The Sword of the Shannara and the Elfstones of Shannara

by Terry Brooks

  The path ahead rose sharply for the first hundred yards or so, then tapered off gradually and narrowed to such an extent that there was only enough room for one person to pass between the cliff sides. The pass was no more than a deep niche in the face of the cliff, the sides slanting inward and almost closing far above them. Only a thin ribbon of light from the blue sky streamed downward to reach them, faintly lighting the winding, boulder-laden path ahead. Their progress slowed perceptibly as the lead men searched for traps left by the Gnomes. Shea had no idea how far Durin had gone in his scouting mission, but apparently he had not ventured into what Hendel had referred to as the Knot. He could guess where the name had originated. The narrowness of the passage left the sharp impression of being drawn through the knot of a hangman’s noose to the same fate as that which awaited the condemned. He could hear Flick’s labored breathing almost in his ear and experienced an unpleasant feeling of suffocation at the closeness of the rock walls. The group moved slowly onward, slightly bent to avoid the narrowed cliff sides and their razor-sharp stone projections.

  Suddenly, the pace slowed further and the whole line crowded together. Behind him, Shea heard the deep voice of Allanon muttering angrily, demanding to know what had happened, asking excitedly to be let to the front. But in these close quarters it was impossible for anyone to give way. Shea peered ahead and noticed a sharp ray of light beyond the leaders. Apparently the path was widening at last. They were nearly free of the Pass of Noose. But then, just as Shea felt they had reached the safety of the other end, there were loud exclamations and the entire line came to a complete stop. Menion’s voice cut through the semidarkness in surprise and anger, causing Allanon to mutter a low oath of fury and order the company to move ahead. For a moment nothing happened. Then slowly the company began to inch forward, moving into a wide clearing shadowed by the cliff sides as they parted abruptly into a sky of sunshine.

  “I was afraid of this,” Hendel was muttering to himself as Shea followed Dayel out of the niche. “I had hoped that the Gnomes had failed to explore this far into their taboo land. It appears, highlander, that they have us trapped.”

  Shea stepped out into the light on a level rock shelf where the others in the company stood talking in hushed tones of anger and frustration. Allanon emerged at almost the same moment, and together they surveyed the scene before them. The rock shelf on which they stood extended out from the opening of the Pass of Noose about fifteen feet to form a small ledge that dropped abruptly into a yawning chasm hundreds of feet deep. Even in the bright sunlight, it appeared to be bottomless. The cliff walls spread outward from their backs to form a half circle around the chasm and then slanted away brokenly, giving way to the heavy forests that began several hundred yards beyond. The chasm, a trick of nature by all appearances, bore the distinct shape of a jagged noose. There was no way around it. On the other side of the fissure dangled the remains of what had previously been some sort of rope and wood bridge which had served as the only means by which travelers could cross. Eight pairs of eyes scanned the sheer walls of the cliffs, seeking a means to scale their slick surfaces. But it was all too apparent that the only way to the other side was directly across the open pit before them.

  “The Gnomes knew what they were doing when they destroyed the bridge!” Menion fumed to no one in particular. “They’ve left us trapped between them and this bottomless hole. They don’t even have to come in after us. They can wait until we starve to death. How stupid …”

  He trailed off in fury. They all knew they had been foolish in allowing themselves to be tricked into entering such a simple, but effective trap. Allanon moved to the edge of the chasm, peered intently into its depths and then scanned the terrain on the other side, searching for a means to cross.

  “If it were a bit more narrow or if I had a little more running room, I might be able to jump it,” volunteered Durin hopefully. Shea estimated the distance across to be easily thirty-five feet. He shook his head doubtfully. Even if Durin had been the best jumper in the world, he would have questioned such an attempt under these conditions.

  “Wait a minute!” Menion cried suddenly, leaping to Allanon’s side and pointing off to the north. “How about that old tree hanging off the cliff side on the left?”

  Everyone looked eagerly, unable to understand what the highlander was suggesting. The tree of which he spoke grew embedded in the cliff face to the left almost a hundred and fifty yards away from them. Its gray shape hung starkly against the clear sky, its branches leafless and bare, dipping heavily downward like the tired limbs of some weary giant frozen in mid-stride. It was the only tree that anyone could see on the rock-strewn path that led away from the chasm and disappeared below the cliff sides into the forests beyond. Shea looked with the others but could see no help from that corner.

  “If I could put an arrow into that tree with a line tied to it, someone light could go across hand over hand and secure the rope for the rest of us,” the Prince of Leah suggested, gripping in his left hand the great ash bow.

  “That shot is over a hundred yards,” replied Allanon testily. “With the added weight of a line tied to the arrow, you would have to make the world’s greatest shot just to get it there, not to mention embedding it in the tree deep enough to hold a man’s weight. I don’t think it can be done.”

  “Well, we had better come up with something or we can forget the Sword of Shannara and everything else,” growled Hendel, his craggy face flushed with anger.

  “I have an idea,” Flick ventured suddenly, taking a step forward as he spoke. Everyone looked at the stocky Valeman as if they were just seeing him for the first time and had forgotten that he was even along.

  “Well, all right, don’t keep it to yourself!” exclaimed Menion impatiently. “What is it, Flick?”

  “If there were an expert bowman in the group—” Flick shot Menion a venomous look “—he might be able to put an arrow with a line into the wood fragments of the bridge hanging on the other side and pull it back across to this side.”

  “That is an idea worth trying!” agreed Allanon quickly. “Now who …”

  “I can handle it,” Menion said quickly, glaring at Flick.

  Allanon nodded shortly, and Hendel produced a stout cord which Menion Leah fastened securely about the tip of an arrow, tying the loose end to his wide leather belt. He fitted the arrow to the great ash bow and sighted. All eyes peered across the chasm to the length of rope secured at the edge on the other side. Menion followed the length of rope downward into the darkness of the pit until he spotted a piece of wood hanging about thirty feet below, still fastened to the broken bridge tie. The company watched breathlessly as he drew back the great ash bow, sighted quickly, surely, and released the arrow with a sharp snap. The arrow shot into the cavern and embedded itself in the wood, the cord dangling limply from the tip.

  “Nice shooting, Menion,” Durin approved at his shoulder, and the lean highlander smiled.

  Carefully, the bridge was pulled back across until the severed rope ends were gathered in. Allanon looked in vain for something to secure it, but the spikes that had held it had been removed by the Gnomes. Finally, Hendel and Allanon braced themselves at the edge of the chasm and pulled the bridge rope taut while Dayel worked his way hand over hand across the yawning pit, carrying a second rope at his waist. There were a few anxious moments as the black-robed giant and the silent Dwarf held firm against the strain, but in the end Dayel stood safely on the other side. Balinor reappeared and informed them that the fire was beginning to burn itself out and the Gnome hunters would soon be making their way into the Pass of Noose. Hastily, the rope that Dayel carried was thrown back across after he had finished securing his end, and its longer length was run back into the jutting rocks at the entrance of the pass and fastened in place. The remaining members of the company proceeded to cross the chasm in the same fashion as Dayel, one by one, hand over hand in succession, until all stood safely on the far side. Then the rope was cut and dropped
into the pit along with the remainder of the old bridge, to make certain that they could not be followed.

  Allanon ordered the company to move out quietly to avoid warning the approaching Gnomes that they had made good their escape from the carefully laid trap. Before they left, however, the tall historian approached Flick, placed a lean, dark hand on his shoulder, and smiled grimly.

  “Today, my friend, you have earned the right to be a member of this company—a right above and beyond your kinship for your brother.”

  He turned away abruptly and signaled Hendel to take the lead. Shea looked at Flick’s flushed and happy face, and clapped his brother warmly on the back. He had indeed earned the right to stand along with the others—a right that Shea had perhaps not yet acquired.

  XI

  The company journeyed another ten miles into the Wolfsktaag Mountains before Allanon called a halt. The Pass of Noose and the danger of attack by Gnomes had long since been left behind, and they were now deep within the forests. Their travel had been fast and unhindered up to this point, the paths wide and clear and the terrain level even though they were several miles high in the mountains. The air was crisp and cool, which made the march almost enjoyable, and the warm afternoon sun beamed down on the company with a glow that kept their spirits high. The forests were scattered in these mountains, cut apart by jutting ridges of slab rock and peaks which were barren and snowcapped. Although this was historically a forbidden country, even for the Dwarfs, no one could find an indication of anything out of the ordinary which might signal danger for them. All the normal sounds of the forest were there, from the resonant chirping of insects to the gay songs of a huge variety of multicolored birds of all shapes and sizes. It seemed that they had chosen a wise way in which to approach the still-distant halls of Paranor.

  “We will stop for the night in several hours,” the tall wanderer announced after he had gathered them about him. “But I will be leaving you in the early morning to scout ahead beyond the Wolfsktaag for signs of the Warlock Lord and his emissaries. Once we complete our journey through these mountains and through a short stretch of the Anar Forests, we still have to cross the plains beyond to the Dragon’s Teeth, just below Paranor. If the creatures of the Northland or their allies have blocked off the entrance, I must know now so that we may quickly decide on a new route.”

  “Will you go alone?” asked Balinor.

  “I think it safer for all of us if I do. I’m in little danger, and you may need everyone when you reach the central Anar forests again. I have little doubt that the Gnome hunting parties will be watching all the passes leading out of these mountains to be certain that you do not leave them alive. Hendel can lead you through those pitfalls as well as I could, and I will try to meet you somewhere along the way before you reach the plains.”

  “Which way out will you be taking?” asked the taciturn Dwarf.

  “The Pass of Jade offers the best protection. I’ll mark the way with bits of cloth—as we’ve done before. Red will mean danger. Keep with the white cloth and all will be well. Now let’s continue on while we still have some daylight.”

  They traveled steadily through the Wolfsktaag until the sun sank beneath the rim of the mountains in the west and it was no longer possible to see the path ahead clearly. It was a moonless night, though the stars cast a dim glow over the rugged landscape. The company made camp beneath a tall, jagged cliffside that rose several hundred feet above them like some great blade cutting sharply into the dark sky. On the open edges of the campsite were tall stands of pines enclosing them against the cliffside in a half circle that provided them with good protection on all sides. They ate a cold dinner for another evening, still unwilling to risk a fire which might draw attention to their presence. Hendel arranged for the posting of a continuous guard throughout the night, a practice he felt to be essential in unfriendly country. The members of the group took turns, each sitting watch for several hours while the rest of the company slept. There was little talk after the meal, and they rolled themselves into their blankets almost at once, tired from the long day of marching.

  Shea volunteered to sit the first watch, eager to participate as a member of the company, still feeling that he had contributed little while all of the others were risking their lives for his benefit. Shea’s attitude toward the journey to Paranor had altered considerably during the past two days. He was beginning to realize now how important it was that the Sword be obtained, how much the people of the four lands depended on it for protection against the Warlock Lord. Before, he had run away from the danger of the Skull Bearers and his heritage as a son of the house of Shannara. Now he was running toward an even greater threat, a confrontation with a power so awesome that its limits had never been defined—and with little more than the courage of seven mortal men for protection. But even with that knowledge confronting him, Shea felt deeply that to refuse to go on, to hold back what little he had to offer, would be a bitter betrayal of his kinship to both Elf and Man and a callous denial of the pride he felt in caring about the safety and freedom of all men. He knew that if he were told even now that he could not succeed, he would have to try anyway.

  Allanon had turned in without a word to anyone and was asleep in a matter of seconds. Shea watched his still form during his own two-hour watch and then retired as Durin took over. It was not until Flick awoke after midnight to take his turn that the tall form of their leader stirred slightly, then rose in a single fluid motion, wrapped ominously in the great black cape, just as he had been when Flick had first encountered him on the road to Shady Vale. He stood for a moment looking at the sleeping members of the company and at Flick sitting motionless on a boulder off to one side of the clearing. Then without a word or a gesture, he turned north on the path leading away from them and disappeared in the blackness of the forest.

  Allanon walked for the remainder of the night without pausing in his journey to reach the Pass of Jade, the central Anar, and beyond that, the plainlands to the west. His dark figure passed through the silent forest with the quickness of a fleeting shadow, touching the land only momentarily, then hastening on. His form seemed substanceless, passing over the lives of little beings that saw him briefly and forgot, neither changing nor yet leaving them quite the same, his indelible print fixed in their uncomprehending minds. Once more he reflected on the journey they were making to Paranor, pondering what he knew that none other could know, and he felt strangely helpless in the face of what was surely the passing of an age. The others only suspected his own role in all that had happened, in all that yet lay ahead, but he alone was forced to live with the truth behind his own destiny and theirs. He muttered half aloud at the thought, hating what was happening, but knowing that there was no other choice for him to make. His long, lean face appeared a black mask of indecision to the silent woods he passed on his lonely march, a face lined deeply with worry, but hard with an inner resolution that would sustain the soul when the heart was gone.

  Daybreak found him moving through a particularly dense stretch of woods that ran for several miles over hilly terrain strewn with boulders and fallen logs. He noticed at once that this part of the forest was strangely silent, as if a special kind of death had placed its chill hand upon the earth. The trail behind was carefully marked with small strips of white cloth. He walked more slowly. There had been nothing up to this point to cause him concern, but now a sixth sense reared up within his quick mind, warning him that all was not as it should be. He reached a break in the main path that split into two branches. One, a wide, clear path that looked as if it had once been a major road, ran to the left, downward into what appeared to be a huge valley. It was difficult to tell because the forests had overgrown everything, obscuring from view the trail beyond the first several hundred yards. The second path was choked by heavy underbrush. No more than one person at a time could pass that way without cutting a wider trail. The narrow path led upward toward a high ridge which ran at an angle away from the Pass of Jade.

  Sud
denly the grim historian stiffened as he sensed the presence of another being, an undeniably evil life form somewhere farther down the trail leading into the invisible valley. There was no sound of movement. Whatever it was, it preferred to lie in wait for its victims along the lower trail. Allanon quickly tore off two strips of cloth, one red and one white, tying the red cloth to the wider trail leading into the valley and the white cloth along the smaller trail leading to the ridge. When he had completed this task, he paused and listened again, but while he could still sense the presence of the creature down the valley path, he could detect no movement. Its power was no match for his own, but it would be dangerous to the men following. Checking the cloth strips one final time, he silently moved upward along the narrow ridge path and disappeared into the heavy underbrush.

  Almost an hour passed before the creature that lay in wait on the path leading into the valley decided to investigate. It was highly intelligent, a possibility that Allanon had not considered, and it knew that whoever it was who had passed above had sensed its presence and purposely avoided that approach. It knew as well that this same man had powers far greater than its own, so it lay noiselessly in the forest and waited for him to go away. Now it had waited long enough. Minutes later it gazed intently at the silent fork in the main trail where the two small strips of cloth fluttered brightly in the light forest breeze. How stupid such markers were, thought the creature slyly, and with ponderous footsteps moved its great, misshapen bulk forward.

  Balinor had the final watch of the evening, and as the dawn began to break sharply in dazzling golden rays over the eastern mountain horizon, the tall borderman gently awakened the remainder of the company from their peaceful slumber to the chill of the early morning. They turned out hastily, gulped down a short breakfast while attempting to warm themselves in the yet cool air of the sunny day, silently packed their gear, and prepared to begin the day’s march. Someone asked about Allanon, and Flick sleepily replied that the historian had departed sometime around midnight but said nothing to him. Nobody was particularly surprised that he had left so quietly, and little more was said about the matter.