Bearers of the Black Staff - Terry Brooks [81]
“Why do you say it’s a game?” he asked. “Did they tell you this?”
She shook her head. “They haven’t told me anything. They speak a language I don’t understand. It isn’t like the one the Lizards speak in the valley. These Lizards are different in other ways, too. They don’t look or dress the same. Their skin is different—darker, coarser, like tree bark. They don’t dress the same, either. They wear armor and carry shields.” She paused. “I think maybe they are part of an army.”
“But you think this was some sort of game that got us captured?”
“Just the way they acted when they saw us. Just how they moved and talked. They laughed a bit, pointed at us, made fun of the beasts that had us pinned. They seemed to be having fun.” She gestured suddenly. “Except for the two over there. Those two, they don’t seem happy at all. I think from the way the others treat them they might be the leaders. They’ve been arguing ever since they found us. I don’t know why.”
Pan looked at the two figures standing nose-to-nose some distance off, the first a little taller than the second, the second a little more aggressive. They were shouting now, the second gesturing toward their captives, the first giving him a look and a shrug. The taller was very black and very lean, not so burly and massive as the shorter or the Lizards with them. In the darkness, the fire crackled as someone fed it wood while the others stood idly by, watching the argument.
“If I could loosen these knots …” Pan trailed off and began working his wrists about experimentally, but the knots held.
“If you could loosen those knots and somehow make it to your feet, those beasts would be on top of you in about five seconds,” Prue pointed out. “I don’t think you want that.”
He glanced over at the wolfish creatures. They were sitting on their haunches, gleaming eyes fixed and eager. As if anticipating that he might make the effort to flee and give them some sport. Pan watched them for a minute, and then gave up trying to free himself. Prue was right; there wasn’t any point to it.
Then all at once the argument between the two Lizards ended, and the shorter of the two stomped over to where they were tied up and glowered down at them. There was a darkness in his gaze that left Pan feeling cold. He seemed very young, his skin still smooth in places and his features almost boyish. But there was nothing about him to suggest that he was in any way friendly or inclined to be helpful. Animosity radiated off him in bright waves. If Pan had wondered for a moment whether the Lizards might reconsider and let them go, he abandoned all such thoughts now.
All at once the Lizard began shouting at them, so furious that he was spitting. His words were indecipherable, although it seemed that he was asking them questions, demanding that they answer. Both pulled back in the face of his wrath, unable to respond in any other way. Furious, he kicked Pan in the ribs, glared at them one last time, and turned back to the other Lizard, shouting now at him.
The taller one walked over to join him, taking his time. The build of his body and the definition of his facial features suggested he was older, more mature, and he did not seem angry like the other. He was calm as he studied them, standing with his still-furious companion, his dark eyes taking in everything about them.
Then he spoke, a few words only in their own language, and the other, after a moment’s hesitation, walked away. They saw him move over to the gimlet-eyed beasts and reach down to ruffle their ears. The beasts growled appreciatively.
The newcomer knelt next to them, bending close. “Can you understand me?” he asked, speaking their tongue in something that approached a mix of a growl and a cough.
Pan and Prue exchanged a surprised look. “How do you know our language when we don’t know yours?” Pan asked quickly. “We have Lizards where we live, but they don’t speak like you.”
“Keep your voices down!” the other snapped, glancing back over his shoulder. He paused. “We’re not Lizards. We don’t call ourselves