by Terry Brooks
Yet when he turned to share what he was feeling with Amberle, he found her gone.
13
When Wil Ohmsford awoke once more, it was dawn. He lay in a grassy vale beneath the sheltering limbs of twin maples, the morning sun filtering down through masses of broad green leaves in long streamers of brightness that made him blink. Close by, there was the faint sound of water lapping against a shore. For an instant, he believed himself still within the wondrous gardens of his dream. So real had they seemed to him that, almost without thinking about it he pushed himself up on one elbow and looked about hurriedly for them. But the gardens were gone.
Amberle lay next to him, still sleeping. He hesitated, then reached over and shook her shoulder gently. She stirred restlessly and her eyes opened. She looked at him in surprise.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” She brushed the sleep from her eyes. “Where are we?”
Wil shook his head. “I don’t know.”
The Elven girl sat up slowly and looked about the small vale.
“Where is Allanon?”
“I don’t know that either.” Wil stretched his legs tentatively, surprised to find them loose and uncramped. “He’s gone. They’re all gone—Allanon, those creatures …” He paused, hearing movement in the brush at the far end of the hollow. A familiar black face poked through the leaves, nickering softly. Wil smiled. “Well, at least we still have Artaq with us.”
The black cropped lazily at the grass, shook himself clear of the brush, and trotted over to nuzzle Wil. Wil stroked the sleek head for a moment, rubbing at the horse’s ears. Amberle watched quietly.
“Did you see the old man?” Wil asked her.
She nodded solemnly. “That old man was the King of the Silver River.”
Wil looked at her. “I thought as much. My grandfather saw him once, years ago. I don’t think I was ever really sure whether he was real or not until now, though. Funny.” Artaq moved off several paces and began feeding. Wil shook his head. “He saved our lives back there. The Demon-wolves almost had us …” He caught the look that crept into the Elven girl’s eyes and stopped. “Anyway, I guess we’re safe now.”
“It was like a dream, wasn’t it?” she said softly. “We were floating in the light, riding Artaq with nothing beneath us but the light. Then he came up to us, walking, came out of nowhere and said something …” She trailed off, as if the memory of it confused her. “Did you see it?”
The Valeman nodded.
“And then he disappeared,” she continued, speaking more to herself than to him, as if trying to recall all that had happened. “He disappeared and the light disappeared and … and then …” She looked at him curiously.
“The gardens?” he suggested. “Did you see the gardens?”
“No.” She hesitated. “No, there were no gardens, just a darkness and a … a sensation I can’t describe. I … a sort of reaching, I think.” She looked at him for help, but he just stared back at her in confusion. “You were standing there with me,” she went on. “You were standing there, but you couldn’t see me. I called to you, but you didn’t seem to hear me. It was so strange.”
Wil hunched forward. “I remember the old man and the light, just as you’ve described them. I remember that. When they disappeared, I remember falling asleep … or at least, I think I fell asleep. Anyway, you were there with me on Artaq. I could feel your arms about my waist. The next thing I knew, I was standing in these gardens—I’d never seen anything like them; they were so peaceful and beautiful and quiet. But when I looked around for you, you weren’t there. You were gone.”
They looked at each other wordlessly for a moment.
“I suppose we had better worry about where we are now,” Wil said finally.
He climbed to his feet and looked about again. Belatedly, he thought about helping Amberle up, but by then she was already standing next to him, brushing leaves and grass from her hair. He hesitated a moment, then led the way through the brush surrounding them toward the sound of the water.
Moments later, they stood at the edge of a lake so vast that its shoreline circled in either direction to the horizon and disappeared. Waves crested in sudden flashes of silver foam, the waters deep and clear blue in the morning sun. Groves of trees bordered its grass-covered banks, willow and elm and ash, leaves rippling softly in a light southerly wind that carried with it the scent of honeysuckle and azaleas. In the cloudless blue sky that canopied above the lake arced a brilliant, shimmering band of colors that seemed to rise from one end of the horizon and disappear into the other.
Wil glanced upward to fix the sun’s location, then turned to Amberle, shaking his head in disbelief.
“Do you know where we are? We’re somewhere on the north shore of the Rainbow Lake. The old man carried us all the way down the Silver River and across the lake to wherever it is we are now. We’re miles from where we started.”
The Elven girl nodded almost absently. “I think you’re right.”
“I know I’m right.” Wil paced away excitedly and stopped at the water’s edge. “I just don’t know how he managed it.”
Amberle sat down on the grass, gazing out over the lake.
“The legend says he helps those who need it when they travel in his land—that he keeps them safe from harm.” She paused, her mind clearly elsewhere. “He said something to me … I wish I could remember …”
Wil was not listening. “We should get moving. Arborlon’s a long way off. But if we travel in a northwest direction, we should be able to find the Mermidon, then follow it all the way to the Westland. That’s a lot of open country, but we won’t be so easy to find now. There’s no trail to follow this time.”
He missed entirely the look of annoyance that crossed Amberle’s face, his mind preoccupied with the journey ahead.
“It should only take us about four days—maybe five, since we only have one horse between us. If we get lucky, we might find another one somewhere along the way, but I suppose that’s asking a bit much. It would help if we had some weapons, too; we don’t even have a hunting bow. That means eating fruit and wild vegetables, I guess. Of course we might …”
He trailed off, suddenly aware that Amberle was shaking her head in disapproval. The Elven girl crossed her legs before her and sat back.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, dropping down next to her.
“You are, for one thing.”
“What do you mean, I am?”
“You seem to have fixed in your mind everything that happens from here on. Don’t you think you ought to hear my thoughts on the matter?”
Wil stared at her, somewhat taken aback. “Well sure, I …”
“I haven’t noticed you asking for them,” she continued, ignoring him. “Do you not think it necessary to ask?”
The Valeman reddened. “I’m sorry. I was just …”
“You were just making decisions that you have no right to make.” She paused and regarded him coolly. “I don’t even know what you’re doing here. The only reason I’ve come this far with you is that I really didn’t have any choice in the matter. It’s time to find out a few things. Why did Allanon bring you along in the first place, Wil Ohmsford? Who are you?”
Wil told her, starting with the story of Shea Ohmsford and the quest for the Sword of Shannara and ending with Allanon’s visit to Storlock to seek his aid in tracking the Bloodfire. He told her everything, deciding that it was pointless to hold anything back, sensing that if he were not completely honest with this girl, she would have nothing further to do with him.
When he finished, Amberle stared at him wordlessly for a moment, then shook her head slowly.
“I don’t know whether to believe you or not. I should, I suppose. I really don’t have any reason not to. It’s just that so much has happened that I’m not really very certain of anything right now.” She hesitated. “I’ve heard stories of the Elfstones. They were an old magic, said to have all been lost long before the Gr
eat Wars. Yet you claim Allanon gave three to your grandfather and he in turn gave them to you. If that much of what you’ve told me were true …” She trailed off, her eyes fixed on his. “Would you show them to me?” she asked.
The Valeman hesitated, then reached into his tunic. He realized that she was testing him, but then he guessed that she had a right to do that. After all, she had only his word for everything he had told her, and she was being asked to place her safety in his hands. He pulled out the worn leather pouch, loosened the drawstrings and dropped the stones in his hand. Perfectly formed, their color a deep, brilliant blue, they flashed sharply in the morning sunlight.
Amberle bent close, regarding them solemnly. Then she looked back at Wil again.
“How do you know these are Elfstones?”
“I have my grandfather’s word on it. And Allanon’s.”
She did not look impressed. “Do you know how to use them?”
He shook his head. “I’ve never tried.”
“Then you don’t really know whether they’re any good to you or not, do you?” She laughed softly. “You won’t know until you need them. That’s not very comforting, is it?”
“No, not very,” he agreed.
“Yet here you are anyway.”
He shrugged. “It seemed like the right thing to do.” He dropped the Elfstones back in the pouch and tucked the pouch into his tunic. “I guess I’ll have to wait and see how it works out to know whether or not I was mistaken.”
She studied him carefully for a moment, saying nothing. He waited.
“We have much in common, Wil Ohmsford,” she said finally. She crossed her arms about her knees, drawing them up. “Well, you’ve told me who you are—I think you’re entitled to the same courtesy. My family name is Elessedil. Eventine Elessedil is my grandfather. In a sense, we’re both involved in this because of who our grandfathers are.”
Wil nodded. “That’s true, I suppose.”
The wind caught her chestnut hair and blew it across her face like a veil. She brushed the strands away and looked out across the lake again.
“You know that I do not want to go back to Arborlon,” she said.
“I know.”
“But that’s where you think I ought to go, isn’t it?”
He eased back on his elbows, watching the rainbow’s arc above him.
“That’s where I think you have to go,” he replied. “Obviously you cannot go back to Havenstead; the Demons will be looking for you there. Pretty soon, they’ll be looking for you here as well. You have to keep moving. If Allanon escaped …” He paused, distracted by the implications of that statement. “If Allanon escaped, he will expect us to go on to Arborlon, and that’s where we’ll find him.” He looked over at her. “If you’ve got any better ideas, I’m ready to listen.”
For a long time, she didn’t say anything. She just kept staring out over the Rainbow Lake, watching the graceful movement of the water, letting the wind blow freely across her face. When she finally spoke again, it was just a whisper.
“I’m afraid.”
Then she looked at him, seemed about to say something more, and thought better of it. She smiled—the first genuine smile he had seen from her.
“Well, we’re a pair of fools, aren’t we? You with your Elfstones that may or may not be what you think and me about to do the one thing I swore I’d never do.” She rose, walked away a few paces, then turned as he came to his feet behind her. “I want you to know this. I think that going to Arborlon is pointless. I think that Allanon is wrong about me. Neither the Ellcrys nor the Elven people will accept me back again because, despite what the Druid may think, I am no longer one of the Chosen.”
She paused. “Still, doing anything else wouldn’t make much sense, would it?”
“Not to me, it wouldn’t,” he agreed.
She nodded. “Then I guess it’s settled.” Her child’s face regarded him soberly. “I just hope this isn’t a mistake.”
Wil sighed. “If it is, we’ll probably know soon enough.” He forced a thin smile. “Let’s collect Artaq and find out.”
They spent the remainder of that day and all of the next traveling north and west through the grasslands of Callahorn. The weather was warm, dry, and pleasant, and the time passed quickly. Dark thunderclouds appeared to the north around noon of the first day, hanging ominously over the craggy expanse of the Dragon’s Teeth, but by sunset they had blown east into the Rabb and were gone. The Valeman and the Elven girl alternated between riding Artaq and walking, doubling up when they rode, then both traveling afoot for a time in order to rest the big black. Artaq looked fresh even after several hours of being ridden, but Wil was not about to risk tiring the horse. They saw nothing of the Demons that they had lost at the Silver River, but the creatures were certainly still out there and looking for them. If they were unlucky enough to be found again, Wil wanted Artaq ready to run.
Bereft of any weapons at all, save for a small hunting knife Wil carried tucked in his belt, they were forced to eat fruits and vegetables that grew wild on the grasslands. Wil found the fare ample, if somewhat less than satisfying, but Amberle seemed not to mind at all. If anything, she seemed quite pleased with their meals. She showed the Valeman a talent for discovering food where he would not have guessed food existed, pulling from the most unlikely places edible plants and roots that she readily identified and described in quite thorough detail. Wil listened attentively and asked questions from time to time, finding this the one topic of conversation she seemed willing to pursue. Initially, he had tried to draw her out on other subjects, but had met with little success. So they talked of plants and roots and the rest of the time traveled in silence.
They slept that first night in a grove of cottonwood near a small spring that provided them with clean drinking water. By midafternoon of the second day, they reached the Mermidon and began following it north. Up until that point, they had seen no one, but thereafter passed half-a-dozen travelers, some afoot, some on horseback, one riding in a small wooden cart drawn by oxen. All exchanged with them a word of friendship and a wave before continuing on their way.
At sunset they made camp along the Mermidon, west and south of the city of Tyrsis, finding shelter in a grove of white pine and willow. Using a willow branch, a length of twine, and a hook from his clothing, Wil fashioned a crude fishing pole. Within half-an-hour he had landed a pair of striped bass. He was still cleaning the fish by the river’s edge when a caravan of wagons swung into view from the south and wound its way down toward the far bank. Gaily painted houses on wheels, with peaked roofs of cedar shingles, hand-carved wooden doors, and windows studded with brass, the wagons flashed brightly in the setting sun. Teams of finely groomed horses pulled the wagons, their traces laced with bits of silver. Several riders kept pace, their graceful forms cloaked in silk and trailing streamers of color from their throats and from the bridles of their mounts. In spite of himself, Wil stopped what he was doing and watched the strange procession approach the river, wagon axles groaning, leather harness creaking, voices calling and whistling encouragement. Almost directly across from where the Valeman sat, the caravan swung into a loose circle and lurched to a halt. Men, women and children climbed from the wagons and began unhitching the teams and setting up camp.
Amberle appeared from the trees behind Wil and joined him. The Valeman glanced over at her briefly, then followed her gaze back across the river to the gathering on the far bank.
“Rovers,” he announced thoughtfully.
She nodded. “I’ve seen them before. The Elves don’t have much use for them.”
“No one has.” He went back to cleaning the fish. “They’ll steal anything that isn’t nailed down—or if it is, find a way to talk you out of it. They have their own rules and they don’t pay any attention to anyone else’s.”
Amberle touched his arm, and he looked up to watch a tall man, dressed all in black save for a cloak and sash of forest green, accompany two older women in long, multic
olored skirts and blouses as they carried water buckets down to the water’s edge. As the women stooped to fill the buckets, the tall man removed a wide-brimmed hat and, with a flourish, bowed low to Wil and Amberle, his darkly tanned face flashing a broad smile through a shading of black beard. Wil raised one arm and waved back cordially.
“I’m just as glad that they’re on that side of the river,” he muttered to Amberle as they rose to return to their camp.
They enjoyed a savory meal of fish, fruit, vegetables and spring water, then settled back next to the campfire and gazed out through breaks in the forest to the glimmer of the Rover fires as they blazed up from out of the darkness across the river. They were quiet for a time, lost in their own thoughts. Then Wil looked over at the Elven girl.
“How is it that you know so much about growing things—the gardens at your cottage in Havenstead, the roots and plants you found for us during our journey? Did someone teach you all that?”
A look of surprise crossed her face. “For being part Elf, you certainly don’t know very much about us, do you?”
Wil shrugged. “Not really. The Elven blood is all on my father’s side, and he died when I was very young. I don’t think that my grandfather has ever gone into the Westland—at least he never speaks about it. In any case, I guess I’ve just never thought that much about being part Elf.”
“It is something that you should have thought about,” she said quietly. Her green eyes found his. “We first need to understand who we were before we can understand who we are.”
The words were spoken not as a criticism of the Valeman, but almost in self-reproach. Wil found himself suddenly wishing that he knew more about this girl, that he could find a way to persuade her to confide even a small piece of herself in him, rather than keeping it all so tightly locked away.
“Maybe you could help me gain at least a part of that understanding,” he offered after a moment’s thought.
There was instant doubt in her eyes, almost as if she believed that he was playing some game with her. She hesitated a long time before answering him.
