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

“You’ll keep our bargain, I trust?” Panamon asked.

“You mean the gold I promised you? Of course.”

“I mean keeping these young men as your guests overnight and then releasing them in the morning.”

Kestra Chule frowned. “I don’t imagine they can do anything to hurt me. But still, we’ll see. I’ll have to think on it. Guards!” He beckoned. “Escort our young friends to their quarters. Lock them in and keep them there until morning. I’ll decide what to do with them then.” He glanced at Panamon. “That’s the best I can do, I’m afraid.”

Panamon smiled and shrugged. “Then why don’t we sit and celebrate the successful completion of our arrangement with a glass of ale?”

Guards grabbed Shea and Flick and steered them across the floor and out of the room. “Release their bonds once you have them safely inside their quarters and ready to be locked up for the night!” Chule called after them as they were led away. “Good night, young friends! Sleep well!”

And with that the brothers were hustled from the room and down a succession of passageways and through countless doors deep into the bowels of the stronghold. For a time, Shea tried to keep track of their progress, but he soon grew so confused that he gave it up. The one thing he was certain about was that they were not going to find their way out easily.

Finally, they passed down a hallway with cell doors on either side, stopped at one midway down, and were ushered through the doorway, where two guards held each Valeman in turn while a third cut the bonds that secured his wrists. Then they were shoved down on their knees while the guards backed out and the door was secured.

The brothers stood together in silence as the footfalls receded and finally disappeared.

* * *

“I’m getting the Elfstones back,” Shea declared, pacing the narrow confines of their prison cell. “I don’t know how, but I’m going to.”

Flick sat glumly on the thin pallet rolled out on his wooden slat bed, his head in his hands. “We should never have come here in the first place.”

Shea stopped and looked at him. “What? And miss out on these fine accommodations?”

Flick returned his gaze. He was not smiling. “I told you this would happen. I warned you. This was Panamon’s plan all along. He was always after the Elfstones.”

Their cell was roughly ten feet by ten feet, the walls windowless and the floor bare. The iron door through which they had entered provided the only exit. Except for a pair of rudimentary beds and a single wooden table with a candle on it, the room was empty of everything but themselves.

Shea stood close by the door, fruitlessly wishing it would open again. Then he moved over to sit by Flick. “Don’t worry. Things will work out. Panamon’s got something else in mind.”

“Why were we so stupid? Why did we let ourselves be tricked like this?” Flick lifted his head, his brow furrowed, his face stricken. “What were we thinking?”

Yet Flick had been the one to argue against going. And Shea had to admit that, as much as he needed to believe his friend had not betrayed him, their current situation looked pretty bad. He could not blame Flick for feeling as he did, but still he marveled at how his brother took an equal share of the blame on himself when all along it had been Shea forcing the issue.

A surge of love for his brother filled him. If he had led him into danger …

But no. He knew Panamon Creel. He would not leave them like this.

“Panamon has always been straightforward and honest with me,” Shea replied firmly. “There’s something else at work here. I know there is!”

“Based on what evidence? He was never reliable. You just thought he was. You think the best of everyone—even those who are looking to stick a knife in your back!”

Shea shrugged. “Because I prefer it that way. I’d rather think well of people than ill. Besides, giving up the Elfstones for a mere bag of gold doesn’t make sense. Panamon knows that’s nothing compared with what the Stones are really worth.”

“Not if you can’t make use of them. Not if you can’t sell them without losing your head. Don’t you think that when Eventine hears of this, he will bring the entire Elven nation down on Kestra Chule and his stronghold? It’s safer for Panamon to take the gold and disappear.” Flick paused. “It’s also safer if he lets Chule get rid of us so we can’t tell anyone what’s happened.”

Shea rose, moved over to the second bed, and lay down, hands behind his head. “It doesn’t matter what you say. I can’t make myself believe Panamon lied to us about the Irix, tricked us into coming, and then robbed us. It doesn’t feel right.”

Flick grunted. “Well, the fact that it’s happened ought to go a long ways toward convincing you.”

“I don’t know …”

His brother lay back as well. “Go to sleep. Maybe you can dream up a way out of this. Maybe you’ll be able to concoct a plan to get the Elfstones back from Chule.”

Shea looked over and smiled at him. “I’m glad you came with me, Flick,” he said. “I’m sorry things turned out like they have, but I’m very glad you’re here to help me get through them. I wouldn’t want to be here alone.”

Flick grunted and rolled over, facing away from the candlelight. “You know well enough I wouldn’t let that happen.”

Shea closed his eyes, and after a while he could hear Flick’s breathing deepen. He remained awake afterward for a short time, trying to work out what Panamon was up to. But in the end his weariness dulled his thinking, and he fell asleep.

* * *

The sound of the cell door lock releasing brought him awake again. He sat up quickly, blinking away the lingering vestiges of his sleep, his eyes adjusting to the light.

Panamon Creel stood in the doorway. Before Shea could say anything, the thief put a finger to his lips, signaling for silence. Then he moved over to Flick, fastened his hand over the Valeman’s mouth, and woke him. Flick struggled momentarily, but Panamon made hushing noises, speaking to him in low tones, warning him to be silent.

“Time to be going,” he whispered. “Don’t talk. Follow my lead. Do what I do.”

Shea didn’t argue, but a surge of happiness filled him. He motioned to Flick, and the two of them tracked Panamon out into the hallway where a pair of Chule’s guards lay slumped on the floor.

“They were very tired,” the thief said, cocking one eyebrow.

Shea grinned, then looked over at Flick, but his brother was still scowling suspiciously.

Panamon led them down the hallway and back up through the various levels of the complex—a slow and torturous journey in which Shea barely allowed himself to breathe. Every so often, Panamon would stop, see something he didn’t like, and turn them back another way. But no one saw them.

Then, finally, they were outside again, standing in an open courtyard but still inside the fortress walls.

Panamon turned back to them and pulled them close.

“Our horses are in a stable just on the other side of that wall.” He pointed. “We have to saddle and mount them and ride through the gates to be safe. We still have a couple of hours before dawn to distance ourselves from Chule. But we don’t want to drag our heels doing it. Come on.”

“Wait.” Shea grabbed his arm. “What about the Elfstones? I’m not leaving without them!”

Panamon nodded, his face expressionless. “Of course you’re not.” He reached into his tunic, pulled out the pouch with the Elfstones, and handed them over. “That was never the plan.”

Shea felt a rush of joy. So he was right. Panamon hadn’t betrayed them after all. “What was the plan?”

“Later. When we are well away.”