The Sword of Shannara Trilogy the Sword of Shannara Trilogy

by Terry Brooks

  It was nearing sunset when they passed at last from the gloom of the wilderness forest into the town of Grimpen Ward. A less inviting community would have been hard to imagine. Set down within a hollow, Grimpen Ward was a ramshackle cluster of wooden plank buildings so closely jammed together as to be nearly indistinguishable, one from the other. They were a seedy lot, these shops and stalls, inns and taverns. The garish paint that colored them was chipped and faded. Many stood shuttered, bars drawn, locks fastened. Poorly lettered signs hung from swaying posts and over doors, a patchwork maze of promises and prices beneath proprietors’ names. Through windows and entryways, lamps of oil and pitch burned, casting their harsh yellow light into the shadows without as dusk closed down about the hollow.

  It was in the taverns and inns of Grimpen Ward that her denizens were gathered, at rough-hewn tables and bars formed of boards set atop barrels, about glasses and tankards of ale and wine, their voices loud and rough, their laughter shrill. They drifted from one building to the next, hard-eyed men and women of all races, some dressed gaily, some ragged, bold in the glare of the lamplight, or furtive as they stole through alleyways, many stumbling, lurching, and reeking of drink. Money clinked and changed hands quickly, often in stealth or in violence. Here a lumpish figure slumped down within a doorway, asleep in drunken stupor, his clothes stripped from his body, his purse gone. There a tattered form lay still and twisted within a darkened passage, the lifeblood seeping from the wound at his throat. All about, dogs prowled, ragged and hungry, slinking through the shadows like wraiths.

  Thieves and cutthroats, harlots and cheats, traders in life and death and false pleasure. Wil Ohmsford felt the hair on the back of his neck rise. Perk’s grandfather had been right about Grimpen Ward.

  Holding tight to Amberle’s hand, he followed the rutted line of the road as it wound through the tangle of buildings. What were they to do now? Certainly they could not go back into the forest—not at night. He was reluctant to remain in Grimpen Ward, but what other choice did they have? They were both tired and hungry. It had been days since they had slept in a bed or eaten a hot meal. Still, there seemed to be little chance that they would get either here. Neither of them had any money to buy or anything of value to trade for a night’s food and lodging. Everything had been lost in their flight out of the Pykon. The Valeman had thought to find someone within the town who might be persuaded to let them work for a meal and a bed, but what he saw about him suggested that no one of that disposition lived in Grimpen Ward.

  A drunken Gnome lurched up against him and fumbled for his cloak. Wil shoved the fellow away hurriedly. The Gnome tumbled into the street and lay laughing foolishly at the sky. The Valeman stared down at him a moment, then clasped Amberle’s arm and hurried on.

  There were other problems facing them as well. Once they left Grimpen Ward, how were they to find their way from there? How were they to keep from becoming quickly lost within the wilderness beyond? They desperately needed someone to guide them, but whom in Grimpen Ward could they trust? If they were forced to continue on without any idea of where they were going, then it would become necessary for Wil to use the Elfstones—or at least attempt to use them—before they had found the tunnels of Safehold and the Bloodfire and long before they were ready to flee. The moment he did that, he would bring the Demons down on them. Yet without the use of the Stones or the aid of a guide, they would have no chance at all of finding Safehold—not if they had all year to do so instead of only days.

  Wil paused helplessly, staring at the lighted doors and windows of the buildings of the town, the shadowy figures who milled within, and the backdrop of the wilderness and the night sky. It was an impossible dilemma, and he had no idea at all how he was going to resolve it.

  “Wil,” Amberle tugged anxiously at his arm. “Let’s get off this street.”

  The Valeman glanced at her quickly and nodded. First things first. They must find a place to sleep for the night; they must have something to eat. The rest would have to wait.

  With Amberle’s hand in his, he started back up the roadway, studying the inns and taverns at either side. They walked about fifty feet further before the Valeman caught sight of a small, two-story lodging house set back from the other buildings within a grove of scrub pine. Lights burned through the windows of the first floor, while the second story stood dark. The loud voices and raucous laughter were missing here, or at least diminished, and the crowd was small.

  Wil moved over to the courtyard fronting the inn and peered through the streaked glass of the windows opening on the main room. Everything appeared quiet. He glanced up. The sign on the gatepost indicated it was the Candle Light Inn. He hesitated a moment longer, then made up his mind. With a reassuring nod to Amberle, who looked more than a little doubtful, he led her through the gate and moved up the walk through the pine. The inn doors stood open to the summer night.

  “Put your cowl about your face,” he whispered suddenly, and when she stared over at him blankly, quickly did so for her. He gave her a smile which belied his own sense of uncertainty, then took her hand firmly in his and stepped through the entry.

  The room within was cramped and thick with smoke from oil lamps and pipes. A short bar stood at the front, and a knot of rough-looking men and women clustered about it, talking among themselves and drinking ale. Various tables ringed by chairs and backless stools filled the back, a few occupied by cloaked figures who hunched over drinks and spoke in low voices. Several doors led from this room to other parts of the building, and a stairway ran up the left wall and disappeared into darkness. The floor was splintered and worn, and cobwebs hung from the corners of the ceiling. Next to the doorway, an aged hound chewed contentedly on a meat bone.

  Wil guided Amberle to the back of the room where a small table stood empty save for a fat, low-burning candle, and they seated themselves. A few heads lifted or turned as they passed, then just as quickly looked away again.

  “What are we doing here?” Amberle asked anxiously, finding it difficult to keep the tone of her voice low enough that they would not be overheard.

  Wil shook his head. “Just be patient.”

  A few moments later a lumpish, unfriendly-looking woman of uncertain age trudged over to them, a towel thrown loosely across one arm. As she came up to them, Wil noticed that she was limping badly. He thought he recognized that limp, and the germ of an idea began to form.

  “Something to drink?” she wanted to know.

  Wil smiled pleasantly. “Two glasses of ale.”

  The woman walked away without comment. Wil watched her go.

  “I do not like ale,” Amberle protested. “What are you doing?”

  “Being sociable. Did you notice the way that woman limped?”

  The Elven girl stared at him. “What has that got to do with anything?”

  Wil smiled. “Everything. Watch and see.”

  They sat in silence for a moment, then the woman was back again, carrying with her the glasses of ale. She placed them on the table and stood back, her beefy hand passing through a string of tangled, graying hair.

  “That all?”

  “Do you have any dinner?” Wil wanted to know, taking a sip of the ale. Amberle ignored her glass entirely.

  “Stew, bread, cheese, maybe some cakes—fresh today.”

  “Mmmm. Hot day for baking.”

  “Real hot. Waste of effort, too. No one’s eating.”

  Wil shook his head sympathetically. “Shouldn’t let that kind of effort go to waste.”

  “Most would rather drink,” the heavy woman offered with a snort. “Me, too, I guess, if I had the time.”

  Wil grinned. “I suppose. Do you run the inn alone?”

  “Me and my boys.” She warmed a bit, folding her arms across her chest. “Husband run off. Boys help me when they’re not drinking or gambling—which is seldom. I could do it myself if it weren’t for this leg. Cramps up all the time. Hurts like there’s no quitting.”

  “Have you t
ried heat on it?”

  “Sure. Helps some.”

  “Herb mixes?”

  She spit. “Worthless.”

  “Quite a problem. How long has it been that way?”

  “Aw, years, I guess. I lost count; doesn’t do any good thinking about it.”

  “Well.” Wil looked thoughtful. “The food sounds good. I think we will try it—a plate for each of us.”

  The proprietress of the Candle Light Inn nodded and moved away again. Amberle leaned forward quickly.

  “How do you plan to pay for all this? We don’t have any money.”

  “I know that,” the Valeman replied, glancing about. “I don’t think we are going to need any.”

  Amberle looked as if she were going to hit him. “You promised you would not do this again. You promised you would tell me first what it was you were planning to do before you did it—remember? The last time you tried something like this was with the Rovers, and it nearly cost us our lives. These people look a lot more dangerous than the Rovers.”

  “I know, I know, but I just thought of it. We have to have a meal and a bed, and this looks like our best chance for both.”

  The Elven girl’s face tightened within the shadow of the cowl. “I do not like this place, Wil Ohmsford—this inn, this town, these people, any of it. We could do without the meal and the bed.”

  Wil shook his head. “We could, but we won’t. Shhh, she’s coming back.”

  The woman had returned with their dinner. She set the steaming plates before them and was about to leave when Wil spoke.

  “Stay a moment,” he asked. The proprietress turned back to them. “I have been thinking about your leg. Maybe I can help.”

  She stared at him suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

  He shrugged. “Well, I think I can stop the pain.”

  The look of suspicion grew more pronounced. “Why would you want to do that for me?” She scowled.

  Wil smiled. “Business. Money.”

  “I don’t have much money.”

  “Then how about a trade? For the price of the ale, this meal, and a night’s lodging, I’ll stop the pain. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough.” Her lumpish body dropped heavily into the chair next to him. “But can you do it?”

  “Bring out a cup of hot tea and a clean cloth and we will see.”

  The woman came to her feet at once and lumbered off to the kitchen. Wil watched her go, smiling faintly. Amberle shook her head.

  “I hope you know what you are doing.”

  “So do I. Eat your dinner now in case I don’t.”

  They had finished most of their meal by the time she returned with the tea and cloth. Wil glanced past her to the patrons gathered about the bar. A few heads were beginning to turn. Whatever happened next, he thought, he did not want to call further attention to himself. He looked up at the woman and smiled.

  “This should be done in private. Do you have somewhere we might go?”

  The woman shrugged and led them through one of the closed doors into a small room containing a single table with a candle and six stools. She lit the candle and closed the door. The three seated themselves.

  “What happens now?” the woman asked.

  The Valeman took a single dried leaf from a pouch about his waist and crumbled it into dust, dropping the dust into the tea. He stirred the mixture about, then handed it back to the woman.

  “Drink it down. It will make you a bit sleepy, nothing more.”

  The woman studied it a moment, then drank it. When the cup was empty, Wil took it from her, dropped in another kind of leaf and poured a small measure of ale from his glass, which he had carried in with him. These he stirred slowly, watching the leaf dissolve away to nothing. Across the table from him, Amberle shook her head.

  “Put your leg up on this stool,” Wil ordered, shoving a vacant stool in front of the woman, who dutifully placed her leg on it. “Now pull up your skirt.”

  The proprietress gave him a questioning look, as if wondering what his intentions might be for her, then hiked her skirt up to her thigh. Her leg was corded, veined, and covered with dark splotches. Wil dipped the cloth into the mixture in the cup and began rubbing it into the leg.

  “Tingles a bit.” The woman giggled.

  Wil smiled encouragingly. When the mixture was gone from the cup, he reached into the pouch once more and this time produced a long, silver needle with a rounded head. The woman leaned forward with a start.

  “You’re not going to stick that in me, are you?”

  Wil nodded calmly. “You won’t feel it; just a touch.” He passed it slowly through the flame of the candle that burned at the center of their table. “Now hold very still,” he ordered.

  Slowly, carefully, he inserted the needle into the woman’s leg, just above the knee joint, until only the rounded head was showing. He left it there a moment, then withdrew it. The woman grimaced slightly, shut her eyes, then opened them again. Wil sat back.

  “All done,” he announced, hoping that indeed it was. “Stand up and walk about.”

  The perplexed woman stared at him a moment, then pulled down her skirt indignantly and rose to her feet. Gingerly, she stepped away from the table, testing the feel of the bad leg. Then abruptly she wheeled about, a broad grin creasing her rough face.

  “It’s gone! The pain’s gone! First time in months!” She was laughing excitedly. “I don’t believe it. How’d you do that?”

  “Magic.” Wil grinned with satisfaction, then immediately wished he hadn’t said that. Amberle shot him an angry glance.

  “Magic, huh?” The woman took a few more steps, shaking her head. “Well, if you say so. It sure feels like magic. No pain at all.”

  “Well, it wasn’t really magic …” Wil began anew, but the woman was already moving toward the door.

  “I feel so good, I’m going to give everyone a free glass.” She opened the door and stepped through. “Can’t wait to see their faces when they hear about this!”

  “No, wait …” Wil called after her, but the door closed and she was gone. “Confound it,” he muttered, wishing belatedly that he had made her promise to keep quiet about this.

  Amberle folded her hands calmly and looked at him. “How did you do that?”

  He shrugged. “I’m a Healer, remember? The Stors taught me a few things about aches and pains.” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “The trouble is, the treatment doesn’t last.”

  “Doesn’t last!” Amberle was horrified.

  Wil put a finger to his lips. “The treatment is only temporary. By morning the pain will be back, so we had better be gone.”

  “Wil, you lied to that woman,” the Elven girl cried. “You told her you could cure her.”

  “No, that was not what I said. I said that I could stop the pain. I did not say for how long. A night’s relief for her, a night’s sleep and a meal for us. A fair trade.”

  Amberle stared at him accusingly and did not reply.

  Wil sighed. “If it is any comfort to you, the pain will not be as bad as it was before. But her condition is not one that any Healer could cure; it has to do with the life she leads, her age, her weight—a lot of other things over which I have no control. I have done as much as I can for her. Will you please be reasonable?”

  “Could you give her something for when the pain returns?”

  The Valeman reached over and gripped her hands. “You are a truly gentle person, do you know that? Yes, I could give her something for the pain. But we will leave it for her to find after we are gone, if you don’t mind.”

  A sudden clamor from the other room brought him to his feet, and he moved to the door, slipping it open just a crack. Before, the inn had been all but empty. Now it was nearly filled as people drifted in off the roadway, attracted by the promise of free drinks and the antics of the proprietress, who was gleefully demonstrating her newfound cure.

  “Time to be going,” Wil muttered and hurriedly led Amberle from the room.
>
  They had not taken a dozen steps when the woman called out shrilly and came rushing over to stop them. Heads shook and fingers pointed at Wil. Too many for the Valeman’s comfort.

  “A glass of ale, you two?” the heavy woman offered. Her hand clapped Wil on the shoulder and nearly knocked him off his feet. He managed a weak grin.

  “I think we should get some sleep. We have a long journey and we are really very tired.”

  The woman snorted. “Stay up and celebrate. You don’t have to pay. Drink all you want.”

  Wil shook his head. “I think we better get some sleep.”

  “Sleep? With all this noise?” The woman shrugged. “Take room number ten, top of the stairs and down the hall. Sits at the back of the inn. Might be a little more quiet for you.” She paused. “We’re even now, right? I don’t owe you anything more?”

  “Nothing,” Wil assured her, anxious to be gone.

  The proprietress grinned broadly. “Well, you sold out cheap, you know that? I would have paid you ten times what you asked for what you done. Why, a couple hours without the pain is worth the ale and the meal and the bed! You got to be clever if you expect to get anywhere in this country. Remember that bit of advice, little Elf. It’s free.”

  She laughed roughly and turned back to the bar. The free drinks were over. With a crowd of this size, there was money to be made. The woman scurried along the serving board, snatching the coins up eagerly.

  Wil grabbed Amberle’s arm and guided her away from the table to the stairway and up the steps. The stares of the patrons followed after them.

  “And you were worried about her,” the Valeman muttered as they reached the upper hallway and turned down it.

  Amberle smiled and said nothing.

  34

  They had been asleep several hours when they heard the noises at the door of their room. Wil came awake first, sitting upright in the bed with a start, peering through the deep night blackness. He could hear sounds without—a shuffling of feet, whispered voices, heavy breathing. Not Demons, he told himself quickly, but the chill within him would not subside. The latch on the door jiggled as hands worked quietly to free it.