The First King of Shannara - Terry Brooks [122]
“He has use of the Druid Sleep, if that’s what you are getting at,” Bremen replied quietly. “It is the one indulgence of magic’s use that he permits himself. He is mistrustful of the rest. All of it.”
He glanced at Mareth. “He thinks the magic dangerous and uncontrollable. He would have taken some delight, I expect, in learning that you found it that way as well. In sending you to Paranor, he was hoping to make a point. The trouble is, you hid your secret too well, and the Druids never discovered what you were capable of doing.”
Mareth nodded, but said nothing. Her dark eyes looked off into space thoughtfully.
Kinson stretched. He felt impatient and irritated with both of them. People complicated their own lives unnecessarily. This was just another example.
He caught Bremen’s eye. “Now that we have all our secrets and past history on the table, tell me this. Why are we going to Hearthstone? What is it that we want with Cogline?”
Bremen studied him a moment before replying. “As I said, Cogline has continued his study of the old sciences. He knows secrets lost to everyone else. One of those secrets might be of use to us.”
He stopped, smiled. He had said all he was going to say, Kinson could tell. There was probably a reason for this beyond irritating the living daylights out of the Borderman, but Kinson did not care either to speculate or to ask what it was. He nodded as if satisfied and rose.
“I will take the first watch,” he announced, and stalked off into the dark.
He sat brooding over the matter until after midnight when Bremen came to relieve him. The old man materialized out of nowhere — Kinson never heard him coming — and sat down next to the Borderman. They kept each other company for a long time without speaking, looking out into the night. They were seated on a low bluff that overlooked the Rabb as it snaked its way through the trees, its surface flat and silver with moonlight. The woods were quiet and sleepy, and the air smelled of juniper and spruce.
Darklin Reach began just west of where they camped. Starting tomorrow, the terrain would turn rugged and travel would grow much more difficult.
“What Cogline can give us,” the old man said suddenly, his voice soft and compelling, “is the benefit of his knowledge of metallurgy. Do you remember the visions? They are centered around the creation of a weapon of magic that will destroy the Warlock Lord. The weapon is a sword. The sword will be borne in battle by a man we have not yet met. The sword requires many things to endow it with sufficient strength to withstand the power of Brona. One of those things is a forging process that will make it the equal of any weapon ever shaped. Cogline will give us that process.”
He looked at Kinson and smiled. “I thought it best to keep that piece of information between ourselves.”
Kinson nodded and did not reply. He looked down at his feet, nodded again, and then rose. “Good night, Bremen.”
He started to walk away.
“Kinson?”
The Borderman turned. Bremen was looking away again, staring out over the river and the woods. “I would not be so sure that all the secrets and past history are on the table yet, either. Mareth is a very cautious and deliberate young woman. She has her own reasons for doing what she does, and she keeps them to herself until she thinks it prudent to reveal them.“ He paused. ”As you already know. Good night.”
Kinson held his ground a moment more, then walked away.
They pushed on for another three days through country so rough and tangled that the only trails they encountered were those made by animals. They saw no other humans, and they found no human tracks. The country had turned hilly, serrated by ravines and ridgelines, eroded by flash floods from springtime cresting of the Rabb, choked by scrub and grasses grown waist-high. The river broke out of its channel in a dozen places, forming loops and sloughs, and they could no longer rely on its banks to provide either a footpath or a reference point. Kinson took them away from the jumble of waterways into the deep