The Sword of Shannara Trilogy the Sword of Shannara Trilogy

by Terry Brooks

  “Good food,” he told them, turning to leave.

  “Wisp!” Wil called after him. The furry creature turned, staring at the Valeman quizzically. “Can you stay and talk with us?” Wil asked.

  The wizened face broke into a grin. “Wisp will talk with you.”

  Wil glanced at Amberle. “The ankle—can you walk?”

  She nodded. “It’s much better,” she answered him.

  He took her hand and led her to the tray of food. Wordlessly, they seated themselves. Wisp hunched down on the lowest step of the darkened stairway, his head cocking. Wil helped himself to a piece of the bread, chewed and nodded in appreciation.

  “Very good, Wisp.”

  The little fellow grinned. “Very good.”

  Wil smiled. “How long have you been here, Wisp?”

  “A long time. Wisp serves the Lady.”

  “Did the Lady make you—as she made those stick men?”

  The furry creature laughed. “Stick men—clack, clack. Wisp serves the Lady—but not made of wood.” His eyes brightened. “Elf, like you.”

  Wil was surprised. “But you are so small. And what about the hair?” He pointed to his own arms and legs, then to Wisp. “Did she do that?”

  The Elf nodded happily. “Cute, she says. Makes Wisp cute. Roll and jump and play with stick men. Cute.” He stopped and glanced past them to where Eretria slept. “Pretty thing.” He pointed. “Prettiest of all.”

  “What do you know about Morag?” the Valeman pressed, ignoring Wisp’s obvious interest in the Rover girl.

  Wisp’s face screwed itself up into a grimace. “Evil Morag. Very bad. A long time she lives within the Hollows, she and the Lady. Sisters. Morag in the east, the Lady in the west. Stick men for both, but just Wisp for the Lady.”

  “Do they ever go out of the Hollows—Morag and the Lady?”

  Wisp shook his head solemnly. “Never.”

  “Why not?”

  “No magic beyond the Hollows.” Wisp grinned cunningly.

  That told Wil something he had not suspected. The power of the Witch Sisters had its limits; it did not extend beyond the Hollows. That explained why no one had ever encountered them anywhere else within the Westland. He began to see a glimmer of hope. If he could find a way to get clear of the Hollows…

  “Why does the Lady hate Morag so?” Amberle was asking.

  Wisp thought a minute. “Long ago, there was a man. Beautiful, the Lady says. The Lady wanted him. Morag wanted him. Each tried to take the man. The man …” He clenched his hands, fingers joining, then wrenched them apart. “No more. Gone.” He shook his head. “Morag killed the man. Evil Morag.”

  Evil Mallenroh, Wil thought. In any case, it was clear enough how the Witch Sisters felt about each other. He decided to find out what else Wisp knew about the Hollows.

  “Do you ever go out of the tower, Wisp?” he asked.

  The wizened face broke into a proud grin. “Wisp serves the Lady.”

  Wil took that answer as a yes. “Have you ever gone to Spire’s Reach?” he asked.

  “Safehold,” Wisp replied at once.

  There was a hushed silence. Amberle gripped Wil’s arm and glanced at him quickly. The Valeman was so stunned by the abruptness of the response that he was left momentarily speechless. Collecting himself, he hunched forward, crooking his finger conspiratorially. Wisp inched a bit closer, head cocked.

  “Tunnels and tunnels that wind and twist,” Wil said. “Easy to get lost in those tunnels, Wisp.”

  The furry Elf shook his head. “Not Wisp.”

  “No?” he challenged. “What of the door made of glass that will not break?”

  Wisp thought a moment, then clapped his hands excitedly. “No, no, just pretend glass. Wisp knows pretend glass. Wisp serves the Lady.”

  Wil was trying to decipher that answer when Wisp pointed past them. “Look. Pretty thing, hello, hello.”

  The Valeman and the Elven girl turned around. Eretria was sitting up on the straw mat, awake at last, her black tresses falling down about her face as she rubbed the back of her neck. Slowly she looked up at them, started to speak, then caught Wil’s warning finger as it passed before his lips. She glanced past him to where Wisp crouched half-a-dozen feet from the bars of their cell, grinning broadly.

  “Pretty thing, hello,” Wisp repeated, one hand lifting tentatively.

  “Hello,” she replied uncertainly. Then, seeing Wil’s quick nod of encouragement, she flashed her most dazzling smile. “Hello, Wisp.”

  “Talk with you, pretty thing.” Wisp had forgotten all about Wil and Amberle.

  Eretria rose unsteadily, her eyes blinking with sleep, and came over to sit with her companions. She scanned quickly the stairs and the passageway beyond.

  “What game are we playing now, Healer?” she whispered out of the corner of her mouth. There was fear in her dark eyes, but she kept her voice even.

  The Valeman did not look away from Wisp. “Just trying to learn something that will get us out of here.”

  She nodded approvingly, then wrinkled her nose. “What is that smell?”

  “Incense. I can’t be sure, but I think that it acts like a drug when you breathe it in. I think that is what is making us feel so weak.”

  Eretria turned back to Wisp. “What does the incense do, Wisp?”

  The furry Elf reflected, then shrugged. “Nice smell. No worries.”

  “Indeed,” the Rover girl muttered, glancing at Wil. She gave Wisp another broad smile. “Can you open the door, Wisp?” she asked, pointing at the bars.

  Wisp smiled back. “Wisp serves the Lady, pretty one. You stay.”

  Eretria did not change her expression. “Is the Lady here now, in the tower?”

  “She looks for the Demon,” Wisp answered. “Very bad. Breaks all her stick men apart.” His wizened face grimaced. “She will hurt the Demon.” He rubbed two fingers together. “Make him go away.” Then he brightened. “Wisp could show you wooden statues. Little man and dog. In the box, pretty things like you.”

  He pointed to Eretria, who went pale and shook her head quickly. “I don’t think so, Wisp. Just talk with me.”

  Wisp nodded agreeably. “Just talk.”

  Listening to their conversation, Wil had a sudden thought. He sat forward, gripping the bars of their cell.

  “Wisp, what did the Lady do with the Elfstones?”

  Wisp glanced at him. “In the box, safe in the box.”

  “What box, Wisp? Where does the Lady keep this box?”

  Wisp pointed disinterestedly toward the darkened passageway behind him, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on Eretria. “Talk, pretty thing,” he pleaded.

  Wil glanced at Amberle and shrugged. He was not having much success coaxing anything more out of Wisp. The little fellow was only interested in talking with Eretria.

  The Rover girl crossed her legs before her and rocked back. “Would you show me the pretty stones, Wisp? Could I see them?”

  Wisp glanced about furtively. “Wisp serves the Lady. Faithful Wisp.” He paused, considering. “Show you wooden figures, pretty one.”

  Eretria shook her head. “Just talk, Wisp. Why do you have to stay here in the Hollows? Why don’t you leave?”

  “Wisp serves the Lady.” Wisp repeated his favorite response anxiously, and his face grew troubled. “Never leaves the Hollows. Cannot leave.”

  From somewhere high within the tower, a bell rang once and was still. Wisp rose hurriedly.

  “Lady calls,” he told them, starting up the stairs.

  “Wisp!” Wil called after him. The little fellow stopped. “Will the Lady let us leave if I give her the Elfstones?”

  Wisp did not seem to understand. “Leave?”

  “Go out of the Hollows?” Will pressed.

  Wisp shook his head quickly. “Never leave. Never. Wooden figures.” He waved to Eretria. “Pretty thing for Wisp. Take good care of pretty thing. Talk some more. Talk later.”

  He turned and darted up
the stairs into the gloom. Wordlessly, the prisoners watched him go. Above them, the bell sounded a second time, its echo reverberating into silence.

  Wil spoke first. “Wisp could be wrong. Mallenroh wants the Elfstones badly. I think she would let us leave the Hollows if I agreed to give them to her.”

  They huddled down before the door of their cell, eyes drifting uneasily to the darkness of the stairway beyond.

  “Wisp is not wrong.” Amberle shook her head slowly. “Hebel told us that no one goes into the Hollows. And he said that no one ever comes out, either.”

  “The Elven girl is right,” Eretria agreed. “The Witch will never let us go. She will make wooden figures of us all.”

  “Well, then, we had better come up with another plan.” Wil gripped the bars of the cell, testing their strength.

  Eretria rose, peering guardedly into the gloom of the stairway. “I have another plan, Healer,” she said softly.

  She reached down into her right boot, separated the folds of leather along the inner side, and extracted a narrow metal rod with a curious hook at one end. Then she reached into her left boot and pulled forth the dagger she had displayed to Wil when they had been surprised by Hebel on the rim of the Hollows. She held up the dagger with a quick grin, then slipped it back into the boot.

  “How did Mallenroh miss that?” Wil asked her in surprise.

  The Rover girl shrugged. “She did not bother to have the stick men search me. She was too busy making us feel helpless.”

  She moved to the cell door and began examining the lock.

  “What are you doing?” Wil came over to her.

  “I am getting us out of here,” she declared, peering carefully into the keyhole. She glanced back at him momentarily and indicated the metal rod. “Picklock. No Rover would be without one. Too many ill-advised citizens spend their time trying to keep us locked up. I guess they don’t trust us.” She winked at Amberle, who frowned.

  “Some of those people probably have good reason not to trust you,” Amberle suggested.

  “Probably.” Eretria blew dust from the lock. “We all deceive one another at times—don’t we, sister Amberle?”

  “Wait a minute.” Wil dropped down beside her, ignoring the exchange. “Once you succeed in picking that lock, Eretria, what do we do then?”

  The Rover girl looked at him as if he were a fool. “We run, Healer—just as fast and as far as we can away from this place.”

  The Valeman shook his head. “We can’t do that. We have to stay.”

  “We have to stay?” she repeated in disbelief.

  “For a while, at least.” Will glanced momentarily at Amberle, then made his decision. “Eretria, I think this might be a good time to put aside a few of those deceptions you mentioned. Listen carefully.”

  He motioned for Amberle to join them, and the three hunched down together in the gloom. Quickly Wil explained to the Rover girl the truth of who Amberle was, who he was, why they had come into the Wilderun and what it was that they were really seeking. He left nothing out in his narration, for it was necessary now that Eretria appreciate the importance of their search for the Bloodfire. They were in grave danger in this tower, but the danger to them would not lessen, even if they were to get clear of it. If anything were to happen to him, he wanted to be certain that the Rover girl would do what she could to see that Amberle escaped the Hollows.

  He finished, and Eretria stared at him wordlessly. She turned to Amberle.

  “Is all this true, Elven girl? I trust you better, I think.”

  Amberle nodded. “It is all true.”

  “And you are determined to stay until you find this Bloodfire?”

  Amberle nodded again.

  The Rover girl shook her head doubtfully. “Can I see this seed you carry?”

  Amberle withdrew the Ellcrys seed, carefully wrapped in white canvas, from within her tunic. She unwrapped it and held it forth, silver-white and perfectly formed. Eretria stared at it. Then the doubt faded from her eyes, and she turned again to Wil.

  “I go where you go, Wil Ohmsford. If you say we must stay, then the matter is settled. Still, we have to get out of this cell.”

  “All right,” Wil agreed. “Then we find Wisp.”

  “Wisp?”

  “We need him. He knows where Mallenroh has hidden the Elfstones and all about Safehold, its tunnels, and its secrets. He knows the Hollows. If we have Wisp to guide us, then we have a chance to do what we came here to do and still escape.”

  Eretria nodded. “First we have to escape from here. It will take me awhile to figure out this lock. Be as quiet as you can. Watch the stairs.”

  Carefully she inserted the hooked metal rod into the keyhole and began to work it about.

  Wil and Amberle moved to the far end of the iron bars where they could watch more closely the darkened passageway leading down the flight of stairs from the tower. The minutes slipped away, and still Eretria did not open the cell door. Faint scrapings cut through the deep silence as the hooked rod moved about within the lock, the Rover girl muttering as time and again the latch mechanism slipped free. Amberle crouched close against Wil, and her hand rested loosely on his knee.

  “What will you do if she fails?” the Elven girl whispered after a time.

  Wil kept his eyes on the passageway. “She won’t.”

  Amberle nodded. “But if she does—what then?”

  He shook his head.

  “I do not want you to give Mallenroh the Elfstones,” Amberle announced quietly.

  “We have been over that. I have to get you out of here.”

  “Once she has the Stones, she will destroy us.”

  “Not if I handle it right.”

  “Listen to me!” Her voice was angry. “Mallenroh has no regard for human life. Humans serve no purpose in her eyes beyond the uses she may put them to. Hebel did not understand that when he met her that first time on the rim of the Hollows sixty years ago. All he could see was the beauty and the magic with which she cloaked herself, the dreams she spun with her words, the impressions she left by her passing—all fabrication. He did not see the evil that lay beneath—not until it was too late.”

  “I am not Hebel.”

  She took a deep breath. “No. But I worry that your concern for me and what I have come here to do is beginning to color your judgment. You have such determination, Wil. You think that you can overcome any obstacle, however formidable. I envy you your determination—it is something that I sadly lack.”

  She took his hands in her own. “I just want you to understand that I depend on you. Call it what you wish—I need your strength, your conviction, your determination. But neither that nor what you feel for me must be allowed to distort your judgment. If it does, we are both lost.”

  “Determination is just about all I have to work with,” he responded, eyes shifting momentarily to find hers. “Nor do I agree with you that you lack that same determination.”

  “But I do, Wil. Allanon knew that when he chose you to be my protector. He knew, I think, how important your own determination would be to our survival. And without it, Wil, we would have been dead long ago.” She paused, her voice softening further until she could barely be heard. “But you are wrong when you say that I do not lack that same determination. I do. I always have.”

  “I do not believe that.”

  She caught his sudden glance down. “You do not know me as well as you think, Wil.”

  He studied her face. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that there are things about me …” She stopped. “I mean that I am not as strong as I would like to be—not as courageous, not even as dependable as you. Remember, Wil, when we began the journey from Havenstead? You did not think much of me then. I want you to know that I did not think much of me either.”

  “Amberle, you were frightened. That does not …”

  “Oh, I was frightened all right,” she interrupted quickly. “I am still frightened. My being frightened is the reason f
or everything that has happened.”

  By the cell door, Eretria muttered angrily and sat back, eyeing the still tightly locked barrier. She glanced once at the Valeman and went back to work.

  “What are you trying to tell me, Amberle?” Wil asked quietly.

  Amberle shook her head slowly. “I suppose I am trying to work up enough courage to tell you the one thing that I have been unable to bring myself to tell you since we began this journey.” She stared back into the gloomy interior of their little cell. “I suppose I want to tell you now because I do not know if I will have another chance.”

  “Then tell me,” he encouraged.

  Her child’s face lifted. “The reason that I left Arborlon and did not continue as a Chosen in service to the Ellcrys was that I became so frightened of her that I could no longer bear even to be around her. That sounds foolish, I know, but hear me out, please. I have never told this to anyone. I think that my mother understood, but no one else ever has. I cannot blame them for that. I might have explained myself, but I chose not to. I felt that I could not tell anyone.”

  She paused. “It was difficult for me once I had been chosen by her. I knew well enough the uniqueness of my selection. I knew that I was the first woman to be chosen in five hundred years, the first woman since the time of the Second War of the Races. I accepted that, though there were many who questioned it and questioned it openly. But I was the granddaughter of Eventine Elessedil; it was not then altogether strange that I should be chosen, I thought. And my family—especially my grandfather—were so proud.

  “But the uniqueness of my selection went beyond the fact that I was a woman, I discovered. From the first day of my service, it was different for me from what it was for my companion Chosen. The Ellcrys, it was well known, seldom spoke to anyone. It was virtually unheard of for her to converse with her Chosen after the time of their selection, save in very rare instances. Even then, a conversation with her might take place once during the entire time of a Chosen’s service. But from the first day forward, she spoke to me—not once or twice, but every day; not in passing, not in brief, but at length and with purpose. Always, I was alone; the others were never there. She would tell me when to come, and I would do so, of course. I was honored beyond belief; I was special to her, more special than anyone had ever been, and I took great pride in that.”