The Elfstones of Shannara

by Terry Brooks

  A sudden apprehension stole through Wil. This was no Stor that came; indeed, this looked to be no man the like of which he had ever seen.

  “It cannot be . . .” he heard Flick mutter.

  His uncle did not finish the thought. He brushed past Wil and stepped to the edge of the porch, bracing himself with an outstretched arm against the rain-slicked railing. Wil moved to stand with him. The horseman was coming directly toward them. So strong was the sense of foreboding that the rider’s approach engendered within him that the Valeman gave momentary consideration to fleeing. Yet he could not flee. He could only wait, eyes fixed on the spectral form.

  The rider drew to a halt before the Valemen. His head was lowered, his face hidden within the folds of a dark cowl.

  “Hello, Flick.”

  The rider’s voice was a deep, low whisper. Wil saw his uncle start.

  “Allanon!”

  The big man slipped from the back of his horse, but one arm remained hooked about the animal’s neck, as if he could not stand alone. Wil came forward a pace and stopped. Something was clearly wrong.

  Allanon’s gaze shifted slowly to meet his own. “Wil Ohmsford?” The Valeman nodded, surprised. “Go quickly and ask the Stors to come . . .” he began, then sagged downward, barely catching himself in time to keep from collapsing.

  Wil came down the porch steps instantly, moving to the Druid’s aid, but stopped as the big man’s hand came up in warning.

  “Do as I say, Valeman—go!”

  Then Wil saw clearly what the rain had hidden from him before. Allanon’s clothes were deeply stained with blood. Without another word the Valeman bounded back up the roadway toward the center, the weariness and discomfort slipping from him like a dream lost in waking.

  VIII

  The Stors took Allanon to the rest center, and although both Wil and Flick sought to accompany the injured Druid, they were told gently but firmly that their assistance was not needed. Enigmatic and silent, Stors and Druid disappeared into the corridors of the center, and the Valemen were left standing in the rain. Since it was apparent that for the moment nothing further would be learned of the Druid’s coming, Wil Ohmsford bade his uncle goodnight and went off to bed.

  Later that same day, during the early evening hours, Allanon sent word that he wanted to see both Valemen. Wil received the news with mixed emotions. On the one hand, he was curious to discover what had befallen the Druid. Stories of Allanon were familiar territory; his grandfather and Flick had told them all a dozen times over. Yet never in those tales had there been mention of injuries like those the big man had suffered in coming to Storlock. Not even the Skull Bearer that had attacked him in the furnace room at Paranor during the search for the Sword of Shannara had done this kind of damage, and Wil wanted to know what manner of creature walked the Four Lands that was more dangerous than the winged servants of the Warlock Lord. On the other hand, he was disturbed by the Druid’s presence in Storlock. It might have been coincidence that Allanon came at a time when he found both Flick and Wil in the village. It might have been by chance that he stumbled upon them rather than the Stors. But Wil did not believe it for a moment. Allanon had come to them deliberately. Why had he done that? And why had he summoned them to this meeting? Wil could understand Allanon’s wish to confer with Flick; after all, they had met before and shared common adventures. By why Wil? The Druid didn’t even know the youngest Ohmsford. Why would Allanon be interested in meeting with him?

  Nevertheless, he left his quarters and dutifully trooped off through the growing darkness across the village square toward the guest house where he knew Flick would be waiting. Much as he mistrusted the purpose behind this meeting, he was determined to go anyway. He was not one to back away from trouble—and besides, he could be wrong in his suspicions. Perhaps the Druid merely wanted to thank him for his help.

  He found Flick waiting on the porch of the guest cottage, wrapped tightly in his heavy travel cloak, mumbling irritably about the weather. The elder Ohmsford came down the porch steps to join him, and they struck off together down the roadway toward the Stor rest center.

  “What do you think he wants, Uncle Flick?” Wil asked after a moment, pulling his own cloak closer about him to ward off the evening chill.

  “Hard to say,” Flick grunted. “I’ll tell you one thing. Every time he appears, it means trouble.”

  “His coming to Storlock has something to do with us, doesn’t it?” Wil ventured, watching his uncle’s face.

  Flick shook his head uncertainly. “He’s come here for a purpose sure enough. And he’s called us over to say something more than hello and how are you. Whatever it is he has to say, it won’t be anything we want to hear. I know that much. It never has been before and I see no reason to expect anything different this time around.” He stopped abruptly and faced his nephew. “You watch yourself in there with him, Wil. He is not to be trusted.”

  “I’ll be careful, Uncle Flick, but I don’t think there is much to worry about,” Wil replied. “We both know something of Allanon, don’t we? Besides, you’ll be there to keep an eye on things.”

  “I fully intend to.” Flick turned and they continued walking. “Just remember what I said.”

  Moments later they mounted the porch steps of the rest center and stepped inside. The center was a long, low building constructed of stone and mortar walls and a clay-tiled roof. A large, comfortably furnished lobby opened on either side into hallways that disappeared into the wings of the center, where numerous small rooms provided for the care of the sick and injured. As they entered, one of the white-robed Stors in attendance came up to greet them. He beckoned wordlessly, then led them down a long, empty hallway. At its end was a single closed door. The Stor knocked once, turned, and left. Wil glanced uneasily at Flick, but the elder Ohmsford was staring fixedly at the closed door. Together they waited.

  Then the door swung open and Allanon stood before them. He looked for all the world as if he had not been injured at all. No wounds were visible. The black robes that cloaked his tall frame were clean of blood. His face was somewhat drawn, but showed no sign of any pain. His penetrating gaze settled on the Valemen for a moment, then one hand motioned toward a small table with four chairs set about it.

  “Why don’t we sit there while we talk?” He made the suggestion seem almost an order.

  They entered and seated themselves on the chairs. The room was windowless and bare of furnishings, except for the table and chairs and a large bed. Wil glanced about briefly, then turned his attention to the Druid. Allanon had been described to him by both Flick and Shea on dozens of occasions, and he looked now exactly as he had been described. But how could that be, Wil wondered, when the descriptions were of a man they had not seen since before the time of his birth?

  “Well, here we are,” Flick said finally, when it appeared that no one was ever going to say anything.

  Allanon smiled faintly. “It seems so.”

  “You look well enough for a man who was half-dead just a few hours earlier.”

  “The Stors are very adept at their art, as you of all people should know,” the Druid replied rather too pleasantly. “But I’m afraid I do not feel half so well as I should. How are you, Flick?”

  “Older and wiser, I hope,” the Valeman declared meaningfully.

  Allanon did not respond. His gaze shifted abruptly to Wil. For a moment he said nothing further, his dark face inscrutable as he studied the younger Ohmsford. Wil sat quietly and did not turn away, though the Druid’s eyes made him uneasy. Then slowly Allanon leaned forward in his chair, his great hands settling on the table top and folding together.

  “I need your help, Wil Ohmsford,” he stated quietly. Both Valemen stared at him. “I need you to come with me into the Westland.”

  “I knew it,” muttered Flick, shaking his head.

  Allanon smiled ruefully. “It is comforting to know, Flick, that some things in this life never change. You are certainly proof of that. Would it matter at
all if I were to tell you that Wil’s help is needed not for me, but for the Elven people and in particular, a young Elven girl?”

  “No, it would not,” the Valeman replied without a moment’s hesitation. “He’s not going and that’s the end of it.”

  “Wait a minute, Uncle Flick,” Wil interjected quickly. “It may well be that I’m not going, but I would like to be the one who makes that decision. At least, we can hear something more about what it is that I’m needed to do.”

  Flick ignored the reprimand. “Believe me, you do not want to hear another word. This is exactly how the trouble begins. This is exactly how it began for your grandfather fifty years ago.” He looked quickly at Allanon. “Isn’t that true? Isn’t this exactly how things started when you came to Shady Vale and told us all about the Sword?”

  Allanon nodded. “It is.”

  “There—you see!” Flick declared triumphantly. “Exactly the same. I’ll wager this journey you’ve got planned for him is dangerous, too, isn’t it?”

  Again the Druid nodded.

  “Well, then,” the Valeman sat back, satisfaction etched into his bearded face. “I should think that settles the matter. You’re asking too much. He’s not going.”

  Allanon’s dark eyes glittered. “He must go.”

  Flick looked startled. “He must?”

  The Druid nodded. “You will see why, Flick, once I have explained what has happened in the Four Lands these past few days. Listen closely to me, Valemen.”

  He edged his chair closer to the table and leaned forward. “A long time ago, a very long time ago, before the Great Wars and the evolution of the new races, even before the development of Man as a civilized species, there was a terrible war fought between creatures that, for the most part, no longer exist. Some of these creatures were good and caring; they revered the land and sought to protect and preserve it against misuse and waste. For them, all life was sacred. But there were others who were evil and selfish; their ways were destructive and harmful. They took from the land and from its life without need or purpose. All were creatures whose physical characteristics and capabilities differed in the main from your own—that is to say, their appearance was different from yours, and they were capable of behavior no longer innate to the men of this world. In particular, they possessed to varying degrees powers of magic—at least, we would call it magic or sorcery or the mystic. Such power was common at that time, though some among these creatures possessed the power to a greater extent than others; thus their capacity for good or evil was enhanced proportionately. All of these creatures, both good and evil, existed together in the world and, because Man had not yet developed beyond a primitive life form existing within a narrow geographical space, the world was theirs alone. It had been so for centuries. But their existence together had never been harmonious. They lived in continuing conflict, for they worked at cross-purposes—the good to preserve, the evil to destroy. From time to time the balance of power between the conflicting sides would shift, as first the good and then the evil would dominate the drift of things.

  “The struggle between them intensified through the years until finally, after centuries had passed without resolution of the conflict, the leaders in each camp banded together all who supported them, and the war began. This was not a war the like of which we have seen since. This was not a war on the order of the Great Wars, for the Great Wars employed power of such awesome proportion that the men who wielded it lost control entirely and were engulfed in the resulting cataclysm. Rather it was a war in which power and strength were skillfully employed at each turn—in which the creatures involved stood toe to toe in battle and lived and died on the skill they wielded. This was like the Wars of the Races, which have dominated the history of the new world; in the Race Wars, the Warlock Lord perverted the thinking of those who served him, turning them against one another so that in the end he might enslave and rule them all. But in this war, there was never any deceit or illusion that swayed those who fought it. Good and evil were polarized from the beginning; no one stood aside in neutrality, for there were no neutral corners to be found. This was a war fought to determine forever the character and mode of evolution of life on the earth across which it was waged. It was a war that would decide whether the land would be forever preserved or forever desecrated. Each camp had resolved once and for all to achieve total victory over the other. For the creatures of evil, if they were defeated, it meant banishment; for the creatures of good, if they lost, it meant annihilation.

  “So the war was fought—a terrible, monstrous war that I will not even attempt to describe, for there would be no point in doing so. For our purposes here it is only important that you know that the evil ones were defeated. Their power was broken and they were driven back and finally trapped. Those who had defeated them used their powers to create a Forbidding, a wall of imprisonment behind which the evil was to be placed. Their prison was not of this world nor any world, but a black hole of emptiness and isolation where nothing but the evil would be permitted to exist. Into this hole the evil was banished, sealed away behind the wall of the Forbidding for all time.

  “The strength behind the Forbidding was a marvelous tree called an Ellcrys. The creatures of good created the Ellcrys out of the earth’s life source, which they called the Bloodfire, and out of their own power. They gave her life so that, by her presence in the world, the Forbidding might endure long after they themselves were gone, long after the world they had struggled so long and desperately to preserve had altered and evolved beyond any recognition. Her life span was not to be measured by any standard that they possessed. But so long as she lived, the Forbidding continued, and so long as the Forbidding continued, the evil would remain shut within its prison.”

  He settled back in his chair, easing his tall frame gingerly away from the table to relieve cramped muscles, his arms slipping down into his lap. His dark eyes stayed locked on those of the Valemen.

  “It was believed that the Ellcrys would live forever—not by those who gave her life, for they knew that all things must eventually pass away—but by those who followed them, by all who nurtured and loved and honored this wondrous tree that was their protector for countless centuries. For them, the Ellcrys became a symbol of permanency; she survived the destruction of the old world in the holocaust of the Great Wars, she survived the Race Wars and the power of the Warlock Lord, and she survived after every other living thing that had existed with her had passed away—everything but the earth herself, and even the earth had changed while the Ellcrys had remained constant.”

  He paused. “So the legend grew. The Ellcrys would live forever. It was eternal. That belief never faltered.” His face lifted slightly. “Until now. Now the belief is shattered. The Ellcrys is dying. The Forbidding begins to erode. The evil ones imprisoned within begin to break free once more and come back into this world that was once theirs.”

  “And these creatures caused your injuries?” Wil surmised.

  Allanon nodded. “Some already walk the Four Lands. Though I thought to keep my presence secret, they have discovered me. They found me at Paranor within the Druid’s Keep and very nearly finished me.”

  Flick looked alarmed. “Are they still searching for you?”

  “They are—but I have reason to believe that they won’t be so quick to find me this time.”

  “That doesn’t reassure me much,” the Valeman grumbled, glancing toward the doorway of the little room a bit apprehensively.

  Allanon let the remark pass. “You may remember, Flick, that I once told to Shea and to you the history of the races. I told you how all of the races evolved from the old race of Man following the destruction wrought by the Great Wars—all of the races but one. The Elves. I told you that the Elves were always there. Do you remember?”

  Flick grunted. “I remember. That was something else you never explained.”

  “I said that theirs was another story for another time. That time is now—in part, at least, though I don’t pro
pose to digress on the history of the Elven people at any great length. But some things you should know. We have spoken only in the abstract of the creatures that fought this war of good and evil that culminated in the creation of the Ellcrys. We must give them identity. All were creatures that became part of the old legends of faerie when men emerged from the darkness of barbarism and began to populate and build upon the world. They were creatures of magics, as I have said, both great and small. There were diverse species—some all good, some all bad, some whose individual peoples divided and went in opposite ways. They had names that you will recognize—Faeries, Sprites, Goblins, Wraiths, and the like. The new races, though human in ancestry, were named from four of the more numerous and best recorded of these creatures of supposed legend—Dwarves, Gnomes, Trolls, and Elves. Except, of course, that the Elves are different. They are different because they are not simply a legend reborn—they are the legend survived. The Elven people are the descendants of the faerie creatures that existed in the old world.”

  “Now wait a minute,” Flick cut in quickly. “You mean to say that the Elven people are the same Elven people that all the old legends tell about—that there really were Elves in the old world?”

  “Certainly there were Elves in the old world—just as there were Trolls and Dwarves and all the other creatures that gave birth to the legends. The only difference is that all of the others have been gone from the world for centuries, while the Elves have remained. They have altered, of course; they have evolved considerably. They were forced to adapt.”

  Flick looked as if he didn’t understand one word of what he was hearing.