life.
Shea finished his story and waited patiently for Menion’s response. The highlander seemed lost in thought, his eyes fixed on the half–filled glass of wipe at his elbow. When he spoke, his voice was distant:
«The Sword of Shannara. I haven’t heard that story in years — never really believed it was true. Now out of complete obscurity it reappears with my old friend Shea Ohmsford as the heir apparent. Or are you?» His eyes snapped up suddenly. «You could be a red herring, a decoy for these Northland creatures to chase and destroy. How can we be sure about Allanon? From the tale you’ve told me, he seems almost as dangerous as the things hunting you — perhaps even one of them.»
Flick started noticeably at this suggestion, but Shea shook his head firmly.
«I can’t bring myself to believe that. It doesn’t make any sense.»
«Maybe not,” continued Menion slowly, inwardly musing over the prospect. «Could be I’m getting old and suspicious. Frankly, this whole story is pretty improbable. If, it’s true, you are fortunate to have gotten this far on your own. There are a great many tales of the Northland, of the evil that dwells in the wilderness above the Streleheim Plains — power, they say; beyond the understanding of any mortal be —”
He trailed off for a moment, then sipped gingerly at his wine.
«The Sword of Shannara… just the possibility that the legend might be true is enough to…» He shook his head and grinned openly. «How can I deny myself the chance to find out? You’ll need a guide to get you to the Anar, and I’m your man.»
«I knew you would be.» Shea reached over and gripped his hand in thanks. Flick groaned softly, but managed a feeble smile.
«Now then, let’s see where we stand.» Menion took charge quickly, and Flick went back to drinking wine. «What about these Elf stones? Let’s have a look at them.»
Shea quickly produced the small leather pouch and emptied the contents into his open palm. The three stones sparkled brightly in the torchlight, their blue glow deep and rich. Menion touched one gently and then picked it up.
«They are indeed beautiful,” he acknowledged approvingly. «I don’t know when I’ve seen their like. But how can they help us?»
«I don’t know that yet,” admitted the Valeman reluctantly. «I only know what Allanon told us — that the stones were only to be used in emergencies, and that they were very powerful.»
«Well, I hope that he was right,” snorted the other. «I would hate to discover the hard way that he was mistaken. But I suppose we’ll have to live with that possibility.» He paused for a moment and watched as Shea placed the stones back in the pouch and tucked the leather container into his tunic front. When the Valeman looked up again, he was staring blankly into his wine lass.
«I do now something of the man called Balinor, Shea. He is a fine soldier — I doubt we could find his equal in the whole of the Southland. We might be better off to seek the aid of his father. You would be better protected by the soldiers of Callahorn than by the forest–dwelling Dwarfs of the Anar. I know the roads to Tyrsis, all of them safe. But almost any path to the Anar will run directly through the Black Oaks — not the safest place in the Southland, as you know.»
«Allanon told us to go to the Anar,” persisted Shea. «He must have had a reason, and until I find him again, I’m not taking any chances. Besides, Balinor himself advised us to follow his instructions.»
Menion shrugged.
«That’s unfortunate, because even if we manage to get through the Black Oaks, I really don’t know much about the land beyond. I’m told that it’s relatively unsettled country all the way to the Anar forests. The inhabitants are mostly Southlanders and Dwarfs, who should not prove dangerous to us. Culhaven is a small Dwarf village on the Silver River in the lower Anar — I don’t think we’ll have much trouble finding it, if we get that far. First, we have to navigate the Lowlands of Clete, which will be especially bad with the spring thaws, and then the Black Oaks. That will be the most dangerous part of the trip.»
«Can’t we find a way around…?» Shea asked hopefully.
Menion poured himself another glass of wine and passed the decanter to Flick who accepted it without blinking.
«It would take weeks. North of Leah is the Rainbow Lake. If we go that way, we have to circle the entire lake to the north through the Runne Mountains. The Black Oaks stretch south from the lake for a hundred miles. If we try to go south and come north again on the other side, it will take us at least two weeks — and that’s open country all the way. No cover at all. We have to go east through the lowlands, then cut through the oaks.
Flick frowned; recalling how on their last visit to Leah, Menion had succeeded in losing them for several days in the dreaded forest, where they were menaced by wolves and ravaged by hunger. They had barely escaped with their lives.
«Old Flick remembers the Black Oaks,” laughed Menion as he caught the other’s dark expression. «Well, Flick, this time we shall be better prepared. It’s treacherous country, but no one knows it better than I do. And we aren’t likely to be followed there. Still, we’ll tell no one where we’re going. Simply say that we are off for an extended hunting trip. My father has his own problems anyway — he won’t even miss me. He’s used to having me gone, even for weeks at a time.»
I He paused for a moment and looked to Shea to see if he had forgotten anything. The Valeman grinned at the highlander’s undisguised enthusiasm.
«Menion, I knew we could count on you. It will be good to have you along.»
Flick looked openly disgusted; and Menion, catching the look, could not allow the opportunity for a little fun at the other’s expense to pass.
«I think we ought to talk for a minute about what’s in this for me,” he declared suddenly. «I mean, what do I get out of all this if I do guide you safely to Culhaven?»
«What do you get?» exclaimed Flick without thinking. «Why should you…»
«It’s all right,” the other interrupted quickly. «I had forgotten you, old Flick; but you don’t need to worry; I don’t intend to take anything from your share.»
«What are you talking about, sly one?» raged Flick. «I did not mean ever to take anything…»
«That’s enough!» Shea leaned forward, his face flushed. «This cannot continue if we are to travel together. Menion, you must cease your attempts to bait my brother into anger; and you, Flick, must put aside, once and for all, your pointless suspicions of Menion. We must have some faith in one another — and we must be friends!»
Menion looked down sheepishly, and Flick was biting his lip in disgust. Shea sat back quietly as the anger drained out of him.
«Well spoken,” acknowledged Menion after a moment. «Flick, here is my hand on it. Let us make a temporary truce, at least — for Shea.»
Flick looked at the extended hand and then slowly accepted it.
«Words come easily for you, Menion. I hope you mean them this time.»
The highlander accepted the rebuke with a smile:
«A truce, Flick.»
He released the Valeman’s hand and drained his wineglass. He knew he had convinced Flick of nothing.
It was growing late now, and all three were eager to complete their plans and retire for the night. They quickly decided that they would leave early the following morning. Menion arranged to have them outfitted with light camping gear, including backpacks, hunting cloaks, provisions, and weapons. He produced a map of the country east of Leah, but it was poorly detailed because the lands were so little known. The Lowlands of Clete, which spread from the highlands eastward to the Black Oaks, was a dismal, treacherous moor — yet on the map, it was no more than a blank white area with the name written in. The Black Oaks stood out prominently, a dense mass of forestland running from the Rainbow Lake southward, standing like a great wall between Leah and the Anar. Menion discussed briefly with the Valemen his knowledge of the terrain and weather conditions at this time of the year. But like the map, his information was sketchy. Most of what the travelers would find could not accurately anticipated, and the unexpected could be most dangerous.
By midnight, the three were in bed, their preparations for the journey to the Anar complete. In the room he was sharing with Flick, Shea lay back wearily in the softness of the bedding and studied for a moment the darkness beyond his open window. The night had clouded over, the sky a mass of heavy, rolling blackness that settled ominously about the misty highlands. Gone was the heat of the day, blown east by the cooling night breezes, and
