Free The Wishsong of Shannara by Terry Brooks Page B

with us?”
    Rone took a deep breath. “Don’t you?”
    Brin was silent a moment before answering. “I’m not sure.”
    “Then you don’t trust him either?”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    The highlander stared at her a moment, then slowly settled himself on the ground across from her, folding his long legs before him. “Well, which way is it, Brin? Do you trust him or don’t you?”
    She sat down as well. “I guess I haven’t really decided.”
    “Then what are you doing here, for cat’s sake?”
    She smiled at his obvious disgust. “I’m here, Rone, because he needs me—I believe that much of what I have been told. The rest I’m not sure about. The part he keeps hidden, I have to discover for myself.”
    “If you can.”
    “I’ll find a way.”
    “It’s too dangerous,” he said flatly.
    She smiled, rose, and came over to where he sat. Gently she kissed his forehead. “That’s why I wanted you here with me, Rone Leah—to be my protector. Isn’t that why you came?” He flushed bright scarlet and muttered something unintelligible, and she laughed in spite of herself. “Why don’t we leave this discussion until later and do something with those hens. I’m starved.”
    She built a small cooking fire while Rone cleaned the hens. Then they cooked and ate the birds together with a small portion of cheese and ale. They ate their meal in silence, seated back atop the small rise, watching the night sky darken and the stars and gibbous moon cast their pale silver light on the waters of the lake.
    By the time they had finished, night had fallen and Allanon still had not returned.
    “Brin, you remember what you said before, about my being here to protect you?” Rone asked her after they had returned to the fire. She nodded. “Well, it’s true—I am here to protect you. I wouldn’t let anything happen to you—not ever. I guess you know that.”
    He hesitated, and she smiled through the dark. “I know.”
    “Well.” He shifted about uneasily, his lands lifting the battered scabbard that housed the Sword of Leah. “There’s another reason I’m here, too. I hope you can understand this. I’m here to prove something to myself.” He hesitated again, groping for the words to explain. “I am a Prince of Leah, but that’s just a title. I was born into it, just like my brothers—and they’re all older. And this sword, Brin.” He held up the scabbard and its weapon. “It isn’t really mine; it’s my great-grandfather’s. It’s Menion Leah’s sword. It always has been, ever since he carried it in search of the Sword of Shannara. I carry it—the ash bow, too—because Menion carried them and I’d like to be what he was. But I’m not.”
    “You don’t know that,” she said quickly.
    “That’s just the point,” he continued. “I’ve never done anything to find out what I could be. And that’s partly why I’m here. I want to know. This is how Menion found out—by going on a quest, as protector to Shea Ohmsford. Maybe I can do it this way, too.”
    Brin smiled. “Maybe you can. In any case, I’m glad you told me.” She paused. “Now I’ll tell you a secret. I came for the same reason. I have something to prove to myself, too. I don’t know if I can do what Allanon expects of me; I don’t know if I am strong enough. I was born with the wishsong, but I have never known what I was meant to do with it. I believe there is a reason for my having the magic. Maybe I will learn that reason from Allanon.”
    She put her hand on his arm. “So you see, we’re not so different after all, are we, Rone?”
    They talked a while longer, growing drowsy as the evening lengthened and the weariness of the day’s travel overcame them. Then at last their talk gave way to silence, and they spread their bedding. Clear and cool, the autumn night wrapped them in its solitude and peace as they stretched out next to the dark embers of the fire and pulled their blankets close.
    They were asleep in