The Sword of the Shannara and the Elfstones of Shannara

by Terry Brooks

  Allanon, Wil Ohmsford, and Amberle stared up at her wordlessly from the base of the rise, cowled faces lifted against the screen of moonlight. For a long time they were still, motionless save for the ripple of cloth garments in the light breezes, silent. When Amberle finally spoke, her whisper filled the quiet with deep, sudden poignancy.

  “Oh, Allanon, she looks so sad.”

  The Druid did not respond, his tall spare frame rigid beneath the robes, his face hidden within the shadow of the cowl. The smell of lilacs wafted past them, lingered momentarily, and was gone. After a moment, Amberle glanced over at the big man, arms folding tightly into her robe.

  “Is she in pain?”

  The movement of the Druid’s head was barely perceptible. “Some.”

  “She is dying?”

  “Her life is ending. Her time is almost gone.”

  There was a long pause. “Can you do nothing for her?”

  “What can be done for her must be done by you.” Allanon’s deep voice was a gentle murmur.

  Amberle’s sigh was audible, a shiver of acceptance that passed through her slender body. The seconds slipped away. Wil shuffled his feet wearily, waiting for the Elven girl to come to terms with herself. This was not easy for her. She had not expected even to be here tonight; neither of them had. They had expected that, with the adjournment of the Council, they would be allowed at long last to sleep. There had been no sleep since before their flight into the Valley of Rhenn and their unexpected reunion with Allanon. They were exhausted.

  “She is sleeping,” Amberle whispered suddenly.

  “She will wake for you,” the Druid responded.

  She does not want this, Wil thought. She has never wanted this. She is not simply unwilling, she is frightened. She said so that first night in the little garden behind her home. Yet she has never said why.

  Wil looked toward the summit of the rise. What was it about the Ellcrys that frightened her so?

  “I am ready.”

  She said it simply, her voice calm. Allanon was silent for a moment, then nodded, the cowl bending slightly with his response.

  “Then go. We will wait for you here.”

  She did not move at once, but stood quietly for a moment as if seeking something more from the Druid. But there was nothing more offered. Gathering her robes about her, she started forward, moving up the gentle slope, face lifted toward the still, ragged tree that waited at the top.

  She did not look back.

  She completed the climb in only moments and stood alone before the Ellcrys. She stood, not yet within reach of the tree, but just beyond, her small form withdrawn into the concealing folds of the dark robe, her arms clenched tightly against her sides. From atop the rise, the Westland lay open to the sweep of the horizon, and she felt small and unprotected. The night breeze blew across her face, laced with the scents of the garden, and she breathed it deeply, steadying herself.

  I need only a moment, she told herself. Just one moment.

  But she was so afraid!

  She still did not understand why this was, not even now, after all this time. She should be able to understand it; she should be able to control it. Yet she could not. That made it all the worse. The fear was unreasoning, senseless, blind. It was always there, lurking in the back of her mind like some beast of prey, slipping from its place of hiding whenever she gave thought to the Ellcrys. She fought against it, struggled determinedly, but it swept through her nonetheless, irrepressible, dark. She had been able to suppress it in Havenstead, for in Havenstead the cause was distant and past. But now, returned once more to Arborlon, standing less than a dozen feet away, remembering the touch of the Ellcrys …

  She shuddered at the memory. It was the touch she really feared. Yet why should that be? No harm came from it, no injury. It served only to allow the Ellcrys to communicate her thoughts through images. But there was this sense of something more that had always come with the touch, ever since that first time the Ellcrys had spoken with her. Something.

  Her thoughts scattered at the sound of an owl’s soft hoot. She was aware that she had been standing there for several minutes and that the two men waiting below must be watching her. She did not want that.

  Quickly, she began to walk around to the far side of the tree.

  Druid and Valeman watched silently as the dark figure of the Elven girl circled the Ellcrys and disappeared from view. They remained standing a moment longer; but when she did not reappear, Allanon seated himself wordlessly on the grass. Wil paused, then sat down next to him.

  “What will you do if the Ellcrys decides that she is no longer one of the Chosen?”

  The Druid did not turn his head. “That will not happen.”

  The Valeman hesitated a moment before speaking again.

  “You know something about her that you have not told either of us, don’t you?”

  Allanon’s voice was cold. “No. Not in the sense that you mean.”

  “But in some sense.”

  “What must concern you, Valeman, is seeing that nothing happens to her after you leave Arborlon.”

  The way he said it left Wil with the very distinct impression that this particular subject was closed. The Valeman shifted his weight uncomfortably.

  “Can you tell me something else, then?” he asked a moment later. “Can you tell me why she is so afraid of the Ellcrys?”

  “No.”

  Wil flushed heatedly within his cowl. “Why not?”

  “Because I am not sure that I understand it myself. Nor do I think that she does. In any case, when she is ready for you to know about it, she will tell you herself.”

  “I doubt it.” Wil slouched forward, arms resting loosely on his knees. “She does not seem to think much of me.”

  Allanon did not respond. They sat in silence for a time, glancing periodically toward the summit of the rise and the solitary tree. There was no sign of Amberle. Wil glanced over at the Druid.

  “Is she safe up there alone?”

  The mystic nodded. Wil waited for him to explain why she was safe, but he did not offer an explanation. The Valeman shrugged. Being this close to her, he must have some means of seeing to it that she was protected, he decided.

  At least he hoped so.

  For a long time Amberle did not move. She could not. Her fear had paralyzed her. She stood rigid and chilled not five feet from the nearest branches, staring hypnotically at the Ellcrys. Within her, the fear ran like liquid ice, numbing even her thoughts. She lost all sense of time, of place, of everything but her inability to take those last few steps forward.

  When at last she did take them, it seemed that it was someone else who took them for her. She remembered only the distance between herself and the Ellcrys closing and then disappearing altogether. She was beneath the canopy of the tree, lost in shadow. The night breeze died into stillness, and the cold within her turned to heat.

  Wordlessly, she dropped to her knees amid the clutter of dead leaves and broken twigs that blanketed the ground, her hands folding tightly in her lap. She waited.

  Moments later, a ragged branch dipped downward and wrapped gently about her shoulders.

  —Amberle—

  The Elven girl began to cry.

  There had been silence between them for quite some time when Wil suddenly recalled something odd that Allanon had said earlier. He had determined that he would ask nothing further of the Druid following their last exchange, but his curiosity got the better of him.

  “Allanon?”

  The Druid looked at him.

  “Something is bothering me.” He took a moment to arrange his words. “When you told Amberle that we must come here tonight, she reminded you that you had informed the Elves at the High Council that she would be given a day or two to rest. You answered her by saying that what you told them was a necessary deception. What did you mean by that?”

  Moonlight revealed the familiar mocking smile as it slanted across the mystic’s lean face.

  “
I was wondering when you would get around to that question, Wil Ohmsford.” He laughed softly. “Your inquisitiveness is all-encompassing.”

  Wil grinned ruefully. “Do I get an answer to my question?”

  Allanon nodded. “An answer that will not please you. The deception was necessary because there is a spy within the Elven camp.”

  The Valeman went cold. “How do you know that?”

  “Logic. When I arrived at Paranor, the Demons were waiting for me. Waiting for me, Valeman—I was not followed. That suggests rather strongly that they knew in advance that I would be coming there. How did they know that? For that matter, how did they know about me in the first place? Only Eventine knew that I had returned to the Four Lands. Only Eventine knew of my plans to travel to Paranor; I told him in confidence that I would go there to study the Druid histories in an effort to discover the location of Safehold. Eventine was cautioned to say nothing and would have done exactly that.”

  He paused. “That leaves only one possibility. Someone listened in on our conversation—someone who had reason to betray us to the Demons.”

  Wil looked doubtful. “But how could that have happened? You said yourself that no one even knew that you had returned to the Four Lands before you spoke to Eventine.”

  “That puzzles me, also,” the Druid admitted. “The spy must be someone with easy access to the King, someone who would know everything that he is about. One of his household staff, perhaps.”

  He shrugged. “In any case, it was fortunate that I did not mention to the King where Amberle could be found or the Demons would almost certainly have reached her before I did.” He paused, black eyes fixing on the Valeman. “They would have reached you, as well, I imagine.”

  Wil felt his skin crawl. The suggestion was a thoroughly disconcerting one, even now. For the first time since he had met Allanon, he was grateful that the Druid was so closemouthed about what he knew.

  “If all this is so, then why did you tell the Elves at the High Council so much?” he asked. “If there is a spy, isn’t there a rather good possibility that he may discover everything that was said at that meeting?”

  The Druid leaned forward. “A very good possibility. In fact, I intend to make certain that he does. That is the reason for the deception. You see, the Demons already know that we are here, and they know why we are here. They know who I am; they know who Amberle is. They do not yet know who you are. All this they have discovered from my conversation with Eventine and from what they have seen in pursuing us from Havenstead. We have told the Elves at the High Council nothing new—except for one small item. We have told them that Amberle will rest for several days before she goes to the Ellcrys. So, for the next several days, at least, the Demons will expect us to do nothing. That deception, I hope, will give us a small but very useful advantage.”

  “What kind of advantage?” Wil frowned. “What do you have in mind, Allanon?”

  The Druid pursed his lips. “As to that, Wil, I am afraid that I will have to ask you to be patient for a bit longer. But I promise that you will have your answer before the night is done. Fair enough?”

  There was nothing particularly fair about any of this, Wil thought glumly. Still, there was no point in pressing the matter. When Allanon had made up his mind, Wil knew that that was the end of it.

  “One thing more.” The Druid put a cautionary hand on his shoulder. “Say nothing of this to Amberle. She is frightened enough as it is, and there is no reason that she should be frightened further. Let this remain a secret between you and me.”

  The Valeman nodded. That much, at least, they could agree upon.

  Only minutes later, Amberle appeared suddenly from beneath the shadow of the tree. She stood for a moment silhouetted against the night sky, hesitated, then started toward them. She walked slowly, carefully, as if uncertain of her movements, hands held clasped together against her breast. Her cowl was lowered, her long, chestnut hair fanning out behind her in the breeze. As she neared them, they could see plainly her stricken face. It was pale and drawn and streaked with tears, and fear reflected brightly in her eyes.

  She came up to them and stopped. Her slender form was trembling.

  “Allanon …?” she cried softly, choking on his name.

  The Druid saw that she was on the verge of collapsing. He reached for her at once, took her in his arms and held her close against him. She allowed herself to be held this time, crying soundlessly. For a long time he held her, all the while saying nothing. Wil watched uncomfortably and felt generally useless.

  After a time, the crying stopped. Allanon released the Elven girl and stepped back. Her face remained lowered for a moment, then lifted to his.

  “You were right,” she whispered.

  Clasped hands came away from the folds of her robe and slowly opened. Nestled in her palms, like a perfectly formed silver-white stone, was the seed of the Ellcrys.

  XX

  Moments later, Allanon led them from the Gardens. Cowls drawn close about their faces and cloaks laced tight, they slipped through the gates and past the sentries of the Black Watch and started back toward the city. The Druid did not offer any explanation as to where he was taking them, and they did not ask. They walked in silence, Allanon a step or two ahead, Wil and Amberle following. Both were exhausted. The Valeman glanced often at the Elven girl, more worried about her than he cared to admit even to himself, but she gave little indication of her emotional state, and he caught only an occasional glimpse of her face within the covering of the hood. Once he asked quietly if she was all right, and she nodded back to him without speaking.

  A short time afterward, they found themselves approaching the manor house of the Elessedils. Beckoning wordlessly, Allanon led them onto the grounds surrounding the darkened home, directing them through a screen of pine that bordered the south lawn, then along a series of hedgerows to a small alcove and a pair of floor-length glass windows draped in heavy shadow. Standing before the doors, Allanon tapped softly on the glass. There was a moment’s wait, then the curtains covering the window moved slightly. A latch within was released, and the doors swung open. Quickly Allanon motioned them through, glanced furtively about, and followed, closing the doors behind him.

  They stood for a few seconds in darkness, listening to the faint sound of footfalls as someone moved slowly about the room. Then a light was struck to a candle’s wick. Wil found that they were in a small study, burnished oak from walls and shelving gleaming in the candle’s dim flame, soft tracings of color from leather-bound books and tapestries visible through the heavy shadows. At the far side of the little room, an aged wolfhound raised his grizzled head from a small earthen-colored rug on which he lay and thumped his tail in greeting.

  Eventine Elessedil placed the candle on a small worktable and turned to face them.

  “Is everything arranged?” Allanon’s deep voice broke the stillness.

  The old King nodded.

  “And your household?” The Druid was already moving across the room to the single door that led into the rest of the home. He opened it, looked through briefly, then closed it again.

  “Everyone sleeps but Dardan and Rhoe, and they stand watch at my bedroom door, believing me asleep as well. There is no one here but old Manx.”

  The wolfhound glanced over at the mention of his name, then lowered his head between his paws and closed his eyes.

  Allanon walked back across the room. “Then we can begin.”

  He motioned Wil and Amberle to take chairs about the worktable, drawing a third chair over for himself. The Valeman sat down wearily. Amberle started forward, then stopped, her eyes on her grandfather. Eventine looked back at her, hesitated, then moved quickly to embrace her. The Elven girl went rigid for a moment, then her arms went about him.

  “I love you, grandfather,” she whispered. “I missed you.”

  The old King did not speak, but nodded into her shoulder, one hand coming up to stroke her hair. Then he took her head gently in his hands an
d tilted it back so that she was facing him.

  “What has happened is behind us, Amberle. Forgotten. There will be no more harsh words between us. This is your home. I want you here with me, with your family.”

  The Elven girl shook her head sadly. “I have spoken with the Ellcrys, grandfather. She has told me that I am her Chosen. She has given to me her seed.”

  The old man’s face went pale, and his eyes dropped. “I am sorry, Amberle. I know that you wish it could be otherwise. Believe me, I wish it could be otherwise, too.”

  “I know you do,” she replied, but there was despair in her eyes.

  She separated from him and seated herself at the table with Allanon and Wil. The King remained standing for a moment, his eyes staring over at his granddaughter. There was a lost and frightened look to him that suggested a child strayed. Slowly he recovered himself, then moved to sit with the others.

  Allanon leaned forward, hands folding carefully atop the table.

  “Eventine and I agreed at the close of the High Council that we would meet in secret later this night. What is said here shall remain between the four of us and no other. Time slips away from us, and we must act quickly if we are to save the Elven people. The Ellcrys is failing. Soon the Demons contained within the Forbidding will break through into the Four Lands. Eventine and I shall be there to meet them when they do. But you, Amberle, and you also, Wil, must go in search of the Bloodfire.”

  He turned to the Elven girl. “I would go with you if I could. I would go with you if there were any possible way to do so, but there is not. One of the Demons that has already broken through the Forbidding, as well as some still locked within, possess powers that your grandfather and the Elven people cannot stand against without my help. It will be my task to shield the Elves from those powers. Sorcery to withstand sorcery. It must be so.