High druid of Shannara_ Jarka Ruus - Terry Brooks [121]
She was waiting for a refill when the doors to the inn banged open and Terek Molt walked into the room, trailed by half a dozen of his Gnome Hunters.
Heads turned to watch them enter, and conversations died. Pen put down his fork and knife and glanced quickly at Tagwen. The Dwarf hadn’t seen their enemy yet, but now he caught the look on the boy’s face and turned. “Oh, no,” he whispered.
They were trapped. The Gnome Hunters were already spreading out, moving through the crowded room like wraiths. Two remained stationed at the only door leading to the street. Pen thought of fleeing through the kitchen, but he didn’t know if it led outside or not. His mind raced, seeking a way of escape. Maybe Molt didn’t know they were there. He didn’t seem to. He was standing in the middle of the room, black cloak shedding water on the wooden floor, hard eyes scanning the room. It was dark back here. He might not see them. Cows might fly, too.
When the Druid’s gaze finally settled on him, Pen went cold all the way down to his feet. There was no mistaking what he saw in that gaze. He wondered how the Druid had found them, how he had come to Anatcherae when they had been so careful to leave no trail. He glanced quickly at the serving bar and saw Khyber preparing to return to the table. She didn’t know who Molt was, having never seen him; she didn’t realize the danger they were in. He had to warn her, but there was no way for him to do so without giving her away.
It was too late anyway. Terek Molt stalked over to their table and stopped when he was still a few feet away. “You’ve led me a chase,” he said softly. “But it’s ended now. Get to your feet and come with me. Don’t cause any trouble or it will be the worse for you. I don’t much care what it takes to bring you back to Paranor.”
Tagwen shook his head stubbornly. “We’re not coming with you. Not this boy and not me. We don’t want your protection.”
The Druid’s smile was quick and hard. “I’m not offering protection, Tagwen. I’m offering you a chance to stay alive, nothing more. Don’t mistake what this is about. Where is Ahren Elessedil?”
Neither Pen nor Tagwen answered. If Terek Molt didn’t know, that meant the Elf was still free. That, in turn, meant there was a chance.
“Get to your feet,” the Druid said a second time.
“We know what you’ve done with the Ard Rhys,” Tagwen declared, raising his voice so that those around could hear him clearly. “We know what you’ll do with us, too. We’re not coming.”
There was a muttering in the room, and Terek Molt’s hard eyes grew angry. “Enough of this, little men. Get up and walk out of here or I’ll drag you out.”
A Troll roughly the size of a barn pushed away from the serving bar and took a step forward. His blunt features tightened, one hand resting on a huge mace hanging from his belt. “Leave the boy and the old man alone,” he ordered.
Terek Molt turned slowly to face him, away from the still-open doors to the inn, his concentration divided between the Troll and his quarry, so he didn’t see Ahren Elessedil step out of the night. “Stay out of this,” Molt said to the Troll.
At that point, Khyber pushed away from the bar. Carrying the pitcher of ale in both hands, she crossed the room directly toward the table at which Pen and Tagwen were sitting. Terek Molt glanced sharply at her, but she averted her eyes, as if not daring to look at him, and he started to turn back. “Get up,” he said to Pen and Tagwen.
Khyber, from less than six feet away, threw the pitcher of ale all over him.
The room exploded with shouts, its occupants leaping to their feet in a whirl of sudden movement. Chairs and tables were overturned, and glassware went crashing to the floor. The Troll had his mace free and