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Authors: Terry Brooks
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the dark. “Others will come looking for me. You don’t have that old man to protect you now. How will you save yourself when they catch up to you?”
Pan studied him a moment, and then he reached down for the staff and held it up for the other to examine. “With this,” he said.
He caught a glimpse of surprise in the other’s yellow eyes, a surprise that was reflected in his blunt features, as well. It was only there for an instant, but Pan didn’t miss it.
“Those others you think might be coming to rescue you,” he said, “had better hope they don’t catch up to me.”
Arik Siq’s features hardened. “You’re a boy! How old are you? Fifteen, maybe? How well do you think you can control the magic of that staff? You don’t even know how to use it, do you? That old man didn’t teach you anything. You know just enough to get yourself killed. Which is what will happen, soon enough.”
Pan nodded. “Not soon enough to save you, however. Your father will come for you or come for whatever he thinks is inside this valleyor come because he can’t help himself. But we will be waiting for him. All of us who live in this valley—we will be waiting for him. We will trap him in the passes or on the open slopes or wherever we find him, and we will cut him and all those with him to pieces.”
He pointed at the Drouj with the tip of his staff. “And you’ll be right there to watch it all if anything happens to Prue.”
“Boy, I will skin you alive myself!” Arik Siq sneered. “You will beg for me to kill you before I am finished!”
Panterra Qu climbed to his feet, tossing aside the remains of his repair work. “Get up. We’re going for a long walk, so you better save your strength. You might be the one begging before we get to where we’re going.”
They set out for the valley floor, Panterra leading the Drouj by the length of chain, which he had removed from the other’s ankles and tightened in a rough slipknot about his neck. The boy walked just fast enough that his prisoner, encumbered by the chain and the ropes about his wrists and shoulders, had to struggle to keep up. Arik Siq trudged along with his head lowered and his eyes on the path, forced to keep close watch on where he put his feet so he wouldn’t trip. Dawn had not yet broken, and the land lay under a gloomy shroud of clouds and mist. Morning was only a thin silver line, jagged and washed out, behind the craggy summits of the mountain peaks east, and the air was thick with cold and damp. Panterra was used to it; his life as a Tracker had trained him to tolerate the cold. But his prisoner, for all that he had the armor of his bark-like skin to protect him, did not seem happy.
“Swing those arms while you walk,” Pan offered cheerfully. “It will help keep you warm.”
The other man did not reply, and the boy immediately regretted saying anything to him. Taunting him was not going to do anything to help the situation; there was more at stake here than taking pleasure from making the Drouj feel as miserable as possible. In the end, he might need Arik Siq’s help in making an exchange for Prue. He was already thinking ahead to how that might happen, but the details remained fuzzy and uncertain in his mind.
“If you set me free, I give you my word that the girl will be returned safely,” his prisoner said suddenly.
Pan shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“How will you free her otherwise? You can’t simply walk out of the valley and ask my father to do it, can you? If you take me, he’ll just kill us both. You don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s like. Remember that story I told you about the Karriak being my people? About how I was the son of their Maturen given in exchange for Taureq’s eldest? You know now that it was a lie, that I made it up to gain your trust. But this much isn’t a lie. The Karriak were all killed by my father, annihilated in retaliation for their refusal to accept him as their leader. Even
Pan studied him a moment, and then he reached down for the staff and held it up for the other to examine. “With this,” he said.
He caught a glimpse of surprise in the other’s yellow eyes, a surprise that was reflected in his blunt features, as well. It was only there for an instant, but Pan didn’t miss it.
“Those others you think might be coming to rescue you,” he said, “had better hope they don’t catch up to me.”
Arik Siq’s features hardened. “You’re a boy! How old are you? Fifteen, maybe? How well do you think you can control the magic of that staff? You don’t even know how to use it, do you? That old man didn’t teach you anything. You know just enough to get yourself killed. Which is what will happen, soon enough.”
Pan nodded. “Not soon enough to save you, however. Your father will come for you or come for whatever he thinks is inside this valleyor come because he can’t help himself. But we will be waiting for him. All of us who live in this valley—we will be waiting for him. We will trap him in the passes or on the open slopes or wherever we find him, and we will cut him and all those with him to pieces.”
He pointed at the Drouj with the tip of his staff. “And you’ll be right there to watch it all if anything happens to Prue.”
“Boy, I will skin you alive myself!” Arik Siq sneered. “You will beg for me to kill you before I am finished!”
Panterra Qu climbed to his feet, tossing aside the remains of his repair work. “Get up. We’re going for a long walk, so you better save your strength. You might be the one begging before we get to where we’re going.”
They set out for the valley floor, Panterra leading the Drouj by the length of chain, which he had removed from the other’s ankles and tightened in a rough slipknot about his neck. The boy walked just fast enough that his prisoner, encumbered by the chain and the ropes about his wrists and shoulders, had to struggle to keep up. Arik Siq trudged along with his head lowered and his eyes on the path, forced to keep close watch on where he put his feet so he wouldn’t trip. Dawn had not yet broken, and the land lay under a gloomy shroud of clouds and mist. Morning was only a thin silver line, jagged and washed out, behind the craggy summits of the mountain peaks east, and the air was thick with cold and damp. Panterra was used to it; his life as a Tracker had trained him to tolerate the cold. But his prisoner, for all that he had the armor of his bark-like skin to protect him, did not seem happy.
“Swing those arms while you walk,” Pan offered cheerfully. “It will help keep you warm.”
The other man did not reply, and the boy immediately regretted saying anything to him. Taunting him was not going to do anything to help the situation; there was more at stake here than taking pleasure from making the Drouj feel as miserable as possible. In the end, he might need Arik Siq’s help in making an exchange for Prue. He was already thinking ahead to how that might happen, but the details remained fuzzy and uncertain in his mind.
“If you set me free, I give you my word that the girl will be returned safely,” his prisoner said suddenly.
Pan shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“How will you free her otherwise? You can’t simply walk out of the valley and ask my father to do it, can you? If you take me, he’ll just kill us both. You don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s like. Remember that story I told you about the Karriak being my people? About how I was the son of their Maturen given in exchange for Taureq’s eldest? You know now that it was a lie, that I made it up to gain your trust. But this much isn’t a lie. The Karriak were all killed by my father, annihilated in retaliation for their refusal to accept him as their leader. Even
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