Bearers of the Black Staff: Legends of Shannara by Terry Brooks Read Free Book Online Page B

his tunic front and brushing out the wrinkles. “Don’t repeat anything you’ve heard tonight. Not to anyone. If anyone hears it, I better know that it came from me.”
    Brickey held up his hands defensively. “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that! I won’t breathe a word of it.” He raised a cautionary finger. “But listen now. Let me give you some good advice in return for yours. Pay attention to what Trow Ravenlock told you. Don’t give this report. Let things be for now—until you have hard evidence of what you claim to have seen.”
    “What I
did
see, you mean!” Pan snapped.
    “Yes, yes, what you did see. But what no one else saw, you might want to remember.” He leaned close. “I know Skeal Eile and his kind. I know how they think. You anger them, and you will live to regret it. You don’t want to find out what that means by giving this report. Leave it with Trow.”
    Panterra nodded. “I appreciate your advice, but I’ve made up my mind.”
    Brickey backed away, shaking his head with disappointment. “Strong-willed and stubborn is what you are, Pan. But I can admire that in a man. Even when it’s wrongheaded. Good night.”
    He gave a perfunctory wave and disappeared back into the trees. Pan watched him go, then turned back to his home and went inside.
    It took him a long time to get to sleep.

FIVE
    P ANTERRA WOKE AT SUNRISE . THE AIR WAS BITTER cold and he could see his breath cloud the air in front of his face. He rose quickly, walked to the front windows and looked out. The ground was thick with frost, a white coating of icy powder that sparkled in the faint first light. He moved to a different position, where he could see part of the upper stretches of Declan Reach. The snow line was down far enough that it was below the false horizon created by the cover of the trees.
    He stared out at the mountains and the snow and the mist that hung like gauze across both and wondered that spring was so slow in coming.
    Then he turned and hurried to the big stone hearth to make a fire, thinking back to another time. When he was a boy, his mother rose early to make the fire. It was always burning long before Pan woke, so that the house was warm and welcoming for him. His mother would be in the kitchen cooking, making him cakes or fry bread or some other sweet he favored. He’d smell sausage or a side of ham cooking,and there would be cold milk and hot ale set out on the table in large pitchers.
    His mother would leave what she was doing and come to him at once, hugging him close, telling him good morning and letting him know how happy she was to have him.
    He shook his head. It all seemed so long ago.
    He knelt by the hearth, nursing sparks from the flint and tinder until the fire was going, and then added larger logs so that it would burn hot while he cooked. He brought out bread and meat and cheese and set them out. He boiled water for hot tea and set out two plates, cups, and cutlery. Everything was almost ready by the time Prue knocked on the door and peeked inside, as he knew she would.
    “Is that for me?” she asked, indicating the second plate.
    She knew it was, of course. It was their morning ritual when they were home after a long tracking. But she liked asking the question and he liked hearing her do so, so they continued to play the game long after it had grown familiar. Besides, he thought, there was no one else who would come to eat with him. Not uninvited, at least.
    “Sit,” he invited, pulling over a thick cushion and tossing her a throw his mother had made.
    She was still wearing the same clothes from last night, and she looked as if sleep might have been as difficult for her as it had been for him. She closed the door and hurried over, arms wrapped about her slender body.
    “It’s freezing out there. Not like yesterday.” She sat, holding her hands out to the fire. “Do you think spring will ever get here? Or is nature just playing games with us?”
    He shrugged. “Can’t be