The Sword of Shannara Trilogy the Sword of Shannara Trilogy

by Terry Brooks

  “Very well, maybe I can.” She squared herself around so that she was seated facing him. “You must first understand that the Elven people believe that preservation of the land and all that lives and grows upon it, plant and animal alike, is a moral responsibility. They have always held this belief foremost in their conduct as creatures of the earth. In the old world, they devoted the whole of their lives to caring for the woodlands and forests in which they lived, cultivating its various forms of vegetation, sheltering the animals that it harbored. Of course, they had little else to concern them in those days, for they were an isolated and reclusive people. All that has changed now, but they still maintain a belief in their moral responsibility for their world. Every Elf is expected to spend a portion of his life giving back to the land something of what he has taken out of it. By that I mean that every Elf is expected to devote a part of his life to working with the land—to repairing damage it may have suffered through misuse or neglect, to caring for its animals and other wildlife, to caring for its trees and smaller plants where the need to do so is found.”

  “Is that a part of what you were doing in Havenstead?”

  She nodded. “In a way. The Chosen are exempt from this service. When I ceased to be one of the Chosen and no longer felt welcome in my homeland, I decided that I should do service to the land. Most of the work done by the Elves is carried out in the Westland because that is the Elven homeland. But we believe that the care of the land is not simply an Elven responsibility, but the responsibility of all men. To some extent the Dwarves share our concern, but the other races have never been much persuaded. So some of the Elves go out from the Westland to other communities, trying to teach the people living there something of their responsibility for the care and preservation of their land. This is what I was trying to do at Havenstead.”

  “And you were working with the children of the village,” Wil surmised.

  “Primarily the children, for the children are more receptive to what I teach and have the time to learn. I was taught of the earth when I was a child; it is the Elven way. I was more adept than most at translating the lesson into use—one of the reasons, I guess, that I was selected to be a Chosen. The skills of the Chosen in the preservation and care of the earth and its life forms are of the highest order; the Ellcrys has some sense of this. She has this ability …”

  Amberle seemed to catch herself in the middle of a thought she did not wish to express. She stopped abruptly, shrugging.

  “Anyway, I was very good at teaching the children of Havenstead, and the people of the village were very kind to me. Havenstead was my home, and I did not want to leave.”

  She shifted her gaze abruptly to the fire between them. Wil said nothing, leaning forward to add several pieces of stray wood to the flames. After a moment’s silence, Amberle looked up at him again.

  “Well, now you know something of the Elven feeling for the land. It’s a part of your heritage, so you should try to understand it.”

  “I think I do understand it,” the Valeman replied, reflecting. “At least in part. I have not been trained in the Elven manner, but I have been trained by the Stors as a Healer. Their concern for human life is much the same as the Elven concern for the land. A Healer must do whatever is in his power to do to preserve the lives and health of the men, women, and children whom he treats. This is the commitment I made when I chose to become a Healer.”

  The Elven girl looked at him curiously. “Somehow that makes it seem even stranger that you were persuaded by Allanon to look after me. You are a Healer, dedicated to preserving life. What will you do if you are placed in a situation where, in order to protect me, you must harm others, perhaps even cause them to die?”

  Wil stared at her wordlessly. He had never even considered the possibility that such a thing might happen. Thinking on it now, he experienced an unpleasant feeling of doubt.

  “I don’t know what I’ll do,” he admitted uncomfortably.

  They were silent for a moment, staring across the fire at each other, unable to break through the awkwardness of the moment. Then Amberle rose abruptly, came over to the Valeman, and sat next to him, impulsively clasping his hand in her own. Her winsome face looked out at him through the shadow of her hair.

  “That wasn’t a fair question to put to you, Wil Ohmsford. I’m sorry I asked it. You came on this journey because you believed that you might help me. It is wrong of me to doubt that you would do so.”

  “It was a fair question,” Wil replied firmly. “I just don’t have an answer to it.”

  “Nor should you,” she insisted. “I, of all people, should know that some decisions cannot be made in advance of the time that will demand them. We cannot always anticipate the way in which things will happen and therefore cannot anticipate what we will do. We must accept that. Again, I am sorry. You might as well ask me what decision I will make if the Ellcrys tells me that I am still one of the Chosen.”

  Wil smiled faintly. “Be careful. I am tempted to ask exactly that.”

  She released his hand instantly and rose. “Do not. You would not like the answer I would give you.” She shook her head sadly. “You think my choice in this is a simple one, one that you could make easily. You are wrong.”

  She walked back to the other side of the fire and reached down for her travel cloak, shaking it out upon the ground. As she prepared to roll herself in it to sleep, she turned back to him one final time.

  “Believe me, Valeman, should our decisions become necessary, yours will be the easier of the two.”

  She lowered her head to the folds of the cloak and was asleep in moments. Wil Ohmsford stared thoughtfully into the fire. Although he could not begin to explain why, he found that he believed her.

  14

  When they awoke the following morning, Artaq was missing. At first they thought that he might have wandered off during the night, but a quick check of the woods in which they were camped and the open grasslands beyond failed to turn up any sign of the big black. It was at this point that an unpleasant suspicion began to form in the back of Wil’s mind. Hurriedly, he examined the area in which Artaq had been left to graze, moving from there along the perimeter of their campsite, dropping to his knees from time to time as he went to smell the earth or touch it with his fingers. Amberle watched him curiously. After a few minutes of this, the Valeman seemed to find something. Eyes still fixed on the ground before him, he began walking southward through the small stand of timber and into the grasslands—one hundred feet, two. He began to angle toward the river. Wordlessly, the Elven girl trailed after. Moments later, they both stood at the edge of the Mermidon, staring out across a series of shallows several hundred yards downstream from their camp.

  “Rovers.” Wil spat the word out like a bitter pill. “They crossed here during the night and stole him.”

  Amberle looked surprised. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.” Wil nodded. “I found their tracks. Besides, no one else could have managed it. Artaq would have called out if it were anyone but an expert horse handler, and the Rovers are the best. Look, they’re already gone.”

  He pointed across the river to the spot on the empty grasslands the caravan had occupied the previous night. They stared at it silently for a moment.

  “What do we do now?” Amberle asked finally.

  Wil was so mad he could barely speak. “First we go back and pack our things. Then we cross the river and have a look at their campsite.”

  They returned to their own camp, hastily put together the few items they had carried with them, and returned to the river. They crossed at the shallows without difficulty. Minutes later they stood at the now-deserted Rover camp. Once more Wil began studying the ground, moving more quickly this time as he paced the area from end to end. Finally he walked back to where Amberle stood waiting.

  “My Uncle Flick taught me to read signs when I hunted the woods about my home in Shady Vale,” he informed her conversationally, his mood considerably improved. �
�We used to fish and trap the Duln Forests for weeks at a time when I was little. Always thought I might again have need of what I learned some day.”

  She nodded impatiently. “What did you find?”

  “They’ve gone west, probably just before daybreak.”

  “Is that all? Isn’t there some indication of whether or not Artaq is with them?”

  “Oh, he’s with them, all right. Back at the shallows, there are signs of a horse going into the river from the other side and coming out again over here. One horse, several men. No mistake, they’ve got him. But we’re going to get him back again.”

  She looked at him doubtfully. “You mean you’re going after them?”

  “Of course I’m going after them!” He was getting angry all over again. “We’re both going after them.”

  “Just you and me, Valeman?” She shook her head. “On foot?”

  “We can catch up to them by nightfall. Those wagons are slow.”

  “That assumes that we can find them, doesn’t it?”

  “There’s no trick to that. At one time, I could track a deer through wilderness timber where there hadn’t been rain for weeks. I think I can manage to track an entire caravan of wagons across open grasslands.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this at all,” she announced quietly. “Even if we do find them and they do have Artaq, what are we supposed to do about it?”

  “We’ll worry about that when we catch up to them,” he replied evenly.

  The Elven girl did not back away. “I think that we should worry about it right now. That’s an entire camp of armed men you’re talking about chasing after. I don’t like what’s happened any better than you do, but that’s hardly sufficient excuse for failing to exercise sound judgment.”

  With an effort, Wil held his temper. “I am not about to lose that horse. In the first place, if it weren’t for Artaq, the Demons would have had us, back at Havenstead. He deserves a better fate than spending the rest of his years in the service of those thieves. In the second place, he is the only horse we had and the only horse we are likely to get. Without him, we will be forced to walk the rest of the way to Arborlon. That will take more than a week, and most of that week will be spent crossing these open grasslands. That increases rather substantially the chances of our being discovered by those things still searching for us. And I don’t like the sound of that. We need Artaq.”

  “You seem to have made up your mind on this,” she said expressionlessly.

  He nodded. “I have. Besides, the Rovers are traveling toward the Westland anyway; at least we’ll be headed in the right direction.”

  For a moment she didn’t say anything; she merely looked at him. Then finally she nodded.

  “All right, we’ll go after them. I want Artaq back too. But let’s think this through a bit further before we catch up to them. We had better have some sort of plan worked out by then, Valeman.”

  He grinned disarmingly. “We will.”

  They walked all day through the open grasslands, following the trail of the Rover caravan. It was hot and dry, and the sun beat down on them from out of a cloudless blue sky. They found little shade along the way to relieve them from the heat. What water they carried was soon gone, and they did not run across even a small stream to replenish their supply. By late afternoon, all they could taste in their mouths was the dust of the plains and their thirst. Leg muscles ached and their feet blistered. They spoke to each other only infrequently, conserving their strength, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, watching the sun sink slowly into the horizon ahead of them until all that remained of the day was a dull orange glow above the sweep of the land.

  A short time later, it began to darken, the day to disappear into dusk, the dusk into night. Still they walked on, no longer able to find the marks of the wagon wheels in the plains grass, relying now on their sense of direction to keep them moving in a straight line westward. Moon and stars brightened in the night sky, casting down upon the open grasslands their faint light to guide the Valeman and the Elven girl as they moved steadily forward. Dirt and sweat cooled and dried on their bodies, and they felt their clothing stiffen uncomfortably. Neither suggested stopping to the other. Stopping meant admitting they would not catch up to the caravan that night, that they would be forced to go on like this for another day. They kept walking, silent, determined, the girl as much so as the man now, a fact that surprised him and caused him to feel genuine admiration for her spirit.

  Then they saw light in the distance ahead, a fire burning through the dark like a beacon, and they realized that they had found the Rovers. Wordlessly, they trudged to within shouting distance of the firelight, watching the peaked roofs of the wagon homes gradually take shape in the night until finally the entire caravan stood revealed, wound into a loose circle as it had been on the banks of the Mermidon.

  Wil took hold of Amberle’s arm and gently pulled her down into a crouch.

  “We’re going in,” he whispered, his eyes never leaving the Rover camp.

  She looked at him in disbelief. “That’s your plan?”

  “I know something of these people. Just go along with whatever I say, and we’ll be fine.

  Without waiting for her response, he stood up and began walking toward the caravan. The Elven girl stared after him for a moment, then rose to her feet and followed after. As they drew closer to the circled wagons, the faces of the men, women, and children passing within the firelight grew visible. Laughter and bits of conversation became audible and distinct. The Rovers had just finished their evening meal and were visiting casually with one another. From somewhere within the camp came the soft thrum of a stringed instrument.

  Twenty yards from the perimeter of the circle, Wil called out. It surprised Amberle so that she jumped. Within the camp, everyone instantly stopped what was being done, and all heads turned in their direction. There was a sudden scrambling of feet as a handful of men appeared at the gap between the wagons nearest the approaching pair. Wordlessly, the men peered out into the night, the firelight behind them now, leaving them shadowed and faceless. Wil did not slow. He kept walking directly toward them, Amberle a step or two behind. The entire caravan had gone suddenly still.

  “Good evening,” Wil said cheerfully as he reached the gathering of Rovers who blocked their passage into the camp.

  The men said nothing. In the glimmer of the firelight, the Valeman caught a glimpse of metal blades.

  “We saw your fire and we thought you might give us something to drink,” he continued, still smiling. “We’ve been walking since daybreak without water and we’re about worn out.”

  Someone pushed his way through the knot of silent men, a tall man in a cloak of forest green and a broad-brimmed hat—the man they had seen at the river.

  “Ah, our young travelers from last evening,” he announced quietly and not in greeting.

  “Hello again,” Wil responded pleasantly. “I’m afraid we’ve had some very bad luck. We lost our horse during the night—he must have wandered off while we were sleeping. We’ve been walking all day without water and we could use something cool to drink.”

  “Indeed.” The big man smiled without warmth. He was tall, well over six feet, lean and rawboned, his dark face shaded with a black beard and mustache that gave his smile an almost menacing appearance. Eyes that looked blacker than the night about them peered out from beneath a lined and weathered brow that sloped into a nose hooked slightly at the bridge. The hand that came up to beckon to the men behind him was ringed on each finger.

  “Have water brought,” he ordered, his eyes still on the Valeman. His expression did not change. “Who are you, young friend, and what is your destination?”

  “My name is Wil Ohmsford,” the Valeman replied. “This is my sister, Amberle. We’re on our way to Arborlon.”

  “Arborlon.” The tall man repeated the name thoughtfully. “Well, you’re Elves, of course—in part, at least. Any fool can see that. But now, you say th
at you lost your horse. Would you not have been wiser to stay along the Mermidon in your travels, rather than coming straight west as you did?”

  Wil smiled some more. “Oh, yes, we thought about that; but you see, it’s important that we reach Arborlon as soon as possible, and walking would take much too long. Of course, we saw you camped across the river from us last night and we saw, too, that you seemed to have a number of very fine horses. We thought that if we could manage to catch up with you by nightfall, we might trade something of value for one of your horses.”

  “Something of value?” The big man shrugged. “Possibly. We would have to see what it is that you propose to trade, of course.”

  Wil nodded. “Of course.”

  An old woman appeared, carrying a pitcher of water and a single wooden cup. She handed these to Wil, who accepted them wordlessly. With the Rovers looking on, he poured some of the water into the cup. He did not offer it to Amberle, who looked at him in surprise as he ignored her completely and drank the water down. Then he poured a second cup and drank it as well. When he was finished, he handed her the empty cup and pitcher without comment.

  “You know something of the Way,” the tall man remarked, interest showing in his dark eyes. “You know also that we’re Rovers, then.”

  “I have treated Rovers before,” Wil said. “I’m a Healer.”

  A quick murmur went through the assemblage, which had grown considerably since the conversation had begun and now consisted of almost the entire camp, some thirty men, women, and children, all dressed colorfully in bright silks with woven ribbons and scarves.

  “A Healer? This is unexpected.” The tall man stepped forward, removed his hat with a flourish, and bowed low. Straightening once more, he extended his hand in greeting. “My name is Cephelo. I am Leader of this Family.”

  Wil accepted the hand and shook it firmly. Cephelo smiled.

  “Well, you mustn’t stand out here while the night grows cold about you. Come with me. Your sister is welcome, too. You both look as if you could do with a bath and something to eat.”