The Dark Legacy of Shannara Trilogy 3-Book Bundle

by Terry Brooks

  For a few quick seconds the blue Elfstone light was a zigzag blaze cutting through the city, and then in a sharp burst it found Arling Elessedil.

  But not where they had thought she would be.

  Arling was working her way through the city streets, trying to blend in with the crowds while at the same time avoiding encounters with Federation soldiers. She had left Edinja’s house through the front door; the lock had released without resistance, and no one had appeared to stop her. She could hardly believe her good fortune. But even though she mistrusted it, she was out and free and on her way to safety. She moved quickly down the steps and away from the building, taking more deserted streets until she reached busier ones. She was still wearing the night clothes Edinja had provided while she lay unconscious, but she had wrapped herself in a travel cloak she’d found hanging by the entry on her way out. Wearing slippers and keeping the hood to the cloak raised, she looked like many of the other young women she passed.

  Her plan was to reach the closest of the gates leading out of the city and pass through it before anyone found out she was gone. Once free of the city, she could then begin her search for Aphenglow and Cymrian. Somehow, she would find them. And together they would return to the Westland and determine what to do next.

  It was a rudimentary plan and didn’t begin to address the bulk of her problems—like finding out who had taken the missing Ellcrys seed and recovering it, or searching out the Bloodfire and immersing the seed so that the Ellcrys could be quickened, then returning to Arborlon to discover what was needed to make that happen …

  But she left off thinking about it, knowing she could not look too closely at what it would require. It was all she could do just to get free of Arishaig and away from Edinja Orle.

  Especially knowing that her captor would likely come after her.

  Still, she had gotten this far, hadn’t she? She had tricked the serving woman and escaped the house. She had freed herself from the sorceress and her dreadful creatures. Remembering what she had been shown in the cellars of Edinja Orle’s home made her shudder. Whatever else happened she would not allow herself to end up like that. She would kill herself first.

  It was a bold, reckless threat—one that she probably could not carry out—but it strengthened her determination to keep going until she was safely away.

  She caught sight of a pair of Elven traders standing with their cart of handwoven scarves and head coverings, and she hurried over to them.

  “I’m new to this city, and I’ve gotten lost,” she told them. “Can you point me toward the city’s west gate? I’m supposed to meet my mother there.”

  The men looked at each other. “Why don’t I accompany you,” said one, “so you won’t get lost again. It’s easy to do that here.”

  “Thank you, but no. Just show me the right direction.”

  Shrugging, he did so, and she was off again, moving quickly. She had rejected help she could have used without thinking, instinctively wanting to keep everyone at bay. She pressed ahead through crowds that were gradually growing larger, intent on reaching her goal. The buildings surrounding her were much bigger, making her feel ever more claustrophobic. The smells in the air were rank and fetid. She tried to breathe through her mouth, covering her face with her sleeve. Bodies jostled her, almost knocking her off her feet.

  Ahead, she could see Arishaig’s west wall, its massive gates standing open to the plains beyond, and she felt a surge of excitement. She was almost clear.

  But then shouts rose from atop the battlements—only a scattering at first, but then dozens more. People on the streets took up the shouts—a few dozen turning into hundreds and then thousands. The shouts blossomed into screams, and everyone began running, crowds rushing in every direction at once, people fighting to get away, swarming back through the streets. One huge surge was coming directly toward her, and she pushed and shoved her way frantically to reach the protection of a doorway, letting the mass of people fight their way past. She couldn’t understand what they were saying, and her attempts to stop anyone were unsuccessful. The fleeing people looked wild-eyed and frightened.

  Ahead, in the direction in which she had been going, she saw the massive gates begin to move, swinging on their iron hinges, the sounds of iron rubbing against iron adding a raucous shriek to the screams.

  She felt her heart freeze.

  The gates were closing.

  Aphenglow and Cymrian were following the map provided by the Elfstones’ vision, working their way through Arishaig’s streets. Neither could imagine how Arling had managed to escape Edinja Orle. If the sorceress’s home was as carefully protected as Rushlin had led them to believe, it seemed impossible that she could have gotten free. Yet somehow she had, and that meant sooner or later Edinja would come looking for her. Given the sorceress’s reputation, it seemed unlikely that Arling could evade her for long. They had to reach her quickly.

  Cymrian drew up short. “We’re wasting time. You have to use the Elfstones again.”

  Aphenglow looked around. “Out here? In the street?”

  “No, not here. It’s too crowded.” He pointed toward the roof of a long, square building nearby. The roof was flat and open to the sky. “Up there.”

  There were huge roll-up doors that opened into the building, but they were locked and barred, so Cymrian chose to break through a smaller door off a side street. No one was inside once they entered. The building was a warehouse filled with large crates carefully stacked in bays. A metal stairway led up to a doorway in the ceiling and out onto the roof.

  Once they were on the roof, Aphen didn’t waste any time. She brought out the Elfstones, settled into her by-now-familiar trance, and summoned the magic. It flared to life almost immediately, gathering power in the palm of her hand and then flashing away into the distance. From high up on the roof, they could see the walls of the city and two of the gates. The magic went straight toward the west gate, speeding almost to its massive portals before dropping down to a street leading in that direction and to an image of Arling wrapped in a cloak and hood as she made her way to freedom. Then the magic flared and died.

  “I know where she is,” Cymrian declared, already racing back toward the stairs.

  They went back through the empty warehouse and out the door into the street beyond. Cymrian led, with Aphen a step behind. The crowds were thin at first, but quickly began to grow in size until moving through them became all but impossible. Aphen grew frustrated and, throwing caution to the winds, she invoked a magic that moved people out of their path. But even this didn’t solve the problem entirely because she could only impact those closest, and the larger mass continued to press toward them.

  Then all at once shouts and screams rose from the direction in which they were heading, growing quickly from a scattered few to hundreds. Heads turned and people stopped where they were, milling about and trying to decide what was happening. Aphen and Cymrian attempted to move forward, but the street was entirely blocked now as the crowd clustered before them became a solid mass of bodies.

  “What’s happening?” Aphen shouted over the din.

  Seconds later the screams and cries reached the head of the crowd and people began to surge back toward the Elves. Aphen and Cymrian were forced against the walls of the flanking buildings, unable to do anything more than get out of the way. The cries were spreading throughout the city, rising all around them, filling the air until nothing else could be heard.

  In frustration, Cymrian began grabbing passersby, demanding to know what was happening. At first, he got no coherent answer. Those running were just following everyone else. Something terrible was happening, but it wasn’t clear what. All anyone knew to do was to get away.

  Until they stopped a young man who shouted, “The city’s under attack! Thousands of them, out on the flats!”

  “Thousands of what?” Cymrian snapped.

  The young man pulled free. “They say it’s demons!” he answered, and raced away.

  11


  Keeton was sleeping when the hands began shaking him. “Commander, wake up!”

  The urgency of the plea got through the layers of sleep that clogged his brain and brought him instantly awake. No small task, because he had been working all through the night and had only gotten to bed a little before midday.

  He rubbed his eyes and peered up at his second. “What is it, Wint?”

  “The city is under attack.”

  It was such an outrageous statement that, for a moment, Keeton thought he must have heard wrong. Then he sat up quickly. “Under attack from whom?”

  “Don’t know yet for sure.” His second hesitated. “The reports say it’s demons, but I don’t see how that can be. Whatever they are, though, there’s a lot of them.”

  Keeton rose, splashed water from the basin on his face, and began dressing. “You haven’t been to the wall yourself? You haven’t seen any of this firsthand?”

  “No. I just now got word from those who were there and managed to get back here. The city’s a mess. People crowding the streets, running everywhere, screaming like it’s the end of the world. Even if I could get to the wall, I’d have real trouble getting back. Besides, you wouldn’t be there with me, and I think you need to be.”

  “I always value your assessment, Wint. Thanks for waking me.”

  “You don’t mean it, but I appreciate your willingness to say it. You barely got to sleep. I didn’t want to wake you, but I think this is something bad.”

  Keeton finished buttoning his uniform, then ran his hand through his shock of prematurely gray hair and set his shoulders. “Let’s go find out. We’ll take a flit, get an overview. No crowds up there to get in the way.”

  They went out of his private quarters and into the barracks hallway. Immediately he was in a different world. Soldiers were rushing everywhere, and shouts were echoing up and down the halls. Some stopped long enough to salute and then hurried on once more. Some didn’t even stop for that. He wondered where they were charging off to since no one seemed to know exactly what was going on. Someone must have given an order to mobilize. If the city was under attack, the high command would want the entire army on the walls and at the gates right away.

  “Where’s Commander March?” he asked. Tinnen March was senior commander of the Federation army; his involvement in any decision making was unavoidable.

  “At the west gates, where the enemy’s massed. Assessing the situation.” Wint didn’t sound happy. “I believe he’s considering his options.”

  Keeton shook his head. “Which he will continue to do until the Prime Minister gives him his marching orders, but you didn’t hear me say that.”

  “Things were better under Commander Arodian,” the other offered quietly. “At least he knew what he was doing.”

  “Right up until he fell overboard during that ill-considered attack on Paranor. Another political decision resulting in another disaster. At least we got rid of Drust Chazhul, too.”

  “Good point. Things are so much better now with Edinja Orle.”

  Keeton glanced over and caught his second’s sly smile. They shared the same opinion when it came to their new Prime Minister. More competent than the old, but more dangerous and unpredictable, too. Keeton was fifth-generation military, Wint seventh. They neither liked nor trusted politicians—especially ones who interfered with army matters. Both Drust Chazhul and Edinja Orle were guilty of that sort of infringement; apparently it was a troublesome characteristic of career politicians.

  Keeton continued on through the barracks and out into the yard that led to the stacked hangars and the flits. First Response, the shock unit of the City Watch—of which he was commander—had its own designated squadron of flits, all heavily armed and armored, all two-man machines built for combat. One hundred men and women, all highly trained, the best of the best, handpicked by Wint and himself to serve in an elite corps fashioned specifically to act as protectors of the city proper. The regular army answered to Tinnen March, and the warships to Sefita Rayne. They, in turn, answered to the Prime Minister of the Federation Coalition Council.

  But he answered to no one but himself and those soldiers he commanded whenever there was a threat to the city.

  He assumed the order remained undisturbed, enemy at the gates or not. Which meant Commander March would wait for him to appear with an assessment before he took action. Even if Edinja Orle tried to interfere, he would stall.

  Keeton was a big, strong man with a full set of combat skills and a family history of military service so deeply infused in him that he had never even considered doing anything else with his life. He had applied early to the academy, been quickly accepted, and gone straight through school and training to the top of the Federation army command to assume this position. It had taken him less than a dozen years to demonstrate his competency and his commitment. The old Prime Minister had asked for him personally, had insisted he be given command of City Watch and First Response. If the city was attacked, he had said rather famously, he would prefer that the last person standing between him and death be Keeton.

  High praise, but a testing of the old man’s judgment hadn’t been necessary until now. After the end of the war on the Prekkendorran, things had quieted down considerably in the Southland. Aside from skirmishes and small brush fires here and there, no threats had arisen until this past year when Drust Chazhul had been chosen Prime Minister and launched his personal crusade against the Druids and Paranor.

  And now this new threat, whatever it was.

  Wint had moved ahead, making his way toward their flit, giving it a quick inspection before climbing aboard and settling himself into the weapons compartment. While Keeton was big, Wint was huge, and he had trouble fitting himself into the tiny space. It was always something of a mystery to others that he managed to do so. But Wint had been his second for almost the whole of his time as City Watch commander, and the two knew each other well enough by now that they had no secrets. Keeton wondered sometimes where he would be if not for Wint keeping watch at his elbow, ready to talk him through every situation, willing to do what was needed to make sure no mistakes were made.

  “Do we have a First Response team ready to go?”

  “We do.” Wint was cranking back the straps on the rail slings. “Two, as a matter of fact. We can have them airborne in minutes.”

  “Then let’s have a look, see if we need them.”

  He opened the parse tubes on the two-man and moved the thrusters forward. The flit lifted away, power flowing down the sleek radian draws from the narrow light sheaths to the diapson crystals and out the exhaust of the parse tube. Keeton took the flit up several hundred feet and wheeled west. He glanced down at the city, saw the streets filled with mobs of people, and noted the damage already done to carts and wagons and storefronts. Soldiers from the Federation’s regular army had begun blocking off the streets, containing the masses so that they could be dispersed. Barricades shut off the government buildings and the avenues leading back to the west gates. Better if the citizenry were somewhere else, out of the way.

  Nearing the west wall, he made a rough count of the number of soldiers gathered on the ramparts and directly inside the gates. Companies were forming up in the square fronting the gates, unit by unit coming together. Sentries on watch had not only closed the gates and thrown the heavy locks but also placed the huge crossbar in its twin seatings so that there could be no chance of a breach. It was as chaotic here as everywhere else, but with at least a semblance of military order as men rushed to join their units. Keeton guessed they had been rousted from all over the city, homes and barracks alike, and from the size of the companies few had been excused.

  He took the two-man over the walls and out onto the flats, rising into the air lane just above the approach road and the watchtowers bordering it. Passing over the towers, he was surprised to discover that they were all still manned. Normally, the men and women stationed in those towers would have been brought in right away if an invading a
rmy threatened.

  Which made him wonder why that hadn’t been done here and who exactly was attacking Arishaig.

  Once past the last of the towers and out over the grasslands, he found the answer to the second question quickly enough. A huge army was massed all along the ridgeline that formed the extreme south end of the Prekkendorran Heights. But this wasn’t an army of the sort he or anyone else he knew had ever encountered, and he sensed immediately that it did not consist of either Elves or soldiers from Callahorn’s Border Cities. It was massive beyond anything he had ever seen—beyond anything he had even imagined possible, for that matter. It measured hundreds deep and was stretched three or four miles wide. There was no order to it, no recognizable formation, and there was no obvious indication of how it was being commanded. It was simply a huge collection of bodies of all shapes and sizes, all looks and behavior, pushed to the edge of the ridgeline and somehow held in place so that it advanced no farther.

  “What army is that?” he heard Wint exclaim in shock.

  He might have answered if he’d been given more time, but he was distracted by a flurry of winged forms rising from the masses directly toward his flit. Reacting instantly, he spun the craft away and raced down the edge of the invading army, escaping this fresh assault while still trying to make out something recognizable in the faces and bodies of its members.

  “Those creatures aren’t anything we know,” Wint shouted from the weapons hold behind him. “Maybe they really are demons!”

  Keeton didn’t believe that for a second, no matter what they looked like. There weren’t any demons in the Four Lands. Hadn’t been any in centuries, and even those were mostly rumors. This was something else, but he didn’t know what.

  And he didn’t have time to speculate on it now or even to try to sort through the different creatures he was looking at. The winged things were coming for them, closing the distance separating them more rapidly than should have been possible. A flit was fast and agile, and Keeton didn’t know of anything living that could keep up with it in the air.