The Sword of Shannara Trilogy the Sword of Shannara Trilogy

by Terry Brooks

  He thought that he had the means to do so. It was the fifth day of their descent into the Wilderun—the last day that Perk would fly Genewen across the valley before winging home. The Valeman dropped one hand from Amberle momentarily to feel the outline of the small object that nestled in his tunic pocket—the silver whistle that Perk had given him to summon Genewen. It was their sole link to the youthful Wing Rider, and Wil had guarded it carefully. He knew that he had promised Amberle that he would not call upon the boy if their situation were not desperate, but surely it could not be more desperate than this. If they were forced to hike back through the Hollows, back through the Wilderun, and back through the whole of the lower Westland in order to reach the safety of Arborlon, they would never make it. The Reaper would find their trail and catch them. It would be foolish to believe otherwise. They must find another way back, and the only other way he knew was to fly Genewen. The Reaper would still come after them, just as it had come after them before, but by then they would be safely beyond its reach.

  Maybe, he cautioned himself. Maybe. They still needed time to escape, and what time remained was slipping rapidly away from them. There had not been much to begin with, and most of that had already been used up. The Reaper hunted them. Even though they had outmaneuvered it in the ruins of the Witch Sister’s tower, still it would find them again quickly enough. If they were to escape, they must reach Safehold, locate the Bloodfire, immerse the Ellcrys seed, gain the high slopes of Spire’s Reach, signal Perk, who could be anywhere over the Wilderun, board Genewen, if the great Roc could carry them all, and fly to safety—all before the Reaper caught up to them. That was asking a lot, Wil knew.

  The forest brushed and tore at him as he followed after Eretria’s slim form, branches and vines slapping at his face. He cradled Amberle close, the strain of carrying her already beginning to wear at his arms. All about, the forest lay deep and still.

  He wondered momentarily about Arborlon and the Elves. By now, the Demons must have broken through the Forbidding and flooded the Westland, and the Elven people must be engaged in the defense of their homeland. The terrible conflict that Eventine had sought to avoid must have come to pass. And what of the Ellcrys? Had Allanon found a way to protect the dying tree? Had the Druid’s power been strong enough to withstand the onslaught of the Demons? Only a rebirth of the Ellcrys could save the Elves, Allanon had said. Yet how much time remained before even that would come too late? Pointless questions, Wil Ohmsford chided himself. Questions that he could not answer, for it was not possible for him to know what was happening beyond the Hollows. Yet he found himself wishing that it were possible for Allanon to reach out to him, tell him something of what was happening in the homeland of the Elves, and let him know that there was still time—if Wil could just find a way to get back again.

  Despair washed through him then, sudden, frightening in its certainty—as if he knew that even if he were to succeed here in what he sought to accomplish, still it would be too late for those who awaited his return. And if that were so…

  Wil Ohmsford did not let the thought finish itself. That way lay madness.

  The terrain began to rise, gently at first, then sharply. They were upon the slopes of Spire’s Reach. Rock slides and clumps of boulders materialized through the tangle of the woods, and a narrow trail curled upward into the mist. They pushed ahead. Gradually the mist began to fade, and the roof of the forest fell away below them. Large stretches of gray sky appeared through breaks in the trees, and the gloom of the lower forest began to dissipate in small streamers of sunlight. Slowly, carefully, the climbers worked their way up the slopes, catching brief glimpses through the thinning trees of the Hollows spread out beneath them in a sea of tangled limbs.

  Then abruptly the trees opened before them and they stood upon a bluff that faced out across the Hollows to the higher walls of the Wilderun. Clusters of scrub and deadwood rose out of deep swatches of saw grass and ran back to the cliff face and a massive cavern that opened down into Spire’s Reach like a great dark throat.

  Wisp led the little company to the entrance to the cavern, skirting the maze of heavy brush, then stopped just outside and turned quickly to Eretria.

  “Safehold, pretty thing—there.” He pointed into the cavern. “Tunnels and tunnels that wind and twist. Safehold. Good Wisp.”

  The Rover girl smiled reassuringly and glanced back to Wil. “Now what?”

  Wil came forward and peered unsuccessfully into the darkness. He set Amberle upon her feet momentarily and turned to find Wisp. The little fellow moved at once behind Eretria, hiding his face within the folds of her pants.

  “Wisp?” Wil called him gently, but Wisp would have nothing to do with the Valeman. Wil sighed. There was no time for this foolishness.

  “Eretria, ask him about a door made of glass that will not break.”

  The Rover girl bent down so that Wisp was facing her again.

  “Wisp, it’s all right. I won’t let anyone hurt you. Look at me, Wisp.” The little fellow raised his head and smiled uncertainly. Eretria stroked his cheek. “Wisp, can you show us a door made of glass that will not break? Do you know of such a door?”

  Wisp cocked his head. “Play games, pretty thing? Play games with Wisp?”

  Eretria was at a loss. She glanced quickly at Wil, who shrugged and nodded.

  “Sure, we can play a game, Wisp.” Eretria smiled. “Can you show us this door?”

  Wisp’s wizened face crinkled with glee. “Wisp can show.”

  He bounded up, dashed into the mouth of the cavern, then back out again to grab Eretria’s hand and pull her after him. Wil shook his head hopelessly. Wisp was more than a little crazed, whether from all that had happened to him during his confinement within the Hollows or from the shock he had suffered at losing his Lady, and they were risking a great deal in believing that he could show them the chamber of the Bloodfire. Still, they had little choice. He glanced again at the blackness of the cavern.

  “I’d hate to become lost in there,” Hebel muttered next to him.

  Eretria seemed to be of the same opinion. “Wisp, we can’t see anything.” She pulled him to a stop. “We have to make torches.”

  Wisp froze. “No torches, pretty thing. No fire. Fire burns—destroys. Hurts Wisp. Fire burns the tower of the Lady. The Lady … Wisp serves …”

  He broke down suddenly, tears flooding his eyes, his small arms wrapping tight about the Rover girl’s legs. “Not hurt Wisp, pretty thing!”

  “No, no, Wisp,” she assured him, picking him up and holding him close to her. “No one will hurt you. But we need light, Wisp. We cannot see in this cavern without light.”

  Wisp raised his tear-streaked face. “Light, pretty thing? Oh, light—there is light. Come. Over here is light.”

  Mumbling half to himself, he led them to the mouth of the cavern once more. Then moving to the near wall, he reached into a small niche in the rock and extracted a pair of the strange lamps. As he thrust them into the cavern, the glass-enclosed interiors came alive with the same smokeless light that had burned throughout the Witch Sister’s tower.

  “Light.” Wisp smiled eagerly, handing the lamps to Eretria.

  She took them, keeping one for herself and handing the second to Wil. The Valeman turned back to Hebel.

  “You don’t have to come any further with us if you don’t want to,” he pointed out.

  “Don’t be stupid,” the old man snorted. “What if you get lost in there? You’ll need Drifter and me to get you out again, won’t you? Besides, I want a look at this Safehold place.”

  Wil could see that there was little to be gained by arguing the matter further. He nodded to Eretria. The Rover girl took a firm grip on Wisp’s hand; holding the lamp she carried before them both, she started into the cave. Wil lifted Amberle in his arms and followed. Hebel and Drifter brought up the rear.

  They moved ahead cautiously. Gradually their eyes began to adjust, and they could see that the cavern ran well back into t
he core of Spire’s Reach, its roof and walls far beyond the glow of the lamps. The floor of the cavern was uneven, but free of obstructions, and they walked deep into the blackness. At last Wisp brought them to the rear wall of the cavern. Before them were a series of openings, little more than narrow clefts in the rock, one very much like another, splitting the cavern wall and disappearing from view.

  Wisp had no problem deciding which opening he wanted. Without any hesitation at all, he chose one and led the way through. He took them into a labyrinth of cuts and turns, twisting and winding along a maze of tunnels that sloped steadily downward. The others were soon hopelessly lost. Still Wisp led them on.

  Then suddenly they stood before a stairway, and the character of the tunnels underwent an abrupt change. Gone were the naturally-formed rock walls, roof, and floor. The stairs and surrounding passageway were formed of stone blocks, rough-hewn and massive, but unquestionably fashioned by hand. Patches of dampness glistened on the walls and roof of the passage, and trailers of water ran upon the steps. There were sounds in the darkness below. Small bodies scattered with a scratching of tiny feet and squeaks of annoyance. Flashes of sudden movement revealed the sleek, dark forms of rats.

  Wisp led them down the stairs into the darkness. For hundreds of feet the stairs wore on, bending and turning at odd angles, leveling off once or twice in small rampways, then twisting deep into the mountain. All about them, just beyond the glow of the smokeless lamps, the rats scurried through the dark, their cries faint and unpleasant in the stillness. The air grew pungent with the smell of musty dampness and decay. Still they descended, watching the steps wind away before them.

  Finally the steps ended. They stood within a great hall, its high arched ceiling braced with massive columns. Broken stone benches filled the chamber, arranged in widening rows about a low, circular platform. Strange markings were carved in the stone of the columns and walls, and iron stanchions and standards rusted upon the platform. Once this chamber had been a council room or meeting hall, or perhaps even a place of offerings and strange rites, Wil thought. Once another people had gathered here. He stared about momentarily, and then Wisp was leading them through the rows of benches and past the platform to a massive stone door that stood ajar at the far end of the hall. Beyond, another set of stairs led downward.

  They descended this new stairway. Wil was growing more than a little concerned. They had come a long way into the mountain, and only Wisp had any idea at all where they were. If the Reaper caught them here…

  The steps ended. They moved into another passageway. From somewhere ahead, Wil thought he heard the sound of water splashing, as if a brook were tumbling down through the stone. Wisp hurried forward eagerly, pulling at Eretria’s hand, casting anxious glances over one shoulder as if to be certain that she still followed him.

  Then they were through the passage and standing in a great cavern. Gone were the stone-block walls that had formed the tunnels that had led them here. This cavern was nature’s work, its walls pocked and split, its roof a mass of jagged stalactites, its floor cratered and littered with broken rock. In the darkness beyond the circle of light cast by their lamps, they could hear water rushing.

  Wisp led them across the cavern, stepping nimbly through the rock, muttering as he went. Against the far wall lay stacked a mass of boulders that looked to be the result of a rock slide. Down through their midst, a narrow band of water tumbled and gathered in a pool that spread outward in a series of tiny streams, bubbling and twisting and finally disappearing into the gloom.

  “Here,” Wisp announced brightly, pointing to the waterfall.

  Wil lowered Amberle to her feet and stared at the little fellow blankly.

  “Here,” Wisp repeated. “Door made of glass that will not break. Funny game for Wisp.”

  “Wil, he means the waterfall.” Amberle spoke up suddenly. “Look closely—where the water spreads out between those rocks above the pool.”

  Wil did look, seeing now what the Elven girl had seen. Where the water spilled down into the pool, it fell in a thin, even sheet between twin columns of rock, causing it to look very much as if it were a door made of glass. He moved forward several paces, watching the light cast from his lamp reflect back from the water’s surface.

  “But it is not glass!” Eretria snapped. “It’s just water!”

  “But would the Ellcrys remember that?” Amberle countered quickly, speaking still to the Valeman. “It has been so long for her. Much of what she once knew has become forgotten in the passing of time. On much she is confused. Perhaps she remembers this waterfall only for what it appeared to be—a door made of glass that will not break.”

  Eretria looked down at Wisp. “This is the door, Wisp? You’re sure?”

  Wisp nodded eagerly. “Funny game, pretty thing. Play funny game with Wisp again.”

  “If this is the door, then there should be a chamber beyond …” Wil started forward.

  “Wisp can show!” Wisp darted ahead of him, pulling Eretria as he went. “Look, look, pretty thing! Come!”

  He drew the Rover girl with him until they stood just to the right of the waterfall beside the pool into which it spilled. The wizened face glanced back briefly, and the little fellow released her hand.

  “Look, pretty thing.”

  An instant later he had stepped into the waterfall and disappeared. The Rover girl stared after him. Almost immediately he was back again, his fur plastered down against his body, his face beaming.

  “Look,” he beckoned and seized the girl’s hand once more, pulling her after him.

  In a knot, the little company passed through the waterfall, still holding the smokeless lamps before them, shielding their eyes as they slipped within the rocks. An alcove lay behind the fall, with a narrow passage beyond. Dripping, they followed it back, Wisp leading them on, until they had walked to its end, where yet another cavern lay, this one much smaller and unexpectedly dry, free of the musty dampness that filled the other, its floor sloping up into the gloom in a series of broad shelves. Wil took a deep breath. If the waterfall were the door made of glass that would not break to which the Ellcrys had directed them, then it was here, in this chamber, that they would find the Bloodfire. He walked wordlessly to the rear of the cavern and back again. There were no other tunnels leading in, no other passages. Rock walls, floor, and cavern roof reflected dully in the glow of his lamp as he held it up and looked carefully about.

  The chamber was empty.

  At the mouth of the cavern that opened down into Spire’s Reach, a shadow passed from the tangle of brush that clogged the bluff and disappeared soundlessly into Safehold. In the wake of its passing, the forest had gone suddenly still.

  A rush of wild imaginings crowded Wil Ohmsford’s mind as he stood within that empty cavern and stared helplessly about. There was no Bloodfire. After all they had endured to reach Safehold, there was no Bloodfire. It was lost, perhaps gone from the earth for centuries, gone with the old world. It was a fiction, a vain hope conceived by the Ellcrys in her dying, a magic that had disappeared with the passing of the land of faerie. Or if there was a Bloodfire, it was not here. It lay somewhere else within the Wilderun, somewhere other than these caverns, and they would never find it. It lay beyond their reach. It lay hidden…

  “Wil!”

  Amberle’s call broke the stillness, sudden and quick. He turned to find her standing apart from him, one hand groping before her as if she were blind and sought to see.

  “Wil, it is here! The Bloodfire is here! I can feel it!”

  Her voice trembled with excitement. The others stared at her, watching as she hobbled forward through the cavern gloom, watching the mesmerizing play of her fingers as they stretched forth like feelers into the dark.

  Eretria moved quickly over to Wil, still grasping Wisp’s hand as the little Elf cowered behind her.

  “Healer, what does she …?”

  His hand came up to silence her. He shook his head slowly and he did not speak. Hi
s eyes remained fixed on the Elven girl. She had moved now to one of the higher levels of the cavern, a small shelf that stood almost in the exact center of the chamber. Painfully, she limped forward, stepping onto the shelf. At its far edge, a large boulder sat. Amberle hobbled to the boulder and stopped, hands reaching down to stroke its surface.

  “Here.” She breathed the word.

  Wil started forward at once, bounding onto the shelf. Instantly the Elven girl turned back to face him.

  “No! Come no closer, Wil!”

  The Valeman stopped. Something in the tone of her voice forced him to stop. They faced each other wordlessly in the gloom of the cavern for an instant, and in the Elven girl’s eyes there was a look of desperation and fear. Her eyes stayed locked on his a moment longer, and then she turned away. Placing her slim body against the boulder, she shoved. As if it were made of paper, the boulder rolled back.

  White fire exploded from the earth. Upward toward the roof of the cavern it lifted, the flame glistening like liquid ice. It burned white and brilliant as it rose, yet gave off no heat. Then slowly it began to turn the color of blood.

  Wil Ohmsford staggered back in shock, unaware momentarily that in the rush of Fire Amberle had disappeared altogether. Then behind him he heard Wisp scream in horror.

  “Burn! Wisp will burn! Hurt Wisp!” His voice became a shriek. His wizened face contorted as the fire flooded the cavern with red light. “The Lady, the Lady, the Lady—burns, she burns! Wisp … serves the … burns!”

  His mind snapped. Wrenching free of Eretria, he ran from the chamber, screaming one long wail of anguish. Hebel grabbed for him and missed.

  “Wisp, come back!” Eretria cried. “Wisp!”

  But it was too late. They heard him pass through the waterfall and he was gone. In the crimson glare of the Bloodfire, the three who remained faced one another wordlessly.