The Sword of Shannara - Terry Brooks [58]
“I know how difficult this must be for you,” he began patiently. “I have every available Dwarf warrior out looking for your lost friend. If anyone can find him in this region, they will — and they won’t give up, I promise you.”
The brothers nodded their understanding of Balinor’s efforts to help them in any way possible.
“This is a very dangerous time for these people, though I suppose Allanon did not speak of it. They are facing the threat of an invasion through the upper Anar by Gnomes. There have already been skirmishes all along the border and signs of a huge army massing somewhere above the Streleheim Plains. You may have guessed that all of this is tied in with the Warlock Lord.”
“Does this mean that the Southland is in danger, too?” asked an anxious Flick.
“Undoubtedly:” Balinor nodded. “That’s one reason why I’m here — to arrange a coordinated defensive strategy with the Dwarf nation in case of an all-out assault.”
“But where is Allanon then?” asked Shea quickly. “Is he going to get here soon enough to help us? What has the Sword of Shannara got to do with all this?” Balinor looked at the puzzled faces and shook his head slowly.
“I must honestly confess that I cannot give you the answers to any of those questions. Allanon is a very mysterious figure, but a wise man who has been a dependable ally whenever we have needed him in the past. When I saw him last, several weeks before I spoke to you in Shady Vale, we set a date to meet in the Anar. He is already three days overdue.”
He paused in quiet speculation, looking down at the gardens and beyond to the great trees of the Anar Forests, listening to the sounds of the woods and the low voices of the Dwarfs moving about in the clearing below. Then abruptly a shout went up from a cluster of Dwarfs at the foot of the gardens, joined almost immediately by the shouts and cries of others mingled in with a huge clamor swelling from the woods beyond the village of Culhaven. The men on the stone bench rose uncertainly, looking quickly about for some sign of danger. Balinor’s strong hand came to rest on the pommel of his broadsword, strapped tightly at his side beneath the hunting cloak. A moment later one of the Dwarfs below came rushing up the path, shouting wildly as he ran.
“They found him, they found him!” he yelled excitedly, almost stumbling in his haste to reach them.
Shea and Flick exchanged startled looks. The runner came to a breathless stop before them, and Balinor gripped his shoulder excitedly.
“Have they found Menion Leah?” he demanded quickly.
The Dwarf nodded happily, his short, stocky frame heaving with the exertion of the dash to reach them with the good news. Without a word, Balinor bounded down the path toward the shouting, Shea and Flick behind him. They reached the clearing below in a matter of seconds and ran along the main path through the woods leading to the village of Culhaven several hundred yards beyond. Ahead of them they could hear the excited shouting of the Dwarf population congratulating whomever it was who had found the lost highlander. They reached the village and, pushing through the throngs of Dwarfs blocking the way, made straight for the center of all the excitement. A ring of guards parted to let them into a small courtyard formed by buildings on the right and left and a high stone wall in the rear. On a long wooden table lay the motionless body of Menion Leah, his face pale and seemingly lifeless. A team of Dwarf doctors bent dutifully over the inert form, apparently treating him for some injury. Shea gave a sharp cry and tried to rush forward, but Balinor’s strong arm held him back as the warrior called out to one of the nearby Dwarfs.
“Pahn, what’s happened here?”
The solid-looking Dwarf, dressed in armor and apparently one of the returning search party, hastened to their side.
“He’ll be all right after he’s treated. He was found entangled in one of the Sirens out in the middle of the