The Dark Legacy of Shannara Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Terry Brooks

  “Do so quickly.” He peered through the window and then opened the door. “Don’t assume anything about Phaedon and what he might or might not do. That is still unexplored country.”

  She started outside and then turned back. “What will you do, Sian?”

  He smiled sadly. “Whatever I can. Good-bye, Seersha.”

  Then he slipped past her and was gone.

  Seersha dressed at once, did what she could to tamp down her fever, shook off her lethargy, and slipped from her cottage into the new day. She went quickly from there to where Crace Coram was staying in a block of old barracks at the edge of the airfield. By his own request, he had kept himself out of the city proper, preferring woodland surroundings to clustered buildings. He was more mountain man than city dweller in spite of his designation as Chieftain of his village, and he could not come to terms with being settled in the midst of so many people—even Elves, whom he held in high regard.

  But she did not find him in the quarters assigned to him. Nor were any of his belongings there. Everything seemed to have been cleared out, as if he had already moved on. She was immediately worried that something had happened to him, and that she was already too late to save him from Phaedon. Even though Sian Aresh hadn’t said anything about him being in danger, she couldn’t assume he wasn’t.

  She hurried from there to the practice field, aware that by now they might be looking for her and that she was risking her freedom by showing herself so boldly. But when she got to the field, she found Crace Coram sparring with one of the Home Guards while the rest stood watching and waiting for their turns. She took a quick look around to see if there was any indication of a trap, but found nothing.

  Taking a deep breath, she walked right up to the Dwarf Chieftain, calling his name. “Crace! Leave off. We have to go.”

  He backed away from his opponent, his bluff features nonplussed. “Go where?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way, but you have to come right now.”

  He didn’t seem inclined to do that, so she made a hand gesture familiar to Dwarves everywhere, one that warned him he was being stupid or worse. He gave her a surprised look, read the expression on her face, and finally realized something was wrong. He put down his weapons, stripped off his protective gear, and came over.

  “I’ll be back soon, so be ready!” he shouted over his shoulder at the Home Guards, who returned his challenge with hoots and jeers.

  When they were far enough away, Seersha, leading him toward the airfield, said quietly, “Where are your clothes? They weren’t in your room.”

  “I threw them out. They were in tatters. I’m wearing what’s left. Now what’s going on?”

  Quickly, she summarized what Sian Aresh had told her, ending by saying they had to assume both of them were already being hunted, so they needed to get clear of Arborlon.

  “On an airship?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. “I don’t know anything about flying airships. Can’t we just ride horses?”

  She shook her head. “Too slow. We have to get away quickly. I think you need to return to the Dwarves and warn them about what’s coming. They might already know, but we should make certain. The tribes need to form an army that can stand with the Elves if the demons come north from Arishaig.”

  “Stand with the Elves? What chance is there of that happening with that madman as King?” Corum Crace snorted in disgust. “The Dwarves will go their own way.”

  She gave him a hard look. “Let’s see how things play out. Whatever the choices given us, we’d better be ready to pick one.” She paused. “You know what we’ll be up against.”

  “All too well.” He pointed ahead. “Which vessel do you intend to steal?”

  She peered across the field, which had just come into view, searching for a likely candidate. At first, she didn’t see anything that looked manageable. The big warships were out of the question, and even skiffs the size of the Wend-A-Way were easier to handle when there was more than one person to fly them.

  Then she caught sight of something that made her smile. A worn but serviceable two-man flit set off to one side was marked with signs that said it was available for private hire. She gave a quick glance around, but saw no signs of Elven Hunters prowling the field or its perimeters. Work crews scurried about the larger warships, but mostly the airfield was empty.

  “Come on,” she said to her companion and moved quickly toward the two-man.

  “That scow?” Coram demanded. “It doesn’t look like it can get off the ground!”

  She grinned at his dismay. “It’s clearly done so many times before. I think it can manage a few more.” She slapped him on his arm. “Let me do the bargaining.”

  A whip-thin Elf was seated nearby, studying an array of maps as the Dwarves came up to him. He looked up, clearly interested. “You want to rent her, maybe?” He gestured at the two-man. “How long?”

  Seersha pretended to study the craft. “Is she capable? Does she handle well?”

  The man made a face. “Well enough for you. Do you even know how to fly her?”

  “I know a little.”

  “Good enough. A little is all she requires. A sound craft in spite of how she looks. Reliable. She’s in her retirement years, but she knows the way.”

  “A week,” Seersha said. “How much?”

  “A hundred. Silver.”

  “Too much. Maybe fifty.”

  “Too little. How about a hundred?”

  She gave him an annoyed look. “We’ve passed that point in the discussion. I can do seventy.”

  Abruptly, shouts broke out from across the field as a swarm of Home Guards appeared out of the trees. Seersha hesitated, and then hit the Elf so hard he was already unconscious when he struck the ground. Crace Coram scrambled aboard the two-man, and Seersha released the anchor ropes and followed him up. She unhooded the parse tubes, engaged the thrusters, and when the familiar sound of the diapson crystals heating up reached her ears, she grabbed the lifter levers and took the ship into the air with a series of lurches and jumps that sent her companion tumbling all the way to the back of the craft.

  Picking himself up gingerly, Crace Coram made his way forward to sit behind her once more. “Very nice job of bargaining back there. That cost us much less than I thought it would.”

  They flew west through the Valley of Rhenn and out onto the upper Streleheim, casting anxious glances over their shoulders all the way. But no other craft appeared behind them. Possibly giving chase wasn’t an immediate concern. Perhaps no one had orders about what to do if they fled the city. Any delay would help with their escape, so she accepted the lack of a pursuit as a gift and concentrated on what lay ahead.

  “What are we doing?” her companion asked, leaning forward to be heard.

  Good question. She thought about it for a moment. “We have a choice,” she said to him, turning to catch his eye. “If we go to Paranor and I can get inside the Keep, I can read the scrye waters and might be able to determine where Aphenglow is. If we continue on, we can do what I said earlier and warn the Dwarves about the danger from the demons. Or we can do something else.”

  She waited. He said nothing for a moment. Then, “Seems as if we ought to find the sisters and warn them. We can’t afford for anything to happen to them.”

  She gave him a quick nod of agreement. “Paranor it is, then.”

  They flew on through the remainder of the day, winging toward the sun, then beneath it as it passed overhead and finally beyond, as the light diminished and the night approached. By then they had reached the Dragon’s Teeth and were close to their destination. Seersha still felt the grips of her fever, so she had taken time to show Crace Coram how to work the two-man’s controls—not only to give him a chance to try his hand at flying the craft, but also to give herself an opportunity to rest and recover as she could. He had taken control reluctantly, cautious and a bit unsteady at first, but gradually gaining a sense of confidence. They switched places several times more during their fl
ight, often enough so that she felt he could manage well enough at the helm if the need arose. It gave her a chance to rest her eyes and body; her fever had finally faded during their flight, chased by time and the defenses of her body, and she was feeling much better.

  When they arrived at Paranor, she took the two-man directly over the top of the wall and close to the dark towers for a quick look. But the Keep seemed to be abandoned still, unchanged since Aphenglow had returned. Seersha maneuvered toward the landing platform and set their vessel down.

  They climbed out of the cockpit and stood amid the clustered mix of wrecked and undamaged airships, taking a careful look around. The sun had gone behind the trees west, and its light was beginning to disappear. Shadows draped the stone and iron of the Druid’s Keep, and the cool of nightfall infused the deepening dark.

  Seersha took a long moment to be certain that nothing living was hiding in those shadows before satisfying herself that they were alone.

  “Stay with the two-man until I get back,” she told Crace Coram. “No one who isn’t a Druid is allowed where I am going.”

  She left him behind looking irritable and went through the rubble and debris and heaps of ashes littering the ramp, past the wreckage of Arrow with its prow lodged in the collapsed doorway, and into the Keep proper. She followed the hall for a short distance to a stairway and then made her way upstairs. Two flights up, she stepped through an opening to a second hallway and followed it to the door that opened into the cold room, where she triggered a release of the protective locks.

  Inside, the chill was bone-deep. Seersha shivered as she moved over to the elevated basin, stepped up onto the stone blocks that formed its base, and stood looking down at the broad, placid contents. Summoning the magic she had learned to command in the early days of her service to the order, she spread her hands and swept her open palms over the surface while not quite touching it, the motion stirring the waters to life. In the depths of the basin, the lines and shadings of the map of the Four Lands drawn on the stone brightened in a flaring of colors and sudden shimmers.

  Then small flashes began to appear here and there across the face of the map. The most intense concentration was in the city of Arishaig, and it caught Seersha’s attention immediately. The flashes were all blue, a sign of Elven magic, and she wondered right away if they were residue from use of the Elfstones. She could tell from the strength of the flashes that the magic was very recent and spread out all through certain sections of the sprawling city.

  But what in the world would Aphen and Arling Elessedil be doing in Arishaig?

  She scanned the remainder of the map as it shimmered and flashed within the waters of the scrye. There were strong indicators of the demon hordes assaulting the city. There were extraneous bits and pieces flashing here and there.

  But nothing more noticeable than that.

  She spent a few more moments studying the scrye. Then she wiped the images clean with sweeping motions of her palms, returning the basin to its former condition. Once finished, she left the room, locking the door behind her.

  She stood for long moments in the empty hallway, mulling over what she had seen and what it meant for her plans. There was so much she didn’t know and could only guess at. She wished she had the use of other tools with which to track her friends and their companions. She wished she had magic that would allow her to see beyond the horizons and into the hearts of those she worried for.

  But she had none of this, only the skills and magic she had learned as a member of her order. Yet in her world, you worked with the tools at hand. These would have to do.

  She pushed back strands of dark hair that had fallen over her rough features and stared off into space. She needed to decide what she was going to do. She had thought she already knew before she used the scrye, but now she wasn’t so sure. The logical choice was to go into the Eastland and assist in the summoning of a Dwarf army to march to the aid of the Elves and the Southlanders, but something inside was tugging her another way, whispering that there were better, more important ways in which she could use her Druid skills.

  She broke off the debate and returned down the hallway, descended the stairs, and went out the broken entry to the landing field where Crace Coram was pacing about restlessly, eyes scanning the tops of the walls that hemmed him in.

  He turned at once at her appearance. “Can we go now? I don’t mind telling you that all these walls make me feel like I’m locked in a cage. I don’t know how you stand it here.”

  She nodded. Dwarves preferred the mountains and woodlands to fortress walls, felt more comfortable in open spaces than in confined ones. She felt the same way he did; it had taken her a long time to put aside her distaste and accept the presence of so much stone and iron shutting her in.

  “You get used to it,” she answered softly. Then she moved toward the two-man. “Come, we can go.”

  But once they were aboard their vessel, she found herself sitting in the pilot box undecided about what to do next.

  “What’s wrong?” her companion asked. He moved up beside her and bent close. “Not sure about where to go?”

  She nodded. “I want to do something to help those people in Arishaig. I know I should go with you to muster an army from the Dwarf tribes to rally them to the fight, but …” She trailed off. “I keep wanting to do something more immediately useful.”

  “You’re a warrior, Seersha. A fighter.” Crace Coram shrugged. “So you want to fight. You want to join the battle.”

  “That’s it,” she admitted.

  He emitted an abrupt laugh, a hearty burst that made her smile. “Then do so! Fly to Arishaig and let’s see if we can’t help those trapped there.”

  She looked over her shoulder at him. “We?”

  “You don’t expect me to stay behind, do you? Miss out on a fight like this one?”

  “What about warning the Dwarves?”

  “Oh, come now. They don’t need us to warn them. They keep watch on things just like everyone else. They’ll already know what’s taken place and have begun massing their fighters and making a decision about how best to use them. What can we add to that?”

  She gave him a long hard look. “You’re sure you want to come with me? You don’t have to.”

  He laughed again, his huge arms reaching out to hug her. “Girl, I didn’t have to come with you in the first place! I came because I wanted to. Nothing’s changed about that. Fly the ship!”

  She opened the parse tubes to the diapson crystals and powered up their vessel. She waited a moment for the levels to rise sufficiently and then engaged the thrusters.

  “I’m glad you’re coming with me,” she said to him.

  Moments later they were airborne over Paranor and flying south.

  17

  With Grianne Ohmsford now aboard, the Quickening and its passengers were riding the back of a huge storm down out of the Klu Mountains and along the north–south corridor formed by the Charnals and the Lazareen. The storm had overtaken them shortly after they had lifted off from Stridegate and begun the long, slow journey back through the Northlands toward Callahorn. No more than gusting winds and distant clouds at first, the storm had quickly formed into a black wall of driving rains with intermittent hail. The temperature had dropped sharply, and the air grew so cold that it penetrated the heavy weather cloaks of the members of the airship’s crew and began to form ice on the decks.

  Mirai Leah was in the pilot box working the controls with Austrum standing at her shoulder, one spelling the other when weariness and cold threatened to affect performance. Neither had spoken a word since they had set out. They had barely glanced at each other. Farther back, the Rover crew was clustered along the aft railing with Skint, staring off into the darkness.

  Railing Ohmsford was hunkered down against the front wall of the pilot box next to Challa Nand, tightly wrapped in his weather cloak and trying to find what little shelter he could by using the other’s huge frame as a shield against the heavy winds and
rain. He was thoroughly miserable, but his misery had more to do with the misfortune he had brought upon his friends and companions than with the storm. No matter how you looked at things, everything was his fault. His pigheadedness, his pride, his overconfidence, and his unwillingness to listen to anyone but himself—they had all contributed to his failure to realize that he was making a mistake.

  Woostra, who had long since given up trying not to be sick or going below to hide his misery and suffer in private, was sitting with them. They were all looking forward to where a gray-robed specter crouched near the bow of the aircraft as motionless as stone.

  Challa Nand bent close to the boy. “Stop thinking about it. It’s over and done with. She’s here now, and we have to live with it.”

  Railing shook his head. “What was I thinking? Why didn’t I listen to the King of the Silver River? He warned me that she couldn’t come back to what she had been. He warned me that things wouldn’t work out as I wanted. But I just went ahead anyway. I wouldn’t listen.”

  He shifted so he could look the Troll in the eye. “Worse, the Grimpond taunted me with what it knew was going to happen. It didn’t spell it out, but very definitely hinted at it. It dared me to keep going. It mocked me. But I just ignored that, too. I thought I knew better than a shade. I knew I could do what I had set out to do, and nothing could stop me.”

  “It would have helped if you had confided in us a bit earlier,” Woostra observed with more than a hint of sarcasm in his gruff voice. “Perhaps then we could have done something to help you.”

  The boy had just finished telling them everything moments earlier, all the little bits and pieces he had been keeping to himself, including his plans to save his brother by using Grianne Ohmsford reborn. He’d needed to tell someone besides Mirai, sick of dissembling, of keeping secrets. What point was there in secrecy now? It wasn’t as if any of them were going to do anything she didn’t want them to do. She’d made that plain enough even before they’d taken the airship aloft and begun their search.