The Measure of the Magic: Legends of Shannara

by Terry Brooks

  “How far do you want to travel today?” he asked.

  She shook her head dismissively. “As far as you want.”

  “But you’ve already traveled several days just to reach me. You haven’t had time to rest. You haven’t slept in how long?”

  “Not so long, Pan. I can keep going. I feel all right.” She saw the way he was looking at her, and she could see the doubt in his eyes. Apparently doubt wasn’t a color. “Really, I do.”

  They walked through the remainder of the morning, climbing out of the valley floor and onto the higher, more open expanses of the lower slopes while staying below the snow line. They passed isolated homes and farms, and once or twice they saw people and exchanged waves. The sun rose and the day brightened, and the heavy mists receded far enough up into the mountains that the air warmed and dampness of the dawn’s dew faded. Hunting birds circled in the skies overhead, and patches of paintbrush and avalanche lilies appeared amid the rocks.

  “It could almost be like it used to, couldn’t it?” she asked him at one point, gesturing at the countryside. It could, she added to herself, but not so long as I can’t tell the colors of the flowers.

  “This is like it used to be,” he said after a moment. “You and me, doing what we’ve always done.”

  You and me, she repeated to herself, and the words were comforting.

  They stopped and ate a meal at midday, backed up against a moss-covered berm that shielded them from the chilly northern exposure and gave them a clear view of everything in all directions. Prue found herself eating more than she expected, strangely at peace in her cloudy world, unexpectedly happy. It didn’t matter about her eyes; it didn’t matter about the colors. In those few moments, it only mattered that her life was back on course.

  But as soon as they started walking again, she was reminded of what it was they were trying to do, of the dangers that lay waiting at almost every turn and of the responsibility she had been given by the King of the Silver River, and all the good feelings vanished.

  They traveled through the afternoon until the sun had begun to sink behind the mountains west and the light to dim. Pan chose to make camp before they climbed the escarpment that separated them from the meres and Arborlon, choosing a thin copse of alpine and fir amid a rough cluster of rocks that would shield them from prying eyes and warn them if there were unexpected visitors approaching. Pan was in full Tracker mode now, using all his skills and experience to keep them safe. He might hope they were able to rely on her instincts, but he wouldn’t take any chances that they might unexpectedly fail her, even given the promises of the King of the Silver River.

  He was like that, she knew. He always had been. The best defense was your own, and you should never rely on chance or other people. Even her. This might have hurt her if she hadn’t known him so well. He wasn’t denigrating her abilities; he was simply putting his own to use, as well. Two sets of skills were always better than one, he was saying.

  They ate their meal and went to sleep. She had thought she would be awakened at some point to share the watch, but when she finally opened her eyes the sun was just coming up over the rim of the mountains and the new day was beginning. Pan was fixing breakfast off to one side, and she couldn’t tell if he had just come awake or been awake all night. When she asked if he had slept, he shrugged and didn’t reply.

  When they had finished eating, they packed up and set off toward the ridgeline on the far side of the escarpment, following the trail that would eventually lead them down into country west of the meres and from there to the Elves. The day was cool and clear, the mists again receding into the higher elevations where the peaks cradled them like woolly blankets. There was a maternal cast to their upswept, draped-over appearance, and Prue smiled in spite of herself as she imagined the baby they would swathe.

  It was a bracing walk across the ridgeline and down through the rocks on the other side, the wind brisk and cold as it skidded down off the northern heights in sharp gusts. But the cold and the rush made Prue feel alive, and she lifted her face to the exciting sensation of it.

  They were just coming off the ridge and descending toward the southern end of the meres and she was thinking idly of how pleasant their journey was turning out to be when she sensed the danger.

  It was there all at once, not in a gradual way or in a rush of small tingles, but in a massive wave that threatened to knock her off her feet and flatten her against the ground. She gasped with the force of it and dropped to one knee. Pan was beside her at once, holding her up by her shoulders, whispering hurried words of reassurance.

  “It’s all right, Prue. I’m right here.” His words came tumbling out. “Just take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Shades, you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

  She nodded and made a reassuring gesture. “More like I’ve felt one,” she corrected him. “Something very bad, Pan. Something just ahead, waiting for us.” She gulped and swallowed hard. “I don’t know that I’ve ever felt anything as bad as this.”

  “Is it the old man? The demon?”

  “I can’t tell what it is. Only that it’s ahead, probably hiding in those rocks below the path, waiting for us.”

  He was down on his knees beside her, holding her in his arms. “An ambush. This would be the right spot. If whatever’s there is hiding down below, it could see us coming over the ridge. It could follow our descent. But how did it know to wait for us? How did it know we were coming?”

  She looked up at him quickly. “We have to go another way. Can we circle past it?”

  He looked up, still on his knees. “Wait here.”

  He inched forward until he found a spot that suited him and then raised himself carefully to peer between a cluster of rocks. He stayed there for a long time, studying the land ahead. When he had satisfied himself, he dropped down and crawled back to her.

  “We can get past it without being seen but we’ll have to go out of our way. We might even have to circle north above the meres—not the easiest route. Maybe we should just confront whatever’s down there and get it over with.”

  She shook her head quickly. “No, we don’t want that. Not if it’s that old man. Let’s try to sneak past. Once we’re in Arborlon, we should be safe.”

  He gave her a dubious look, but nodded his agreement.

  Crouched down far enough that they could keep the rocks between themselves and anything watching from below, they inched sideways across the slope, moving north toward the mountains. Prue understood that this effort might fail and they might have to face their stalker anyway. Their disappearance from the trail would send a clear signal to whatever was after them, and it would adjust its thinking accordingly. The best they could hope for was that it would guess wrong about which direction they had taken or that it would decide they hadn’t moved and try to wait them out.

  But she was able to live with the uncertainty if it meant they had even a chance of slipping past. Prue was not ready for a confrontation with whatever was down there. She knew it in her heart, knew it the moment she felt the weight of her instincts press down on her in warning. She might have thought she could do whatever was needed to help Pan, could act on his behalf as the King of the Silver River had intended she should do. But when she thought about what that meant, she realized she had no idea how she could protect him. Somehow, she hadn’t understood that part of things when she had accepted the Faerie creature’s bargain. She could sense Pan’s danger and warn him, but she could do nothing to save him. He was the one with all the power, the bearer of the black staff, the inheritor of the Word’s magic. She was only a fifteen-year-old girl who didn’t want to see him die.

  It was a bitter moment, the truth revealed in a way that left no doubt in her mind of the extent of her inadequacy. It shouldn’t have been like that. There should have been something more that she could do to help him. But the truth was inescapable, and she must find a way to learn to live with it.

  And with whatever strength and abilities she possesse
d, she must discover ways to help him learn to live with it, as well.

  They worked their way north along the face of the slope, keeping carefully hidden within their rocky covering, moving soundlessly and smoothly in the way that Trackers were taught when they first signed on, listening and watching, alert to any movements and sounds. Only once did Pan stop and position himself so that he could take a quick look. He ducked back down again immediately, shook his head at Prue to indicate there wasn’t anything to be seen, and they started off again.

  At some point they turned downslope toward the northwest corner of the meres. By then, Prue’s instincts had gone quiet and all the warning signs of the danger she had sensed earlier had dissipated. She was feeling better about things by then, hoping they had succeeded in deceiving their stalker into believing they were somewhere else—either still up in the rocks or gone another way. She touched Pan on his shoulder to signal as much, and he nodded his understanding.

  But it was late by then, and they would have to decide whether to push on to reach Arborlon that night or stop to rest and go on in the morning. The meres were treacherous in places and difficult to navigate in darkness, but once across the distance to Arborlon was short.

  Pan signaled that they would continue on.

  They kept their cover until the slope leveled out and the rocks gave way to huge old cedars and willows that marked the northern boundary of the meres. They were still too far south and would have to skirt the edges until they reached the far north end if they wanted a clear, safe passage. Neither of them fancied trying to navigate the meres at night, so they resigned themselves to what needed doing and set out, keeping just within the shelter of the trees so that they could not be seen. It was slow going because the woods were thicker at the edges of the ponds and swamps that formed the meres and required angling in all directions to avoid ravines and drops. The trick was to keep moving. Once they had put enough distance between themselves and whatever was stalking them, they could slow their pace.

  Prue had just finished estimating that they were still four or five hours away from the Elfitch and safety when her instincts kicked in anew, and she felt the familiar crushing wave start to close in on her.

  “Pan!” she hissed, causing him to turn and come back to her immediately. “It’s following us! It’s figured out which way we’ve gone!”

  He was quiet as he stared back into the growing darkness, his gaze fixed on something she couldn’t see, but could easily imagine.

  “We have to go faster,” she urged.

  He shook his head. “We have to stop and face it, but not here. Not out in the open where it will have an advantage over us.”

  She waited, already knowing what he was going to say.

  Even so, the words were chilling when he spoke them. “We have to lead it into the meres.”

  IT WAS NEARING MIDNIGHT, the darkness illuminated by the light of stars that had appeared from behind broken cloud cover to filter down through the heavy canopy of the trees. Panterra Qu crouched within a thick stand of brush no more than six feet from where Prue was hiding, her slender body flattened against the ground at the base of an ancient willow, stretched out between tree roots that hid her completely from view. She was covered with leaves and all but buried in the earth, a good choice for concealment from someone hunting them. Pan’s position was more vulnerable, but that was his intent. She had objected, but he had pointed out that her instincts would warn her when whatever tracked them got close and then he could employ his staff’s magic to protect himself. To signal that approach, he had tied a length of string about his finger and given her the other end. When she sensed the danger to be close enough, she would give it a yank to let him know.

  But he was counting on the straw men he had built with leaves and brush stuffed inside their extra clothing to draw their stalker’s attention away from where they hid. Wrapped in blankets and placed back against the trees at the edge of a broad clearing fronted on the far side by the shores of a lake, the straw men appeared to be the boy and girl asleep. It was good enough that it would fool almost anyone, even in daylight.

  Still, Pan wasn’t taking any chances. He had his staff ready, and he was expecting to use it.

  The minutes crawled by as they waited. An hour passed. Pan scanned the forest over and over, searching for movement. Prue was so still she might have been sleeping. But he knew she wasn’t. She could lie silent like that for hours; he had seen her do it. Her patience was phenomenal, the kind that defied everyone’s expectations. She told him once she had practiced it as a child when there was nothing better to do than sit and watch for birds to land in her backyard. She had been only three or four.

  The yank of the string on his finger caught him by surprise, and he yanked back to let her know he was paying attention. He slipped the string from his finger and took a new position, crouched and ready. More time passed, and nothing happened. He scanned the lakeshore and the clearing, then the edges of the trees and back again, waiting. He glanced repeatedly at Prue, wanting to speak to her, to ask her what was happening. But it was so dark by then he could barely make out the tree roots between which she had settled herself, and he could not risk giving himself away.

  He kept looking and listening, growing impatient. Their stalker still did not appear.

  He had passed the point where he thought their plan had any real chance of working when Prue screamed. Her scream was high and piercing and filled with fear, and he reacted instinctively, rolling quickly to one side as he tried to bring the staff’s magic to bear. The attack came from behind, a black-garbed figure catapulting out of the darkness in a soundless rush that told him at once what had happened. Their stalker—a man, judging by his size—had figured out they had laid a trap, circled around through the meres, and come at them from behind. If not for Prue’s scream …

  The flash of a knife blade in the starlight banished all other thoughts. He caught the blade on his staff just as the magic flared to life, all of it happening in seconds. He blocked the strike and the magic exploded off the staff and threw his attacker away. But the latter was back on his feet almost immediately. Abandoning his attack on Pan, he turned on Prue who was scrambling up, wanting to help, revealing herself in a way that made the boy’s heart lurch in dismay.

  “Prue!” he screamed.

  But the attacker was already on top of her, bearing her to the ground, knife rising and falling. Pan was running toward her, aware that he was too late to save her. But to his astonishment, she had somehow managed to roll out from beneath the attack and was back on her feet, her staff held ready. Her attacker was coming toward her once more, but she took his measure and swung her walking stick not at his head, but at his legs, taking them out from under him. He went down, thrashing wildly. Pan had summoned the magic and it flared at his fingertips and along the black length of the staff, but he could not bring it to bear when Prue and her attacker were so close together.

  She seemed to sense this and dived to one side as the knife swept toward her. She went down in a hard rolling motion that took her out of reach, and Pan struck out with everything he could muster. His aim was true, and the magic hammered into their stalker with such force that it threw him twenty feet into a tree trunk where he went down in a heap and didn’t move.

  Pan stood gasping in mingled shock and relief, painfully aware in the aftermath of the attack how close they had come to being killed.

  THEY APPROACHED the downed man cautiously, Pan a step ahead of Prue, ready to defend her should there be need. But their assailant was unconscious, and even when Pan prodded him with his boot, he did not move.

  So they propped him up against the tree trunk, stripped him of his knife and every other weapon they could find, of which there were a considerable number. Certainly, there were more than any ordinary hunter would ever think to carry—hidden in his boots, sleeves, pockets, and slits cleverly sewn into the seams of his clothing, in his belt, and even in his wide gold bracelet. Some were unidentif
iable, things that looked like throwing stars and curved blades, though tiny and barbed. In the end, Pan cut off his sleeves and pant legs and removed his belt and boots, taking no chances that there might still be weapons hidden on him that they hadn’t found. Then they lashed him to the tree and removed the mask that was covering his head.

  Neither of them had ever seen him before.

  “He doesn’t look like he belongs out here,” Prue observed.

  Pan agreed. He was young and rather pale, almost soft looking. His hands were smooth and free of calluses, and there were no visible scars. He was certainly no hunter or Tracker. There was nothing about him that suggested he spent much time outdoors or engaged in any sort of physical labor.

  “He’s an assassin,” Pan said. “Sent to find us.”

  Prue shook her head. “By whom? Who would want to kill us?” She hesitated as Pan gave her a look. “Skeal Eile? I thought that was finished. I thought Sider put an end to that.”

  “Sider is dead.” Pan backed away from the slumped figure and seated himself cross-legged on the ground. “When he wakes up, we’ll see what he has to say about it.”

  Abruptly, Prue got to her feet, walked over to her pack, took out their cooking pan, carried it down to the lake, filled it with water, walked back to him, and threw the water in the unconscious man’s face.

  The man jerked awake immediately, shaking his head and sputtering. Blinking rapidly, he looked from one to the other. “Children,” he muttered. “I’ve been taken prisoner by children.”