Bearers of the Black Staff - Terry Brooks [93]
Anyway, she didn’t like doing what other people told her she had to do. Oh, it was one thing if it was her father, of course. He was the King. But not other people, and not when what they were telling her was tied to some outdated code of conduct that should have been cast out years ago. Not marry a commoner! What nonsense! She wasn’t even thinking about marriage. She was only thinking about spending time with him, about getting to know him better. He was interesting in his withdrawn, taciturn sort of way. She liked how he seemed so flustered when she talked boldly to him. She liked how it made her feel.
She looked off into the distance at the Lizard camp. Nothing. She dug at the rocky earth with her boot for something to do, but grew quickly bored. Her eyes were still heavy. She could close them just for a minute, couldn’t she? Why not? It wasn’t as if anything was happening or even likely to happen in the next few minutes. That was all she needed—just a few minutes.
The sun was hazy and the land barren as she peered first skyward and then out across the horizon. Everything was so bleak. It looked as if nothing lived there, even given the presence of the Lizards. It was an ugly, barren stretch, and she was sorry she had ever thought about going outside the valley. When this was over, they should all go back and stay there. This was no fit land for humans or Elves or anyone else.
She shifted to a more comfortable position and let her eyes close.
When she felt the hand on her shoulder, she realized she had been sleeping.
But it was too late to do anything about it by then.
DEEP INSIDE THE MAZE of Troll encampment tents, Panterra and Prue sat waiting for Arik Sarn’s return. They had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but to Pan it felt like hours. Little conversation passed between them as the minutes dragged on, most of it truncated and forced, a way to provide each other with some small measure of reassurance that whatever happened they were still together. They could hear the sounds of movement and voices from outside their enclosure, a rough-edged jumble unrecognizable as anything specific. It suggested things best not thought about too hard or long, and they did what they could to ignore it. Pan was less successful with thoughts of freedom; he could not stop having those, even knowing that escape was virtually impossible.
More mundane wishes intruded, as well.
He wished he could have a bath and a change of clothes.
He wished he could see the sun again.
He wished he had stayed inside his valley home.
He was wishing for a few other things when a stirring from outside their chamber brought his head up. His eyes fixed expectantly on Arik Sarn as the Troll reappeared. He came over to them without a backward glance at the tent flap—which was quickly closed by someone standing without—knelt where they sat, and bent close.
“Taureq Siq has decided. Your suggestion is accepted. You will go back to your people, back home.” But there was something wrong with the way he said it, something troubling. “You will be released, Panterra Qu, to speak to your leaders, to tell them of the meeting. Taureq will come to them at midday on the first day of the next full moon, to the place where we found you, and they will talk.”
Panterra grinned broadly, glancing over at Prue as he did so. He couldn’t believe it! They were going let them go! “You see,” he said quickly, working hard at keeping his voice low. “I told you that …”
But Prue had caught what he had missed. She shook her head. “You don’t understand. Only you are being set free. Not me. Am I right?” she asked, her eyes shifting to the Troll.
Arik Sarn nodded in agreement. “Only you, Panterra.