Read Online The Druid of Shannara by Terry Brooks - Free Book Online

brushed it out and straightened its creases, stuffed his own clothes in a sack he had brought, strapped on his weapons, and emerged once more into the light.
    He moved quickly after that. Timing was everything in his plan; he had to reach the administration center of the workhouses just after the shift change came on at dusk. His day at the taverns had told him everything he needed to know about people, places, and procedures; he need only put the information to use. Already the twilight shadows were spreading across the forestland, swallowing up the few remaining pools of sunlight. The streets were starting to empty as soldier, trader, and citizen alike made their way homeward for the evening meal. Morgan kept to himself, careful to acknowledge senior officers in passing, doing what he could to avoid drawing attention to himself. He assumed a deliberate look and stance designed to keep others at bay. He became a rather hard-looking Federation soldier about his business—no one to approach without a reason, certainly no one to anger. It seemed to work; he was left alone.
    The workhouses were lighted when he reached them, the day’s activities grinding to a close. Dinner in the form of soup and bread was being carried in by the guards. The food smells wafted through the air, somewhat less than appetizing. Morgan crossed the roadway to the storage sheds and pretended to be checking on something. The minutes slipped past, and darkness approached.
    At precisely sunset the shift change occurred. New guards replaced the old on the streets and at the doors of the workhouses. Morgan kept his eyes fixed on the administration center. The officer of the day relinquished his duty to his nighttime counterpart. An aide took up a position at a reception desk. Two men on duty—that was all. Morgan gave everyone a few minutesto settle in, then took a deep breath and strode out from the shadows.
    He went straight to the center, pushed through the doors, and confronted the aide at the reception desk. “I’m back,” he announced.
    The aide looked at him blankly.
    “For the old ladies,” Morgan added, allowing a hint of irritation to creep into his voice. He paused. “Weren’t you told?”
    The aide shook his head. “I just came on …”
    “Yes, but there should be a requisition order still on your desk from no more than an hour ago,” Morgan snapped. “Isn’t it there?”
    “Well, I don’t …” The aide cast about the desktop in confusion, moving stacks of papers aside.
    “Signed by Major Assomal.”
    The aide froze. He knew who Major Assomal was. There wasn’t a Federation soldier garrisoned at Culhaven who didn’t. Morgan had found out about the major in the tavern. Assomal was the most feared and disliked Federation officer in the occupying army. No one wanted anything to do with him if they could help it.
    The aide rose quickly. “Let me get the watch captain,” he muttered.
    He disappeared into the back office and emerged moments later with his superior in tow. The captain was clearly agitated. Morgan saluted the senior officer with just the right touch of disdain.
    “What’s this all about?” the captain demanded, but the question came out sounding more like a plea than a demand.
    Morgan clasped his hands behind his back and straightened. His heart was pounding. “Major Assomal requires the services of two of the Dwarf women presently confined to the workhouses. I selected them personally earlier in the day at his request. I left so that the paperwork could be completed and now I am back. It seems, however, that the paperwork was never done.”
    The watch captain was a sallow-skinned, round-faced man who appeared to have seen most of his service behind a desk. “I don’t know anything about that,” he snapped peevishly.
    Morgan shrugged. “Very well. Shall I take that message back to Major Assomal, Captain?”
    The other man went pale. “No, no, I didn’t mean that. It’sjust that I don’t …” He