The Sword of Shannara - Terry Brooks [21]
Nothing occurred to change Shea’s mind on the matter until one afternoon more than three weeks after Allanon’s abrupt departure. The brothers had been out all day cutting shingles for the inn roof, and it was almost evening by the time they returned. Their father was sitting in his favorite seat at the long kitchen counter when they entered, his broad face bent over a steaming plate of food. He greeted his sons with a wave of his hand.
“A letter came for you while you were gone, Shea,” he informed them, holding out a long, white folded sheet of paper. “It’s marked Leah.”
Shea let out an exclamation of surprise and reached eagerly for the letter. Flick groaned audibly.
“I knew it, I knew it; it was too good to be true,” he muttered. “The biggest wastrel in the entire Southland has decided it’s time we suffered some more. Tear up the letter, Shea.”
But Shea had already opened the sealed sheet of paper and was scanning its contents, totally disregarding Flick’s comments. The latter shrugged in disgust and collapsed on a stool next to his father, who had returned to his evening meal.
“He wants to know where we’ve been hiding,” laughed Shea. “He wants us to come see him as soon as we can.”
“Oh, sure,” muttered Flick. “He’s probably in trouble and needs someone to blame it on. Why don’t we just jump off the nearest cliff? You remember what happened the last time Menion Leah invited us to visit? We were lost in the Black Oaks for days and nearly devoured by wolves! I’ll never forget that little adventure. The Shades will get me before I accept another invitation from him!”
His brother laughed and clapped an arm around Flick’s broad shoulders.
“You are envious because Menion is the son of kings and able to live any way he chooses.”
“A kingdom the size of a puddle,” was the quick retort. “And royal blood is cheap stuff these days. Look at your own...”
He caught himself and clamped his mouth shut quickly. Both shot hurried glances at their father, but he apparently hadn’t heard and was still absorbed in eating. Flick shrugged apologetically; and Shea smiled at his brother encouragingly.
“There’s a man in the inn looking for you, Shea,” Curzad Ohmsford announced suddenly, looking up at him. “He mentioned that tall stranger that was here several weeks back when he asked for you. Never seen him before in the Vale. He’s out in the main lounge now.”
Flick stood up slowly, fear gripping at him. Shea was momentarily caught off balance by the message, but motioned hurriedly to his brother, who was about to speak. If this new stranger were an enemy, he had to find out quickly. He clutched at his shirt pocket, reassuring himself that the Elfstones were still there.
“What does the man look like?” he asked quickly, unable to think of any other way of finding out about the Skull mark.
“Can’t really say, son,” was the muffled reply as his father continued to chew on his dinner, face bent to the plate. “He’s wrapped in a long green forest cloak. Just rode in this afternoon — beautiful horse. He was very anxious to find you. Better go see what he wants right away.”
“Did you see any markings?” asked the exasperated Flick.
His father stopped chewing and looked up with a puzzled frown...
“What are you talking about? Would you be satisfied if I presented you with a chalk drawing? What’s wrong with you anyway?”
“It’s nothing, really,” interjected Shea quickly. “Flick was just wondering if... if the man looked anything like Allanon... You remember?”
“Oh, yes,” his father smiled knowingly, as Flick suppressed a swallow of relief. “No, I didn’t notice any real similarity, though this man is big, too. I did see a long scar running down the right cheek — probably from a knife cut.”
Shea nodded his thanks and quickly pulled Flick after him as he moved out to the hallway and started for the main lounge. They hurried to the wide double doors and halted