The Sword of Shannara Trilogy the Sword of Shannara Trilogy

by Terry Brooks

  “You really mustn’t mind him,” Kimber Boh apologized, rising to clear the dishes from the table. “He is very gentle and sweet, but he has lived alone for so many years that he finds it difficult to be comfortable with other people.”

  Smiling, she removed the dishes from the table and returned with a container of burgundy-colored wine. Pouring a small amount into fresh glasses, she resumed her seat across from them. As they sipped at the wine and chatted amiably, Brin found herself wondering as she had wondered on and off from the first moment that she had laid eyes on the girl how it was that she and the old man had managed to survive alone in this wilderness. Of course, there was the cat, but nevertheless…

  “Grandfather walks every evening after dinner,” Kimber Boh was relating, a reassuring look directed to the two who sat across from her. “He wanders about the valley a good deal when the late fall comes. All of our work is done for the year, and when winter comes he will not go out as much. His body hurts him sometimes in the cold weather, and he prefers the fire. But now, while the nights are still warm, he likes to walk.”

  “Kimber, where are your parents?” Brin asked, unable to help herself. “Why are you here all alone?”

  “My parents were killed,” the girl explained matter-of-factly. “I was just a child when Cogline found me, hidden in some bedding where the caravan had camped that last night at the north edge of the valley. He brought me to his home and raised me as his granddaughter.” She leaned forward. “He has never had a family of his own, you see. I’m all he has.”

  “How were your parents killed?” Rone wanted to know, seeing that the girl did not mind speaking of it.

  “Gnome raiders. Several families were traveling in the caravan; everyone was killed except me. They missed me, Cogline says.” She smiled. “But that’s been a long time ago.”

  Rone sipped at his wine. “Kind of dangerous here for you, isn’t it?”

  She looked puzzled. “Dangerous?”

  “Sure. Wilderness all around, wild animals, raiders—whatever. Aren’t you a little afraid sometimes living alone out here?”

  She cocked her head slightly. “Do you think I should be?”

  The highlander glanced at Brin. “Well … I don’t know.”

  She stood up. “Watch this.”

  Almost faster than his eye could follow, the girl had a long knife in her hand, whipping it past his head, flinging it the length of the room. It buried itself with a thud in a tiny black circle drawn on a timber in the far corner.

  Kimber Boh grinned. “I practice that all the time. I learned to throw the knife by the time I was ten. Cogline taught me. I am just as good with almost any other weapon you might care to name. I can run faster than anything that lives in Darklin Reach—except for Whisper. I can walk all day and all night without sleeping.”

  She sat down again. “Of course, Whisper would protect me against anything that threatened me, so I don’t have much to worry about.” She smiled. “Besides, nothing really dangerous ever comes into Hearthstone. Cogline has lived here all his life; the valley belongs to him. Everyone knows that and they don’t bother him. Even the Spider Gnomes stay out.”

  She paused. “Do you know about the Spider Gnomes?”

  They shook their heads. The girl leaned forward. “They creep along the ground and up trees, all hairy and crooked, just like spiders. Once they tried to come into the valley, about three years ago. Several dozen of them came, all blackened with ash and anxious to hunt. They’re not like the other Gnomes, you know, because they burrow and trap like spiders. Anyway, they came down into Hearthstone. I think they wanted it for their own. Grandfather knew about it right away, just as he always seems to know when something dangerous is about. He took Whisper with him and they ambushed the Spider Gnomes at the north end of the valley right by the big rock. The Spider Gnomes are still running.”

  She grinned broadly, pleased with the story. Brin and Rone cast uneasy glances at each other, less sure than ever what to make of this girl.

  “Where did the cat come from?” Rone glanced again at Whisper, who continued to sleep undisturbed. “How does he disappear like that when he’s so confounded big?”

  “Whisper is a moor cat,” the girl explained. “Most such cats live in the swamps in the deep Anar, well east of Darklin Reach and the Ravenshorn. Whisper wandered into Olden Moor, though, when he was still a baby. Cogline found him and brought him here. He had been in a fight with something and was all cut up. We took care of him and he stayed with us. I learned to talk with him.” She looked at Brin. “But not like you do, not singing to him like that. Can you teach me to do that, Brin?”

  Brin shook her head gently. “I don’t think so, Kimber. The wishsong was something I was born with.”

  “Wishsong,” the girl repeated the word. “That’s very pretty.”

  There was a momentary silence. “So how does he disappear the way he does?” Rone asked once again.

  “Oh, he doesn’t disappear,” Kimber Boh explained with a laugh. “It just seems that way. The reason you can’t see him sometimes is not because he isn’t there, which he plainly is, but because he can change his body coloring to blend in with the forest—the trees, the rocks, the ground, whatever. He blends in so well that he can’t be seen if you don’t know how to look for him. After you’ve been around him long enough, you learn how to look for him properly.” She paused. “Of course, if he doesn’t wish to be found, then he probably won’t be. That’s part of his defense. It’s become quite a game with grandfather. Whisper disappears and refuses to show himself until grandfather has yelled himself hoarse. Not very fair of him, really, because grandfather’s eyes aren’t as good as they used to be.”

  “But he comes for you, I gather.”

  “Always. He thinks I am his mother. I nursed him and cared for him when we first brought him back here. We’re so close now that it’s as if we’re parts of the same person. Most of the time, we even seem to be able to sense what each other is thinking.”

  “He looks dangerous to me,” Rone stated flatly.

  “Oh, he is,” the girl agreed. “Very dangerous. Wild, he would be uncontrollable. But Whisper is no longer wild. There may be a small part of him that still is, a memory or an instinct buried deep inside somewhere, but it’s all but forgotten now.”

  She rose and poured them each a bit more of the wine. “Do you like our home?” she asked them after a moment.

  “Very much,” Brin replied.

  The girl smiled, obviously pleased. “I did most of the decorations myself—except for the glass and silver things; those were brought by grandfather from his trips. Or some he had before I came. But the rest, I did. And the gardens—I planted those. All the flowers and shrubs and vegetables—all the small bushes and vines. I like the colors and the sweet smells.”

  Brin smiled, too. Kimber Boh was a mixture of child and woman—in some ways still young, in some grown beyond her years. It was strange, but she reminded the Valegirl of Jair. Thinking of it made her miss her brother terribly.

  Kimber Boh saw the look that crossed her face and mistook it. “It really isn’t dangerous here at Hearthstone,” she assured the Valegirl. “It may seem that way to you because you are not familiar with the country, as I am. But this is my home, remember—this is where I grew up. Grandfather taught me when I was little what I should know in order to protect myself. I have learned to deal with what dangers there are; I know how to avoid them. And I have grandfather and Whisper. You don’t have to be worried about me—really, you don’t.”

  Brin smiled at the assurance. “I can see that I don’t, Kimber. I can see that you are very capable.”

  To her surprise, Kimber Boh blushed. Then hurriedly the girl stood up and walked to where Cogline had dropped his forest cloak on the arm of the wooden rocker. “I have to take grandfather his coat,” she announced quickly. “It’s cold out there. Would you like to walk with me?”

  Valegirl and highlander rose and followed as she
opened the door and stepped outside. The moment the latch clicked free, Whisper was on his feet, padding silently through the door after them.

  They paused momentarily on the porch of the little cottage, losing themselves in the splendor of the evening’s peaceful, almost mystical still-life. The air was chill and faintly damp and smelled sweetly of the darkened forest. White moonlight bathed the lawn, flower gardens, neatly trimmed hedgerows, and shrubs with dazzling brightness. Each blade of grass, soft petal, and tiny leaf glistened wetly, deep emerald laced with frost as the dew of the autumn evening gathered. In the blackness beyond, the trees of the forest rose against the star-filled sky like monstrous giants—ageless, massive, frozen in the silence of the night. The gentle wind of early dusk had faded entirely now, drifting soundlessly into stillness. Even the familiar cries of the woodland creatures had softened to faint and distant murmurs that soothed and comforted.

  “Grandfather will be at the willow,” Kimber Boh said softly, breaking the spell.

  Together, they moved off the porch onto the walkway that led to the rear of the cottage. No one spoke a word. They simply walked slowly, the girl leading, their boots scraping softly against the worn stone. Something skittered through the dry leaves in the dark curtain of the forest and was gone. A bird called sharply, its piercing cry echoing in the stillness, lingering on.

  The three moved past the corner of the house now, through groupings of pine and spruce and lines of hedgerows. Then a huge, sagging willow appeared from out of the darkness at the edge of the forest, its branches trailing in thick streamers that hung like a curtain against the night. Massive and gnarled, its humped form lay wrapped in shadowed darkness, as if drawn inward onto itself. There, beneath its canopied arch, the bowl of a pipe glowed deep red in the darkness, and puffs of smoke rose skyward to thin and vanish.

  As they passed through the trailing limbs of the willow, they saw clearly the skeletal form of Cogline, hunched over on one of a pair of wooden benches that had been placed at the base of the ancient trunk, his wizened face turned toward the darkened forest. Kimber Boh went directly over to him and placed the forest cloak about his shoulders.

  “You will catch cold, grandfather,” she scolded gently.

  The old man grimaced. “Can’t even come out here for a smoke without you hovering over me like a mother hen!” He pulled the cloak about him nevertheless as he glanced over at Brin and Rone. “And I don’t need these two for company either. Or that worthless cat. I suppose you brought him out here, too!”

  Brin looked about for Whisper and was surprised to find that he had disappeared again. A moment earlier, he had been right behind them.

  Kimber Boh seated herself next to her grandfather. “Why won’t you at least try to be friends with Brin and Rone?” she asked him quietly.

  “What for?” the other snapped. “I don’t need friends! Friends are nothing but trouble, always expecting you to do something for them, always wanting some favor or other. Had enough friends in the old days, girl. You don’t understand enough about how life is, that’s your trouble!”

  The girl glanced apologetically at Brin and Rone and nodded toward the empty bench. Wordlessly, the Valegirl and the highlander sat down across from her.

  Kimber Boh turned back to the old man. “You must not be like that. You must not be so selfish.”

  “I’m an old man. I can be what I want!” Cogline muttered petulantly.

  “When I used to say things like that, you called me spoiled and sent me to my room. Do you remember?”

  “That was different!”

  “Should I send you to your room?” she asked, speaking to the old man as a mother would to her child, her hands clasping his. “Or perhaps you would prefer it if Whisper and I also had nothing more to do with you since we are your friends, too, and you do not seem to want any friends.”

  Cogline clamped his teeth about the stem of his pipe as if he might bite it through and hunched down sullenly within the cloak, refusing to answer. Brin glanced quickly over at Rone, who arched one eyebrow in response. It was clear to both that despite her age, it was Kimber Boh who was the stabilizing force in this strange little family.

  The girl leaned over then and kissed her grandfather’s cheek softly. “I know that you don’t really believe what you said. I know you are a good, kind, gentle man, and I love you.” She brought her arms about his thin frame and hugged him close. To Brin’s surprise, the old man’s arm came up tentatively and hugged her back.

  “They should have asked before they came here,” he muttered, gesturing vaguely toward the Valegirl and the highlander. “I might have hurt them, you know.”

  “Yes, grandfather, I know,” the girl responded. “But now that they are here, after having made such a long journey to find you, I think you should see why it is that they have come and if there is anything you can do to help them.”

  Brin and Rone exchanged hurried glances once more. Cogline slipped free of Kimber Boh’s arms, muttering and shaking his head, wispish hair dancing in the moonglow like fine silk thread.

  “Dratted cat, where’s he got to this time! Whisper! Come out here, you worthless beast! I’m not sitting around …”

  “Grandfather!” the girl interrupted him firmly. The old man looked at her in startled silence, and she nodded toward Brin and Rone. “Our friends, grandfather—will you ask them?”

  The wrinkles in the old man’s face creased deeper as he frowned. “Oh, very well,” he huffed irritably. “What was it that brought you here?”

  “We have need of someone who can show us a way through this country,” Brin replied at once, hardly daring to hope that the help they so badly needed might at last be offered. “We were told that Cogline was the one man who might know that way.”

  “Except that there isn’t any Cogline anymore!” the oldster snapped, but a warning glance from the girl quieted him at once. “Well then, what country is it that you plan to travel through?”

  “The central Anar,” Brin answered. “Darklin Reach, the moor beyond—all the way east to the Ravenshorn.” She paused. “Into the Maelmord.”

  “But the walkers are there!” Kimber Boh exclaimed.

  “What reason would you have for going into that black pit?” the old man followed up heatedly.

  Brin hesitated, seeing where matters were headed. “To destroy the walkers.”

  “Destroy the walkers!” Cogline was aghast. “Destroy them with what, girl?”

  “With the wishsong. With the magic that …”

  “With the wishsong? With that singing? That’s what you plan to use?” Cogline was on his feet, leaping about wildly, skeletal arms gesturing. “And you think me mad? Get out of here! Get out of my house! Get out, get out!”

  Kimber Boh rose and gently pulled the old man back down on the bench, talking to him, soothing him as he continued to rant. It took a few moments to quiet him. Then wrapping him once more in the forest cloak, she turned again to Brin and Rone.

  “Brin Ohmsford,” she addressed the Valegirl solemnly, her face quite stern. “The Maelmord is no place for you. Even I do not go there.”

  Brin almost smiled at the other’s emphasis on her own forbidding. “But I do not have a choice in this, Kimber,” she explained gently. “I have to go.”

  “And I have to go with her,” Rone added grudgingly. “When I find the sword again, that is. I have to find the sword first.”

  Kimber looked at them each in turn and shook her head in confusion. “I don’t understand. What sword? Why is it that you have to go into the Maelmord? Why is it that you have to destroy the walkers?”

  Again Brin hesitated, this time in caution. How much should she reveal of the quest that had brought her to this land? How much should she tell of the truth that had been entrusted to her? But as she looked into the eyes of Kimber, the caution that bade her keep watch over all that she so carefully hid suddenly ceased to have meaning. Allanon was dead, gone forever from the Four Lands. The magic he had given Rone i
n order that he might protect her was lost. She was alone, weary, and frightened, despite the determination that carried her forward on this impossible journey; if she were to survive what lay ahead, she knew she must take what help she could find where she might find it. Hidden truths and clever deceptions had been a way of life for Allanon, a part of the person that he had been. It could never be so for her.

  So she told the girl and the old man all that had been told to her and all that had befallen her since Allanon had first appeared in the village of Shady Vale those many days gone past. She hid nothing of the truth save those secrets she kept hidden even from Rone, those frightening suspicions and unpleasant whisperings of the powers, dark and unfathomable, of the wishsong. It took a long time to tell it all, but for once the old man was quiet and the girl listened with him in silent wonderment.

  When she had finished, she turned to Rone to see if there were anything further that should be said, but the highlander shook his head wordlessly.

  “You see, then, that I have to go,” she repeated the words one final time, looking from the girl to the old man and back again, waiting.

  “Elven magic in you, eh?” Cogline murmured, eyes piercing. “Druid’s touch on the whole of what you do. I’ve a bit of that touch myself, you know—a bit of the dark lore. Yes. Yes, I do.”

  Kimber touched his arm gently. “Can we help them find their path east, grandfather?”

  “East? Whole of the country east is known to me—all that there is, here to there and back. Hearthstone, Darklin Reach, Olden Moor—all to the Ravenshorn, all to the Maelmord.” He shook his wispish head thoughtfully. “Kept the touch, I have. Walkers don’t bother me here; walkers don’t come into the valley. Outside, they go where they please, though. That’s their country.”

  “Grandfather, listen to me,” she prodded him gently. “We must help our friends, you and Whisper and I.”

  Cogline looked at her wordlessly for a moment, then threw up his hands. “Waste of time!” he announced. “Ridiculous waste of time!” His bony finger came up to touch the girl’s nose. “Have to think better than that, girl. I taught you to think better than that! Suppose we do help; suppose we take these two right through Darklin Reach, right through Olden Moor, right to the Ravenshorn and the black pit itself. Suppose! What, then? Tell me! What then?”