by Terry Brooks
“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.
“Everything has been arranged.”
The Druid seemed to hesitate, then turned to Amberle. “Your grandfather has selected Captain Crispin, who commands the Home Guard, to be your guide and protector on this journey. Crispin is a very resourceful and courageous soldier; he will serve you well. He has been instructed to choose half a dozen Elven Hunters as your escort. Six is a small number, but a small number may be best in this case. It will attract far less attention than a large command and it should enable you to travel more swiftly.
“The plan that the King and I have settled on is this. You will be taken from the city in secret; the means have been left to Captain Crispin. Only Crispin will be aware of your mission. He and the Elven Hunters under his command will go with you as far as you need them. All will have been instructed that no harm is to befall you, that they are to do whatever is necessary to protect you.”
“Allanon.”
It was Eventine who spoke, glancing over suddenly, a worried look on his face. His penetrating blue eyes found those of the Druid.
“There is something I have not yet told you. I did not speak of this before because we had only those few moments at the close of the Council. But I think something should be said now. There is reason for concern in this venture beyond the obvious danger of being tracked by the Demons who have pursued you this far.”
He leaned forward, arms crossing loosely on the table to support his weight. His face, caught in the dim light of the candle, seemed very old.
“You know how the Chosen died—perhaps Wil and Amberle do not.” His gaze shifted. “They were torn apart, mangled almost beyond recognition.”
Horror reflected in the faces of the Elven girl and the Valeman. The King put his hand gently on his granddaughter’s shoulder.
“I do not tell you this to frighten you more, Amberle, nor you, Wil, but because of this.” He looked back at Allanon. “Since you have been gone from Arborlon, there have been more deaths like those of the Chosen. A great many deaths. Whatever it was that killed them has been roaming the surrounding country, systematically destroying everything and everyone it encounters, man or beast, young or old. Over fifty Elves have died—all in the same manner, all by being ripped apart. Three nights ago, an entire Elven patrol was waylaid and destroyed. Six armed men. A week earlier, an army compound at the north edge of the city was invaded and twenty men were killed while they slept. There has been an increasing number of Demons sighted in the Westland since the Ellcrys began to fail and more than a few unpleasant pitched fights as well—but nothing on this order, nothing as deliberate and premeditated. This creature knows what it is about; it kills with purpose. We have tried without success to track it. We cannot find it. We have not even seen it. No one has. But it is out there—and it hunts us.”
He paused. “It was sent once, Allanon, for the purpose of destroying the Chosen. It did so—all but one. It may be that it will be sent again.”
Amberle had gone white. Allanon rubbed his bearded chin thoughtfully.
“Yes, there was such a Demon in the old days,” he mused. “A Demon that killed out of instinctive need. They called it a Reaper.”
“I don’t care what they called it,” Wil spoke up suddenly. “What I want to know is how to avoid it.”
“Secrecy,” the Druid offered. “However vicious and cunning this Demon, it will have no more reason than its brethren to suspect that you have left Arborlon. If it believes that you are still here? if they all believe that you are still here—they will not be looking for you elsewhere. Perhaps we can give them that impression.”
He turned to Eventine. “The time will come very soon now when the Ellcrys can no longer maintain the wall of the Forbidding w
ith sufficient strength to contain the remainder of the Demons still imprisoned within. When that time comes, the Demons will concentrate their strength at the wall’s weakest point and break free. We cannot wait for that to happen. We must find the place where they will attempt their crossover and do what we can to prevent it. Even if we fail, we can fight a delaying action which will slow them in their march on Arborlon. They will try to march here, for they will seek to destroy the Ellcrys. They must. They cannot tolerate her. Remember that while she was strong, she was anathema to them. But as she weakens, she becomes less so. Once they have broken through her wall, they will move quickly to destroy her. We must do what we can to prevent that. We must give Amberle time to reach the Bloodfire and return again. We must keep the Demons from Arborlon until then.
“So.” He let the word hang for a moment in the silence of the little room. “We shall deceive the Demons who are already through the Forbidding by acting as if preparations to seek the Bloodfire are yet to be completed. We shall make it appear as if you have not left. The Demons know that it was I who brought Amberle here; they will expect me to be with her when she leaves. We can make use of that. We can focus their attention on me. By the time they realize that they have been misled, you should be well beyond their reach.”
Unless their spy is more resourceful than you anticipate, Wil wanted to say; but he decided not to.
“It all sounds very promising,” he said instead. “That seems to settle everything except the matter of when we should leave.”
The Druid leaned back in his chair. “You will leave at dawn.”
Wil stared at him in disbelief. “At dawn? Tomorrow?”
Amberle sprang to her feet. “That is impossible, Druid! We are exhausted! We have not slept in almost two days—we have to have more than a few hours rest before setting out again!”
Allanon held up his hands. “Peace, Elven girl. I understand this as well as you. But consider. The Demons know that you have come here for the purpose of carrying the seed of the Ellcrys to the Bloodfire. They know that you will attempt to leave the city, and they will be watching closely. But they will not be watching as closely now as they will in a day or two. Do you know why? Because they will expect you to rest first. That is exactly why you must leave at once. Surprise offers you your best chance to slip past them.”
Understanding flickered in Wil’s eyes. This was the advantage that the Druid had hoped his deception at the High Council might yield them.
“There will be sufficient rest for you after you are gone from the city,” Allanon promised. “Two days of travel will enable you to reach the Elven outpost in Drey Wood; you can catch up on your lost sleep there. But delay in Arborlon is dangerous. The quicker you are gone from here, the better your chances.”
Wil hated to admit it, but there was logic in the Druid’s argument. He glanced quickly at Amberle. She stared down at him silently for a moment, frustrated and angry, then turned back to Allanon.
“I want to see my mother before I leave.”
The Druid shook his head. “That is not a good idea, Amberle.”
Her jaw tightened. “You seem to think that you have the final say in whatever I wish to do, Druid. You don’t. I want to see my mother.”
“The Demons know who you are. If they know also of your mother, they will expect you to go to her. They will be waiting for just that. It is dangerous.”
“Just being here is dangerous. Surely you can find a way for me to spend five minutes with my mother.” Her eyes dropped. “Do not be so foolish as to suggest that I should see her when I return.”
There was an unpleasant moment of silence. Allanon’s dark face turned suddenly expressionless, as if he were afraid he might reveal something he wished to remain hidden. Wil did not miss the change, and it puzzled him.
“As you wish,” the Druid agreed. He rose. “Now you must sleep while you can. We must go.”
Eventine stood up with him, turning to face his granddaughter.
“I am sorry that Arion spoke so harshly at the Council,” he apologized, looking as if he had something more to say, but could not. He shook his head. “I think that in time he will come to understand as I did …”
He trailed off awkwardly, then put his arms around Amberle and kissed her cheeks.
“If I were not so old …” he began emotionally, but the girl put her fingers to his mouth to stop him. She shook her head.
“You are not so old that you do not see that you are needed here more than you are needed to go with me.” She smiled, and there were tears in her eyes as she kissed him back.
Feeling a bit self-conscious, Wil stepped away from the table and moved quietly over to the sleeping Manx. The aged wolfhound heard his approach. One eye stared up at him questioningly. On impulse, Wil reached down to pet the dog, but Manx gave a low, barely audible growl of warning. Wil drew back.
Unfriendly beast, the Valeman thought to himself.
He returned to the others. Eventine shook hands with him and wished him well. Then with Amberle beside him, Wil followed Allanon back through the floor-length windows into the night.
XXI
The Druid took them to a small cottage nestled on a forested slope at the northern edge of the city amid a cluster of similarly structured homes. There was nothing to set this particular cottage apart from any of the others, and this suggested to Wil the principal reason for its selection. Though unoccupied when they entered, it was fully furnished and had been lived in recently. Allanon did not offer to explain what had become of the owners. He entered the cottage as if it were his own, moved through the darkness of a living room to light several oil lamps, then carefully drew closed all the curtains that decorated the cottage windows. Having checked once through the remaining rooms while Wil and Amberle sat waiting at a small table graced with freshly cut flowers and embroidered mats, he returned momentarily with bread, cheese, fruit, and a pitcher of water. They ate in silence, Wil consuming a full meal despite the late hour, Amberle eating almost nothing. When dinner was finished, Allanon led the Elven girl to a small bedroom at the rear of the home. A single shuttered window stood latched and barred behind drawn curtains. The Druid checked the fastenings thoroughly, then nodded. Wordlessly, Amberle moved to the feather bed. She was so tired that she did not even bother to undress, but simply kicked off her boots and fell wearily across the covers. She was asleep almost immediately. Allanon paused long enough to place a light blanket over the exhausted girl, then stepped from the room, closing the door noiselessly behind him.
Alone in the living room, Wil Ohmsford stared through the curtained windows into the darkness beyond, where the lights of the city proper winked back at him like fireflies in the forest shadows. He glanced about restlessly as the Druid reappeared.
“We have to talk, Allanon.”
The big man did not look surprised.
“Still more questions, Wil Ohmsford?”
“Not exactly.” The Valeman looked uncomfortable.
“I see. Well then, why don’t we sit down?”
Wil nodded, and they moved over to take chairs across from one another at the little table where they had eaten their meal. Once seated, the Valeman seemed uncertain as to how to proceed. Allanon regarded him expressionlessly, waiting.
“Something happened to me when I tried to use the Elfstones on that Demon in the Tirfing—something that I do not understand,” Wil began finally, avoiding the other’s dark eyes. “I had almost decided against saying anything to you about it because I did not want you to think that I was looking for an excuse not to make the journey into the Wilderun.”
“That would have been foolish.” Allanon spoke quietly. “Tell me what it is that happened.”
The Valeman did not seem to hear him. “The only reason I decided to speak about it was that I grew concerned for Amberle’s safety if I remained quiet. If I am to be her protector, then I cannot afford to play games with my pride.”
“Tell me what happened,” the Dru
id repeated.
Wil looked up uneasily. “I will explain it in the best way I can. As I said, when the Demon came at me and I tried to use the Elfstones, something inside of me resisted. It was like some sort of blockage, like a wall that had imposed itself between me and the Elfstones so that I could not call upon them for aid. I held them out before me and tried to reach down into them, to call forth their power, but nothing happened. In that instant, I was certain that you had been wrong in your belief that I could use the Stones as my grandfather had done. I thought that I was going to die. But then, just before the Demon reached me, the wall within me seemed to break apart, and the power of the Stones flared out and destroyed the creature.”
He paused. “Since then, I have thought carefully about what happened. At first I decided that I simply had not understood how to use the Elfstones, that it was my inexperience or confusion that caused the resistance. But I no longer believe that. It was something different. It was something about me.”
The Druid stared back at him wordlessly for several minutes. One hand toyed idly with the small black beard, pulling at it, twisting it. Finally the hand moved away.
“You will remember that I told you that the Elfstones were an old magic, a magic from the days before Man, a magic that belonged to the age when the faerie people ruled the earth and magic was commonplace. There were many different Elfstones then, and they served many different purposes. Their colors identified their uses. The blue Elfstones, such as those that you hold, were the seeking Stones. Possession of the blue Elfstones enabled the holder to find that which was hidden from him merely by willing that it be so—for example, the Bloodfire for which you will search. Other Elfstones exhibited other characteristics. All possessed the common characteristic of offering the holder protection against other magics and things created of magic and sorcery. But the extent of that protection—indeed, the extent of the power of the Stones—was dependent entirely on the strength of character of the holder. The Stones were grouped in sets of three; there was a reason for this. Each Stone represented a part of the holder: one Stone for the heart, one Stone for the body, one Stone for the mind. For the magic to be given life, the three would have to act in concert—three individual strengths joining as one. The success of the holder in employing the Elfstones was a measure of his ability to unite those strengths.”