The Measure of the Magic by Terry Brooks Read Free Book Online Page B

justify any other choice than going after the Drouj.
    In part, he knew, he would be testing himself against a very dangerous adversary. The Troll was skillful and experienced. He would not be easily tracked and even less easily caught or killed. But Panterra had made his choice when he had picked up the staff, and whether or not he could use it, whether or not he could summon and employ its magic did not alter in any way the extent of his obligation to exercise a responsibility that was his and his alone.
    Still, he thought, glancing over at the black staff for the first time since he had laid it down, it was important to discover if the magic that had belonged to Sider Ament now belonged to him.
    He picked up the talisman once more and stood looking at it.
    What would it take to make it respond? What must he do to bring the magic alive? He ran his hands up and down its length, feeling the indentation of the runes beneath his fingertips. Perhaps there was a secret to the way it was held or in how the runes were touched. But wouldn’t Sider have told him so? Even dying, wouldn’t he have said something about how to engage it?
    He held it a few moments longer, trying to find something in the touch of his fingers on the runes, in the staff’s weight or its balance, anything at all that might indicate what was required.
    But no matter what he did, nothing happened.
    Finally, his patience exhausted and his concern growing over the increasing distance Arik Siq was putting between them, he shouldered the staff and set out.
    Reentering the pass, he walked quickly, but paid close attention to his surroundings. It wouldn’t be out of the question for Arik Siq to wait in ambush or to set traps to snare him. He found the Troll’s tracks quickly enough, deep gouges where the rock gave way to soft earth. The Troll was running, not bothering to mask his passing. It appeared that he was afraid and wanted only to get away. Panterra didn’t think the Troll feared him. He must be concerned that the poison from the blowgun wasn’t doing what was needed and that Sider Ament might still be alive.
    He remembered suddenly how disturbed Arik Siq had been when he first saw the Gray Man all those weeks ago, coming out of the camp with Pan on the pretext of being his friend. He had thought the bearers of the black staff were all dead; he had looked decidedly uncomfortable to find out otherwise. Apparently he knew something of the old Knights of the Word, and he was frightened by that knowledge. It made Pan wonder how much of what the Troll had told him about Hawk and the Ghosts was the truth. How much of that whole story was real, and how had he known it in the first place?
    He skirted the bodies of the dead, the Trolls and the men from Glensk Wood, as he wound his way ahead through the defile’s twists and turns. The rock walls loomed high to either side, all but shutting out the sky, and as the sun worked its way west, the shadows continued to deepen. He would get clear of the pass before nightfall, buttracking anyone after that might prove impossible. If the moon clouded over, he might have to wait until morning to resume his hunt.
    When he reached the barricade the men from Glensk Wood had constructed to defend the pass, he found the few bodies of the Trolls killed coming over the wall lying undisturbed. Climbing to the other side, he took a moment to study the killing field below, but nothing seemed changed there, either. He descended a second ladder and picked his way through the dead. No one had come up from the village yet. They would all be thinking that the pass was defended and they were safe from a surprise attack, lulled into a false sense of security.
    Until he told them otherwise, of course—something he would have to do sooner rather than later.
    He considered rethinking his priorities and going to Glensk Wood first, if only to alert everyone in the valley about the danger they were in. He did not want to abandon tracking Arik