The Dark Legacy of Shannara Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Terry Brooks

  Sian Aresh and the Elven guard lay sprawled on the bedroom floor, lifeless eyes staring. There was blood pooling all around them, metallic and pungent. Phaedon Elessedil had been released from his restraints and was sitting on the side of the bed in his bedclothes. He was holding a knife in his lap, bending over and staring down at it, mumbling and sobbing. There was blood both on his clothes and on the knife.

  Jera was sitting next to Phaedon, her arms around him. She was speaking to him in a low voice, and she seemed to be trying to comfort him.

  She looked up instantly as Seersha appeared and put a finger to her lips. Seersha stood in front of the open door, staring in shock. “What’s happened here?”

  Jera gave her a stern look. “Close the door. Don’t say anything more.”

  The Elven woman continued to whisper to Phaedon, her voice low and compelling, her hands on his shoulders, bracing him as he sobbed and whimpered. The King seemed to be completely undone. There was no hint of the old Phaedon, the one Aphen had famously described as cold enough to freeze fire.

  Seersha took a few steps toward them and stopped, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. The shadows of the dark room felt as if they were filled with secrets, and all of them hidden from her.

  Phaedon went suddenly quiet, leaning into Jera, his face buried in her shoulder.

  Jera looked up at Seersha. “He killed them both. Somehow he got free of his restraints and got hold of this knife. When Sian and I entered the room, he attacked immediately. Sian was killed at once. When the guard heard the sounds of fighting and came running, Phaedon killed him, too.”

  She stroked Phaedon’s head, smoothing his dark hair. “He didn’t do anything to me. He doesn’t seem to want to. He keeps calling me ‘Mother’ and telling me he’s sorry. I don’t think he even knows what he’s done.”

  “He was supposed to be secured to the bed,” Seersha insisted in disbelief. “We told everyone he was a danger to himself and others. How did he get loose?”

  Jera shook her head. “I don’t know.” She gave Phaedon a quick hug and rose. “I’ll leave him to you. I have to tell the other guards what’s happened. Ellich, too. Perhaps they’ll free him now.”

  Seersha nodded blankly, looking down at the bloodied form of Sian Aresh. She couldn’t quite make sense of it. Jera’s explanation seemed plausible enough, but there was still something wrong. Maybe it was the knife, still in Phaedon’s hands. Maybe it was the tenderness Jera was showing Phaedon—a kindness that felt out of place.

  The shock must be causing her to react like this, she told herself as Jera walked past her toward the door.

  Then her eyes shifted back to Phaedon, still sitting on the bed, staring into space, and she noticed that the knife was gone.

  An instant later she felt a sharp blow to her back followed by a wrenching pain, and she collapsed to the bedroom floor. It was as if all her strings had been cut, and she could no longer make anything work. She lay in a red haze of anguish and fury, watching as Jera Elessedil stood looking down at her, bloodied knife in hand, and she realized what had happened.

  “You killed them,” she managed to gasp.

  Suddenly Jera didn’t look like Jera anymore, but like something not even human. Her features were losing shape and twisting into something feral. It lasted just a minute, and then she was back to herself again.

  “You’re not dying fast enough,” she hissed.

  She lunged for Seersha, who barely managed to catch hold of her wrists and stop the knife’s downward descent. Jera shrieked and thrashed in her grip, and for a moment Seersha, her strength all but gone, was certain she was finished.

  But Jera was too eager, and her wild efforts caused her to lose her footing and tumble to the floor, the knife skittering away. Seersha saw her chance—one so small it offered no real hope, but she embraced it anyway. In an instant she was on top of Jera, her wounds forgotten, her weakness thrust aside, her body flooded with the Druid magic that had always sustained her. Everything happened all at once, and even making the effort to regain control of her injured body was done on faith.

  A warrior to the last, she refused to give in to the damage and the pain, refused to admit she couldn’t do what she needed to survive. Refused to admit she was finished.

  She bore down on Jera Elessedil with every last ounce of strength she could find, hammered her head into the floor, then jammed a forearm across her neck and pressed down.

  The cry that broke from Jera’s mouth was terrifying and inhuman. Instantly, the creature that had surfaced earlier—the creature Seersha now realized had been disguised as Jera—reappeared in bits and pieces. Clothing ripped and split apart. Skin fell away. Jera Elessedil began to fade, and something muscular and lithe emerged in her place, something covered head-to-foot in earth-colored hair and possessed of sharp claws and teeth—a being like nothing Seersha had ever seen before. She knew this was what had killed not only Aresh and the guard but also the old King. It was the spy who had tried to steal the diary from Aphenglow and leave her injured or dead.

  All this came to the Druid in seconds, and that was all the time she was given. The creature hiding within Jera’s skin had emerged, and she did not have the strength to fend it off. It was enormously strong, and Seersha knew it would be free in seconds and that would be the end.

  She cried out for help, then flung her arms about the creature’s neck in a vise-like grip that crushed its windpipe. The beast thrashed and writhed once more, and this time its claws ripped into the Druid, tearing at her exposed back. She summoned her magic anew and tried to create a protective covering for her body. But mostly she used it to infuse her arms with renewed strength so that she could apply crushing force as she tightened her hold about the creature’s neck.

  They rolled and twisted about the floor of the bedroom, bumping into the bodies of the dead and covering themselves with blood. Atop the bed, Phaedon Elessedil was screaming, backed up against the headboard, trying to curl himself into an invisible ball.

  When the door finally burst open and Elven Home Guards poured through and managed to pry Seersha free, they found that the creature she was locked onto was already dead.

  Blankets were brought in which to wrap her, and voices called out to her as they picked her up.

  “Hold on. We’re getting you help.”

  “There! Her legs! Keep them steady.”

  “She’s been stabbed in the back, too. Look at the wound!”

  “Seersha, can you hear me?”

  She was drifting now, far out on the ocean, borne by the waves in a rocking motion that left her warm and sleepy.

  “Seersha! Don’t go to sleep!”

  On the bed, Phaedon was weeping. For himself, she imagined.

  “Seersha! Listen to me!”

  Listening.

  Drifting.

  Don’t go.

  31

  Very late that same rain-drenched night, having spent three days coming down out of the Charnals and crossing the Streleheim west, the Quickening at last reached the forests of the Elven Westland. It was never anyone’s intention that they make the journey so quickly, but the witch wraith they carried aboard insisted. With little hesitation and in a voice that permitted no argument, she demanded they sail on with no stops. Sleeping and eating would be allowed, but there would be no anchoring the vessel until they had reached their destination.

  She was a chilling presence—ragged gray robes and haggard, ruined features, a ghostly creature whether crouching near the forward mast, which had become her favorite haunt, or sliding through the gloom and mist to some position farther astern. Men moved away at her approach, and no one other than Railing bothered to speak to her. Even he had given up after their last conversation, having learned all he cared to about her intentions. There was an inhuman aura to her that matched the story behind her time in thrall to the tanequil. To those around her, it felt as if she had evolved into something no longer even slightly human but more akin to the demonkind th
ey were taking her to face.

  Railing thought he understood what Mother Tanequil had decided to do for them. Or to him, when you came right down to it, for he was the one who had brought Grianne Ohmsford back. When he had come to the tanequil’s island, crossing the bridge to the song of the aeriads, he had found Grianne a spirit of the air and had hoped she might be set free to aid them. But what had happened instead was that the part of her still in mortal form, the flesh and blood and bone parts that were kept imprisoned in Mother Tanequil’s tangled roots down within the earth, was what had been released. Because it wasn’t Grianne Ohmsford, the Ard Rhys of the Third Druid Order, that would defeat Tael Riverine. It was Grianne Ohmsford, the Ilse Witch—a monster that could stand up to another monster and find a way to prevail.

  What he had not reckoned on and was still uncertain about was what sort of price they were all going to pay for having brought this to pass. There was not even a hint of an intention on her part to do anything that would help him regain his brother or free the Four Lands from the Jarka Ruus. There was no empathy for the fate of the Races. There was only a driving need to confront an enemy that had haunted her for more than a century in her memories and dreams, and to eradicate any trace of him.

  Railing couldn’t know if she possessed the abilities and skills to bring this about, even though she seemed certain enough. But he did not doubt that she intended to try, or that they were along for the ride and completely superfluous to her ultimate goals. Whatever happened if she prevailed and the Straken Lord was defeated would in no way benefit them.

  Which meant that, when all was said and done, he was going to have to find a way to return her to where he had found her.

  As they sailed across the Streleheim and down along the eastern edge of the Westland forests toward the Valley of Rhenn, he wondered anew at her immediate plans. She had quit letting them dictate their course once they were out of the Charnals. Responding to something she alone understood, she had given them explicit directions on where they were to go. When Austrum had questioned her—the one such question anyone had dared to ask—she had responded by lifting him off his feet with one withered arm and carrying him to the railing. She had held him over the side as if she intended to drop him, and it was only when Railing shouted at her to stop—telling her that Austrum was their navigator and the captain of their vessel—that she relented, bringing him back on board and tossing him aside as if he were not worth the effort.

  So they did her bidding and marked time and tried to keep from losing hope. The atmosphere aboard the ship was tense and despairing. Even Challa Nand, usually so bluff and open, kept to himself and spoke only in short, abrupt sentences when forced to speak at all. No one knew where the ship was going, but they were all reasonably certain it had to do with finding Tael Riverine. Although from the force and insistence of her commands, Railing had the unshakable feeling that Grianne already knew where he was.

  Now dawn was less than an hour away, and he was beginning to believe they were flying to Arborlon. What he didn’t know was why they would be going there. If she intended to confront Tael Riverine, wouldn’t she be flying them into the Forbidding, assuming she could determine a way to pass through its protective wall? That was what he would do.

  But then he saw the other possibility, and it turned him to ice. What if the Straken Lord and his creatures had already broken free and set upon Arborlon and its Elves? Wasn’t that what had happened before in the time of Wil Ohmsford? Wasn’t that the logical course of action where the one sure way to destroy the Forbidding was to destroy the Ellcrys? Aphenglow and Arlingfant had set out in search of the Bloodfire to quicken the Ellcrys seed, but what if they had failed? What if the demons were inside the Four Lands for good?

  All of which made him wonder about Redden’s fate. If the Straken Lord had come into the Four Lands, what had he done with Redden? Perhaps his brother had been brought along, although he couldn’t think of a reason for this. But leaving him behind made no sense, either.

  “You seem more distraught than usual,” Mirai observed, coming up beside him. “Which is saying something.”

  “I have good reason,” he answered.

  Quickly, he explained his fear about what might have happened and why they were heading where he believed they clearly were.

  Mirai nodded. “All possible. But we can’t do anything about it either way. Not with her watching everything we do.” She gestured toward the Ilse Witch, a ragged shape in the predawn gloom. “We have to wait and see.”

  He followed her gaze. Whatever happened, it was his fault for finding and bringing Grianne Ohmsford back, his obsession with believing she was their only real hope.

  “She hates us,” he said.

  “She hates everyone and everything.” Mirai moved over to stand in front of him, blocking his view of the witch. “But regret and guilt are a waste of time. You did what you thought you had to. That’s over and done with. We just have to keep our heads once we get to where we’re going, because not much of what might happen is likely to turn out the way we hoped.”

  “I have to find a way to get rid of her,” he said quietly.

  Mirai shook her head slowly. “Stop thinking like that. Don’t take on anything more, Railing. Let this play out however it needs to. But step back from it now. Promise me.”

  He kissed her instead, not caring who saw. He was past the point of having to pretend. To his surprise, she didn’t pull away or cut the kiss short. She kissed him back and held him to her.

  By sunrise, they had reached the Valley of Rhenn and were confronted with the terrible truth about how things stood.

  In the dark of the night, Redden Ohmsford and his companions, footsore and weary, stumbled through another of the familiar shimmerings that marked a hole in the wall of the Forbidding and found themselves back in the Four Lands, not far from where Drey Wood opened onto the Tirfing. The skies were dark and clouded over, the lands drenched by a recent rain. Redden and Oriantha stood where they were for long moments trying to get their bearings, while Tesla Dart frantically searched for Lada. She scurried left and right, calling his name, whistling and cooing. But the Chzyk had not come through with them.

  Finally, the Ulk Bog gave up and wandered back over, her face a mask of sadness. “No Lada. He leaves me. Perhaps he decides this world is not his. I am alone now.”

  “Alone with us,” Oriantha pointed out impatiently. “Which is not quite the same thing as alone altogether.”

  Tesla Dart nodded, still looking forlorn. “You are friends,” she acknowledged, managing to sound doubtful.

  “You can go back if you want,” the shape-shifter pointed out. “You’ve done enough. You don’t owe us anything more.”

  The other shook her head. “Stay with you. If you promise you keep me. Not leave me behind.”

  Redden didn’t hear. He was busy surveying what appeared to be a landscape of crop fields dotted with farm buildings. Or at least that was what he could make out in the diminished light. He could not see the horizon in any direction, and even though there were a few lights shining from the windows of the farmhouses, their glow was dim.

  “Where are we?” he muttered.

  Oriantha moved to stand close. “The Sarandanon, if I’m guessing right.”

  He looked at her. “How can you tell?”

  “I can’t, really, for sure. But we were already in the Westland when we reentered the Forbidding. Then we turned north. We traveled a long way, Redden. I think we would be standing in forests if we were anywhere else in the Westland but the valley.”

  “Do you know which way to go from here to reach Arborlon?”

  She cast about for a moment, almost like her animal self would have, head lifted into the soft wind, sniffing the air, tasting it. “That way,” she said at last, pointing.

  He had no reason to argue with her since he had no idea himself which way to go. He assumed she could tell things from reading the air currents in a way he could not. Since she had be
en right about most things during their time together, he simply nodded in agreement.

  “Speak words to me!” Tesla Dart shouted abruptly as the other two started to turn away. “Not leave me!”

  Both Redden and Oriantha stared at the Ulk Bog. “What are you talking about?” Oriantha asked irritably.

  “Not do to me what Straken Queen did to Weka. Promises she will take him, then doesn’t. Breaks her word. Weka is abandoned and hunted by Straken Lord. Frightened and alone! Has only me, a little girl, to be with. She does this! She leaves him. Weka tells me!”

  “Grianne Ohmsford?” Oriantha was having trouble understanding. “Is that who you are talking about?”

  “I know the story,” Redden interrupted. “Grianne was helped by Weka, so she said she would take him with her when she left. But she couldn’t. Penderrin came for her, but the magic he used would only let him take her back with him, not Weka. So she had to leave the Ulk Bog behind. But it wasn’t her fault, Tesla. It wasn’t what she wanted. Penderrin told my father this. She regretted it deeply, but there was nothing she could do.”

  The Ulk Bog looked unconvinced. “Hate her for this! Weka never forgot. Betrayed by her! You could do this, too. To me!”

  “We already took you out of the Forbidding, didn’t we?” Oriantha snapped. “What more are we supposed to do? We brought you with us and we’ll keep you with us. We know you helped us like Weka helped Grianne, but we are not like her.”

  But Tesla shook her head, her jaw set, her eyes fixed on them. “Speak the words. Promise.”

  Oriantha looked angry, but Redden quickly stepped forward, setting down the box with the Elfstones, and held out his hands, motioning for the Ulk Bog to take them in her own. She did, watching him closely, her grizzled face scrunched up. “I promise we won’t leave you,” the boy said. “We will keep you with us, no matter what.”

  Tesla Dart stared at him for long seconds, then she nodded slowly. “I believe. You don’t lie.”

  Redden kept holding the Ulk Bog’s gnarled hands. “Tesla, if you felt like this about Grianne, why were you waiting for her all these years? Why were Lada and the other Chzyks keeping watch when we came through the Forbidding?”