The Dark Legacy of Shannara Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Terry Brooks

  The attackers broke and scattered the way they had come, leaving the ledge smoking and ash-clouded and littered with the dead.

  Railing staggered awkwardly, barely able to stand. He scanned the precipice for signs of movement, then for signs of life, and found neither.

  Seersha reached him a moment later and braced him, waiting for Farshaun to place his crutch back in his hands. “Better hold on to this,” she whispered. “We need you strong enough to stand and fight, Railing Ohmsford.” She exhaled sharply. “Without you, I think we’re lost.”

  Farshaun helped steer him to where he could sit down, one arm around his shoulders. The old man was bleeding heavily from a head wound, and his clothing was ripped and bloodied. “Wicked little monsters, aren’t they?” he muttered.

  “Have we beaten them?” Railing asked, leaning on his crutch as the old man helped support him.

  Farshaun shook his head. “I don’t know, boy.” His eyes were vacant as he stared out at the darkness. “Have we?”

  Time slipped away, and no further attacks came. The smells of death and dust cleared, and the night’s wildness faded into silence. The bodies of their attackers littered the broad surface of the ledge, but the defenders were too exhausted to clear them away. Their strength drained, they sat hunched over in small groups—Seersha and the Rock Troll at the edge of the precipice, Farshaun and the Speakman at the back of the outcropping, and Skint and Railing midway between—conversing in quiet tones and waiting for the inevitable.

  “You did well,” Skint said to the boy. “You showed real courage.”

  Railing shook his head. “I was too scared even to think about being brave. I was just trying to stay alive.”

  “Which is the point.” The Gnome’s wrinkled face tightened in what might have been a grimace. “Maybe it’s always the point.”

  They were silent for a moment. Railing was thinking, That’s right. That’s the point exactly. That’s all we’re doing now. Trying to stay alive. All that stuff about searching for the missing Elfstones is gone. No one cares about that anymore.

  “Did you find any sign of the Ard Rhys or my brother?” he asked Skint impulsively, remembering he had never heard the other’s report.

  The Gnome gave him a look. “I didn’t even find the opening they went through. That’s why I was gone so long. I was searching for it. Everywhere. I knew where it had been, but when I couldn’t find it there, I started searching the cliff walls, thinking I was mistaken.” He shook his head in disgust. “I never found anything. It was as if the opening just disappeared, and everyone who went in disappeared with it.”

  Railing stared at him. “You couldn’t find anything? How can that be possible?”

  “Couldn’t say. Seersha thinks there’s magic at work. Someone else’s magic. But there’s nothing we can do about it. Not until we’re out of this mess.” Skint looked away. “I’m sorry about your brother.”

  Railing was stunned. “Well, I can tell you one thing,” he managed. “I’m not leaving Redden.”

  Skint nodded. “No one said anything about leaving anyone. Calm down. Maybe you should try to sleep a bit.”

  He got up and moved away, leaving Railing alone. The boy stayed awake, trying to come to terms with what he had been told, unable to believe his brother could just be gone and no one know anything. It didn’t make any sense.

  The night faded into morning, and still their attackers did not return. They sat together and watched the sunrise, faint gray light filtering down through the haze and mist, the stark world of the Fangs slowly revealing itself. They ate a little food and drank some ale, and then they cleared the ledge of bodies, throwing them over into the precipice and onto the rocks below, where they lay in crumpled heaps.

  No one came for the bodies.

  No one came for them. Not Mirai or the Walker Boh or the Ard Rhys or any who had gone with her or the fierce little creatures that had attacked them during the night.

  No one.

  Finally, darkness approached with a thief’s silent cunning, the shadows lengthened in a cool hush, and the stillness that comes with day’s end deepened with night’s soundless fall.

  Reluctantly, the little company prepared for a fresh onslaught.

  9

  Aboard the Walker Boh, Mirai Leah was engaged in a knife-throwing contest with members of the Rover crew when she felt the coin shatter inside her tunic pocket.

  A day had passed since the second time the Ard Rhys had taken the bulk of the members of the expedition off the ship and into the Fangs in search of the missing Elfstones, leaving Mirai once again behind with the Rover crew and a handful of Trolls from the Druid Guard. Not the kind to sit around and wait on a resolution of events that might not happen for days or even weeks, she had, on both occasions, immediately begun spending time with the Rovers—a couple of whom she already knew from her previous trips to Bakrabru on family business. She had a natural affinity for friendship and was possessed of a sociable personality. Because she was a flier like they were, it was not strange that she should feel a connection with the airship riders who had accompanied Farshaun on this expedition, and within the first twenty-four hours it felt as if they had been friends for years.

  But even as friends, they were competitive with one another and with her, as well. Of varying ages and backgrounds, they were wild and adventurous and eager—even in some instances compelled—to prove they could measure up to whatever challenges they might encounter. Everything was a competition. It was the way they lived; it was a big part of how they defined themselves. Having Mirai with them simply added fuel to the fire. Some were content to tease her, suggesting that no one who wasn’t a Rover could ever compete with them. Some carried it much further and offered direct challenges. Mirai was a tall, strong girl, athletic and talented, and she was a match for any of them. But mostly she met their bantering with smiles and shakes of her head. Once or twice, she agreed to test her known skills against theirs, and once or twice more she agreed to be taught a skill she didn’t possess. Knife throwing was one of the former, and scaling the mainmast without using the rigging one of the latter. To her credit, she declined Austrum’s offer to wrestle, knowing full well his intentions in suggesting such a thing.

  A heady mix of emotions fueled the verbal bantering and posturing of the Rover men, but in every case it was grounded to some degree in sexual attraction. Mirai was beautiful and charming, and while she kept them at bay during their time together, she did not discourage their attentions. Some of the men were partnered and some were not, some had families and some did not, but all were far from home and used to a life in which relationships were not measured in traditional ways. Many Rovers had more than one wife or partner. Others would never be able to settle even for that. Opportunity was always knocking, and Rovers were usually the first to respond.

  Mirai knew all this, but she was not the sort to denigrate openly what she did not herself embrace. She was here on the Walker Boh with men she liked and admired, and there was no reason for her to spend what time they had together being rude or aloof. It wasn’t in her nature to hold herself apart even as it wasn’t in theirs to let her. She might be only a girl—not even a woman yet—but she was wise and experienced beyond her years and knew how to handle both them and herself.

  Mostly.

  Austrum was the only one who wouldn’t let up. No matter how many times she rebuffed him, he kept coming back. He pushed at her constantly, taunting and challenging, always with a faint undercurrent of sexual innuendo that left her irritated and unsettled.

  That was how the knife-throwing contest had come about.

  He had started that morning by suggesting it, making comments about how men were physically superior to women and therefore better able to compete in contests of strength, but that maybe, just maybe, a woman might be able to win a knife-throwing contest—although probably not against him or any of the other Rovers. He didn’t press the matter at first, just talked it up for a time—first while
the crew ate breakfast and then afterward while they washed the decks and railings and replaced sections of the rigging. Mirai was not persuaded—not even interested, actually—but Austrum slowly began to gather support from the rest of the Rover crew.

  By midday, they were clamoring for a contest and insisting that Mirai participate.

  In the end, she relented, even though she thought Austrum was being boorish. There was really no way of avoiding it. They already knew she was proficient with knives. She had made the mistake of mentioning that Farshaun Req himself—one of the most accurate throwers in Bakrabru—had taught her. She was trapped by her own words and by a growing sense of resentment toward Austrum. If she could best him in a contest he felt so confident he would win, it might shut him up for a while. It might even persuade him to stop challenging her to contests where he could demonstrate his supposed superiority—although she knew better than to hope for too much.

  They began the contest at midafternoon, standing twenty feet back from the mainmast. A black circle six inches wide was drawn on the mast, and the main hatch was removed and lashed in place to serve as backing against errant throws. Each participant was given three throws. The best of each set would be counted, and one participant would be eliminated in each round.

  There was much anticipation and excitement, and soon even the Trolls had wandered over to watch the competition. All eight of the Rover crewmen and Mirai participated. Aleskins were passed around and large quantities of their contents consumed amid laughter and teasing. Only Mirai abstained from drinking, and that was only through the first four rounds, in which Arben, Chance Boy, Drendonan, and Pursett were eliminated.

  Then she took several long swallows because she was parched and hot and feeling confident that a drink of ale would not cost her the victory. She was already throwing better than anyone but Austrum, and she could see the worry in his eyes. He was as good as if not better than she was, but she could tell he wasn’t dealing with the pressure of the contest as well. Even so, he was good enough that she could easily lose. So she took nothing for granted, especially when all of the others were eliminated and only the two of them were left.

  Austrum was throwing first. Tall and lean, he was a few years older than Mirai, a ruggedly handsome man/boy with dark, exotic features and a rakish smile. He usually wore his black hair loose and wild, but he had tied it back for the contest. She would have found him attractive if not for his taunts and teasing and the fact she was convinced no one would ever find him half as interesting as he found himself. Given a choice, she would have preferred the older, more stable Edras for a partner.

  If she had been in the market for one, which she wasn’t.

  She took several more swallows from the aleskin and handed it to Austrum, who declined. “Still not too late to call it a draw,” he offered.

  It was odd, but he said it in a way that suggested the offer was not intended as a taunt. It almost felt like a compliment. She gave him a cool look. “Worried?”

  He shook his head. “Not really. But you’ve proved your point. We don’t need to take it farther.”

  She nodded, suddenly feeling stubborn. They were thirty feet back from the target now, a long distance for an accurate throw. “But I want to. Go ahead. Make your throw. Let’s finish it.”

  He shrugged. Without pausing, he whirled and threw his knife, the blade flashing in the gray afternoon light as it buried itself in the center of the black circle. He did it so smoothly and quickly that Mirai caught her breath in spite of herself.

  He finished his follow-through, straightened, and turned to face her. He looked uncomfortable. “Give me a minute and I’ll remove my knife to give you a clear field.”

  “Don’t bother,” she snapped, fighting hard to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  “But it’s obstructing the target.”

  “You heard me. Leave it where it is.”

  She stared at his knife protruding from the center of the black circle and felt an unreasonable rage sweep through her. He hadn’t even looked before throwing! How was she supposed to match that? But she was determined to try. She would not give in. Not to him.

  She took a long, steadying breath, braced herself, and whipped the throwing knife underhand at the target. The blade shattered the handle of Austrum’s weapon and fell to the decking.

  She waited for his response, unable to look at him. “Doesn’t count, my lady of skills and beauty,” he said at last. “You have to stick it for it to count.”

  “It was dead on top of your own throw.” She now held his gaze, refusing to look away. “It would have stuck if your own knife hadn’t obstructed it. It counts.”

  He shook his head. “Not according to the rules. You should be penalized, if anything. You damaged my knife. Even if I can salvage the blade, I’ll have to replace the handle.”

  She was livid. She knew she had been lucky with her throw, but now he was trying to steal the victory from her! She looked around at the other Rovers, aware that the boisterous crowd had gone mostly silent. She couldn’t tell whether it was a result of discomfort over her confrontation with Austrum or astonishment over the accuracy of their throws.

  “Who agrees with Austrum?” she snapped. “What do the rules say about this?”

  Edras, older and even more whipcord-thin than Austrum, gave her a wry smile. “There isn’t any rule. I don’t think anyone’s ever even seen this happen.” He hesitated. “I say we call it a tie.”

  There were nods and murmurs of agreement from the others. Declare it a tie and leave it at that. No need to choose between the two of you.

  But Mirai didn’t want it to end in a tie. She hadn’t even wanted to be a part of this competition, but now all she could think about was winning it. Calling it a tie was condescending and demeaning, and she would not stand for it.

  “We’ll throw again,” she insisted, wheeling back on Austrum.

  He flushed a deep red. “You still owe me a new knife.”

  She laughed at his petulance, unable to stop herself even though she knew it was the wrong thing to do. He was immediately furious, but stood his ground, insistent. “You find this funny, do you, little Highland girl?”

  That was when she felt the coin break in her pocket.

  She bit back the retort on the tip of her tongue, reached into her pocket, and extracted the pieces of the coin to make certain she was not mistaken. “We have to stop this,” she said at once.

  Austrum, mistaking the reason for her demand, threw up his hands. “You just said you wanted to continue! You really don’t know your own mind, do you, chilchun?”

  In Rover slang, that name was the worst insult possible. So bad, in fact, that she almost hit him. Edras was upset enough that he grabbed Austrum by the shoulders and pulled him around threateningly.

  “No, stop,” Mirai said quickly, not wanting this to go any further. “Let it be. He misunderstands, that’s all.” She faced Austrum. “The coin given me by the Ard Rhys has broken in two. Just now, in my pocket. That means she needs us to come to her. She’s in trouble.”

  Austrum stared at her, caught off balance. He started to say something and stopped. Then he shook his head in disgust and walked off.

  The Rovers already knew about the coin and the signal it would send if the Ard Rhys needed the Walker Boh to come to her aid. Mirai had discussed it with them after the others had departed for the first time, seeing no reason for them not to know and every reason for them to understand the urgency should the coin break. They were the lifeline for those on the ground who had gone into the Fangs, and it was their responsibility to come to the rescue of their companions if the need should arise.

  Even so, they knew better than to respond recklessly and without consideration for the dangers involved. Foremost among these was the darkness that was fast closing around them. As much as Mirai wanted to leave at once in response to the coin’s signal, she would have to wait until morning. Any attempt to penetrate the heavy mists o
f the Fangs would involve avoiding the clusters of stone pillars that could tear apart the underside of the Walker Boh’s hull, and that would require as much daylight as possible. Going in at night was suicide.

  Reluctantly, the group agreed to postpone any rescue until dawn, spending the interval between then and now making the ship and themselves ready for the following day. They put away their throwing knives and went to work coiling up lines and tightening down stays and fastenings, clearing off the decks, and talking over how they would attempt an entry, bringing the Trolls into the discussion so that they could prepare themselves, as well.

  No one thought for a minute that this would be easy. It was one thing to sail an airship high enough to avoid the treacherous forest of stone spears clustered below; it was another to make a descent into their midst. But that was what would be required if they were to be of any use to the Ard Rhys and her little company.

  They ate their dinner late and after glasses of ale rolled into their blankets, anticipating an early rising. The night was deep and clouded over, and there was little light from moon or stars. The air was windless and infused with a metallic smell, and no sounds penetrated the stillness save for the snores of the men sleeping.

  Awake and unable to sleep, Mirai Leah rose and walked back to the aft railing to sit and think. She was worried about Redden and Railing, wondering if they were managing to keep their wits together, if they were all right. Because if the Ard Rhys was in danger, so were they. She felt protective of them even in the best of times and distraught in times like these when she wasn’t there to help them. The twins were too wild and reckless for their own good, and while she was the same age as they were she was far more mature than both of them put together.

  She thought a bit about their relationship, wondering if the brothers would ever see it in the same way she did, deciding almost immediately they would not. She could pretend otherwise, but that was the truth of things. Each wanted her to belong to him; each believed she favored him. Both were in love with her and visualized her as an important part of their future. She understood why they felt this way. The three of them had been close for a long time. They had spent hours together flying and exploring and sharing adventures. She had encouraged their attentions, a young girl anxious to know that boys found her attractive and desirable.