Bearers of the Black Staff - Terry Brooks [136]
Once, not so far distant, he saw something much larger than himself shambling through a series of deep ravines, appearing and then disappearing like a mirage. But it was moving away from him, and after a while it was gone entirely.
He found himself wondering how the people of the valley would ever be able to acclimate and survive in this hostile environment. How could they adapt to what they would encounter when they had spent five hundred years closed away in a country where everything was naturally available and almost nothing threatened? He tried to envision how it would happen and failed. It would take new skills and hard-won experience to allow them to make the change. It would take a degree of cooperation and respect that was presently lacking. All the petty jealousies and rifts and differences would have to be bridged and healed.
He didn’t know if that was possible. Yet a way would have to be found if those brought out of the carnage of the Great Wars by the boy Hawk were to survive.
The hours slipped away, the afternoon crawling toward twilight, the bright orb of the sun advancing west in a sky that grew increasingly cloudy. Another storm was approaching, coming down out of the north. Sider checked the tracking device, worried that it might have failed. But the red light glowed steadily, so he kept moving ahead. He recognized almost nothing of the land he was traversing, but he carried a compass and his general sense of direction added to its readings told him he was still maintaining his intended course. He just hoped he would get to shelter before sunset or rainfall.
He needn’t have worried. He was climbing out of a series of deep ravines toward a line of dead trees and scrub when Deladion Inch appeared above him, clad in the familiar black leathers and metal trappings, the equally familiar Tyson Flechette strapped across one shoulder.
“Sider Ament!” the big man called out in greeting. “Come on up!”
He stood where he was, hands resting on his hips and a bemused expression on his bluff face, watching as Sider finished his climb up the rise and joined him.
“Hello, again,” Sider greeted him in turn.
The big man looked him up and down. “Didn’t expect to see you again quite so soon. Not that I’m complaining, you understand. I can always use the company of a fellow mercenary. Oh, wait—you don’t like it when I call you that. A fellow practitioner of the art of war? Is that better? Well, whatever, I’m glad you came. My tracking device works pretty well, doesn’t it? Got your signal on my receiver, and it brought me right to you.”
He was rambling a bit, but Sider didn’t mind. He was just happy the other man had actually chosen to come find him. “Couldn’t have been easier,” he agreed.
“Well, then, we’re not far from the old homestead, so it won’t be any harder from here.” Inch glanced at the skies. “I would have reached you quicker than this, but I was out foraging, gone the other direction, and I had to retrace my steps. Sorry about that. Are you hungry?”
Sider nodded. “Thirsty, too.”
“Got the cure for both. Come along now, no further delays. Tell me what brings you back out again after I warned you that staying where you were was the better choice. Not that I thought for a minute you’d listen. But I feel an obligation toward those possessed of less common sense than myself. Come, come.”
He led the way down the backside of the rise and onto