The Sword of Shannara Trilogy (119 page)

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.

M
oments 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 and 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.

“But in my place, I send Wil Ohmsford, and I have not chosen lightly to entrust your care and safety to him. It was his grandfather who went with me in search of the Sword of Shannara, who found it, and who then stood alone against the Warlock Lord and saw him destroyed. His great-uncle Flick once saved your grandfather’s life. Wil has the strength of character that marked both men; he has their sense of honor. You have seen that he holds the Elfstones that I once gave to his grandfather. He will protect you as I would. He will stand with you, Amberle—he will not fail you.”

There was a long moment of silence. The Valeman felt embarrassed by the Druid’s words—embarrassed and uneasy. He was not so sure of himself. He glanced quickly at Amberle and found her staring back at him.

“You are a Chosen in service to the Ellcrys,” Allanon continued, drawing the Elven girl’s eyes back to meet his own. “Though we all might wish it were otherwise, the matter has been settled as we agreed that it should be. You are the last of the Chosen, and therefore the last hope of your people. You alone can restore the Forbidding. A terrible responsibility, Amberle, but it belongs to you. If you fail, Demon and Elf will do battle until one or both have been utterly destroyed. The Ellcrys has given you her seed, and so you must take it in quest of the Bloodfire. That will not be easily done. The Bloodfire lies within a place called Safehold, and Safehold is a part of the old world. That world is gone, forever changed. Down through the ages, the place called Safehold has been all but forgotten. Even the Ellcrys no longer recognizes the path that leads there. If not for the Druid histories, Safehold might have been irretrievably lost to us. Yet the histories are a link between past and present. I have read them and know where Safehold lies.”

He paused. “It lies within the Wilderun.”

No one said a word. There was no need. Even Wil Ohmsford, a Southlander and a Valeman who until now had never set foot in the Westland, had heard of the Wilderun. Buried within the forests that lay south of the Elven homeland, it was a treacherous and forbidding stretch of wilderness virtually encircled by mountains and swamp. Fewer than half a dozen hamlets could be found there, and those were peopled by thieves, cutthroats, and outlaws of every conceivable sort. Even they seldom strayed far from their villages or the few well-worn trails that crisscrossed the region, for in the timber beyond, the rumors said, were creatures no man would care to encounter.

Wil took a deep breath. “You wouldn’t happen to know where within the Wilderun we are to find the Bloodfire?”

Allanon shook his head. “I cannot be sure. Even the Druid histories
refer in part to the geography—of the old world, and the landmarks that existed then are gone. You will have to rely on the Elfstones.”

“I thought as much.” The Valeman sagged back in his chair. “Use of the Elfstones will tell the Demons where we can be found.”

“Unfortunately true. You will have to exercise great discretion, Wil. I will relate to you what the Ellcrys told the Chosen about Safehold before they were slain—what she later told also to me. This may help you in your search. The Bloodfire lies within a wilderness with mountains and swamp all around—obviously the Wilderun, as the Druid histories record. Now here is the rest of what she said. There is a deep mist that comes and goes. Wilhin the wilderness can be found a lone peak; beneath the peak is a maze of tunnels that burrow deep within the earth. Somewhere within the maze is a door made of glass that will not break. Behind the door you will find the Bloodfire.”

He cocked his head reflectively. “As you can see, the general description of the Wilderun remains surprisingly accurate, even after the passage of so many years and the cataclysmic changes wrought in the geography of the earth by the Great Wars. Perhaps the balance of the description remains accurate as well. Perhaps the Bloodfire may still be found beneath a lone peak, within a maze of tunnels.” He shrugged. “I would give you more help if I had it to give, but I do not. You must do the best you can with that.”

Wil managed a faint, if somewhat forced, smile of encouragement. He did not dare look over at Amberle.

“How do we reach the Wilderun?” he asked.

The Druid glanced questioningly at Eventine, but the Elven King appeared preoccupied. At last, distracted by the silence, he looked over at Allanon and nodded absently.