The Measure of the Magic: Legends of Shannara Read online

  “I will not be lectured to by a foolish boy who—”

  Pan swung the black staff around and held it up in front of him, so angry by now he had forgotten to be afraid or even cautious. “Be careful of what you say next, Seraphic.”

  But it was Pogue Kray who spoke instead. “Enough. I am council leader of this village. The safety of its people and their homes is my responsibility. I will decide who speaks. Skeal Eile, you will allow the boy to tell us what he knows. Is that clear?”

  The Seraphic managed a small nod, the venom in his eyes unmistakable as he shot a quick glance at Pan.

  “Panterra,” the big man said, turning to him, “don’t waste our time. Get right to the point.”

  Pan slumped against the wall, his exhaustion overtaking him anew. He wanted so badly to sleep. But first he must deal with this. Choosing his words carefully, he related everything that had happened since they had last met at Pogue’s house with Aislinne and Sider Ament. He told them of the attack on the defenders at Declan Reach and their annihilation by the Drouj. He told them of his own escape and how he had hidden just out of reach of his pursuers, of Sider’s coming to his rescue and of the ensuing battle and the deaths of all but Arik Siq and himself. He said nothing of Prue. To do so would have given Skeal Eile leverage to use against him, something he dared not do until this matter was resolved. He knew he must not lose control of the situation if he was to save her.

  “This man is the son of the Maturen of the Trolls who seek to invade the valley?” Pogue asked in surprise. “Then isn’t Skeal Eile correct? Don’t we need to use him to bargain for our safety?”

  “It might seem so,” Pan replied, searching for a reason to dismiss this line of thinking. “But Arik Siq himself has told me repeatedly that his father would kill him before he made a bargain with us. Taureq Siq is a brutal man. He has destroyed whole tribes of Trolls who resisted him. He would kill his son as quick as thought if it suited his purposes.”

  “But you cannot know this,” Pogue persisted. “Not for sure. Not without testing it in some way.”

  “I know. What I haven’t figured out yet is how to do that without compromising our safety in the process. I can’t simply march the Maturen’s son out there and try to make a trade; we would both be dead in an instant.”

  “You also risk giving away the location of the passes leading into the valley,” Skeal Eile added, his voice soft again, but still tinged with anger. “As you have already done. You and your Elf friends, both.”

  “Sooner or later, the Drouj are going to find their way in anyway,” Pan pointed out. “We can’t pretend it won’t happen. Which is why Sider thought it so important to fortify the passes at Aphalion and Declan Reach. The Elves have done their part, but Declan Reach is unprotected with its defenders all dead. More have to be sent, Pogue. Right away.”

  The big man nodded. “I don’t need you to tell me that. But what about the help we were promised from those who live south? No one has come to stand with us. Not even Esselline. We cannot be expected to do this alone. Perhaps the Seraphic is right: some sort of accord with the invaders is required, if only to stall them until we get help.”

  “They will not bargain, and they cannot be trusted to keep their word even if they do.” Pan looked down at the slumped form of Arik Siq. “They have built a reputation for treachery. If we even think of trusting them, we are fools. We need to wait for Esselline. He will come. Sider was sure of it.”

  “The Gray Man is dead,” Skeal Eile snapped.

  Panterra held his temper in check. “So it is left to us to be as selfless and strong-minded as he was.” He turned to Pogue Kray, an idea suddenly taking shape. “What of this? What if you keep Taureq Siq’s son a prisoner, locked away and not allowed out for any reason? The stronger the prison, the better; he is clever and dangerous. While you hold him, I will travel south to meet with Esselline and be certain he is coming. After that, we can discuss how best to deal with the Drouj.”

  Panterra was telling them a dreadful lie, and he felt no small amount of guilt in doing so. But he couldn’t stop to worry about that. Desperate circumstances demanded desperate measures. He might indeed go to Esselline, as he had said, but first he intended to go after Prue. Somehow he must find a way to reach her and, if he could, rescue her. Failing that, he would bargain for her life in exchange for Arik Siq’s. He still did not believe the Maturen would kill his own son; he had made that determination some time back, in spite of what Arik said. The latter would say anything if he thought it might gain him his freedom.

  As for protecting the secret of the passes, he would find a way to do that, too. But he would not abandon Prue.

  “Also,” he added, “someone should go to the Elves and let them know what’s happened. They guard Aphalion, and we must work with them if we are to keep the Drouj out of the valley.”

  “I will go,” Skeal Eile volunteered quickly, speaking directly to Pogue Kray, ignoring Pan. “I promised Sider Ament I would stand with him in this, and I keep my promises. Even though I think this boy should not have been given the staff or be listened to just because he carries it, I know we are all agreed on the danger that threatens. I will speak to Oparion Amarantyne and his Queen on our behalf and make certain we are united.”

  Pan could not object without looking foolish, and so he kept still. Pogue was enthusiastic, clasping the Seraphic by his shoulders and telling him how much this meant. Pan thought he caught the latter casting a veiled glance in his direction, but impaired by his exhaustion he couldn’t be certain. He wondered momentarily if there wasn’t something else at work here, something he didn’t know about. But the moment passed, and Pogue was speaking again.

  “I will gather a fresh detachment of men from the village to clear Declan Reach of the dead and to occupy the defenses until further help comes. I will go with them myself. The council can act for me in my absence. But you need to travel quickly, Panterra. Find Esselline and any who might be coming with him and tell them we are at great risk and to hurry.”

  Pan straightened. “I will leave at once.”

  “Don’t be stupid,” Skeal Eile snapped. “Look at you. Any fool can see you wouldn’t get five miles in your condition. You need to sleep for at least twelve hours. Rested, you might have a chance of getting the job done.”

  “He is right, Panterra,” Pogue agreed immediately. “You’ve been through a lot. Go to bed. Sleep as long as you need to and leave when you wake.”

  “You’ll make sure Arik Siq is locked away and guarded well?” he asked, glancing down one final time at his prisoner.

  Pogue nodded. “You have my word.”

  Pan leaned on the black staff momentarily, wondering if there was anything left undone, anything forgotten. He could think of nothing.

  “I’m going, then,” he said, and went out the door and into the brightness of the new day.

  HE HAD TOLD THEM he was going, but he hadn’t told them where. Sleep was necessary, but it would have to wait. Instead, he went straight to Aislinne Kray to tell her about Sider. He wasn’t looking forward to doing this and would have preferred that someone else carry the news. But he didn’t feel right leaving it up to Pogue, who would at least in some measure be relieved that the Gray Man was out of her life forever.

  So he walked the familiar roadways and paths of the village—this new bearer of the black staff every bit as tattered and spectral as Sider Ament had ever looked, no better in appearance than the poorest beggar—until he had reached Aislinne’s home and was standing at her door.

  He took a deep breath, exhaled, and knocked softly.

  “Panterra,” she gasped when she opened the door and saw him. She took in the wreckage of his appearance, and then her eyes found the black staff he was holding and she sagged visibly. “He’s dead, isn’t he,” she whispered.

  He nodded. “Two days ago, at Declan Reach. Poisoned darts from a blowgun. He was caught by surprise and he couldn’t …”

  She held up one hand q
uickly. “Stop. Don’t say anything more. It’s enough to know that he’s gone.”

  He looked down at his feet, embarrassed. “I’m sorry.”

  “I know. But let it alone.”

  “Your name was the last word he spoke.”

  She was crying now, not bothering to hide it. “Look at you. What did you have to go through to get back here?” She took his arm and led him inside, closing the door behind him. She led him over to a chair and sat him down. “Wait here.”

  She disappeared for a few minutes and then was back with clean cloths, hot water, and bandages. She knelt in front of him and cleaned his wounds and bound them up, not saying anything as she did so, absorbed in her task. Panterra let her be. He knew enough to keep quiet while she struggled to come to terms with the news.

  “Does Pogue know?” she asked as she was finishing up, getting ready to take away the bloodied water and cloths.

  “I went to him first. Skeal Eile was there, too.”

  She said nothing more as she picked up the water and cloths and carried them out of the room. She was gone for several minutes this time, and he sat thinking on what he had said he would do to find Esselline and how all along he had intended to do something else completely. He wondered if he should tell Aislinne. What would she think of him?

  When she came back into the room, she took a seat across from him, hands folded in her lap. “I see that he did not keep his word to me. Even at the end, he failed.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She gestured at the staff. “He persuaded you to take that. I begged him not to. I told him your life was your own and not his to manipulate. But it didn’t matter. He had made up his mind about you. Now you will carry the staff and do his work.”

  “I made the choice. He didn’t have any hold on me when he asked it of me. It was at the end of things. He was dying, and he needed someone to take the staff from him. I took it because I knew what it would mean to refuse when so much threatens the valley and our people. I couldn’t just walk away, Aislinne. I can’t pretend the need isn’t there when I know it is.”

  She sighed. “No, I suppose not. I think it was like that for him, too.” She shook her head. “I just know what it means when you carry the staff, Panterra. I know what it will do to you, to any plans you might have for your life. It becomes the reason for everything. You give up so much.”

  He knew it was so. He supposed he had always known. It was why he had been so reticent even to consider the idea. He might have managed to avoid taking on the responsibility for it if the Gray Man hadn’t been dying right in front of him—and if his own guilt for his part in it hadn’t been so strong. Not only about Sider, who had died defending him, but about Prue, as well. Leaving her behind, coming back without her, doing nothing as yet to save her—it was too much for him to bear. He knew that. He understood what he had done and what he must now do.

  “I have something else to tell you, Aislinne,” he said finally. “Something you won’t like. I brought back the man who killed Sider. His name is Arik Siq. He is the son of the Drouj Maturen whose army threatens the valley. Pogue has agreed to hold him prisoner so that we can use him to bargain with. I think Pogue will do the right thing, but I am not sure about the Seraphic. Will you do what you can to make sure Pogue doesn’t go back on his promise to me?”

  She nodded slowly. “It won’t be easy, but I will try. Pogue’s word is usually good, but he is heavily under the influence of Skeal Eile. The council might intervene, as well. Where will you be if this happens?”

  He hesitated. “I said I would find out if Hadrian Esselline is coming to help us as he promised. Pogue worries that the people of Glensk Wood are not strong enough by themselves to stop an attack at Declan Reach if it comes. He is right to worry. I have seen the size of the Drouj army.”

  She gave him a hard look. “You would go in search of Esselline before seeking out Prue Liss? Why do I find that so difficult to believe? I think maybe you are telling me what you told Pogue, but not what you intend.”

  “Maybe I am.” He blushed at the admission. “You know me too well. I can’t leave Prue out there. You haven’t heard anything more of her, have you? Nothing since I left to go up to Declan Reach?”

  She shook her head. “Not a word. I don’t fault you for making her your primary concern. I would do the same.” She leaned forward in her chair. “But I must add a fresh complication to your plans. And you won’t like hearing this any more than I liked hearing that you have brought Sider’s killer to Glensk Wood. Oparion Amarantyne is dead. He was killed several days ago, murdered. His daughter, Phryne, stands accused of the killing. The Queen has locked her away and charged her with patricide. In all likelihood, if nothing happens to change things, she will be tried, convicted, and put to death in the Elven Way.”

  Panterra didn’t know what the Elven Way was and didn’t want to find out. “Phryne wouldn’t kill her father. Something is wrong. Someone else must be responsible.”

  “That may be so. There are whispers about the Queen and the first minister. She was quick to assume the throne once her husband was dead, and the first minister was quick to support her right to do so. So far, no one has dared to stand up to them. One or two spoke out, but their voices were quickly silenced. They were reasoned with, I think you would say.”

  “Do you believe I should go there first?” he asked.

  “I do. I think you should go there while on your way to find Prue. Maybe you can do something to help the Princess. I know you like her. I know she meant something to you. Not as much as Prue, of course. But enough so that you should not abandon her entirely.”

  He hesitated. What did Phryne mean to him? He should help her if he could, but was it right to do so if it cost him time he could have spent searching for Prue? How much could he sacrifice for her before the cost became too great?

  “I can’t make a decision on this,” he admitted, looking away. He was tired, so tired. All he wanted was to lie down and close his eyes.

  She rose and came over to him. “Go to your home and sleep, Panterra. A decision on what to do will wait that long. Come back and talk to me, if you want. Whatever you decide, you know I will support you. That said, I can do this much to help you. I can send Brickey to find out what has happened to Esselline. Brickey comes from that country and should be able to find out easily if the King intends to honor his promise to aid us in our fight against the Drouj.”

  She helped him to his feet, guided him to the door and back outside. He stood with her for a moment, searching for something to say in parting. But words failed him. He started across the porch and down the steps and then suddenly turned. “I’m so sorry about Sider,” he said. “I wish I could have done something more to help him.”

  She smiled. “You’re doing something now. I think that’s what he would have wanted. Go home.”

  He turned once more and walked away.

  SKEAL EILE WAITED until Panterra Qu was safely gone from the council chambers before making his excuses and leaving Pogue to deal with his prisoner. He had better things to do than stand around lamenting his lost chances, although he could not stop thinking of them. Still seething from his confrontation with the boy, he set out for the deep woods. He chose a path that took him in the opposite direction, even though it lengthened his journey, not wishing to chance meeting the boy somewhere on the way. He was wary of Panterra Qu, much more so now that he carried the black staff, although the staff wasn’t the reason for his caution. Before today’s meeting, the boy would have been intimidated by him. He would have deferred to him in the matter of the Troll prisoner; he wouldn’t have dared to question him or even consider standing up to him as he had.

  But the boy was changed. It might be the staff had contributed to this, but Skeal Eile thought it more likely had to do with the time he had spent with Sider Ament. He might still be a boy, but his self-confidence and determination were a man’s.

  Panterra Qu had been a nuisance before, but now he was so
mething much worse. He was dangerous.

  Fortunately, there was a cure for that.

  The Seraphic worked his way through the village, following littleused paths and trails that would help him avoid prying eyes and annoying questions. Not that many chose to speak to him when they saw him like this, but now and then someone who followed the teachings of the Hawk would insist. As their spiritual leader, he could hardly refuse conversation with the faithful.

  His thoughts turned momentarily from Panterra Qu to the matter of the Drouj prisoner and the threat from the army encamped outside the valley. Somehow he must find a way to meet with the Maturen of these people so that he could discuss their mutual interests in the fate of the valley. The Drouj would not believe there were such interests, of course, but Skeal Eile would persuade him otherwise. There was something for everyone in this; it just had to be explained in terms they could understand.

  For that, he might need the aid of the Maturen’s son, which meant finding a way to spirit him out of Glensk Wood without being discovered. Or at least keeping him close enough that he could make use of him when it was necessary.

  Skeal Eile had been thinking about his future long and hard ever since the boy had brought word to the village council of the collapse of the protective wall. The world was changing, and there was no going back to the way things had been. Life in the valley would change, and those who survived it would have to start over. Those inside and outside, whatever species they were, would be joined in the search for a harmonious relationship. The consequences of doing that could be brutal, but there was no escaping the inevitable. What was needed was a way of avoiding the worst of it, and he had already determined that strength of arms on the battlefield, in whatever form, would not be enough to protect the faithful.

  Or himself.

  What was needed was something else entirely. Something that only he, with his considerable skills and special talents, could manage.