Bearers of the Black Staff - Terry Brooks [47]
“I think we might get wet,” Prue observed.
Panterra nodded. “I think we might also get some help from Mother Nature in covering our tracks.”
She glanced over quickly. “I thought you said Skeal Eile wouldn’t bother coming after us.”
“I did. But in case I’m wrong, it doesn’t hurt to have help.”
Prue gave him a disgusted look. “In case you’re wrong, huh.”
“Not that it’s likely, but even so.”
She grimaced. “No wonder I’m afraid of everything.”
They took some time to eat a quick lunch, watching the storm roll across the Eldemere, the clouds thick and roiling and deep. There was no lightning or thunder, and except for the sound of the wind gusting, it was oddly silent. There was movement in the leaves on the trees, from the bushes and grasses below, and on the surface of the water. The scudding clouds and breaks of sun that streamed over the canopy of the woods cast legions of moving shadows, an entire community of dark wraiths that lacked substance and purpose. The boy and the girl sat eating and watching, not quite mesmerized, but definitely captivated. It was moments like this that made them feel at home and welcome in the world. It was here in the wild, outside of walls and open to the elements, that they had always felt most at peace.
“What do you think the Elves will say when we give them Sider’s message?” Prue asked.
Pan shrugged. “I don’t know. I think they’ll listen without calling us names and looking at us like we’re bad people, though.”
He began packing up their gear, burying the remains of their lunch, scuffing over the earth, and doing what he could to hide their passing. He didn’t think anyone would find the site, since it was well off the pathway and back in the rocks where no one was likely to venture by accident, but there was no point in taking chances.
“So we start with the Orullians?” Prue rose to help him, glancing down toward the Eldemere. “The rain is getting worse. I can’t see an end to the storm driving it, either. Maybe we should make camp here.”
“That wastes half a day we don’t have,” Pan replied, shouldering his pack. “I think we need to reach Arborlon as soon as possible. The things trying to break in from the outside world aren’t going to wait on the weather.”
She nodded, shouldering her own pack, and together they set out once more, regaining the path leading down and making their way toward the dark sweep of the storm.
“The Orullians will be more willing than anyone else to hear us out,” Pan said finally. “Since they are cousins to the Belloruus family, they can get us an audience with the King and the High Council. If we deliver Sider’s message to them, we will have done as much as we can.”
“Do you think he’ll be able to find us there? Sider, I mean? He said he would find us, but I don’t see how he can do that. We aren’t in Glensk Wood anymore, and no one knows where we’ve gone. Except for Aislinne.”
Panterra shook his head. “I don’t know. I keep saying that, don’t I? I guess there’s a lot we don’t know, when you come right down to it.”
Afternoon eased toward evening, and soon they had reached the edges of the storm; rain was falling all around them. They were wrapped in their all-weather cloaks as they pushed ahead, heads bent against wind and water, eyes blinking away both. The ground softened as they finished their descent and began to cross the valley floor into the Eldemere. Earth and grass replaced stone and crushed rock, but while their boots left clear tracks in the muddied ground they knew surface water would fill and smooth over their footprints by morning. Already sprawling ponds were collecting on the flats, connected by a network of streams that crisscrossed the valley like silver snakes.
Ahead, the country shimmered like a mirage.
“We better find somewhere to make camp,” Panterra said finally, noting that the light was beginning to fail and the misty rain to thicken.
“There’s that big chestnut,” Prue suggested, and he knew at once the one she meant.
They made their way through the steadily falling