The Elfstones of Shannara

by Terry Brooks

  “Help them?” she cut him short.

  The old man nodded. “If you want me to stay, I will. There’s nothing else for me. But let them go. Give them the help they need.”

  She laughed softly. “Perhaps there is something that you can do to help them, old man.”

  “But I have done all that I can . . .”

  “Perhaps not. If I told you there was something more that you might do, you would be willing to do it, wouldn’t you?”

  Her eyes fixed the old man. Wil saw that the Witch was toying with him.

  Hebel looked uncertain. “I don’t know.”

  “Of course you know,” she said softly. “Look at me.” His head lifted. “They are your friends. You want to help them, don’t you?”

  The Valeman was frantic. Something was terribly wrong, but he could neither move nor speak to warn Hebel. He caught a glimpse of Eretria’s frightened face. She, too, sensed the danger.

  Hebel sensed it as well. But he sensed, too, that he could not escape it. His eyes met those of the Witch. “I want to help them.”

  Mallenroh nodded. “Then so you shall, old man.” She reached to touch his face. Hebel saw in the Witch’s eyes what was to become of him. Drifter rose, teeth suddenly bared, but Hebel’s hand caught the back of the big dog’s neck and held him fast. The time for resistance was over. The Witch’s fingers stroked the old man’s bearded cheek gently, and his whole body seemed to go suddenly rigid. No! Wil tried to scream, but it was already too late. Mallenroh’s cloak enfolded both Hebel and Drifter, and they were lost from sight. The cloak remained wrapped about them for a moment, then slipped free. Mallenroh stood alone. In one hand she held a perfectly sculpted wooden carving of the old man and the dog.

  “In this way shall you help them best.” She smiled coldly.

  She handed the wooden figures to Wisp, who gathered them in. Then she turned to Eretria.

  “Now what shall I do with you, pretty one?” she whispered.

  Her hand lifted, and a single finger pointed. Eretria was forced to her knees, head bowed. The fingers curled back, and Eretria’s hands stretched out to the Witch in a gesture of submission. Tears streaked her face. Mallenroh watched without comment for a moment, then looked abruptly at Wil.

  “Would you see her become a wooden statue as well?” Her voice had an edge to it that cut through the Valeman like a knife. Still he could not speak. “Or the Elven girl, perhaps? You know, of course, that I have her.”

  She did not wait for the response she knew he could not give. She stepped forward, her tall figure bending down until her face was close before his own.

  “I wish the Elfstones, and you shall give them to me. You shall give them, Elfling, for I know that if they are taken from you by force, they are useless.” Her violet eyes burned into him. “I would have their magic, do you understand? I know their worth far better than you. I am older than this world and its races, older than the Druids who played at Paranor with magics long since mastered by my sister and me. It is so with the Elfstones. Though I am not of Elven blood, yet my blood is the blood of all the races, and so I may command their power. Still, even I cannot break the law that calls their power into being. The Elfstones must be given freely. And so they shall.”

  Her hand came close before his face, nearly touching it. “I have a sister, Elfling—Morag, she has named herself. For centuries we have lived within these Hollows, called the Witch Sisters, the last of our Coven. Once, long ago, she wronged me greatly, and I have never forgiven. I would have been rid of her except that our powers match so evenly that neither one nor the other of us may prevail. Ah, but the Elfstones are a magic that my sister does not possess, a magic that will enable me to put an end to her. Morag—odious Morag! Sweet, to see her made to serve me as these men of sticks! Sweet, to still that hateful voice! Oh, I have waited long to be rid of her, Elfling! Long!”

  Her voice rose as she spoke until the words rang against the stones of the tower, echoing through the deep stillness. The beautiful, cold face moved back from the Valeman, the slender arms folding within the black robes. Wil Ohmsford could feel the sweat running down his body.

  “The Elfstones shall be your gift to me,” she whispered. “My gift to you shall be your life and the lives of the women. Accept my gift. Remember the old man. Think of him before you choose.”

  She stopped as the door to the tower slipped open to admit a handful of the stick men. They came to her in a scuttling of wooden legs, clustering about her. She bent low about them for a moment, then straightened, glancing coldly at Wil.

  “You have brought a Demon into the Hollows,” she cried. “A Demon—after all these years! It must be found and destroyed. Wisp—his gift!”

  The furry creature hastened forward and took from the helpless Valeman the pouch and the Elfstones. The wizened face glanced up at him, then withdrew behind the folds of Mallenroh’s cloak. The Witch lifted her hand, and Wil felt himself grow suddenly weak.

  “Remember what you have seen, Elfling.” Her voice seemed distant now. “I hold the power of life and death. Choose wisely.”

  She moved past him and disappeared through the open door. His strength began to fail, his vision to blur. At his side, Eretria collapsed on the tower floor.

  Then he was also falling. The last thing he remembered was the feel of wooden fingers closing tight about his body.

  XLIV

  Wil.”

  The sound of his name hung like an echo strayed in the black haze which enveloped him. The voice seemed to come from a great distance, floating downward through the dark to probe him in his sleep. He stirred sluggishly, feeling as if he were weighted and bound. With a great effort, he reached up from within himself, searching.

  “Wil, are you all right?”

  The voice belonged to Amberle. He blinked, forcing himself awake.

  “Wil?”

  She was cradling his head in her lap, her face bent close to his own, her long chestnut hair trailing down about him like a veil.

  “Amberle?” he asked sleepily, pushing himself upright. Then he reached for her wordlessly and held her close against him.

  “I thought I had lost you,” he managed.

  “And I you.” She laughed softly, her arms tight about his neck. “You have been sleeping for hours, ever since they brought you here.”

  The Valeman nodded into her shoulder, aware suddenly of the pungent smell of incense in the air. He realized it was the incense that was making him feel so groggy. Gently he released the Elven girl and looked about. They were enclosed by a windowless cell, black but for a single light that shone from within a glass container suspended from a ceiling chain, another of the lights that burned neither oil nor pitch and gave off no smoke. One wall of the cell was composed entirely of iron bars fastened vertically into the stone of the floor and ceiling. A single door opened through the bars, fastened in place by hinges on one side and a massive key lock on the other. Within the cell had been placed a pitcher of water, an iron basin, towels, blankets, and three straw-filled sleeping mats. On one of the mats lay Eretria, her breathing deep and even. Beyond the wall of iron bars was a passageway that ran to a set of stairs, then disappeared into blackness.

  Amberle followed his gaze to the Rover girl. “I think she is all right—just sleeping. Until now, I have not been able to wake either of you.”

  “Mallenroh,” he whispered, remembering. “Has she harmed you?”

  Amberle shook her head. “She has barely spoken to me. In fact, I did not even know who it was that had taken me prisoner at first. The stick men brought me here, and I slept for a time. Then she came to me. She told me that there were others searching for me, that they would be brought to her as I had been brought. Then she left.” Sea-green eyes sought his own. “She frightens me, Wil—she is beautiful, but so cold.”

  “She is a monster. How did she find you in the first place?”

  Amberle paled. “Something chased me down into the Hollows. I never saw it, but I co
uld feel it—something evil, searching for me.” She paused. “I ran for as long as I was able, then I crawled. Finally I just collapsed. The stick men must have found me and brought me to her. Wil, was it Mallenroh I sensed?”

  The Valeman shook his head. “No. It was the Reaper.”

  She stared at him wordlessly for a moment, then looked away. “And now it is here in the Hollows, isn’t it?”

  He nodded. “The Witch knows about it, though. She has gone to look for it.” He smiled grimly. “Maybe they will destroy each other.”

  She did not smile back. “How did you manage to find me?”

  He told her then everything that had happened since he had left her concealed in the bushes on the rim of the Hollows—the encounter with Eretria, the deaths of Cephelo and the Rovers, the recovery of the Elfstones, the flight back through the Wilderun, the meeting with Hebel and Drifter, the journey down into the Hollows, the discovery of the stick man, and the confrontation with Mallenroh. He finished by telling her what the Witch had done to Hebel.

  “That poor old man,” she whispered, and there were tears in her eyes. “He meant no harm to her. Why did she do that to him?”

  “She doesn’t care a whit about any of us,” the Valeman replied. “All that interests her are the Elfstones. She means to have them, Amberle. Hebel was just a convenient example for the rest of us—particularly me.”

  “But you won’t give them to her, will you?”

  He looked at her uncertainly. “If it means saving our lives, I will. We have to get out of here.”

  The Elven girl shook her head slowly. “I don’t think that she will let us go, Wil—not even if you give her what she wants. Not after what you have told me about Hebel.”

  He was silent a moment. “I know. But maybe we can bargain with her. She would agree to anything to get the Stones . . .” He stopped abruptly, listening. “Shhh. Someone is coming.”

  They peered wordlessly through the bars of their cell into the darkness of the corridor beyond. There was a slight shuffling sound upon the stairs. Then a figure appeared within the fringe of their single light. It was Wisp.

  “Something to eat,” he announced brightly, holding forth a tray with pieces of bread and fruit on it. Shuffling to the cell, he slipped the tray through a narrow slot in the bars at the base of the door.

  “Good food,” he told them, turning to leave.

  “Wisp!” Wil called after him. The furry creature turned, staring at the Valeman quizzically. “Can you stay and talk with us?” Wil asked.

  The wizened face broke into a grin. “Wisp will talk with you.”

  Wil glanced at Amberle. “The ankle—can you walk?”

  She nodded. “It’s much better,” she answered him.

  He took her hand and led her to the tray of food. Wordlessly, they seated themselves. Wisp hunched down on the lowest step of the darkened stairway, his head cocking. Wil helped himself to a piece of the bread, chewed, and nodded in appreciation.

  “Very good, Wisp.”

  The little fellow gunned. “Very good.”

  Wil smiled. “How long have you been here, Wisp?”

  “A long time. Wisp serves the Lady.”

  “Did the Lady make you—as she made those stick men?”

  The furry creature laughed. “Stick men—clack, clack. Wisp serves the Lady—but not made of wood.” His eyes brightened. “Elf, like you.”

  Wil was surprised. “But you are so small. And what about the hair?” He pointed to his own arms and legs, then to Wisp. “Did she do that?”

  The Elf nodded happily. “Cute, she says. Makes Wisp cute. Roll and jump and play with stick men. Cute.” He stopped and glanced past them to where Eretria slept. “Pretty thing.” He pointed. “Prettiest of all.”

  “What do you know about Morag?” the Valeman pressed, ignoring Wisp’s obvious interest in the Rover girl.

  Wisp’s face screwed itself up into a grimace. “Evil Morag. Very bad. A long time she lives within the Hollows, she and the Lady. Sisters. Morag in the east, the Lady in the west. Stick men for both, but just Wisp for the Lady.”

  “Do they ever go out of the Hollows—Morag and the Lady?”

  Wisp shook his head solemnly. “Never.”

  “Why not?”

  “No magic beyond the Hollows.” Wisp grinned cunningly.

  That told Wil something he had not suspected. The power of the Witch Sisters had its limits; it did not extend beyond the Hollows. That explained why no one had ever encountered them anywhere else within the Westland. He began to see a glimmer of hope. If he could find a way to get clear of the Hollows . . .

  “Why does the Lady hate Morag so?” Amberle was asking.

  Wisp thought a minute. “Long ago, there was a man. Beautiful, the Lady says. The Lady wanted him. Morag wanted him. Each tried to take the man. The man . . .” He clenched his hands, fingers joining, then wrenched them apart. “No more. Gone.” He shook his head. “Morag killed the man. Evil Morag.”

  Evil Mallenroh, Wil thought. In any case, it was clear enough how the Witch Sisters felt about each other. He decided to find out what else Wisp knew about the Hollows.

  “Do you ever go out of the tower, Wisp?” he asked.

  The wizened face broke into a proud grin. “Wisp serves the Lady.”

  Wil took that answer as a yes. “Have you ever gone to Spire’s Reach?” he asked.

  “Safehold,” Wisp replied at once.

  There was a hushed silence. Amberle gripped Wil’s arm and glanced at him quickly. The Valeman was so stunned by the abruptness of the response that he was left momentarily speechless. Collecting himself, he hunched forward, crooking his finger conspiratorially. Wisp inched a bit closer, head cocked.

  “Tunnels and tunnels that wind and twist,” Wil said. “Easy to get lost in those tunnels, Wisp.”

  The furry Elf shook his head. “Not Wisp.”

  “No?” he challenged. “What of the door made of glass that will not break?”

  Wisp thought a moment, then clapped his hands excitedly. “No, no, just pretend glass. Wisp knows pretend glass. Wisp serves the Lady.”

  Wil was trying to decipher that answer when Wisp pointed past them. “Look. Pretty thing, hello, hello.”

  The Valeman and the Elven girl turned around. Eretria was sitting up on the straw mat, awake at last, her black tresses falling down about her face as she rubbed the back of her neck. Slowly she looked up at them, started to speak, then caught Wil’s warning finger as it passed before his lips. She glanced past him to where Wisp crouched half a dozen feet from the bars of their cell, grinning broadly.

  “Pretty thing, hello,” Wisp repeated, one hand lifting tentatively.

  “Hello,” she replied uncertainly. Then, seeing Wil’s quick nod of encouragement, she flashed her most dazzling smile. “Hello, Wisp.”

  “Talk with you, pretty thing.” Wisp had forgotten all about Wil and Amberle.

  Eretria rose unsteadily, her eyes blinking with sleep, and came over to sit with her companions. She scanned quickly the stairs and the passageway beyond.

  “What game are we playing now, Healer?” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth. There was fear in her dark eyes, but she kept her voice even.

  The Valeman did not look away from Wisp. “Just trying to learn something that will get us out of here.”

  She nodded approvingly, then wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell?”

  “Incense. I can’t be sure, but I think that it acts like a drug when you breathe it in. I think that is what is making us feel so weak.”

  Eretria turned back to Wisp. “What does the incense do, Wisp?”

  The furry Elf reflected, then shrugged. “Nice smell. No worries.”

  “Indeed,” the Rover girl muttered, glancing at Wil. She gave Wisp another broad smile. “Can you open the door, Wisp?” she asked, pointing at the bars.

  Wisp smiled back. “Wisp serves the Lady, pretty one. You stay.”

  Eretria did not c
hange her expression. “Is the Lady here now, in the tower?”

  “She looks for the Demon,” Wisp answered. “Very bad. Breaks all her stick men apart.” His wizened face grimaced. “She will hurt the Demon.” He rubbed two fingers together. “Make him go away.” Then he brightened. “Wisp could show you wooden statues. Little man and dog. In the box, pretty things like you.”

  He pointed to Eretria, who went pale and shook her head quickly. “I don’t think so, Wisp. Just talk with me.”

  Wisp nodded agreeably. “Just talk.”

  Listening to their conversation, Wil had a sudden thought. He sat forward, gripping the bars of their cell.

  “Wisp, what did the Lady do with the Elfstones?”

  Wisp glanced at him. “In the box, safe in the box.”

  “What box, Wisp? Where does the Lady keep this box?”

  Wisp pointed uninterestedly toward the darkened passageway behind him, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on Eretria. “Talk, pretty thing,” he pleaded.

  Wil glanced at Amberle and shrugged. He was not having much success coaxing anything more out of Wisp. The little fellow was only interested in talking with Eretria.

  The Rover girl crossed her legs before her and rocked back. “Would you show me the pretty stones, Wisp? Could I see them?”

  Wisp glanced about furtively. “Wisp serves the Lady. Faithful Wisp.” He paused, considering. “Show you wooden figures, pretty one.”

  Eretria shook her head. “Just talk, Wisp. Why do you have to stay here in the Hollows? Why don’t you leave?”

  “Wisp serves the Lady.” Wisp repeated his favorite response anxiously, and his face grew troubled. “Never leaves the Hollows. Cannot leave.”

  From somewhere high within the tower, a bell rang once and was still. Wisp rose hurriedly.

  “Lady calls,” he told them, starting up the stairs.

  “Wisp!” Wil called after him. The little fellow stopped. “Will the Lady let us leave if I give her the Elfstones?”