High druid of Shannara_ Jarka Ruus - Terry Brooks [64]
“Tomorrow,” he told her, on being asked what she should do. “Villages and camps ahead. Clothes can be found. But you’re a Straken — can’t you make clothes with magic?”
She told him no. He seemed confused by this. The hair on the nape of his neck bristled. “Magic can do anything! I’ve seen it myself! Are you trying to trick me?”
“Magic cannot do everything. I should know.” She gave him a sharp look. “Anyway, why would I want to trick you? What reason would I have for doing so?”
His face tightened. “Everyone knows Strakens have their own reasons for doing things. They like tricking other creatures. They like to see them squirm.” He was squirming himself, the fingers of his hands twisting into knots. “You’d better not try to trick me!”
She laughed in spite of herself. “You seem awfully concerned about being tricked. Why would that be, I wonder? A guilty conscience, perhaps?”
His eyes were furious. “I have a right to look out for myself! Strakens are not to be trusted!”
“I am not a Straken, Weka Dart,” she said again. “I’ve told you that already. Pay attention to me this time. Look at me. I am not a Straken. I am an Ard Rhys. Say it.”
He did so, rather reluctantly. He seemed determined that whether she admitted it or not, she was a Straken and not to be trusted, which made it odd that he had chosen to ally himself with her. Or rather, she corrected, choose her as a traveling companion. Clearly, if he felt as he did about Strakens, he would not travel with her if he could avoid it. It made her wonder what he was after.
“I should cover our tracks before the big things start to hunt,” he announced suddenly, and disappeared down the trunk of the tree before she could stop him.
He was gone a long time, and when he returned he was gnawing on something he held in one hand. It was hard to tell what it might have been, but it looked as if it was the remains of a ferret or rat. All that was left were the hindquarters. There was blood on the Ulk Bog’s mouth and face, and a wicked glint in his eyes. “Tasty,” he said.
“You look happy enough,” she observed, meeting his challenging stare. She had seen much worse than this, if he thought to shock her.
“Fresh meat,” he declared. “Nothing already dead. I’m no scavenger.”
He consumed what was left with relish, teeth tearing the raw meat into bite-size shreds that he quickly gulped down. Finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, licked his fingers, and belched. “Time for sleep,” he announced.
He stretched himself out on one of the limbs, looking as if sleep would come easily. “Where are your people, Weka Dart?” she asked him, too uncomfortable herself even to think of sleeping.
“Back where I came from. Still living in their burrows. They are a shortsighted, unimaginative bunch. Not like me. That’s why I left. I decided there was more for me in life than burrows and roots. But not if I remained with them.”
What a liar, she thought. Even the way he spoke the words gave him away. He must think she would believe anything. It made her angry. “Where is it you intend to go?” she pressed, keeping her anger carefully hidden.
He smacked his lips. “Oh, that’s for me to know. I have plans for myself. I may tell you when I get to know you better.”
“Won’t you be missed?” She had put up with this Ulk Bog’s deceptions long enough and had decided to do something about it. He was relaxed and unsuspecting. It was a good time to teach him a lesson. She began to hum softly, bringing up the magic of the wishsong and layering it about him. “Parents? Brothers and sisters?”
He shrugged, yawned. “No family. No friends, either, for that matter. Not ones I care about leaving behind. Ulk Bogs are a stupid lot, most of them. Can’t see beyond their ground roots and mushrooms.”
“Roots can be tender and mushrooms sweet,” she ventured, the magic beginning to insinuate itself into his thinking. “You were quick enough to bring them to me. Why don’t you eat them?”
He laughed foolishly, the magic taking hold.