The Sword of Shannara - Terry Brooks [36]
“Can’t we find a way around...?” Shea asked hopefully.
Menion poured himself another glass of wine and passed the decanter to Flick who accepted it without blinking.
“It would take weeks. North of Leah is the Rainbow Lake. If we go that way, we have to circle the entire lake to the north through the Runne Mountains. The Black Oaks stretch south from the lake for a hundred miles. If we try to go south and come north again on the other side, it will take us at least two weeks — and that’s open country all the way. No cover at all. We have to go east through the lowlands, then cut through the oaks.
Flick frowned; recalling how on their last visit to Leah, Menion had succeeded in losing them for several days in the dreaded forest, where they were menaced by wolves and ravaged by hunger. They had barely escaped with their lives.
“Old Flick remembers the Black Oaks,” laughed Menion as he caught the other’s dark expression. “Well, Flick, this time we shall be better prepared. It’s treacherous country, but no one knows it better than I do. And we aren’t likely to be followed there. Still, we’ll tell no one where we’re going. Simply say that we are off for an extended hunting trip. My father has his own problems anyway — he won’t even miss me. He’s used to having me gone, even for weeks at a time.”
I He paused for a moment and looked to Shea to see if he had forgotten anything. The Valeman grinned at the highlander’s undisguised enthusiasm.
“Menion, I knew we could count on you. It will be good to have you along.”
Flick looked openly disgusted; and Menion, catching the look, could not allow the opportunity for a little fun at the other’s expense to pass.
“I think we ought to talk for a minute about what’s in this for me,” he declared suddenly. “I mean, what do I get out of all this if I do guide you safely to Culhaven?”
“What do you get?” exclaimed Flick without thinking. “Why should you...”
“It’s all right,” the other interrupted quickly. “I had forgotten you, old Flick; but you don’t need to worry; I don’t intend to take anything from your share.”
“What are you talking about, sly one?” raged Flick. “I did not mean ever to take anything...”
“That’s enough!” Shea leaned forward, his face flushed. “This cannot continue if we are to travel together. Menion, you must cease your attempts to bait my brother into anger; and you, Flick, must put aside, once and for all, your pointless suspicions of Menion. We must have some faith in one another — and we must be friends!”
Menion looked down sheepishly, and Flick was biting his lip in disgust. Shea sat back quietly as the anger drained out of him.
“Well spoken,” acknowledged Menion after a moment. “Flick, here is my hand on it. Let us make a temporary truce, at least — for Shea.”
Flick looked at the extended hand and then slowly accepted it.
“Words come easily for you, Menion. I hope you mean them this time.”
The highlander accepted the rebuke with a smile:
“A truce, Flick.”
He released the Valeman’s hand and drained his wineglass. He knew he had convinced Flick of nothing.
It was growing late now, and all three were eager to complete their plans and retire for the night. They quickly decided that they would leave early the following morning. Menion arranged to have them outfitted with light camping gear, including backpacks, hunting cloaks, provisions, and weapons. He produced a map of the country east of Leah, but it was poorly detailed because the lands were so little known. The Lowlands of Clete, which spread from the highlands eastward to the Black Oaks, was a dismal, treacherous moor — yet on the map, it was no more than a blank white area with