Post by Admin on May 4, 2016 17:10:34 GMT -6
Chapter Nine
Early the next morning, Allanon came to Wil Ohmsford and told him that they were leaving Storlock at once. Dark and grim-visaged, the Druid appeared at the door of the Valeman’s cottage without a word of forewarning and while Wil gave thought to arguing against such an abrupt departure, something in the big man’s face and voice convinced him that he should not. Last evening, when they had parted company, there had been no urgency in the Druid’s behavior; now there clearly was. Whatever it was that had persuaded Allanon to make this decision, it was compelling. Wordlessly the Valeman packed his few belongings and latched the door of the cottage behind him as he followed the Druid out. It was raining once more as a new storm approached from out of the northwest, and the dawn skies were heavy and leaden. Allanon led the Valeman up the muddied roadway, his tall form wrapped in the black robe, his cowled head bent slightly against a steadily rising wind. A handful of white-robed Stors waited to receive them on the steps of the rest center with a small kit for Wil and provisions for the journey. Artaq was saddled and shaking his head with impatience, and Allanon mounted the black at once, a gingerliness in his movements suggesting that his wounds were not yet fully healed. A wiry gray gelding named Spitter was given to Wil, and he had one foot in the stirrup when Flick came dashing up, bearded face dripping and flushed. Hastily his uncle pulled him back into the shelter of the rest center’s covered porch. “They just told me,” he panted, wiping the rain from his eyes. “I’m surprised they bothered!” He glanced angrily toward Allanon. “Is it necessary that you leave so quickly?” Wil nodded slowly. “I think something may have made it necessary.” Frustration and concern showed in Flick’s eyes. “It is not too late to rethink your decision in all this,” he whispered harshly and would have said more, but Wil was already shaking his head. “Very well. I’ll tell your grandfather what has happened, though I am certain he won’t like it any better than I do. Be careful, Wil. Remember what I said about all of us having our limitations.” Wil nodded. They said their goodbyes quickly and gruffly, almost as if they were afraid to express what they were really feeling, their faces fixed and drawn as they exchanged uneasy glances and hurriedly embraced. Then Allanon and he were riding away. Flick, the Stors, and the village became dark shadows that faded into the mist and gray of the Eastland forests and disappeared from view. The Druid and the Valeman rode west out of Storlock to the edge of the Rabb Plains, then turned south. Allanon pause long enough to tell Wil that the first leg of their journey would take them below the Silver River to a small village on the western edge of the lower Anar called Havenstead. It was at Havenstead that they would find Amberle. The Druid did not volunteer anything further on the matter, and Wil did not ask. Rain washed over them in sheets as the storm worsened; keeping within the fringe of the forestland, they bent their heads over their horses’ necks and rode without speaking. As they traveled, Wil’s thoughts drifted back to the events of the previous evening. Even now, he was not sure exactly why he had decided to go with the Druid. And that disturbed him. Surely he should be able —to explain why he had agreed to such an improbable journey —to himself, at least, if to no one else. Yet he could not. There had been sufficient time to think about his reasons for making the decision, and indeed he had thought about little else. Hindsight should have lent clarity to his actions; it did not. Rather, he felt a lingering sense of confusion. Everything seemed to jumble together in his mind —all the disparate, incomplete reasoning, all the emotions that intertwined and colored. They would not sort themselves out for him; they would not arrange themselves in a neat, orderly fashion. They merely shuffled about like stray sheep and he chased after them hopelessly. He wanted to believe that he had chosen to go because he was needed. If all that Allanon had told him were true —and he felt it was, despite Flick’s obvious doubts —then he could be of great service to the Elven people and particularly to the girl Amberle. But who was he fooling? He had no idea at all whether he could use the Elfstones that his grandfather had entrusted to him. Suppose their power was beyond him. Suppose Allanon was wrong in thinking that the Elfstones could be passed down to him. Suppose anything at all. The fact was that he had made a rather impulsive decision, and now he must live with it. On the other hand, the impulsiveness of the decision did not necessarily detract from its merit. If he possessed aid to offer the Elves, he must extend that aid. He must at least try to help them. Besides, his grandfather would have gone; he knew that as surely as he knew anything. Shea Ohmsford would have gone, had Allanon asked him, just as he had gone on his quest for the Sword of Shannara. Wil could do no less. He took a deep breath. Yes, he had made the right decision in going, and he believed that he had made that decision for the right reasons, though they seemed jumbled and out of order to him now. What bothered him most, he realized suddenly, had nothing to do with the decision itself or the reasons for that derision. It had to do with Allanon. Wil would have liked to believe that the decision to go with the Druid had been his own. Yet the more he considered the matter, the more certain he became that the decision had not really been his at all. It had been Allanon’s. Oh, he had spoken the words as if they were his own, spoken them bravely and despite his uncle’s warnings. Yet he knew that the Druid had been able to foresee exactly what it would take to persuade Wil to speak those words, and he had directed the conversation accordingly. Somehow he had known what the younger Valeman’s reactions would be, what Flick’s would be, how the two would interact, and how his own comments would influence them. He had known all this and used that knowledge accordingly. Shea Ohmsford had once told Wil that Allanon possessed the ability to see into the minds of other men, to know their thoughts. Wil understood now exactly what his grandfather had been talking about. Thus he had committed himself. It was not something that could be undone, even if he should choose to do so, and he did not. But from here forward, he would be on his guard against such clever manipulation by the Druid. In so far as it was possible for him to do so, he would look beyond the words and actions of the big man to the reasons that lay behind them, the better to see where it was that he was being led. Wil Ohmsford was nobody’s fool. He had been looking after himself for several years, and he was not about to quit doing so now. He must be wary of the Druid. He would trust him, but not blindly and not without proper consideration. Perhaps he could be of service to the Elves and to the girl Amberle; he did not reject that possibility simply because of what he felt about the manner in which his cooperation in all this had been secured. But he would be careful to choose his own manner of giving aid. He would be careful to decide for himself whose interests he might best look after. He would accept nothing as he found it. His face lifted guardedly, and he peered through the rain, at the dark form riding ahead of him —Allanon, last of the Druids, a being who came from another age, whose powers dwarfed anything known to this current world. And Wil must both trust him and yet not trust him. He felt a moment of deep consternation. What had he gotten himself into? Perhaps Flick had been right after all. Perhaps he would have done well to have given a little more thought to his decision. But it was too late for that now. Too late, as well, for thoughts such as these. He shook his head. There was little point in dwelling on it further. He would be well advised to turn his thoughts in another direction. He spent the remainder of the day trying unsuccessfully to do so. The rain turned to drizzle as the day lengthened, then at last died away entirely in the cold gray of early evening. Thunderclouds continued to blanket the skies as nightfall turned from gray to black, and the air filled with mist that wandered at the forest’s edge like a child lost. Allanon turned into the shelter of the great trees, and they made camp in a small clearing several hundred yards from the borders of the Rabb. Behind them, rising above the roof of the forest, was the dark wall of the Wolfsktaag, little more than a deeper shade of black against the night. Despite the damp, they managed to salvage enough dry wood and kindling to make a small fire, and the flames lent some warmth to the evening chill. Travel cloaks were hung on lines stretched overhead, and the horses were tethered close by. They consumed a sparse meal of cold beef, fruit, and nuts that they had packed before leaving Storlock, exchanging only a few perfunctory words as they ate. The Druid sat in brooding silence, preoccupied with his own thoughts, as he had been ever since they had left the village, and seemingly uninterested in carrying on any sort of conversation. But Wil had determined to learn something more of what lay ahead and he had no intention of waiting any longer to begin talking about it. When they had finished their meal, he eased himself a bit closer to the fire, making sure the movement caught Allanon’s attention. “Can we talk a bit?” he asked carefully, bearing in mind his grandfather’s many tales of the big man’s uncertain temperament. The Druid stared at him expressionlessly for a moment, then nodded. “Can you tell me something more about the history of the Elven people?” Wil decided the conversation should begin there. Allanon smiled faintly. “Very well. What would you like to know, Wil Ohmsford?” The Valeman hesitated. “Last night you told us that even though the histories of the old world make no mention of the Elven people other than in fairy tales and in folklore, they were a real people nevertheless, just as men were. You said they were there, but humans couldn’t see them. I didn’t understand that.” “You didn’t?” The big man seemed amused. “Well, then you shall have an explanation. Simply put, the Elves have always been creatures of the forest —but more so in the times before the Great Wars. In those days, as I’ve told you before, they were creatures of magic. They possessed the ability to blend in quite naturally with their surroundings, much as if they were a bush or plant that you might pass by a thousand times and never notice. Humans couldn’t see them because they did not know how to look for them.” “But they weren’t invisible?” “Hardly.” “Just difficult to see?” “Yes, yes.” There was a touch of annoyance in the Druid’s answer. “But why don’t we have trouble seeing them now?” Allanon straightened himself. “You’re not listening. In the old world, the Elves were creatures of magic, as were all the creatures of faerie. They are creatures of magic no longer. They are men, just as you are a man. Their magic is lost to them.” “How did this happen?” Wil settled his elbows against his knees and propped his chin in his hands, somewhat in the manner of a curious child. “That is not so easy to explain,” the Druid advised him. “But I can see that you will not be satisfied until I’ve tried, so I will attempt to do so.” He leaned forward slightly. “After the creation of the Ellcrys, after the banishment of the creatures of evil magic from the earth the Elves and their faerie brethren drifted apart once more. It was natural enough that this should happen, since they had united in the first place only for the purpose of defeating their common enemy and once that was accomplished, there was little left to keep them together. Beyond their general concern in preserving the earth as a homeland, they had almost nothing in common. Each species of creature had its own way of life, its own habits, its own interests. Elves, Dwarves, Sprites, Gnomes, Trolls, Witches, and all the rest, were as different from each other as the beasts of the forest from the fish in the sea. “Humankind had not yet begun to emerge from its early, primitive existence, and would not do so for hundreds of years to come. The faerie creatures paid the humans little attention, and indeed there seemed little reason to do so. After all, at this stage in time humans were simply a higher form of animal life, possessing greater innate intelligence than other animals, but lesser instincts. The Elves and their brethren did not foresee the influence that humans would eventually have upon the development on the earth.” The Druid paused. “It was something they could have foreseen, had they paid closer attention to the differences between themselves and humankind. Two differences were of particular importance. The Elves and their brethren did not procreate rapidly; humans did. The Elves, for example, were one of the more populous faerie people, yet their longer life spans resulted in fewer births. Many of the other faerie creatures gave birth only once every several hundred years. But humans had frequent multiple births within the family unit, and their population grew quickly. In the beginning, the creatures of magic far outnumbered the humans. Within a thousand years time, that situation reversed itself dramatically. Thereafter the human population expanded steadily, while the faerie population began to diminish —but I’ll get to that in a moment. “The second difference between the Elves and their brethren and humankind had to do with the ability to adapt, or lack thereof. The Elves were creatures of the forestland; they seldom left the shelter of their woods. It was the same with most of the others. Each resided within a particular geographic area, a carefully bounded terrain. It had always been so. Some lived within the forests, some within the rivers and seas, some within the mountains, some within the plainlands. They had adapted their way of life to the terrain that served as their homeland; they could not and would not live anywhere else. But humans were more adaptable; they lived everywhere. The forests, the rivers, the mountains, the plains —they claimed it all. Thus their expansion as their population grew came naturally, easily. They adapted to any change in environment. The Elves and their brethren resisted all change.” Allanon paused, then smiled faintly. “There was a time, Wil Ohmsford, when life in the old world was much as life is now —when humans lived and worked and played much as the races do in this world. Does that surprise you?” Wil nodded. “A little, I guess.” The Druid shook his head. “There was such a time. It was then that the Elves should have come forward and joined with humans to shape their world. But they did not —neither they nor their brethren. They chose instead to remain hidden within their forestland, observers only, still believing that their own existence would not be affected by the development of humankind. They saw no threat to themselves; the humans possessed no magic and their ways were not destructive —not then. So the Elves kept to their policy of isolation, foolishly thinking it could always be so. It was their undoing. The human population continued to expand and to develop. As time wore on, they learned of the Elves and their brethren. But because the faerie creatures chose concealment as their way of life, they earned the distrust of humans. They were deemed creatures of ill-fortune, creatures who spied and connived against others, creatures who performed acts of mischief and whose favorite pastime was to discover new ways of making the lives of hardworking humans more difficult. There was some truth to the charges, since a few of the faerie creatures did indeed delight in tormenting humans with small acts of enchantment, but by and large the reputation was undeserved. In any case, the Elves and their brethren chose to ignore it all. The attitude of humankind toward them did not concern them. Their sole concern was with the preservation and protection of the land and the living things within it, and this they could accomplish very well, despite the ill feelings humans bore them. “Then even this state of affairs began to change. Humans continued to populate the earth with increasing rapidity, growing, expanding, now building cities and fortresses, now sailing the seas in search of new lands, now pushing, back the wilderness about them. They began, for the first time, seriously to affect the character of the land, changing whole regions for habitation and consumption needs. The Elves were forced to move deeper and deeper into the forestlands that were their homes, as the human population cut away the trees and brush. All of the faerie creatures found their homelands being encroached upon by this expansion until finally, for some, there were no homes at all.” “But didn’t they resist this intrusion?” Wil interrupted suddenly. “It was far too late for that,” Allanon replied, his smile bitter. “By this time, many of the faerie creatures had become extinct, some by failure to reproduce sufficient young, some by their failure to adapt to a changing environment. Those who remained were no longer able to unite as they once had done; it had been hundreds of years since their war with the faerie creatures of evil magic, and they had scattered far and wide about the earth and long since lost contact with one another. Worst of all, they no longer had their own magic. When the evil magic had flourished upon the earth, there had been need for good magic to withstand it. But once that evil had been banished, the need for the good magic was past. The faerie creatures ceased using most of it. As time passed, much of it was forgotten altogether. Human beings used no magic of any consequence, so the Elves and their brethren saw no need for the very powerful magics that had once been employed to defeat their evil counterparts. By the time they recognized the need for it again, it was lost to them —all but a small part of it. Thus their resistance to the expansion of the human population into their homelands was weakened badly. At first they fought very hard, using all the power they still possessed to stop what was happening. It availed them nothing. There were too many humans and too few of them. Their magic was ineffective. It won them small victories, brief respites, nothing more. They were simply overwhelmed in the end, driven from their homes to find new ones or to perish —driven out, in the final analysis, by sciences and technologies against which they had no real defense.” “And the Elves —what of them?” Wil asked quietly. “They learned to survive. Their population dwindled, but they did not become extinct as did so many of the others. They remained within their forestland, moving steadily deeper, hidden now completely from the humans who had come to occupy almost the whole of the earth. They watched in horror the destruction that was being performed on their world. They watched it being stripped of its resources and its animal life. They watched as its ecological balance was utterly and irreversibly disrupted. They watched the humans war between themselves incessantly as the separate governments struggled to achieve domination over one another. They watched and they waited and they prepared —for they saw how it all must end.” “The Great Wars.” The Valeman anticipated the Druid. “The Great Wars.” Allanon nodded. “The Elves foresaw that such horrors would come. They used what magic they still possessed in an effort to preserve themselves and a few carefully chosen treasures of their past —among these, the Ellcrys —from the holocaust that followed. It was a remarkable effort, and it allowed them to survive. Most of the other faerie creatures were destroyed. A small number of humans survived, though it was not through their foresight that they did so. They survived because there were so many of them in so many different parts of the earth that the holocaust simply missed a few of them. But everything that the humans had built was destroyed. All of their vast, sprawling civilization was erased. The old world was reduced to a barren, desolate wilderness.” “For hundreds of years after, all life was caught up in a savage struggle to stay alive. The few creatures that remained alive in this new world were forced to adapt to the primitive environment about them, an environment in which nature had been altered beyond recognition. Humankind was changed forever. From out of the old race of humans emerged four new and distinct races: Men, Dwarves, Gnomes, and Trolls. It was believed, and is still believed by most, that the Elves were a fifth race born of the holocaust. For the new races, it was the beginning of life. Most of the history of the old world was quickly forgotten; most of the old ways vanished. The Elves kept much of their history and their tradition. Only their magic was lost to them —but this time it was lost for good. Their need to adapt resulted in changes that would not otherwise have occurred, changes that brought them closer culturally and physiologically to the new races. Reborn humans and surviving Elves assimilated together in their new world until finally, inexorably, they became much the same.” “And when at last, almost a thousand years after the Great Wars had ended, the new races began to emerge from the primitive lives they had endured while struggling to survive the aftereffects of the holocaust, the Elves stood with them. No longer would they hide in their forestland as impartial observers to the development of a world. This time they would be a part of that development, working openly with the new races to be certain that men did not travel a second time that roadway which had almost ended with the destruction of all life. Thus did the Elves, through the Druid Galaphile, convene the First Council at Paranor. Thus did the Elves seek to turn the races from an ill-advised search for the old sciences of energy and power, counseling instead a more cautious approach to life’s mysteries. Thus did they seek to regain the small magics they had lost, believing these arts would help them best in their efforts to preserve their new world and its life.” “Yet the Elves have no magic,” Wil reminded the big man. “Only the Druids did.” “The Druids and a handful of others scattered through the land,” Allanon corrected. He seemed to lose himself momentarily. When he spoke again, his voice was distant. “The Druids learned early of the dangers inherent in the search for the lost magic. A Druid named Brona taught them well. His need to explore the limits of the magic destroyed him, created in his physical shell the creature we know as the Warlock Lord. When the Druids realized what hunger for the magic had done to him, they forbade further exploration. The magic they had found was not altogether good, nor altogether bad; it was simply powerful —too powerful for mortal men to master. For a time, it was left alone. Then Brona caught and killed all of the Druids at Paranor, signaling the start of the Second War of the Races, and suddenly there was only Bremen left to teach the magic. Then, when he was gone, there was only me...” He trailed off momentarily, dark eyes narrowing as he stared down into the little fire at their feet. Then he looked back suddenly at Wil. “What else would you know, Valeman?” The tone of his voice was sharp, almost angry. Its abruptness caught Wil by surprise, but he kept his gaze steady, forcing his eyes to meet the Druid’s. “What else would you have me know?” he replied quietly. Allanon said nothing, waiting. There was a long, uncomfortable silence as the two men faced each other. At last the Valeman looked away again, poking idly at the embers of their fire with the toe of one boot. “These creatures that were shut within the place beyond the Forbidding —what of them?” he asked. finally. “How have they survived for so many years? Why have they not perished?” Allanon’s dark expression did not change. “Call them Demons, for that is what they have become. They were sent to a non-place, a dark emptiness beyond any living world. Within that darkness, there was no passing of time to bring age and death. The Elves failed to realize this, I suppose, or perhaps thought it of little importance, since their only concern was to remove the evil from their own world. In any case, the Demons did not die; rather, they multiplied. The evil that lived within them fed upon itself and grew stronger. It bred new life. For evil left to itself, Valeman, does not simply perish; it thrives. Evil contained is not evil destroyed. It nourishes itself, grows within its confinement, swells and rages until it works loose, and then... then it runs free.” “And its magic?” Wil followed quickly. “Has its magic grown also?” Some of the harshness faded from the other’s visage, and he nodded. “Fed in the same way, and practiced, for the evil ones warred with each other in their prison, driven nearly mad with need to release their hatred of what had been done to them.” Now it was the Valeman’s turn to be silent. His face lowered into shadow; his arms wrapped protectively about his knees as he drew his legs up tightly to his chest. In the east, there sounded the faint, distant thunder of the departing storm as it faded into the broken wall of the Wolfsktaag. A touch of impatience revealed itself in Allanon’s dark face as he watched the young man. He leaned forward once more. “Are all of your questions answered now, Wil Ohmsford?” The Valeman blinked. “No.” His head lifted sharply. “No, I have one more.” Allanon frowned. “Indeed. Let’s have it, then.” He was clearly displeased. Wil hesitated, weighing inwardly the advisability of proceeding any further with this. He decided that he must. He chose his words carefully. “Everything that I’ve heard suggests that these Demons are more than a match for the Elves. It seems from your own encounter with them that they are a match even for you.” There was anger now in the big man’s face, but Wil pushed ahead quickly. “If I accompany the Elven girl Amberle in search of the Bloodfire, as you have asked me, they will surely come after us. Suppose we are found. What chance do I stand against them, Allanon? Even with the Elfstones, what chance do I have? You would not answer me before. Answer me now.” “Well.” The Druid rocked back slightly, the lean, dark visage suddenly expressionless in the firelight, creased in shadow. “I thought this was all leading up to something.” “Please give me an answer to my question,” Wil persisted quietly. Allanon cocked his head reflectively. “I don’t know the answer.” “You don’t know?” the Valeman repeated the words incredulously. The Druid blinked. “In the first place, I hope to keep them from finding you. If they cannot find you, they cannot harm you. At the moment, they know nothing of you at all. I intend that it should stay that way” “But if they do find me —then what?” “Then you have the Elfstones.” He hesitated. “Understand this, Wil. The Elfstones are a magic from the old world —a magic that existed when the Elves first defeated these creatures. The power of the Stones is measured by the strength of the man or woman who wields them. There are three Elfstones —one each for the heart, mind, and body of the user. All three must unite as one; when this is done properly, the power released can be very great.” He looked at the Valeman sharply. “Do you understand then, why I cannot answer your question? You will determine the strength of your defense against your enemies; it must come from within you, not from the Stones themselves. I cannot measure that in you. Only you can do that. I can only tell you that I judge you to be as good a man as your grandfather —and I’ve met no better man, Wil Ohmsford.” The Valeman stared wordlessly at the Druid for a moment, then looked down at the fire. “Nor have I,” he whispered. Allanon smiled faintly. “Your grandfather’s chances seemed very poor when he went in quest of the Sword of Shannara. He would admit to that. The Warlock Lord knew of him from the beginning; the Skull Bearers actually came into the Vale in search of him. He was hunted every step of the way. Yet he survived —and he did so despite his own considerable doubts.” He reached over and put his hand on Wils shoulder, the cavernous eyes glinting in the firelight. “I like your chances in this. I believe in you. Now you must start believing in yourself.” He took his hand away and rose. “We’ve talked enough this night. You need to sleep. We’ve a long ride ahead of us tomorrow.” He wrapped his black robes tightly about him. “I’ll keep watch.” He started to move away from the Valeman. “I can keep watch,” Wil offered quickly, remembering the Druid’s injuries. “You can sleep,” Allanon grunted, and the night shadows swallowed him up. Wil stared after him for a second, then shook his head. Spreading his blankets next to the fire, he rolled himself into them and stretched wearily. He would not sleep, the Valeman told himself. Not yet. Not until he had taken time to consider carefully all that had been said this evening, until he had decided how much of it he should believe, until he was convinced that he knew what he was doing in all this. Not until then. He let his eyes close for just a moment. Immediately he was asleep.
Chapter Ten
They resumed their journey at daybreak. Although the forestland still glistened damply with yesterday’s rain, the skies were clear and blue and filled with sunlight as the pair rode southward along the fringes of the Anar. The drab emptiness of the Rabb brightened into rolling grasslands, and the enticing smell of fruit-bearing trees was carried past them on a gentle morning breeze. Late that afternoon they arrived at the legendary Silver River and came upon a company of Dwarf Sappers engaged in the construction of a footbridge at a heavily forested narrows. Leaving Wil concealed in a copse of fir with the horses, the Druid went down to the river’s edge to confer with the Dwarves. He was gone for a time and, when he returned, seemed preoccupied with something. It was not until they had remounted and were downriver away from the Dwarves that he volunteered to Wil that he had given warning of the danger to the Elves and requested that the Dwarves send aid as quickly as possible. One among the Sappers had recognized the Druid and had promised that help would be sent. Still, marshaling any sizable force would take time. Allanon left the matter there. Minutes later they forded the Silver River at a shallows where a broad sandbar split the clear waters apart and rock shallows slowed the current enough to permit horse and rider safe passage. From there they rode south at a leisurely pace, watching the shadows they cast lengthen as the day wore on. It was nearly sunset when Allanon reined in Artaq at the crest of a tree-lined rise and dismounted. Wil followed him down, leading Spitter forward several paces to where the Druid waited. They tethered the horses in a small grove of hickory and together walked ahead to where an outcropping of rock split apart the wall of trees. With Allanon in the lead, they moved up into the rocks and peered out. Below them lay a broad, horseshoe-shaped valley, its slopes and floor heavily forested, but open at its western end to grasslands that had been tilled and planted with farm crops. A village sat at the juncture between forest and field, and a narrow stream ran from the woodlands through the cluster of homes north across the top of the farmland, its waters irrigating the soil in dozens of neatly inscribed ditches. Men and women moved busily about the little community, tiny figures to the two who looked down on them from the valley rim. Far to the south, the grasslands ended in a rock-strewn lowland that stretched unbroken to the horizon and disappeared. “Havenstead,” Allanon announced, indicating the village and the farmlands. His finger lifted slightly and pointed into the lowland. “Out there is the Battlemound.” Wil nodded. “What do we do now?” The Druid seated himself comfortably. “We wait until it gets dark. The fewer people who see us, the better. The Stors would say nothing in any case, but these villagers are free with their talk. Secrecy is still our greatest ally, and I don’t intend to lose it unnecessarily We’ll go in quickly and quietly and leave the same way.” He glanced up at the sun, already beginning to drop rapidly into the western horizon. “We only have about an hour.” They sat together without talking until the rim of the sun was barely visible above the tree line, and the dusk had begun to slip her gray shadow over the length of the valley Finally, Allanon rose. They walked back to where they had tied the horses, remounted and started out once more. The Druid led them eastward for a time, skirting the valley rim until they had reached a heavily forested section of the slope that concealed a narrow draw. There they started down. They wound their way slowly through the trees, watching the woodlands darken steadily into night, allowing the horses to pick their way through the brush. Wil quickly lost all sense of direction, but Allanon seemed to know exactly where he was going and did not slow as he guided them forward. After a time, they reached the valley floor, and travel grew easier. A clear, moonlit sky peeked down on them through breaks in the forest roof, and night birds called out sharply at their passing. The air was sweet and heavy with the smell of the woods, and Wil grew drowsy. Finally, scattered bits of yellow light began to flicker into view ahead of them, slipping through the screen of the forest, and the faint sounds of voices reached out through the stillness. Allanon dismounted, motioning for Wil to do likewise, and they walked the horses forward afoot. The forest thinned out noticeably, clear of heavy brush and deadwood, and ahead of them they could see a low stone wall with a wooden gate. A line of tall evergreens bordered the wall and screened away most of what lay beyond, though it was clear to Wil that they were at the eastern edge of the farming village and the yellow lights were the flames of oil lamps. Upon reaching the wall, they tied the horses to an iron post. Allanon put a single finger across his lips. Silently, they passed through the little wooden gate. What they found on the other side brought Wil up short. A sweeping, terraced garden spread out before them, its tiers of multicolored flowers dazzling even in the pale moonlight. A stone walkway, glistening with flecks of silver, wound downward out of the gardens to a gathering of wooden benches and from there to a small cottage constructed of timber and stone. The cottage was a single story with a loft and was fronted by the familiar open-air porch. Flower boxes hung below latticed windows, and thick, low bushes bordered the roughened walls. Crimson Kews and blue spruce grew at the immediate front of the come. A second walkway ran from the porch beneath the arch of a magnificent white birch and disappeared through a hedgerow to a roadway beyond. In the distance, glimmerings of light from other cottages broke the night. Wil stared at it all in wonderment. Everywhere there were touches of color and life —all with the look of something drawn from a child’s storybook. Everything was perfectly ordered. He glanced questioningly at Allanon. The mocking smile flashed briefly, and the Druid motioned for him to come. They followed the pathway through the gardens to the benches then moved on toward the cottage. Light shone brightly through the curtained windows of the little house, and from within came the low, gentle sound of voices —no, Wil corrected himself, children’s voices! He was mildly surprised at his discovery and very nearly missed seeing the fat, striped house cat that lay sprawled across the first step of the porch. He caught himself just in time to keep from stepping on the sleeping animal. The cat raised its bewhiskered face and stared up at him insolently. Another cat, this one coal black, scooted off the porch hurriedly and slipped down into the bushes without a sound. Druid and Valeman climbed the porch steps and moved to the front door. From within, the children’s voices rose sharply in laughter. Allanon knocked firmly and the voices went still. Footsteps came to the other side of the door and stopped. “Who is it?” a voice asked softly, and the patterned curtains that screened a glass port parted slightly. The Druid leaned forward, allowing the light from within to fall across his dark countenance. “I am Allanon,” he answered. There was a long silence, then the sound of a latch drawn back. The door opened and an Elven girl stepped through. She was small, even for an Elf, her body slender and brown with sun. Chestnut hair fell all the way to her waist, shadowing a child’s face at once both innocent and knowing. Her eyes flashed briefly to Wil —eyes that were green and deep with life —then settled once more on the Druid. “Allanon has been gone from the Four Lands for more than fifty years.” Her voice was steady, but there was fear in her eyes. “Who are you?” “I am Allanon, ” he repeated. He let a moment of silence pass. “Who else could have found you here, Amberle? Who else would know that you are one of the Chosen?” The Elven girl stared up at him speechlessly. When she tried to speak, the words would not come. Her hands came together tightly; with a visible effort, she composed herself. “The children will be frightened if they are left alone. They must be put to bed. Wait here, please.” Aheady there was a scurrying of small feet at the other side of the door and the faint whisper of excited voices. Amberle turned and disappeared back into the cottage. They could hear her voice, low and soothing, as she ushered the children up wooden stairs to the loft overhead. Allanon moved to a wide-backed bench at the other end of the porch and seated himself. Wil remained where he was, standing just to one side of the door, listening to the sounds of the Elven girl and the children from within, thinking as he did so: she is only a child herself, for goodness’ sake! A moment later she was back, stepping lightly onto the porch, closing the cottage door carefully behind her. She glanced at Wil, who smiled at her awkwardly. “This young man is Wil Ohmsford.” Allanon’s voice floated out of the dark. “He studies at Storlock to become a Healer.” “Hello...” Wil began, but she was already walking past him to the big man. “Why have you come here, Druid —if Druid you are?” she demanded, a mixture of anger and uncertainty in her voice. “Has my grandfather sent you?” Allanon rose. “Can we sit in the gardens while we talk?” The girl hesitated, then nodded. She led them from the porch back along the stone walkway to the benches. There she seated herself. The Druid sat across from her, Wil a little off to one side. The Valeman recognized that his role in this confrontation was that of a spectator and nothing more. “Why are you here?” Amberle repeated, her voice a bit less unsettled than a moment earlier. Allanon folded his robes about him. “To begin with, no one has sent me. I am here of my own choice. I am here to ask you to return with me to Arborlon.” He paused. “I will be brief. The Ellcrys is dying, Amberle. The Forbidding begins to crumble; the evil within breaks free —Demons all. Soon they will flood the Westland. Only you can prevent this. You are the last of the Chosen.” “The last...” she whispered, but the words caught in her throat. “They are all dead. The Demons have found and killed them. The Demons search now for you.” Her face froze in horror. “No! What trick is this, Druid? What trick...” She did not finish this either, but stopped as tears formed in her eyes and streaked her child’s face. She brushed them away swiftly “Are they really all dead? All of them?” The Druid nodded. “You must come with me to Arborlon.” She shook her head quickly. “No. I am no longer one of the Chosen. You know that.” “I know that you would wish it so.” The green eyes flared angrily. “What I would wish is of no matter in this. I no longer serve; that is all behind me. I am no longer one of the Chosen.” “The Ellcrys selected you as one of the Chosen,” Allanon replied calmly. “She must decide whether you remain one. She must decide whether you shall carry her seed in search of the Bloodfire, so that she may be reborn and the Forbidding restored. She must decide —not you, not I.” “I will not go back with you,” Amberle stated quietly. “You must.” “I will not. I will never go back. This is my home now; these are my people. I have made this choice.” The Druid shook his head slowly. “Your home is wherever you make it. Your people are whomever you wish them to be. But your responsibilities are sometimes given you without choice, without consent. It is so in this, Elven girl. You are the last of the Chosen; you are the last real hope of the Elves. You cannot run away from it; you cannot hide from it. You most certainly cannot change it.” Amberle rose, paced away a step, and turned. “You do not understand.” Allanon watched her. “I understand better than you think.” “If you did, you would not ask me to return. When I left Arborlon, I knew that I would never go back again. In the eyes of my mother, my grandfather, and my people, I had disgraced myself. I did something that could not be forgiven —I rejected the gift of being a Chosen. Even should I wish it, and I do not, this cannot be undone. The Elves are a people whose sense of tradition and honor runs deep. They can never accept what has happened. If it were made known to them that they would all perish from the earth unless I alone chose to save them, still they would not have me back. I am outcast from them, and that will not change.” The Druid rose and faced her, tall and black as he towered over her small form. His eyes were frightening as they fixed on hers. “Your words are foolish ones, Elven girl. Your arguments are hollow and you speak them without conviction. They do not become you. I know you to be stronger than what you have shown.” Stung by the reprimand, Amberle went taut. “What do you know of me, Druid? You know nothing!” She stepped close to him, green eyes filled with anger. “I am a teacher of children. Some of them you saw this night. They come in groups of half a dozen or eight and stay with me one season. They are given into my care by their parents. They are entrusted to me. While they are with me, I give to them my knowledge of living things. I teach them to love and to respect the world into which they were born —the land and sea and sky and all that lives upon and within it. I teach them to understand that world. I teach them to give life back in exchange for the life they were given; I teach them to grow and nurture that life. We begin simply, as with this garden. We finish with the complexity that surrounds human life. There is love in what I do. I am a simple person with a simple gift —a gift I can share with others. A Chosen shares nothing with others. I was never a Chosen —never! That was something I was called upon to be that I did not wish to be nor was suited to be. All that, I have left behind me. I have made this village and its people my life. This is who I am. This is where I belong.” “Perhaps.” The Druid’s voice was calm and steady and it brushed aside her anger. “Yet will you turn your back on the Elves for no better reason than this? Without you, they will surely perish. They will stand and fight as they did in the old world when the evil first threatened. But this time they lack the magic to make them strong. They will be destroyed.” “These children have been given into my keeping...” the girl began hurriedly, but Allanon’s hand rose abruptly. “What do you think will happen once the Elves are destroyed? Do you think the evil ones will be content to stay within the borders of the Westland? What of your children then, Elven girl?” Amberle stared at him wordlessly for a moment, then dropped slowly back down onto the bench. Tears ran again from her eyes, and she closed them tightly. “Why was I chosen?” she asked softly, her words barely more than a whisper. “There was no reason for it. I did not seek it —and there were so many others who did.” Her hands clenched in her lap. “It was a mockery, Druid —a joke. Do you see that? No woman had been chosen in over five hundred years. Only men. But then I was chosen —an impossible, cruel mistake. A mistake.” The Druid stared at the gardens, his face expressionless once more. There was no mistake,“ he responded, though Wil believed he was speaking almost to himself. The Druid looked back at her, turning quietly. ”What frightens you, Amberle? You are afraid, aren’t you?“ She did not look up, did not open her eyes. Her head nodded once. Allanon reseated himself. His voice was gentle now. “Fear is part of life, but it should be faced openly, never hidden. What is it that frightens you?” There was a long silence. Wil leaned forward quietly on his seat several benches away. Finally Amberle spoke, her words whispered. “She does.” The Druid frowned. “The Ellcrys?” But this time Amberle did not answer him. Her hands lifted to her stricken face and wiped away the tears. Her green eyes opened, and she came to her feet once more. “If I were to agree to travel with you to Arborlon, if I were to agree to face my grandfather and my people, if I were to go before the Ellcrys one final time —if I were to do all this, all that you have asked, what then if she will not give to me her seed?” Allanon straightened. “Then you may return to Havenstead, and I will trouble you no more.” She paused. “I will think about it.” “There is no time to think about it,” Allanon insisted. “You must decide now, tonight. The Demons search for you.” “I will think about it,” she repeated. Her eyes settled on Wil. “What is your part in all of this, Healer?” Wil started to reply, but her quick smile stopped him. “Never mind. Somehow I sense that we are alike in this. You know no more than I.” Less, Wil wanted to tell her, but she had already turned away. “I have no place for you in my home.” She spoke to Allanon again. “You may sleep here, if you like. Tomorrow we’ll talk about this further.” She started toward the cottage, chestnut hair trailing sail-like down her back. “Amberle!” the big man called after her. “Tomorrow,” she replied and did not slow. Then she was done, disappearing silently through the cottage door, leaving Druid and Valeman staring after her in the dark.
Early the next morning, Allanon came to Wil Ohmsford and told him that they were leaving Storlock at once. Dark and grim-visaged, the Druid appeared at the door of the Valeman’s cottage without a word of forewarning and while Wil gave thought to arguing against such an abrupt departure, something in the big man’s face and voice convinced him that he should not. Last evening, when they had parted company, there had been no urgency in the Druid’s behavior; now there clearly was. Whatever it was that had persuaded Allanon to make this decision, it was compelling. Wordlessly the Valeman packed his few belongings and latched the door of the cottage behind him as he followed the Druid out. It was raining once more as a new storm approached from out of the northwest, and the dawn skies were heavy and leaden. Allanon led the Valeman up the muddied roadway, his tall form wrapped in the black robe, his cowled head bent slightly against a steadily rising wind. A handful of white-robed Stors waited to receive them on the steps of the rest center with a small kit for Wil and provisions for the journey. Artaq was saddled and shaking his head with impatience, and Allanon mounted the black at once, a gingerliness in his movements suggesting that his wounds were not yet fully healed. A wiry gray gelding named Spitter was given to Wil, and he had one foot in the stirrup when Flick came dashing up, bearded face dripping and flushed. Hastily his uncle pulled him back into the shelter of the rest center’s covered porch. “They just told me,” he panted, wiping the rain from his eyes. “I’m surprised they bothered!” He glanced angrily toward Allanon. “Is it necessary that you leave so quickly?” Wil nodded slowly. “I think something may have made it necessary.” Frustration and concern showed in Flick’s eyes. “It is not too late to rethink your decision in all this,” he whispered harshly and would have said more, but Wil was already shaking his head. “Very well. I’ll tell your grandfather what has happened, though I am certain he won’t like it any better than I do. Be careful, Wil. Remember what I said about all of us having our limitations.” Wil nodded. They said their goodbyes quickly and gruffly, almost as if they were afraid to express what they were really feeling, their faces fixed and drawn as they exchanged uneasy glances and hurriedly embraced. Then Allanon and he were riding away. Flick, the Stors, and the village became dark shadows that faded into the mist and gray of the Eastland forests and disappeared from view. The Druid and the Valeman rode west out of Storlock to the edge of the Rabb Plains, then turned south. Allanon pause long enough to tell Wil that the first leg of their journey would take them below the Silver River to a small village on the western edge of the lower Anar called Havenstead. It was at Havenstead that they would find Amberle. The Druid did not volunteer anything further on the matter, and Wil did not ask. Rain washed over them in sheets as the storm worsened; keeping within the fringe of the forestland, they bent their heads over their horses’ necks and rode without speaking. As they traveled, Wil’s thoughts drifted back to the events of the previous evening. Even now, he was not sure exactly why he had decided to go with the Druid. And that disturbed him. Surely he should be able —to explain why he had agreed to such an improbable journey —to himself, at least, if to no one else. Yet he could not. There had been sufficient time to think about his reasons for making the decision, and indeed he had thought about little else. Hindsight should have lent clarity to his actions; it did not. Rather, he felt a lingering sense of confusion. Everything seemed to jumble together in his mind —all the disparate, incomplete reasoning, all the emotions that intertwined and colored. They would not sort themselves out for him; they would not arrange themselves in a neat, orderly fashion. They merely shuffled about like stray sheep and he chased after them hopelessly. He wanted to believe that he had chosen to go because he was needed. If all that Allanon had told him were true —and he felt it was, despite Flick’s obvious doubts —then he could be of great service to the Elven people and particularly to the girl Amberle. But who was he fooling? He had no idea at all whether he could use the Elfstones that his grandfather had entrusted to him. Suppose their power was beyond him. Suppose Allanon was wrong in thinking that the Elfstones could be passed down to him. Suppose anything at all. The fact was that he had made a rather impulsive decision, and now he must live with it. On the other hand, the impulsiveness of the decision did not necessarily detract from its merit. If he possessed aid to offer the Elves, he must extend that aid. He must at least try to help them. Besides, his grandfather would have gone; he knew that as surely as he knew anything. Shea Ohmsford would have gone, had Allanon asked him, just as he had gone on his quest for the Sword of Shannara. Wil could do no less. He took a deep breath. Yes, he had made the right decision in going, and he believed that he had made that decision for the right reasons, though they seemed jumbled and out of order to him now. What bothered him most, he realized suddenly, had nothing to do with the decision itself or the reasons for that derision. It had to do with Allanon. Wil would have liked to believe that the decision to go with the Druid had been his own. Yet the more he considered the matter, the more certain he became that the decision had not really been his at all. It had been Allanon’s. Oh, he had spoken the words as if they were his own, spoken them bravely and despite his uncle’s warnings. Yet he knew that the Druid had been able to foresee exactly what it would take to persuade Wil to speak those words, and he had directed the conversation accordingly. Somehow he had known what the younger Valeman’s reactions would be, what Flick’s would be, how the two would interact, and how his own comments would influence them. He had known all this and used that knowledge accordingly. Shea Ohmsford had once told Wil that Allanon possessed the ability to see into the minds of other men, to know their thoughts. Wil understood now exactly what his grandfather had been talking about. Thus he had committed himself. It was not something that could be undone, even if he should choose to do so, and he did not. But from here forward, he would be on his guard against such clever manipulation by the Druid. In so far as it was possible for him to do so, he would look beyond the words and actions of the big man to the reasons that lay behind them, the better to see where it was that he was being led. Wil Ohmsford was nobody’s fool. He had been looking after himself for several years, and he was not about to quit doing so now. He must be wary of the Druid. He would trust him, but not blindly and not without proper consideration. Perhaps he could be of service to the Elves and to the girl Amberle; he did not reject that possibility simply because of what he felt about the manner in which his cooperation in all this had been secured. But he would be careful to choose his own manner of giving aid. He would be careful to decide for himself whose interests he might best look after. He would accept nothing as he found it. His face lifted guardedly, and he peered through the rain, at the dark form riding ahead of him —Allanon, last of the Druids, a being who came from another age, whose powers dwarfed anything known to this current world. And Wil must both trust him and yet not trust him. He felt a moment of deep consternation. What had he gotten himself into? Perhaps Flick had been right after all. Perhaps he would have done well to have given a little more thought to his decision. But it was too late for that now. Too late, as well, for thoughts such as these. He shook his head. There was little point in dwelling on it further. He would be well advised to turn his thoughts in another direction. He spent the remainder of the day trying unsuccessfully to do so. The rain turned to drizzle as the day lengthened, then at last died away entirely in the cold gray of early evening. Thunderclouds continued to blanket the skies as nightfall turned from gray to black, and the air filled with mist that wandered at the forest’s edge like a child lost. Allanon turned into the shelter of the great trees, and they made camp in a small clearing several hundred yards from the borders of the Rabb. Behind them, rising above the roof of the forest, was the dark wall of the Wolfsktaag, little more than a deeper shade of black against the night. Despite the damp, they managed to salvage enough dry wood and kindling to make a small fire, and the flames lent some warmth to the evening chill. Travel cloaks were hung on lines stretched overhead, and the horses were tethered close by. They consumed a sparse meal of cold beef, fruit, and nuts that they had packed before leaving Storlock, exchanging only a few perfunctory words as they ate. The Druid sat in brooding silence, preoccupied with his own thoughts, as he had been ever since they had left the village, and seemingly uninterested in carrying on any sort of conversation. But Wil had determined to learn something more of what lay ahead and he had no intention of waiting any longer to begin talking about it. When they had finished their meal, he eased himself a bit closer to the fire, making sure the movement caught Allanon’s attention. “Can we talk a bit?” he asked carefully, bearing in mind his grandfather’s many tales of the big man’s uncertain temperament. The Druid stared at him expressionlessly for a moment, then nodded. “Can you tell me something more about the history of the Elven people?” Wil decided the conversation should begin there. Allanon smiled faintly. “Very well. What would you like to know, Wil Ohmsford?” The Valeman hesitated. “Last night you told us that even though the histories of the old world make no mention of the Elven people other than in fairy tales and in folklore, they were a real people nevertheless, just as men were. You said they were there, but humans couldn’t see them. I didn’t understand that.” “You didn’t?” The big man seemed amused. “Well, then you shall have an explanation. Simply put, the Elves have always been creatures of the forest —but more so in the times before the Great Wars. In those days, as I’ve told you before, they were creatures of magic. They possessed the ability to blend in quite naturally with their surroundings, much as if they were a bush or plant that you might pass by a thousand times and never notice. Humans couldn’t see them because they did not know how to look for them.” “But they weren’t invisible?” “Hardly.” “Just difficult to see?” “Yes, yes.” There was a touch of annoyance in the Druid’s answer. “But why don’t we have trouble seeing them now?” Allanon straightened himself. “You’re not listening. In the old world, the Elves were creatures of magic, as were all the creatures of faerie. They are creatures of magic no longer. They are men, just as you are a man. Their magic is lost to them.” “How did this happen?” Wil settled his elbows against his knees and propped his chin in his hands, somewhat in the manner of a curious child. “That is not so easy to explain,” the Druid advised him. “But I can see that you will not be satisfied until I’ve tried, so I will attempt to do so.” He leaned forward slightly. “After the creation of the Ellcrys, after the banishment of the creatures of evil magic from the earth the Elves and their faerie brethren drifted apart once more. It was natural enough that this should happen, since they had united in the first place only for the purpose of defeating their common enemy and once that was accomplished, there was little left to keep them together. Beyond their general concern in preserving the earth as a homeland, they had almost nothing in common. Each species of creature had its own way of life, its own habits, its own interests. Elves, Dwarves, Sprites, Gnomes, Trolls, Witches, and all the rest, were as different from each other as the beasts of the forest from the fish in the sea. “Humankind had not yet begun to emerge from its early, primitive existence, and would not do so for hundreds of years to come. The faerie creatures paid the humans little attention, and indeed there seemed little reason to do so. After all, at this stage in time humans were simply a higher form of animal life, possessing greater innate intelligence than other animals, but lesser instincts. The Elves and their brethren did not foresee the influence that humans would eventually have upon the development on the earth.” The Druid paused. “It was something they could have foreseen, had they paid closer attention to the differences between themselves and humankind. Two differences were of particular importance. The Elves and their brethren did not procreate rapidly; humans did. The Elves, for example, were one of the more populous faerie people, yet their longer life spans resulted in fewer births. Many of the other faerie creatures gave birth only once every several hundred years. But humans had frequent multiple births within the family unit, and their population grew quickly. In the beginning, the creatures of magic far outnumbered the humans. Within a thousand years time, that situation reversed itself dramatically. Thereafter the human population expanded steadily, while the faerie population began to diminish —but I’ll get to that in a moment. “The second difference between the Elves and their brethren and humankind had to do with the ability to adapt, or lack thereof. The Elves were creatures of the forestland; they seldom left the shelter of their woods. It was the same with most of the others. Each resided within a particular geographic area, a carefully bounded terrain. It had always been so. Some lived within the forests, some within the rivers and seas, some within the mountains, some within the plainlands. They had adapted their way of life to the terrain that served as their homeland; they could not and would not live anywhere else. But humans were more adaptable; they lived everywhere. The forests, the rivers, the mountains, the plains —they claimed it all. Thus their expansion as their population grew came naturally, easily. They adapted to any change in environment. The Elves and their brethren resisted all change.” Allanon paused, then smiled faintly. “There was a time, Wil Ohmsford, when life in the old world was much as life is now —when humans lived and worked and played much as the races do in this world. Does that surprise you?” Wil nodded. “A little, I guess.” The Druid shook his head. “There was such a time. It was then that the Elves should have come forward and joined with humans to shape their world. But they did not —neither they nor their brethren. They chose instead to remain hidden within their forestland, observers only, still believing that their own existence would not be affected by the development of humankind. They saw no threat to themselves; the humans possessed no magic and their ways were not destructive —not then. So the Elves kept to their policy of isolation, foolishly thinking it could always be so. It was their undoing. The human population continued to expand and to develop. As time wore on, they learned of the Elves and their brethren. But because the faerie creatures chose concealment as their way of life, they earned the distrust of humans. They were deemed creatures of ill-fortune, creatures who spied and connived against others, creatures who performed acts of mischief and whose favorite pastime was to discover new ways of making the lives of hardworking humans more difficult. There was some truth to the charges, since a few of the faerie creatures did indeed delight in tormenting humans with small acts of enchantment, but by and large the reputation was undeserved. In any case, the Elves and their brethren chose to ignore it all. The attitude of humankind toward them did not concern them. Their sole concern was with the preservation and protection of the land and the living things within it, and this they could accomplish very well, despite the ill feelings humans bore them. “Then even this state of affairs began to change. Humans continued to populate the earth with increasing rapidity, growing, expanding, now building cities and fortresses, now sailing the seas in search of new lands, now pushing, back the wilderness about them. They began, for the first time, seriously to affect the character of the land, changing whole regions for habitation and consumption needs. The Elves were forced to move deeper and deeper into the forestlands that were their homes, as the human population cut away the trees and brush. All of the faerie creatures found their homelands being encroached upon by this expansion until finally, for some, there were no homes at all.” “But didn’t they resist this intrusion?” Wil interrupted suddenly. “It was far too late for that,” Allanon replied, his smile bitter. “By this time, many of the faerie creatures had become extinct, some by failure to reproduce sufficient young, some by their failure to adapt to a changing environment. Those who remained were no longer able to unite as they once had done; it had been hundreds of years since their war with the faerie creatures of evil magic, and they had scattered far and wide about the earth and long since lost contact with one another. Worst of all, they no longer had their own magic. When the evil magic had flourished upon the earth, there had been need for good magic to withstand it. But once that evil had been banished, the need for the good magic was past. The faerie creatures ceased using most of it. As time passed, much of it was forgotten altogether. Human beings used no magic of any consequence, so the Elves and their brethren saw no need for the very powerful magics that had once been employed to defeat their evil counterparts. By the time they recognized the need for it again, it was lost to them —all but a small part of it. Thus their resistance to the expansion of the human population into their homelands was weakened badly. At first they fought very hard, using all the power they still possessed to stop what was happening. It availed them nothing. There were too many humans and too few of them. Their magic was ineffective. It won them small victories, brief respites, nothing more. They were simply overwhelmed in the end, driven from their homes to find new ones or to perish —driven out, in the final analysis, by sciences and technologies against which they had no real defense.” “And the Elves —what of them?” Wil asked quietly. “They learned to survive. Their population dwindled, but they did not become extinct as did so many of the others. They remained within their forestland, moving steadily deeper, hidden now completely from the humans who had come to occupy almost the whole of the earth. They watched in horror the destruction that was being performed on their world. They watched it being stripped of its resources and its animal life. They watched as its ecological balance was utterly and irreversibly disrupted. They watched the humans war between themselves incessantly as the separate governments struggled to achieve domination over one another. They watched and they waited and they prepared —for they saw how it all must end.” “The Great Wars.” The Valeman anticipated the Druid. “The Great Wars.” Allanon nodded. “The Elves foresaw that such horrors would come. They used what magic they still possessed in an effort to preserve themselves and a few carefully chosen treasures of their past —among these, the Ellcrys —from the holocaust that followed. It was a remarkable effort, and it allowed them to survive. Most of the other faerie creatures were destroyed. A small number of humans survived, though it was not through their foresight that they did so. They survived because there were so many of them in so many different parts of the earth that the holocaust simply missed a few of them. But everything that the humans had built was destroyed. All of their vast, sprawling civilization was erased. The old world was reduced to a barren, desolate wilderness.” “For hundreds of years after, all life was caught up in a savage struggle to stay alive. The few creatures that remained alive in this new world were forced to adapt to the primitive environment about them, an environment in which nature had been altered beyond recognition. Humankind was changed forever. From out of the old race of humans emerged four new and distinct races: Men, Dwarves, Gnomes, and Trolls. It was believed, and is still believed by most, that the Elves were a fifth race born of the holocaust. For the new races, it was the beginning of life. Most of the history of the old world was quickly forgotten; most of the old ways vanished. The Elves kept much of their history and their tradition. Only their magic was lost to them —but this time it was lost for good. Their need to adapt resulted in changes that would not otherwise have occurred, changes that brought them closer culturally and physiologically to the new races. Reborn humans and surviving Elves assimilated together in their new world until finally, inexorably, they became much the same.” “And when at last, almost a thousand years after the Great Wars had ended, the new races began to emerge from the primitive lives they had endured while struggling to survive the aftereffects of the holocaust, the Elves stood with them. No longer would they hide in their forestland as impartial observers to the development of a world. This time they would be a part of that development, working openly with the new races to be certain that men did not travel a second time that roadway which had almost ended with the destruction of all life. Thus did the Elves, through the Druid Galaphile, convene the First Council at Paranor. Thus did the Elves seek to turn the races from an ill-advised search for the old sciences of energy and power, counseling instead a more cautious approach to life’s mysteries. Thus did they seek to regain the small magics they had lost, believing these arts would help them best in their efforts to preserve their new world and its life.” “Yet the Elves have no magic,” Wil reminded the big man. “Only the Druids did.” “The Druids and a handful of others scattered through the land,” Allanon corrected. He seemed to lose himself momentarily. When he spoke again, his voice was distant. “The Druids learned early of the dangers inherent in the search for the lost magic. A Druid named Brona taught them well. His need to explore the limits of the magic destroyed him, created in his physical shell the creature we know as the Warlock Lord. When the Druids realized what hunger for the magic had done to him, they forbade further exploration. The magic they had found was not altogether good, nor altogether bad; it was simply powerful —too powerful for mortal men to master. For a time, it was left alone. Then Brona caught and killed all of the Druids at Paranor, signaling the start of the Second War of the Races, and suddenly there was only Bremen left to teach the magic. Then, when he was gone, there was only me...” He trailed off momentarily, dark eyes narrowing as he stared down into the little fire at their feet. Then he looked back suddenly at Wil. “What else would you know, Valeman?” The tone of his voice was sharp, almost angry. Its abruptness caught Wil by surprise, but he kept his gaze steady, forcing his eyes to meet the Druid’s. “What else would you have me know?” he replied quietly. Allanon said nothing, waiting. There was a long, uncomfortable silence as the two men faced each other. At last the Valeman looked away again, poking idly at the embers of their fire with the toe of one boot. “These creatures that were shut within the place beyond the Forbidding —what of them?” he asked. finally. “How have they survived for so many years? Why have they not perished?” Allanon’s dark expression did not change. “Call them Demons, for that is what they have become. They were sent to a non-place, a dark emptiness beyond any living world. Within that darkness, there was no passing of time to bring age and death. The Elves failed to realize this, I suppose, or perhaps thought it of little importance, since their only concern was to remove the evil from their own world. In any case, the Demons did not die; rather, they multiplied. The evil that lived within them fed upon itself and grew stronger. It bred new life. For evil left to itself, Valeman, does not simply perish; it thrives. Evil contained is not evil destroyed. It nourishes itself, grows within its confinement, swells and rages until it works loose, and then... then it runs free.” “And its magic?” Wil followed quickly. “Has its magic grown also?” Some of the harshness faded from the other’s visage, and he nodded. “Fed in the same way, and practiced, for the evil ones warred with each other in their prison, driven nearly mad with need to release their hatred of what had been done to them.” Now it was the Valeman’s turn to be silent. His face lowered into shadow; his arms wrapped protectively about his knees as he drew his legs up tightly to his chest. In the east, there sounded the faint, distant thunder of the departing storm as it faded into the broken wall of the Wolfsktaag. A touch of impatience revealed itself in Allanon’s dark face as he watched the young man. He leaned forward once more. “Are all of your questions answered now, Wil Ohmsford?” The Valeman blinked. “No.” His head lifted sharply. “No, I have one more.” Allanon frowned. “Indeed. Let’s have it, then.” He was clearly displeased. Wil hesitated, weighing inwardly the advisability of proceeding any further with this. He decided that he must. He chose his words carefully. “Everything that I’ve heard suggests that these Demons are more than a match for the Elves. It seems from your own encounter with them that they are a match even for you.” There was anger now in the big man’s face, but Wil pushed ahead quickly. “If I accompany the Elven girl Amberle in search of the Bloodfire, as you have asked me, they will surely come after us. Suppose we are found. What chance do I stand against them, Allanon? Even with the Elfstones, what chance do I have? You would not answer me before. Answer me now.” “Well.” The Druid rocked back slightly, the lean, dark visage suddenly expressionless in the firelight, creased in shadow. “I thought this was all leading up to something.” “Please give me an answer to my question,” Wil persisted quietly. Allanon cocked his head reflectively. “I don’t know the answer.” “You don’t know?” the Valeman repeated the words incredulously. The Druid blinked. “In the first place, I hope to keep them from finding you. If they cannot find you, they cannot harm you. At the moment, they know nothing of you at all. I intend that it should stay that way” “But if they do find me —then what?” “Then you have the Elfstones.” He hesitated. “Understand this, Wil. The Elfstones are a magic from the old world —a magic that existed when the Elves first defeated these creatures. The power of the Stones is measured by the strength of the man or woman who wields them. There are three Elfstones —one each for the heart, mind, and body of the user. All three must unite as one; when this is done properly, the power released can be very great.” He looked at the Valeman sharply. “Do you understand then, why I cannot answer your question? You will determine the strength of your defense against your enemies; it must come from within you, not from the Stones themselves. I cannot measure that in you. Only you can do that. I can only tell you that I judge you to be as good a man as your grandfather —and I’ve met no better man, Wil Ohmsford.” The Valeman stared wordlessly at the Druid for a moment, then looked down at the fire. “Nor have I,” he whispered. Allanon smiled faintly. “Your grandfather’s chances seemed very poor when he went in quest of the Sword of Shannara. He would admit to that. The Warlock Lord knew of him from the beginning; the Skull Bearers actually came into the Vale in search of him. He was hunted every step of the way. Yet he survived —and he did so despite his own considerable doubts.” He reached over and put his hand on Wils shoulder, the cavernous eyes glinting in the firelight. “I like your chances in this. I believe in you. Now you must start believing in yourself.” He took his hand away and rose. “We’ve talked enough this night. You need to sleep. We’ve a long ride ahead of us tomorrow.” He wrapped his black robes tightly about him. “I’ll keep watch.” He started to move away from the Valeman. “I can keep watch,” Wil offered quickly, remembering the Druid’s injuries. “You can sleep,” Allanon grunted, and the night shadows swallowed him up. Wil stared after him for a second, then shook his head. Spreading his blankets next to the fire, he rolled himself into them and stretched wearily. He would not sleep, the Valeman told himself. Not yet. Not until he had taken time to consider carefully all that had been said this evening, until he had decided how much of it he should believe, until he was convinced that he knew what he was doing in all this. Not until then. He let his eyes close for just a moment. Immediately he was asleep.
Chapter Ten
They resumed their journey at daybreak. Although the forestland still glistened damply with yesterday’s rain, the skies were clear and blue and filled with sunlight as the pair rode southward along the fringes of the Anar. The drab emptiness of the Rabb brightened into rolling grasslands, and the enticing smell of fruit-bearing trees was carried past them on a gentle morning breeze. Late that afternoon they arrived at the legendary Silver River and came upon a company of Dwarf Sappers engaged in the construction of a footbridge at a heavily forested narrows. Leaving Wil concealed in a copse of fir with the horses, the Druid went down to the river’s edge to confer with the Dwarves. He was gone for a time and, when he returned, seemed preoccupied with something. It was not until they had remounted and were downriver away from the Dwarves that he volunteered to Wil that he had given warning of the danger to the Elves and requested that the Dwarves send aid as quickly as possible. One among the Sappers had recognized the Druid and had promised that help would be sent. Still, marshaling any sizable force would take time. Allanon left the matter there. Minutes later they forded the Silver River at a shallows where a broad sandbar split the clear waters apart and rock shallows slowed the current enough to permit horse and rider safe passage. From there they rode south at a leisurely pace, watching the shadows they cast lengthen as the day wore on. It was nearly sunset when Allanon reined in Artaq at the crest of a tree-lined rise and dismounted. Wil followed him down, leading Spitter forward several paces to where the Druid waited. They tethered the horses in a small grove of hickory and together walked ahead to where an outcropping of rock split apart the wall of trees. With Allanon in the lead, they moved up into the rocks and peered out. Below them lay a broad, horseshoe-shaped valley, its slopes and floor heavily forested, but open at its western end to grasslands that had been tilled and planted with farm crops. A village sat at the juncture between forest and field, and a narrow stream ran from the woodlands through the cluster of homes north across the top of the farmland, its waters irrigating the soil in dozens of neatly inscribed ditches. Men and women moved busily about the little community, tiny figures to the two who looked down on them from the valley rim. Far to the south, the grasslands ended in a rock-strewn lowland that stretched unbroken to the horizon and disappeared. “Havenstead,” Allanon announced, indicating the village and the farmlands. His finger lifted slightly and pointed into the lowland. “Out there is the Battlemound.” Wil nodded. “What do we do now?” The Druid seated himself comfortably. “We wait until it gets dark. The fewer people who see us, the better. The Stors would say nothing in any case, but these villagers are free with their talk. Secrecy is still our greatest ally, and I don’t intend to lose it unnecessarily We’ll go in quickly and quietly and leave the same way.” He glanced up at the sun, already beginning to drop rapidly into the western horizon. “We only have about an hour.” They sat together without talking until the rim of the sun was barely visible above the tree line, and the dusk had begun to slip her gray shadow over the length of the valley Finally, Allanon rose. They walked back to where they had tied the horses, remounted and started out once more. The Druid led them eastward for a time, skirting the valley rim until they had reached a heavily forested section of the slope that concealed a narrow draw. There they started down. They wound their way slowly through the trees, watching the woodlands darken steadily into night, allowing the horses to pick their way through the brush. Wil quickly lost all sense of direction, but Allanon seemed to know exactly where he was going and did not slow as he guided them forward. After a time, they reached the valley floor, and travel grew easier. A clear, moonlit sky peeked down on them through breaks in the forest roof, and night birds called out sharply at their passing. The air was sweet and heavy with the smell of the woods, and Wil grew drowsy. Finally, scattered bits of yellow light began to flicker into view ahead of them, slipping through the screen of the forest, and the faint sounds of voices reached out through the stillness. Allanon dismounted, motioning for Wil to do likewise, and they walked the horses forward afoot. The forest thinned out noticeably, clear of heavy brush and deadwood, and ahead of them they could see a low stone wall with a wooden gate. A line of tall evergreens bordered the wall and screened away most of what lay beyond, though it was clear to Wil that they were at the eastern edge of the farming village and the yellow lights were the flames of oil lamps. Upon reaching the wall, they tied the horses to an iron post. Allanon put a single finger across his lips. Silently, they passed through the little wooden gate. What they found on the other side brought Wil up short. A sweeping, terraced garden spread out before them, its tiers of multicolored flowers dazzling even in the pale moonlight. A stone walkway, glistening with flecks of silver, wound downward out of the gardens to a gathering of wooden benches and from there to a small cottage constructed of timber and stone. The cottage was a single story with a loft and was fronted by the familiar open-air porch. Flower boxes hung below latticed windows, and thick, low bushes bordered the roughened walls. Crimson Kews and blue spruce grew at the immediate front of the come. A second walkway ran from the porch beneath the arch of a magnificent white birch and disappeared through a hedgerow to a roadway beyond. In the distance, glimmerings of light from other cottages broke the night. Wil stared at it all in wonderment. Everywhere there were touches of color and life —all with the look of something drawn from a child’s storybook. Everything was perfectly ordered. He glanced questioningly at Allanon. The mocking smile flashed briefly, and the Druid motioned for him to come. They followed the pathway through the gardens to the benches then moved on toward the cottage. Light shone brightly through the curtained windows of the little house, and from within came the low, gentle sound of voices —no, Wil corrected himself, children’s voices! He was mildly surprised at his discovery and very nearly missed seeing the fat, striped house cat that lay sprawled across the first step of the porch. He caught himself just in time to keep from stepping on the sleeping animal. The cat raised its bewhiskered face and stared up at him insolently. Another cat, this one coal black, scooted off the porch hurriedly and slipped down into the bushes without a sound. Druid and Valeman climbed the porch steps and moved to the front door. From within, the children’s voices rose sharply in laughter. Allanon knocked firmly and the voices went still. Footsteps came to the other side of the door and stopped. “Who is it?” a voice asked softly, and the patterned curtains that screened a glass port parted slightly. The Druid leaned forward, allowing the light from within to fall across his dark countenance. “I am Allanon,” he answered. There was a long silence, then the sound of a latch drawn back. The door opened and an Elven girl stepped through. She was small, even for an Elf, her body slender and brown with sun. Chestnut hair fell all the way to her waist, shadowing a child’s face at once both innocent and knowing. Her eyes flashed briefly to Wil —eyes that were green and deep with life —then settled once more on the Druid. “Allanon has been gone from the Four Lands for more than fifty years.” Her voice was steady, but there was fear in her eyes. “Who are you?” “I am Allanon, ” he repeated. He let a moment of silence pass. “Who else could have found you here, Amberle? Who else would know that you are one of the Chosen?” The Elven girl stared up at him speechlessly. When she tried to speak, the words would not come. Her hands came together tightly; with a visible effort, she composed herself. “The children will be frightened if they are left alone. They must be put to bed. Wait here, please.” Aheady there was a scurrying of small feet at the other side of the door and the faint whisper of excited voices. Amberle turned and disappeared back into the cottage. They could hear her voice, low and soothing, as she ushered the children up wooden stairs to the loft overhead. Allanon moved to a wide-backed bench at the other end of the porch and seated himself. Wil remained where he was, standing just to one side of the door, listening to the sounds of the Elven girl and the children from within, thinking as he did so: she is only a child herself, for goodness’ sake! A moment later she was back, stepping lightly onto the porch, closing the cottage door carefully behind her. She glanced at Wil, who smiled at her awkwardly. “This young man is Wil Ohmsford.” Allanon’s voice floated out of the dark. “He studies at Storlock to become a Healer.” “Hello...” Wil began, but she was already walking past him to the big man. “Why have you come here, Druid —if Druid you are?” she demanded, a mixture of anger and uncertainty in her voice. “Has my grandfather sent you?” Allanon rose. “Can we sit in the gardens while we talk?” The girl hesitated, then nodded. She led them from the porch back along the stone walkway to the benches. There she seated herself. The Druid sat across from her, Wil a little off to one side. The Valeman recognized that his role in this confrontation was that of a spectator and nothing more. “Why are you here?” Amberle repeated, her voice a bit less unsettled than a moment earlier. Allanon folded his robes about him. “To begin with, no one has sent me. I am here of my own choice. I am here to ask you to return with me to Arborlon.” He paused. “I will be brief. The Ellcrys is dying, Amberle. The Forbidding begins to crumble; the evil within breaks free —Demons all. Soon they will flood the Westland. Only you can prevent this. You are the last of the Chosen.” “The last...” she whispered, but the words caught in her throat. “They are all dead. The Demons have found and killed them. The Demons search now for you.” Her face froze in horror. “No! What trick is this, Druid? What trick...” She did not finish this either, but stopped as tears formed in her eyes and streaked her child’s face. She brushed them away swiftly “Are they really all dead? All of them?” The Druid nodded. “You must come with me to Arborlon.” She shook her head quickly. “No. I am no longer one of the Chosen. You know that.” “I know that you would wish it so.” The green eyes flared angrily. “What I would wish is of no matter in this. I no longer serve; that is all behind me. I am no longer one of the Chosen.” “The Ellcrys selected you as one of the Chosen,” Allanon replied calmly. “She must decide whether you remain one. She must decide whether you shall carry her seed in search of the Bloodfire, so that she may be reborn and the Forbidding restored. She must decide —not you, not I.” “I will not go back with you,” Amberle stated quietly. “You must.” “I will not. I will never go back. This is my home now; these are my people. I have made this choice.” The Druid shook his head slowly. “Your home is wherever you make it. Your people are whomever you wish them to be. But your responsibilities are sometimes given you without choice, without consent. It is so in this, Elven girl. You are the last of the Chosen; you are the last real hope of the Elves. You cannot run away from it; you cannot hide from it. You most certainly cannot change it.” Amberle rose, paced away a step, and turned. “You do not understand.” Allanon watched her. “I understand better than you think.” “If you did, you would not ask me to return. When I left Arborlon, I knew that I would never go back again. In the eyes of my mother, my grandfather, and my people, I had disgraced myself. I did something that could not be forgiven —I rejected the gift of being a Chosen. Even should I wish it, and I do not, this cannot be undone. The Elves are a people whose sense of tradition and honor runs deep. They can never accept what has happened. If it were made known to them that they would all perish from the earth unless I alone chose to save them, still they would not have me back. I am outcast from them, and that will not change.” The Druid rose and faced her, tall and black as he towered over her small form. His eyes were frightening as they fixed on hers. “Your words are foolish ones, Elven girl. Your arguments are hollow and you speak them without conviction. They do not become you. I know you to be stronger than what you have shown.” Stung by the reprimand, Amberle went taut. “What do you know of me, Druid? You know nothing!” She stepped close to him, green eyes filled with anger. “I am a teacher of children. Some of them you saw this night. They come in groups of half a dozen or eight and stay with me one season. They are given into my care by their parents. They are entrusted to me. While they are with me, I give to them my knowledge of living things. I teach them to love and to respect the world into which they were born —the land and sea and sky and all that lives upon and within it. I teach them to understand that world. I teach them to give life back in exchange for the life they were given; I teach them to grow and nurture that life. We begin simply, as with this garden. We finish with the complexity that surrounds human life. There is love in what I do. I am a simple person with a simple gift —a gift I can share with others. A Chosen shares nothing with others. I was never a Chosen —never! That was something I was called upon to be that I did not wish to be nor was suited to be. All that, I have left behind me. I have made this village and its people my life. This is who I am. This is where I belong.” “Perhaps.” The Druid’s voice was calm and steady and it brushed aside her anger. “Yet will you turn your back on the Elves for no better reason than this? Without you, they will surely perish. They will stand and fight as they did in the old world when the evil first threatened. But this time they lack the magic to make them strong. They will be destroyed.” “These children have been given into my keeping...” the girl began hurriedly, but Allanon’s hand rose abruptly. “What do you think will happen once the Elves are destroyed? Do you think the evil ones will be content to stay within the borders of the Westland? What of your children then, Elven girl?” Amberle stared at him wordlessly for a moment, then dropped slowly back down onto the bench. Tears ran again from her eyes, and she closed them tightly. “Why was I chosen?” she asked softly, her words barely more than a whisper. “There was no reason for it. I did not seek it —and there were so many others who did.” Her hands clenched in her lap. “It was a mockery, Druid —a joke. Do you see that? No woman had been chosen in over five hundred years. Only men. But then I was chosen —an impossible, cruel mistake. A mistake.” The Druid stared at the gardens, his face expressionless once more. There was no mistake,“ he responded, though Wil believed he was speaking almost to himself. The Druid looked back at her, turning quietly. ”What frightens you, Amberle? You are afraid, aren’t you?“ She did not look up, did not open her eyes. Her head nodded once. Allanon reseated himself. His voice was gentle now. “Fear is part of life, but it should be faced openly, never hidden. What is it that frightens you?” There was a long silence. Wil leaned forward quietly on his seat several benches away. Finally Amberle spoke, her words whispered. “She does.” The Druid frowned. “The Ellcrys?” But this time Amberle did not answer him. Her hands lifted to her stricken face and wiped away the tears. Her green eyes opened, and she came to her feet once more. “If I were to agree to travel with you to Arborlon, if I were to agree to face my grandfather and my people, if I were to go before the Ellcrys one final time —if I were to do all this, all that you have asked, what then if she will not give to me her seed?” Allanon straightened. “Then you may return to Havenstead, and I will trouble you no more.” She paused. “I will think about it.” “There is no time to think about it,” Allanon insisted. “You must decide now, tonight. The Demons search for you.” “I will think about it,” she repeated. Her eyes settled on Wil. “What is your part in all of this, Healer?” Wil started to reply, but her quick smile stopped him. “Never mind. Somehow I sense that we are alike in this. You know no more than I.” Less, Wil wanted to tell her, but she had already turned away. “I have no place for you in my home.” She spoke to Allanon again. “You may sleep here, if you like. Tomorrow we’ll talk about this further.” She started toward the cottage, chestnut hair trailing sail-like down her back. “Amberle!” the big man called after her. “Tomorrow,” she replied and did not slow. Then she was done, disappearing silently through the cottage door, leaving Druid and Valeman staring after her in the dark.