The Sword of Shannara - Terry Brooks [100]
“What have you discovered?” he demanded. “Is it as bad as we feared?”
“They caught somebody in the mountains,” came the timid answer. “It was impossible to tell who it was or even what it was by the time they were finished. They tore him to pieces!”
Hendel!
Stunned, even in his exhausted condition, the highlander pushed himself upright and stumbled back to his waiting bed, unable to believe he had heard them correctly. Deep within him, a great empty space opened. Helpless tears of anger welled up, unable to reach his still-dry eyes, and hung poised there until the Prince of Leah finally dropped off into comforting sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
When Shea finally opened his eyes, it was midafternoon of the following day. He found himself resting comfortably in a long bed, tucked in with clean sheets and blankets, his hunting clothes replaced by a loose white gown tied about his neck. On the bed next to him lay the still-sleeping Flick, his broad face no longer drawn and pale, but alive once more with the color of life and peaceful in slumber. They were in a small, plaster-walled room with a ceiling supported by long wooden beams. Through the windows, the young Valeman could see the trees of the Anar and the shining blueness of the afternoon sky. He had no idea how long he had been unconscious or what had happened during that time to bring him to this unknown place. But he felt certain that the creature of the Wolfsktaag had nearly killed him, and that Flick and he owed their lives to the men of the company. His attention was quickly drawn to the opening door at one end of the small room and the appearance of an anxious Menion Leah.
“Well, old friend, I see that you’ve come back to the world of the living.” The highlander smiled slowly as he came over to the bedside. “You gave us quite a scare there for a while, you know.”
“We made it, didn’t we?” Shea grinned happily at the familiar joking voice.
Menion nodded briefly and turned to the supine figure of Flick, who had stirred slightly beneath the covers and was beginning to awake. The stocky Valeman opened his eyes slowly and looked up hesitantly, seeing the grinning face of the highlander.
“I knew it was too good to be true,” he groaned painfully. “Even dead, I can’t escape him. It’s a curse!”
“Old Flick has fully recovered as well.” Menion laughed shortly. “I hope he appreciates the work it took to carry that cumbersome body of his all this way.”
“The day you do any honest work, I’ll be amazed,” mumbled Flick, trying to clear his sleep-fogged eyes. He looked over at a smiling Shea and grinned back with a short wave of greeting.
“Where are we anyway?” asked Shea curiously, forcing himself to sit up in bed. He was still feeling weak. “How long have I been unconscious?”
Menion sat down on the edge of the bed and repeated the entire tale of their journey after escaping the creature in the valley. He told them of the march to the Pass of Jade and the encounter with the Gnomes there, the plan to get them by, and the results. He faltered a bit retelling of Hendel’s sacrifice to the company. Shocked looks registered on the Valemen’s faces on hearing of the gallant Dwarf’s grisly death at the hands of the enraged Gnomes. Menion quickly continued with the remainder of the story, explaining how they had wandered through the Anar until discovered by Allanon and the strange people called Stors, who had treated their wounds and brought them to this place.
“This land is called Storlock,” he concluded finally. “The people here are Gnomes who have dedicated their lives to healing the sick and injured. It’s really amazing what they can do. They have a salve which, when applied to an open wound, closes it up and heals it over in twelve hours. I saw it work myself on an injury Dayel received.”
Shea shook his head in disbelief and was about to ask for further details when the door again opened to admit Allanon. For the first time he could remember, Shea thought the dark wanderer actually seemed happy, and detected a sincere smile