Bearers of the Black Staff - Terry Brooks [149]
Deladion Inch nodded and shrugged. “Maybe you don’t. Maybe you know all about their weapons and how to get past them. Maybe you aren’t afraid of something that can wipe out half your soldiers before you even get within bow range.”
It sounded good, even to him. The secret of the valley’s passes was compromised, along with the lack of any standing army trained to defend against invaders. But maybe the discussion hadn’t gotten to the matter of weapons.
The Maturen hesitated. “They have the same weapons we do. Except that they have one of the black staffs aiding them, as well. But one man is not enough to stop us.”
“One man, no. Fifty fire throwers and a dozen cannons that can reach a target a mile away, yes. Or am I missing something?”
Grosha spit at him. “You lie, mercenary.”
“Do I? You know this?”
“I know Elves don’t have weapons like that!”
He gave the boy a sympathetic smile. “Elves don’t want weapons like that. But Men do. What do your spies have to tell you of that?”
It was a calculated gamble, but it appeared to be working. There was a low muttering among those assembled, silenced quickly as Taureq Siq looked around angrily. “Do you know of these weapons?” he asked Inch. “Have you seen them?”
The big man shook his head. “Only heard of them. But I recognize how they work and what they can do from what I know of my own weapons. You don’t want to risk facing them without a plan.”
“Don’t believe him, Father!” Grosha snapped, fury twisting his blunt features. “He would say anything to share in what we have!”
Inch gave him another smile and looked at his father as if to say, These impulsive boys, what can you do? “You doubt what I’m saying, little pup? Let’s ask the girl, your captive from the valley. Let’s see what she says. Go ahead. Ask her.”
“We cannot ask her!” Grosha shouted, enraged. “We don’t speak the language well enough. Only Arik does. You know that!”
“I don’t know anything about it.” Inch kept his eyes on the father. “Why don’t you let me speak with her? I’ll tell you what she says. After all, I’ve got nothing to gain by lying to you about it. If I do, you’ll find out quick enough when you enter the valley and you’ll hang me from your tent pole.”
Taureq Siq was silent a moment, gesturing for his angry son to be silent, as well. He was clearly conflicted about it, but he was smart enough not to want to risk missing something important.
“All right,” he agreed finally. “But if you deceive me, you will die.” He gestured toward one of the guards. “Bring the girl.”
Grosha turned away in disgust, muttering to himself.
Deladion Inch took a deep breath as the guard departed. He was going to get his chance now, the chance he needed, but he still didn’t know how he was going to make this work. Somehow, he had to get the girl through the camp and back to the ATV if they were to have any chance of escaping. But Taureq would have his eye on him the entire time he was speaking to her, so he was going to have to be clever.
A sudden thrumming on the tent roof drew his attention. It was raining, a downpour. Funny, but he hadn’t even noticed rain clouds on his way in. He breathed in the fresh smells, the dampness and the cool. He glanced through the gap in the tent flaps; the daylight had faded, clouds covering the sun and masking the sky. It would be dark much sooner. The ground would be wet, and tracks would be hard to follow.
It took only moments before the guard returned with his prisoner. The girl was just a little thing, probably not much more than a hundred pounds, small and slender, with bright red hair and green eyes that looked right through you. She didn’t flinch from him when she saw him, clad in black leather and armor, weapons hanging off him everywhere. She simply studied him as she would an interesting specimen, trying to make something out of it.
Inch glanced at Taureq for permission to speak to her, and the Maturen nodded. The big man came forward and