The Sword of Shannara Trilogy (111 page)

“You appear an exception in many ways,” the tall man declared. He seated himself on a nearby bench and watched the Valeman towel dry and begin rinsing his clothes. “We have work for you that will enable you to pay for your food and rest, Healer. There are some among us who have need of your skills.”

“I will be happy to do what I can,” Wil replied.

“Good.” The other man nodded in satisfaction. “I’ll find you some dry clothing to use.”

He rose and walked away. Instantly Wil slipped the Elfstones from his tunic pocket into his boot, then quickly resumed washing out his clothing. Cephelo was back almost at once, carrying Rover silks for Wil to wear. The Valeman accepted the clothes and dressed himself. Despite the uncomfortable knot at the toe of his right boot, he pulled it on firmly, then the left boot. Cephelo summoned the old woman who had brought the water earlier to take Wil’s damp clothing. The Valeman handed the clothes over without comment, knowing they would be thoroughly searched and nothing found for the effort.

Then they returned to the fire at the center of the encampment, where Amberle joined them, washed clean and dressed in clothing similar to Wil’s. Each was given a plate of steaming food and a cup of wine. They sat next to the fire and ate silently while the Rovers settled about them, watching curiously. Cephelo took up a position across from them, sitting cross-legged on a wide, gold-tasseled cushion, his dark face expressionless. There was no sign of Eretria.

When the meal was finished, the Rover Leader assembled the members of his Family who needed Wil’s attention. Without comment, the Valeman examined them one by one, treating a series of infections, internal disorders, skin irritations, and minor fevers. Although she was not asked to do so, Amberle worked next to him, providing bandages and hot water, aiding in the application of simple herb medicines and salves. It took the better part of an hour for Wil to complete his work. When he was finished, Cephelo stepped up to him.

“You have done your work well, Healer.” He smiled a bit too pleasantly. “Now we must see what we can do for you in return. Walk with me a bit—this way.”

He put one long arm about the Valeman’s shoulders and steered him away from the fire, leaving Amberle by herself to clean up after their work. They walked toward the far side of the Rover camp.

“You say that you lost your horse last night near where we camped on the Mermidon.” Cephelo’s voice was thoughtful. “What did this animal look like?”

Wil’s face remained expressionless. He knew the game that was being played.

“A stallion, all black.”

“Well, now.” Cephelo appeared even more thoughtful. “We found a horse such as you have described, a very fine animal, just this morning, quite early. It wandered into our camp from out of the grasslands as we were getting our teams hitched for the day’s travel. Perhaps this was your
horse, Healer.”

“Perhaps,” Wil agreed.

“Of course, we didn’t know whose animal he was.” Cephelo smiled. “So we brought him along with our own. Why don’t we take a look at him?”

They passed through the ring of wagons into the plains beyond. Fifty feet from the camp, the Rover horses were tethered in a line. Two dark forms materialized from out of the night, Rovers armed with pikes and bows. A word from Cephelo sent them back into hiding. The tall man led Wil down the tether line to its furthest end. There stood Artaq.

Wil nodded. “That’s the horse.”

“Does he bear your mark, Healer?” the other man asked, almost as if the question embarrassed him. Wil shook his head. “Ah, that is most unfortunate, for now we can’t be certain that he really is your horse, can we? After all, there are a fair number of black stallions in the Four Lands, and how are we to tell them apart if their owners do not mark them? This presents quite a problem, Healer. I wish to give this horse to you, but there is a great risk to me in doing so. I mean, suppose I give him to you, as I wish to do, but then another man comes to me and tells me that he has lost a black stallion as well, and we then discover that I have mistakenly given his horse to you. Why then, I would be responsible for that man’s loss.”

“Yes, that’s true, I guess.” Wil nodded with just the right touch of doubt, carefully avoiding any argument with the big man’s ridiculous supposition. It was, after all, just a part of the game.

“I believe you, of course.” Cephelo’s bearded face turned solemn. “Certainly a Healer is to be trusted, if anyone is to be trusted in this world.” He grinned at his own humor. “However, there is still some risk to me if I choose to hand this animal over to you—I must accept that fact, being a practical man in an often hard business. And then there is the matter of feed and care given to this animal. We groomed him and tended him as we do our own; we fed him with meal we carry for our own. You will understand if I tell you that I feel we are owed something for all this.”

“Indeed.” Wil nodded.

“Well, then.” Cephelo rubbed his hands in satisfaction. “We are in agreement. All that requires settling is the price. You spoke earlier of trading something of value for a horse. Perhaps now we can make a fair exchange—whatever you carry with you in satisfaction of your debt to us. And in the bargain, I would say nothing of finding this horse to any other who might claim the loss of a black stallion.”

He winked knowingly. Wil walked up to Artaq and stroked his sleek forehead, letting the horse nuzzle up against his chest.

“I’m afraid I don’t have anything of value, after all,” he said finally. “I brought nothing with me in my journey that could possibly repay you for
what you’ve done.”

Cephelo’s jaw dropped. “Nothing?”

“Nothing at all.”

“But you said you brought something of value …”

“Oh, yes.” Wil nodded quickly. “I meant that I could offer you my services as a Healer—I thought that might have some value.”

“But you’ve given those services in payment of food and shelter and clothes for yourself and your sister.”

“Yes, true.” The Valeman looked less than happy with the thought. He took a deep breath. “Perhaps I could suggest something?” A look of renewed interest appeared in the other’s face. “Well, it seems that we are both traveling to the Westland. If you would allow us to accompany you, we might find some opportunity to repay you yet—possibly you might have need of my skill another time.”

“That seems unlikely.” Cephelo pondered the thought. He shook his head. “You’ve nothing of value to give for the horse—nothing at all?”

“No, nothing.”

“That seems a poor way to travel,” the Rover muttered, rubbing his bearded chin. The Valeman said nothing, waiting. “Well, I suppose it will do no harm to have you travel with us as far as the forestland. That’s only a few days travel, though, and if you’ve done nothing for us by then, we may have to keep the horse for our trouble. You understand that.”

Wil nodded wordlessly.

“One thing more.” Cephelo stepped close, his face no longer pleasant. “I trust that you would not be so foolish as to try to steal that horse from us, Healer. You know us well enough to realize what would happen to you if you were to try such a thing.”

The Valeman took a deep breath and nodded once more. He knew.

“Good.” The big man stepped back. “See to it that it doesn’t slip your mind.” He was clearly unhappy at the way in which matters had worked out, but he shrugged his indifference. “Enough of business. Come to my home and drink with me.”

He led the way back through the caravan circle, clapping his hands sharply as he entered, calling to those within to gather and to join with wine and music in celebrating the good fortune of the day and in welcoming the young Healer who had shown them such kindness. Wil was seated next to the Leader on a cushioned bench set before the big man’s wagon home as the men and women and children of the Rover camp crowded about eagerly. Wine was drawn from a great vat and cups were passed about to everyone. Cephelo came to his feet and offered a flowery toast to the good health of his Family. Cups were raised high in answer and quickly drained. Wil drank his with the rest. He looked about hurriedly for Amberle and found
her seated near the perimeter of the circle of faces surrounding him. She did not look at all pleased. He wished he could take time to explain all that had happened, but that would have to wait until they had a moment alone. For now, she would simply have to bear with him.

Cups were refilled now, another toast was proposed, and they all drank again. Cephelo called loudly for the music. Stringed instruments and cymbals were brought forth, and their owners began to play. The music was at once wild, haunting, and free as it rose into the night. The laughter of the Rovers rose with it, careless and gay. More wine was poured and quickly consumed, followed by shouts of encouragement for the musicians. Wil felt himself growing light-headed. The wine was strong, too strong for one not used to drinking it as the Rovers did. He must be careful, he thought to himself, raising his cup once more as a new toast was proposed, yet sipping this time rather than draining the amber liquid. In the toe of his right boot, he felt the reassuring bulk of the Elfstones pressed against his foot.

The musicians played faster, and now the Rovers were on their feet and dancing, half a dozen or eight, forming a circle with arms interlocked as they wheeled about the fire. More rose quickly to join the procession, and those still seated began to clap wildly. Wil joined them, setting his cup on the bench beside him. When he reached down for it a moment later, it was full again. Caught up in the spirit of the music, he drank it down without thinking. The dancers broke apart, pairing off now, spinning and leaping before the flames. Someone was singing, a wistful cry that blended eerily with the music and the dance.

Then suddenly Eretria was there before him, dark and beautiful, her slender form clad all in scarlet silk. Her smile was dazzling as she reached down for his hands and brought him to his feet. She pulled him into the midst of the dancers, broke from him for an instant, and twirled away in a flash of ribbons and trailing black hair. Then she was before him once more, slim arms holding him as they danced. The fragrance of her hair and body mingled with the warmth of the wine coursing through his blood. He felt her press close against him, feather light and soft, speaking words that he could not seem to hear clearly. The movement of the dance dizzied him; everything about him began to blend in a maze of colors that whirled against the backdrop of the night. The music and the clapping roared louder, and the shouts and whistles of the Rovers. He felt himself begin to leave the ground, still holding Eretria close.

And then she was gone as well, and he began to fall.

H
e came awake with the worst headache of his life. It was the sensation of being shaken like a slender branch in a high wind that brought him around, and it took him several long minutes to realize that he was stretched out in the back of one of the Rover wagons. He lay on a straw-filled pallet in a wooden frame bed against the rear wall of the mobile house, staring upward at a strange assortment of tapestries, silks and laces, and metal and wooden implements, all swaying with the motion of the wagon as it bounced and rolled across the grasslands. A shaft of bright sunlight slipped through a partly cracked window, and he knew he had slept the night.

Amberle appeared next to him, a look of reproof in her sea-green eyes.

“I don’t need to ask how you’re feeling this morning, do I?” she declared, her words barely audible above the rumble of the wheels. “I hope it was worth it, Valeman.”

“It wasn’t.” He sat up slowly, feeling his head throb violently with the movement. “Where are we?”

“In Cephelo’s wagon. Since last night, if you can remember that far back. I told them that you were still recovering from a fever and that you might be sick from more than the wine. So they put me in here with you to look after you until I was sure you were feeling better. Drink this.”

She handed him a cup with some dark liquid in it. Wil eyed the unpleasant-looking concoction suspiciously.

“Drink it,” she repeated firmly. “It’s an herbal remedy for excessive use of wine. There are some things you don’t need to be a Healer to know.”

He drank it down without arguing. It was then that he noticed that his boots were gone.

“My boots! What happened to …?”

“Be quiet!” she warned, motioning quickly toward the front of the wagon where a small wooden door stood closed. Wordlessly, she reached beneath the bed and produced the items in question, then pulled from the sash about her waist the small leather pouch containing the Elfstones.

The Valeman sat back with a look of relief.

“The party proved to be a bit too much for you,” she continued, a trace of sarcasm in her voice. “After you passed out, Cephelo had you carried to his wagon to sleep. He was about to have that old woman strip you when I convinced him that if the fever had come back, it would be contagious and that, any case, you would be offended if your clothes were taken without
your permission. Apparently he didn’t consider the matter all that important because he ordered the old woman out. After he was gone, as well, I searched you and found the Elfstones.”