Terry Brooks: Paladins of Shannara: The Black Irix (Short Story)

“You’re telling me the truth? You’re giving it back?”

“What would you do?”

“What I would do isn’t necessarily what you would do.”

“Don’t play games with this.” Panamon was flushed, angry. “Just answer the question! What would you do?”

They were shouting at each other now, and upon realizing it they went quiet at once. Panamon picked up his tankard and drained it. Then he passed it across the table to Shea who took it without a word, carried it back behind the serving counter one more time, refilled it, and returned.

As he sat down again, he found himself remembering what Flick had said about the woodswoman’s prediction. He hadn’t believed it possible that it would come true. He had thought it funny that it would cause Flick to be so concerned.

Well, he wasn’t laughing now.

“I would do what you are doing,” he said quietly. “How soon do we leave?”

* * *

It was the sort of decision you made quickly. There wasn’t much to think about when you came right down to it. You could make all the promises or vows you wanted, but ultimately everything hinged on the answer to a single question. How much did you owe someone who stood by you when you needed it and by doing so saved your life? If it didn’t matter to you, you turned them down when they asked for your help. If it counted for something, you didn’t.

No matter the doubts or inconveniences attached to making this trip with Panamon Creel, Shea felt honor-bound to go. He tried to explain that to Flick later that same evening when his brother returned from the miller’s, but his efforts were futile. Flick was having none of it. Shea was deliberately and foolishly placing himself in harm’s way out of a misguided sense of loyalty to a man of questionable character—although admittedly one who had helped him in the past. Was Shea forgetting that Panamon had tried to steal the Elfstones from him? Was he forgetting that Panamon’s mission—no matter its claimed virtues—was essentially another theft? Was he forgetting that the thief had a tendency not to be entirely forthcoming with what he knew and tended to shade the truth of whatever he did tell?

“What about the fact that you only just got your health back?” he demanded as a last resort. “You almost died, Shea! Now you are going on a trip that could very well finish the job. Shades, you don’t even know where you’re going!”

They were standing out back by the woodshed, shouting at each other, while inside the patrons of the inn drank and laughed and talked loud enough that they could not hear a word of the argument taking place out back.

“I know where we’re going. Panamon told me. It’s in the lower Northland, not far from the ruins of the Skull Kingdom. I know a little about the country. It’s wild, but not so dangerous anymore. We’ll be close to Paranor and the Westland. Flick, listen to me. I have to do this. But I promise to be careful, and if I get sick or it becomes too dangerous, I will come home at once. I won’t take chances.”

“How can you say that?” Flick exclaimed in disbelief. “What makes you think you will be allowed to come back? He needs the Elfstones! In fact, what if it’s the Elfstones he’s really after? Have you thought of that?”

Shea had thought of everything. Some of it made him ashamed of himself, but Flick was right about one thing. This was Panamon Creel, and Panamon was capable of anything. So he wasn’t going into this blindfolded.

When it was all said and done, Flick stood firm on his insistence that Shea not go, but Shea persisted and went anyway. He advised his father he would be traveling with Panamon for as long as two weeks and rode out the next day on a horse he had rented from the local stable master, his gear and clothing stowed in a bedroll tied to the back of the saddle, the Elfstones tucked down inside his tunic. Flick, to his surprise and disappointment, remained behind. He had almost believed that his brother would come with him, just as he had on the quest for the Sword of Shannara. But the times and the circumstances were different, and apparently Flick had done enough questing in his life. He loved Shea and feared for him, but he simply refused to support a cause in which he did not believe.

“Turns out Audrana Coos was right,” he said in parting. “Try not to make me regret it. Come home safe.”

So Shea and Panamon Creel rode north out of Shady Vale into the Duln Forests until they reached the banks of the Rainbow Lake. There they turned west to follow the lakeshore around to where they could begin their journey toward the Streleheim and into the Northland.

Shea spent his time on horseback thinking of how long ago the last quest now seemed. It was almost as if it had happened in another lifetime—one he had lived as a different person entirely. He had grown up on that quest, seasoned and matured under the pressure of constantly being hunted and placed at risk, of facing death almost every day, of watching friends and strangers die all around him, and of knowing how much depended on the success of his efforts.

This time the feelings were altogether different. He was not being chased, and the threat of death seemed remote. He was placing himself in some danger, but what was at stake was much smaller and less world-changing.

What troubled him most was the absence of Flick, who had stuck with him before for as long as he was physically able, and had been there to reassure him when his doubts and fears threatened to undo him. He missed his brother and wished mightily he were there again.

So when, on the third day out, Flick appeared, it was almost like a miracle. He had left the same afternoon, after telling their father what he was doing, unable to stand the idea of Shea going without him, surprising himself with the intensity of his feelings. Taking the trail he knew they would follow to go north, he had tracked them until he caught up.

“Changed my mind,” he announced as he rode up. Noting the look of dismay on Panamon’s face, he added, “I can’t have my brother going off like this without someone reliable watching out for his best interests.”

Shea laughed and clapped Flick on the back affectionately. Panamon Creel said nothing.

* * *

They were three now as the journey continued. Panamon regaled the other two with tales of his exploits, most of which caused Shea to smile and Flick to roll his eyes. The thief made so many outlandish claims and recounted so many improbable happenings, it was impossible to believe half of it. But it was entertaining, and it helped the time to pass more swiftly. To his credit, Flick did not say or do anything to deliberately irritate Panamon. He did not question the purpose of their journey or the details surrounding how the thief intended to fulfill it, and studiously avoided offering any sort of challenge to the other’s authority.

But Panamon was clearly irritated by his presence nevertheless, which eventually persuaded Shea to confront him.

“You don’t seem too happy having Flick along,” he said. They were standing alone at their campsite on the fourth day out while Flick was off gathering firewood. By now they were above the Dragon’s Teeth and only a day from their destination. “Why are you so upset?”

“Because, Shea,” Panamon replied in a dismissive tone, “this effort doesn’t need a third person. It just needs you and me. Flick will only be in the way. He might even cause problems for us when we go after the Irix, just by being here. I didn’t plan on him coming, and I don’t need him.”

Shea held his temper. “But perhaps I do.”

“That’s nonsense. You were on your own when I found you two years ago. You didn’t seem to need him so badly then.”

“Well, appearances can be deceiving. I missed him terribly. I can’t tell you how much being separated from him bothers me. So let’s understand something. I am happy he came to find us, and it would be a good idea if you stopped acting as if he shouldn’t be here. It makes me think I shouldn’t be here, either.”