Terry Brooks - Paladins of Shannara - The Weapons Master's Choice

When they were finished, he scraped the plates and rubbed them clean with grasses before beginning on the skillet.

“You take good care of your equipment,” she observed.

He smiled. “What do you wish of me, Lyriana?”

She smiled back, but the smile was quick and small. “Help. I want you to come with me to Tajarin, my home city. I want you to put an end to what’s happening there. My people are being decimated. A warlock of enormous power is preying upon them. His name is Kronswiff. Do you know the name?”

He shook his head. “Nor do I know of Tajarin, and I thought there was no city in all of the Four Lands of which I had not heard. How did I miss this one?”

“It lies far outside the usual routes of travel, north and east on the shores of the Tiderace. It is very old. Once it was a seaport, hundreds of years ago. But those days are gone. Now it is home to my people and no longer known to the larger world. But what matters is that those who live there cannot protect themselves against what it is being done to them. They stay because they have nowhere else to go. They need someone like you to help them.”

“The Tiderace is a long way from here. I am awaiting word of a commission from Tyrsis. Agreeing to come with you would disrupt those plans.”

“Are you refusing me?”

“I haven’t heard enough yet to decide.”

Her lips tightened. “I need someone who will not turn on my people once the warlock is defeated. They are vulnerable, and I want to be sure they will be left alone afterward. There are few whose reputations suggest they could be counted on to do the right thing.”

She paused. “I am running out of time. I was sent because I was the strongest and most capable. Kronswiff bleeds my people as cattle are milked; many are already gone. If we do not hurry back, they will all be lost.”

“He is only one man. Are there not enough of you to stand against him?”

“He is not simply one man; he is a warlock. And he has men who follow him and do his bidding. They have taken over the city, and those of us he has not imprisoned are in hiding. No one dares to challenge him. A handful did so early on and were quickly dispatched.”

She paused. “This will not be an easy task. Not even for you. The warlock is powerful. His men are dangerous. But you are our best hope.”

“Perhaps a unit of the Border Legion might be a better choice. They undertake rescues of this sort when the need is clear.”

She shook her head. “Did you not hear what I said? We are speaking of a warlock. Ordinary men—even ones with courage and weapons and determination—will not be strong enough to stand against him. Will you come?”

“What am I to be paid for this?”

“Do you care?”

That stopped him. He stared at her. “Are you telling me you want me to do this for nothing? That there is to be no payment?”

She curled her lip. “I had judged you to be a better man than this. I had been told that money meant nothing to you. It was the challenge you cared about. Is this not so? Is money what matters? Because if it is, I will pledge you all the coin in the city, every last piece of gold and silver you can carry away.”

“All of your coin; all of your silver and gold? All of it?” He laughed. “What does that mean? That you haven’t got any gold or silver? Or have you so much you can afford to give it away?”

“It means that our lives are more precious than our riches. That our peace of mind and security are worth more than whatever must be paid to protect them. I’ll ask you once again. Will you come with me?”

Something about what she was telling him felt wrong, and his instincts warned him that she was keeping secrets. But they also told him that her need was genuine, and her plea for his assistance was heartfelt and desperate.

“How far is Tajarin?” he asked her.

“Perhaps seven or eight days,” she said.

“On horseback?”

“Horses can’t get to where we are going. So mostly we must go on foot. Does this matter?”

He shrugged.

“Will you come, then?”

He finished with the skillet, taking his time. “Let me sleep on it. Come back to me in the morning.”

She shook her head. “I have nowhere to go. I will sleep here with you.”

He studied her carefully. Then he rose, brought out his extra blanket, and handed it to her. “Find a place close to the fire. It gets cold at night.”

Wordlessly, she accepted his offering, walked over to the other side of the fire, spread the blanket, and rolled herself into it so that her back was to him.

He remained awake awhile longer, thinking through what she had told him, trying to come to a decision. It should have been easy. She was asking him to risk his life to save her people; he deserved complete honesty. If she was not telling him the entire truth, he should send her on her way.

But there was something about her that intrigued him, something that drew him—an undeniable attraction. He felt it in the mix of determination and vulnerability she projected. The contrast was compelling in a visceral way. He couldn’t quite explain it, although he felt a need to do so. He would have to think on it some more.

He lay down finally, having no reason to remain awake longer, and was almost asleep when he heard her say, “You should make up your mind as soon as possible.”

He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness. “Why is that?”

“Because I might have been followed.”

* * *

He didn’t sleep much after that, but when he sat up suddenly sometime after midnight, the moon had moved across the sky northwest of the clearing and the stars had shifted their positions. He hadn’t heard anything, but he was the Weapons Master and his highly developed instincts warned him even in his sleep. He sat up slowly and looked around.

Lyriana was sitting on the log once more, still wrapped in her blanket. She met his gaze and pointed into the trees. He couldn’t imagine how she had heard what was out there before he did, but apparently she had, and he reassessed his view of her abilities immediately. She was definitely something more than she seemed.

He slipped from the blanket, rolled it into the shape of a sleeping man, and left it on the ground. Then he brought out a pair of throwing knives from beneath his loose garments. He made no sound doing so and none as he moved toward the trees, listening. For long seconds, he heard nothing. Then there came a slight rustle of clothing and the scrape of a boot against the earth.

He dropped into a crouch at the center of a deep pool of shadows. There were at least two of them. Possibly three.

He glanced over his shoulder at Lyriana, sitting on the log, and motioned for her to lie down. If she remained sitting up as she was, she presented an inviting target for a blade or an arrow. He waited for her to comply, but she just shook her head.

Then he realized what she was doing. She wasn’t simply being stubborn. She was offering herself as a target to distract their attackers.

He quit breathing and went perfectly still.

They came out of the trees, three of them, wrapped head-to-toe in black, faces covered, hands gloved, no skin showing. Two carried knives, the third a crossbow. Because they were looking for him to be sleeping by the fire with Lyriana, they didn’t see him in the shadows, even when they were right on top of him.

Then the one with the crossbow raised it to eye level and sent a bolt whizzing toward Lyriana.

He was fitting a second into place when Garet Jax killed him, piercing his heart with one of the throwing knives. The Weapons Master went straight at the other two. Agile and cat-quick, he killed the first before the man could defend himself and was on the second an instant later. Locked in combat, the pair rolled across the campsite and into the fire. Flames snatched at their clothing and began to burn, but neither relinquished his hold. In a silence punctuated only by gasps and grunts, each fought to break the other’s grip.