I don’t mean to say he’s any kind of animal. He can think for himself when it’s needed. But I was his friend when no one else would even look his way — no one! He’s the strongest living thing I’ve ever seen. He could crush me without half thinking about it. But do you know what? I beat him, and now he follows me!»

He paused to judge the other’s reaction, eyes wide with delight at the Valeman’s startled look of disbelief. He laughed merrily and slapped his knee with exaggerated humor at the reaction he had drawn.

«I beat him with friendship, not strength! I respected him as a man, treated him as an equal, and for that cheap price, I won his loyalty. Hah, surprised you!»

Still chuckling at his thin attempt at humor, the thief lifted the strips of beef from the fire and held out the stick on which they rested to the silent Troll, who removed several and began munching hungrily. Shea helped himself slowly when offered and suddenly realized that he was starving. He couldn’t even remember when he had eaten last, and gnawed ravenously at the tasty beef. Panamon Creel shook his head in amusement and offered the Valeman a second piece before taking one himself. The three ate in silence for several minutes before Shea ventured a further inquiry concerning his companions.

«What made you decide to become… robbers?» he asked guardedly.

Panamon Creel shot a quick look at him, arching his eyebrows in surprise.

«What do you care what the reasons were? Plan on writing our life story?» He paused and caught himself suddenly, smiling quickly at his own irritability. «There’s no secret to it, Shea. I’ve never been much at making an honest living, never very good at common work. I was a wild kid, loved adventure, loved the outdoors — hated work. Then I lost my hand in an accident, and it became even harder to find work that would make me a comfortable living, get me what I wanted. I was deep in the Southland then, living in Talhan. I got in a little trouble and then a lot more. The next thing I knew I was roaming the four lands robbing for a living. The funny thing was I found myself so good at it that I couldn’t quit. And I enjoyed it — all of it! So here I am, maybe not rich, but happy in the prime of my youth — or at least, my manhood.»

«Don’t you ever think about going back?» Shea persisted, unable to believe the man was being honest with himself. «Don’t you ever think about a home and…?»

«Please, let’s not be maudlin, lad!» The other roared in laughter. «Keep this up and you’ll have me in tears, begging for forgiveness on my tired old knees!»

He broke into such an uncontrollable fit of raucous guffaws that even the silent Troll glanced over in quiet contemplation for a moment before returning to his meal. Shea felt a fierce flush of indignation spreading over his face and turned slowly back to his food, chewing the beef with grinding bites of anger and embarrassment. After several moments the laughter died into small chuckles, the thief shaking his head in amusement as he tried to swallow a little food. Then without further prompting, he continued his narration in a quieter tone of voice.

«Keltset has a different story than mine, I want to make that clear. I had no reason to take up this kind of life, but he had every reason. He was a mute since birth, and the Trolls don’t like deformed people. Kind of a joke on them, I guess. So they made life pretty rough for him, kicked him around and beat him when they were mad at anything that they couldn’t take their anger out on directly. He was the butt of every joke, but he never fought back because those people were all he had. Then he became big, so big and strong that the others were frightened of him. One night some of the young ones tried to hurt him, really hurt him so he might go away, even die. But it didn’t work out quite as they expected. They pushed him too far, and he fought back and killed three of them. As a result he was driven from the village, and an outcast Troll has no home once outside his own tribe or whatever they are. So he wandered around on his own until I found him.»

He smiled faintly and looked over at the massive, placid face bent intently over the last several strips of beef, eating hungrily.

«He knows what we’re doing, though, and I guess he knows that it’s not honest work. But he’s like a child who’s been so badly mistreated that he has no respect for other people because they never did him any good. Besides, we stay in this part of the country where there’s only Gnomes and Dwarfs — a Troll’s natural enemies. We steer away from the deep Northland and seldom get south very far. We do all right.»

He returned to his piece of beef, munching absently as he stared into the dying embers of the fire, poking them with the toe of his leather boot, the sparks rising in small showers and fading into dust. Shea finished his own food without further comment, wondering what he could possibly do to regain the Elfstones, wishing that he knew where the other members of the company were now. Moments later the meal was ended, and the scarlet–clad thief rose abruptly, scattering the embers of the fire with a swift kick of his boot. The massive Rock Troll rose with him and stood quietly waiting for his friend to make the next move, his great bulk towering over Shea. The Valeman stood at last and watched Panamon Creel gather up several small trinkets and a few weapons to place in a sack which he handed to Keltset to carry. Then he turned to his small captive and nodded shortly.

«It’s been interesting knowing you, Shea, and I wish you good luck. When I think of the little gems in this pouch, I shall think of you. Too bad it couldn’t work out so that you could save them, but at least you saved your life — or rather, I saved it. Think of the stones as a gift for services rendered. It may make losing them easier. Now you’d better be moving along if you plan to reach the safety of the Southland in the next several days. The city of Varfleet lies just to the south and west, and you’ll find help there. Just stick to the open country.»