High druid of Shannara_ Jarka Ruus - Terry Brooks [155]
“I thought it couldn’t get any worse,” Tagwen grumbled at one point, his beard become a nest of brambles. “Is there any end to this place?”
As they continued on, Pen began to worry about what would happen if they were caught in that tangle when darkness fell. If that happened, they would have to climb a tree and spend the night aloft. He didn’t care for the prospect of watching the limbs for big snakes all night, but he didn’t see that they would have any alternative. He began to make promises to himself about the sort of life he would lead if they could just reach better ground before dark.
It was gratifying when they did, if only momentarily. They slogged out of a heavy stretch of mud-soaked grasses and reeds and climbed an embankment to what seemed to be an island in the midst of the swamp, a low forestland amid the damp. Pen, leading the way, heaved a sigh of relief as he stepped onto the first solid ground he had felt beneath his feet in days, then immediately froze.
Directly to his left, not ten yards away, was the biggest moor cat he had ever seen in his life. He was not unfamiliar with moor cats, so coming on one unexpectedly was not in and of itself shocking. But that particular cat froze him in his tracks and sent a lurch through his stomach that he felt all the way to his toes. For starters, it was huge — not just big in the way of all moor cats, but gigantic. It wasn’t lean and sleek; it was muscled and burly, a veteran of battles that had left its mottled, dark body crisscrossed with scars. It loomed up before him like a Koden gone down on all fours, the thick ruff around its neck giving it a bearish look. Its face was striking, as well, marked with a black band across its eyes that made it look as if it was wearing a mask.
Pen hadn’t sensed it, hadn’t detected it at all. He was searching for things that might threaten them, connected to the life around him, and still he hadn’t known the cat was there. It must have been waiting for them, biding its time, letting them come to it.
Seeing Pen, the moor cat pricked its ears forward and its luminous eyes widened into amber lanterns. It made a coughing sound, deep and booming, and instantly the entire swamp went still.
Khyber Elessedil gave a strangled gasp. “Shades,” she managed to whisper.
Pen’s eyes were locked on the moor cat, trying to read its intentions. It didn’t seem to have any, mostly finding them curious. Suddenly its eyes narrowed and its muzzle drew back in warning, and Pen glanced back to find Khyber slowly withdrawing the pouch with the Elfstones from her pocket.
“Put those away!” he hissed at her. “They’re useless anyway!”
She hesitated. Then, slowly, the Elfstones disappeared back into her clothing. Flushed and angry, she glared at him. “I hope you have a better plan, Penderrin!”
Tagwen looked as if he hoped the same thing, but the truth was Pen didn’t have a plan at all beyond trying to avoid a confrontation. It appeared that the cat and the humans each intended to go through the same patch of ground. One or the other was going to have to give way.
The big cat growled, more a grunt than a cough. Though Pen could tell it was not intended as a threatening sound, it came across as one nevertheless, causing his companions to back away hurriedly. The boy motioned for them to stand their ground, not to make any movements that suggested they were trying to run. Movements of that sort would bring the moor cat down on them instantly. The trick was to appear unafraid, but not threatening. A neat trick, if they could figure out how to make it work.
The moor cat was growing restless, its huge head lowering to sniff the ground expectantly.
Better try something, Pen thought.
Relying on his magic to guide him, he made a rough, low coughing sound at the cat, a sound meant to communicate his intentions, one he knew instinctively would be understood. The moor cat straightened immediately, head lifting,