The Sword of Shannara Trilogy (102 page)

“Now wait a minute,” Flick cut in quickly. “You mean to say that the Elven people are the same Elven people that all the old legends tell about—that there really were Elves in the old world?”

“Certainly there were Elves in the old world—just as there were Trolls and Dwarves and all the other creatures that gave birth to the legends. The
only difference is that all of the others have been gone from the world for centuries, while the Elves have remained. They have altered, of course; they have evolved considerably. They were forced to adapt.”

Flick looked as if he didn’t understand one word of what he was hearing.

“There were Elves in the old world?” he repeated incredulously. “That is just not possible.”

“Of course it’s possible,” the Druid replied calmly.

“Well, how did they survive the Great Wars?”

“How did Man survive the Great Wars?”

“But the old histories tell us of Man—they do not mention a single word about Elves!” the Valeman snapped. “Elves were a fairy tale people. If there really were Elves in the old world, where were they?”

“Right where they had always been—Man just couldn’t see them.”

“Now you’re telling me Elves were invisible?” Flick threw up his hands. “I don’t believe any of this!”

“You didn’t believe any of what I told you about Shea and the Sword of Shannara either, if I remember correctly,” Allanon pointed out, the faintest hint of laughter on his lips.

“I don’t see what any of this has to do with why the Elves need my help,” Wil interjected, heading off another outburst from Flick.

The Druid nodded. “I’ll try to explain if Flick will just be patient with me for a moment longer. The history of the Elves is important to this discussion for one reason only. The Elves were the ones who conceived the idea of the Ellcrys and who brought her into being. It was the Elves who gave her life and afterwards cared for her down through the ages. Her protection and well-being are entrusted to an order of Elven youth called Chosen. For a single year, the Chosen stand in service to the tree, their task to see to it that she is properly looked after. At the end of that year, they are replaced. It has been so since the tree’s creation. One year of service only. The Chosen are revered and honored among the Elven people; only a few are ever selected to serve and those who do so are guaranteed a position of high esteem in the Elven culture.

“All of which brings us to the present. As I have told you, the Ellcrys is dying. A few days earlier, she made this known to the Chosen. She was able to do this because she is a sentient being and possesses the ability to communicate. She revealed to them that her death was inevitable and close. She revealed as well what the Elven legends had foretold, what the first Elves had known, but what generations of Elves thereafter had virtually forgotten—that although the Ellcrys must die in the manner of other living creatures, unlike them she could be reborn. Yet her rebirth must depend heavily on the efforts of the Chosen. One among them would be required to bear her seed in search of the earth’s life source—the Bloodfire. Only
one of the Chosen presently in her service could do this. She told them where the Bloodfire might be found and bade them make preparations to seek it out.”

He paused. “But before this could be done, some of the evil ones locked within the Forbidding broke free, finding the wall sufficiently weakened as the strength of the Ellcrys began to fail. One slipped into the Elven city of Arborlon, where the Ellcrys stands, and killed the Chosen it found there, believing that with their deaths any chance for a rebirth would be ended. I arrived too late to prevent this from happening. But I spoke with the Ellcrys and discovered through her that one of the Chosen still remains alive—a young girl who was not within the city when the others were killed. Her name is Amberle. I left Arborlon in search of her.”

He leaned forward once more. “But the evil ones have learned of her also. They sought once already to prevent me from reaching her and very nearly succeeded. They will certainly try again if they have the chance to do so. But they do not know where she can be found nor, for the moment at least, do they know where I am. If I am quick enough, I should be able to reach her and return her safely to Arborlon before they discover me again.”

“Then I should think that you are wasting valuable time conversing with us,” Flick declared firmly. “You should be on your way to the girl.”

The Druid ignored him, though his face darkened slightly. “Even though I return Amberle to Arborlon, there are problems still that must be dealt with. As the last of the Chosen, it will fall to her to bear the Ellcrys’ seed in quest of the Bloodfire. No one, myself included, knows exactly where the Fire can be found. Once, the Ellcrys knew. But the world she remembers is gone now. She gave the Elves a name—Safehold. It is a name that means nothing to them, a name from the old world. When I left Arborlon, I traveled first to Paranor to search the Druid histories compiled by the Council after the Great Wars—histories which record the mysteries of the old world. Reading through those histories, I was able to discover the country within which Safehold lies. Still, the exact location of the Bloodfire must be discovered by those who seek it.”

And suddenly Wil Ohmsford realized why it was that Allanon wanted him to go into the Westland.

He realized it and still he could not believe it.

“Amberle cannot undertake this search alone,” Allanon continued. “The country into which she must go is dangerous—much too dangerous for a young Elven girl to travel by herself. It will be a difficult journey at best. Those who have crossed through the Forbidding will continue to seek her out; if they find her, she will have no protection against them. She must not be harmed in any way. She is the last hope of her people. If the Ellcrys is
not reborn, the Forbidding will eventually fail altogether and the evil locked within it will be loose once more upon the earth. There will be war with the Elves that they cannot, in all probability, win. If they are destroyed, the evil will move into the other Lands as well. It will grow stronger as it comes, as is the nature of beings such as these. In the end, the races will be devoured.”

“But you will be there to help her …” Wil began, searching for a way out of the trap he felt closing about him.

“I cannot be there to help her,” Allanon cut in quickly.

There was a long silence. Allanon spread his hands on the table.

“There is good reason for this, Wil Ohmsford. I have told you that the evil already begins to break through the wall of the Forbidding. The Ellcrys will grow steadily weaker; as she does so, the creatures she imprisons will grow bolder. They will continue to push against the wall of the Forbidding. They will continue to breakthrough. Eventually, they will tear down the wall entirely. When this happens, they will converge upon the Elven nation and attempt to destroy it. This may very well happen long before the Bloodfire is found. There is also a possibility that the Bloodfire may never be found or that it may be found too late. In either case, the Elven people must be prepared to stand and fight. But some of the creatures within the Forbidding are very powerful; at least one possesses sorcery very nearly as great as my own. The Elves will have no defense against such power. Their own magic is lost. The Druids who once aided them are gone. There is only me. If I leave them and go with Amberle, they will be defenseless. I cannot do that. I must give them whatever aid I can.

“Yet someone must go with Amberle—someone who possesses power enough to resist the evil that will pursue her, someone who can be trusted to do everything humanly possible to protect her. That someone is you.”

“What are you talking about?” Flick exclaimed in exasperation. “What possible help can Wil be against creatures such as these—creatures that very nearly succeeded in doing you in? You don’t mean for him to use the Sword of Shannara?”

Allanon shook his head. “The power of the Sword works only against illusion. The evil we face is very real, very tangible. The Sword would have no power against it.”

Flick almost came to his feet. “What then?”

The Druid’s eyes were dark and filled with insight and Wil Ohmsford felt his heart sink.

“The Elfstones.”

Flick was aghast. “The Elfstones! But Shea has the Elfstones!”

Wil put his hand quickly on the other’s arm. “No, Uncle Flick, I have them.” He groped within his tunic and then withdrew a small leather pouch.
“Grandfather gave them to me when I left Shady Vale to come to Storlock. He told me that he no longer had need of them and that he thought they should belong to me.” His voice was shaking. “It’s strange; I only took them to please him—not because I ever thought that I would use them. I’ve never even tried.”

“It would do you no good, Wil.” Flick turned back hurriedly to Allanon. “He knows. No one but Shea could ever use the Elfstones. They are useless to anyone else.”

Allanon’s expression did not change. ’That is not entirely true, Flick. They can only be used by one to whom they are freely given. I gave them to Shea to use when I warned him to flee the Vale to Culhaven. They remained his until he gave them to Wil. Now they belong to Wil. Their power is his to invoke, just as it was once Shea’s.”

Flick looked desperate. “You can give them back,” he insisted, turning once more to Wil, seeing the confusion in his eyes. “Or you can give them to someone else—anyone else. You don’t have to keep them. You don’t have to become involved in any of this madness!”

Allanon shook his head. “Flick, he is already involved.”

“But what of my plans to become a Healer?” Wil interjected suddenly. “What of the time and work I have put into that? Becoming a Healer is all that I have ever wanted to do, and I am finally on my way to doing it. Am I expected just to give it all up?”

“If you refuse your aid in this matter, how can you then become a Healer?” The Druid’s voice turned hard. “A Healer must give whatever help he can, whenever he can, in any way that he can. It is not something he can pick and choose. If you refuse to go and all that I have foreseen comes to pass—as I am certain that it then will—how will you live with yourself, knowing that you never even tried to prevent it?”

Wil flushed. “But when will I be able to return again?”

“I don’t know. It may be a long time.”

“And even if I come with you, can you be certain that the power of the Elfstones will be strong enough to protect this girl?”

Allanon’s face closed in about itself, dark, secretive.

“I cannot. Such power as the Elfstones possess draws its strength from the holder. Shea never tested their limits; you may have to.”

“Can you give me no assurances, then?” The Valeman’s voice had dropped to a whisper.

“None.” The Druid’s gaze never left him. “Still, you must come.”

Wil slumped back in his chair, stunned. “It seems I have no choice.”

“Of course you have a choice!” Flick snapped angrily. “Will you give up everything for no other reason than this—that Allanon says you must? Will you go with him for that alone?”

Wil’s eyes lifted. “Didn’t you, Uncle Flick—grandfather and you—to search out the Sword of Shannara?”

Flick hesitated uncertainly; then he reached over and took his nephew’s hands in his own, clasping them tightly.

“You are too quick in this, Wil. I warned you of Allanon. Now you listen to me. I see more in this than you. There is something hidden behind the Druid’s words. I can feel it.” His voice tightened, and the lines in his gray-bearded face creased even more deeply. “I am afraid for you. It is because I am afraid that I speak to you as I do. You are like my own son; I don’t want to lose you.”

“I know,” Wil whispered. “I know.”

Flick straightened. “Then don’t go. Let Allanon find another.”

The Druid shook his head. “I cannot, Flick. There is no other. There is only Wil.” His eyes again sought those of the young Valeman. “You must come.”

“Let me go instead,” Flick offered suddenly, a hint of desperation in his voice. “Wil can give the Elfstones to me, and I can watch over the Elven girl. Allanon, we have traveled together before …”

But the Druid was already shaking his head no. “Flick, you cannot come,” he said gently. “Your heart is greater than your strength, Valeman. The journey that lies ahead will be long and hard and must be made by a younger man.” He paused. “Our travels together are over, Flick.”

There was a long silence, and then the Druid turned again to Wil Ohmsford, waiting. The Valeman looked at his uncle. They stared at each other wordlessly for a moment, Flick’s gray eyes uncertain, Wil’s now steady. Flick saw that the decision had been made. Almost imperceptibly, he nodded.

“You must do what you feel is right,” he mumbled, reluctance sounding in his every word.

Wil turned to Allanon. “I will come with you.”

E
arly 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.