The Sword of Shannara Trilogy (113 page)

“Couldn’t you just leave on your own? You seem capable of that.”

“I am capable of a great deal more, should it come to that, Healer. That is why you have need of me. If you take back your horse—something I doubt you can do without my help—the Rovers will come after you. Since you will be pursued in any event, it will cause you no further burden to take me as well as the horse—especially since I know enough of Rovers to give you the guidance you will need to elude them.”

She shrugged. “As for leaving on my own, I have given thought to that. If there were no other choice, I would do so rather than be sold again. But where would I go? A Rover is welcome nowhere and, like it or not, a Rover is what I am. Alone, I would be little better than an outcast among the races, and my life would not be a pleasant one. But with you I could find acceptance; you are a Healer and you have respect. I could even travel with you. I could aid you in the mending of the ill. You would find that I …”

“Eretria,” Wil cut in gently. “There is no point in discussing it. I cannot take you with me. I can take no one with me but Amberle.”

Her face darkened. “Do not be so quick to spurn me, Healer.”

“This has nothing to do with spurning you,” he responded, at the same time trying to decide how much he could tell her. Not very much, he quickly realized. “Listen. It would not be safe for you to travel anywhere with
me right now. When I leave, Cephelo will not be the only one looking for me. There will be others, much more dangerous than he. They search for me now. If I took you along, you would be in great danger. I cannot allow that.”

“The Elven girl travels with you,” she insisted.

“Amberle travels with me because she must.”

“Words. I do not believe them. You will take me with you, Wil Ohmsford. You will take me with you because you must.”

He shook his head. “I cannot.”

She rose abruptly, her beautiful dark face angry and set. “You will change your mind, Healer. The time will come when you will have no other choice.”

She turned and stalked away. A dozen yards from him, she paused and glanced back suddenly, her black eyes fixing on his. From out of the shadow of her face flashed that wondrous, dazzling smile.

“I am for you, Wil Ohmsford,” she called.

She held his gaze a moment longer, then turned and continued walking back toward the Rover caravan. The Valeman stared after her in mild amazement.

D
inner was set out and eaten, and it was shortly thereafter that the deep, booming cough broke through the peaceful sounds of the night and froze them into stillness. It came from the south end of the lake on which the Rovers were encamped—once, twice and then was gone. All heads turned as one, faces startled and expectant. Moments later the cough sounded again, rumbling out of the darkness like the huffing roar of some monstrous bull calling in challenge. The Rovers scrambled hurriedly for their weapons, then rushed to the perimeter of the circle of wagons and peered out into the night. But the sound died, and this time it did not repeat. Cephelo and more than a dozen of his men stood waiting for a time, anticipating something further. When nothing happened, he gruffly ordered everyone back to the fire and the evening wine. Joking loudly about Devils and things that prowled the night, he boasted that none of these would dare to come into a Rover camp without first seeking permission. Cups of wine were refilled and distributed, and everyone drank heartily. Yet glances continued to stray in the direction of the sound.

Half an hour later it came again, closer than before, sudden and heavy in the night. Startled Rovers sprang to their feet, snatching up their weapons a second time and racing for the edge of the camp. Wil went with them this time, Amberle only a step behind as he reached a gap between two of the Rover wagons and stared out guardedly. There was nothing to be seen. Nothing moved. Hesitantly, Cephelo stalked to the very edge of the woods surrounding the small clearing, both hands securely grasping the handle of a heavy broadsword. He stood for a time, his tall form black against the trees, poised to defend himself. There was only silence. Finally he turned and walked back again, his face set. There was no further joking. The horses, which were tethered on a line along a small inlet from the lake, were brought close in to the caravan in order that they could be better watched. Guards were placed all about the perimeter of the clearing and warned to keep their eyes open. Everyone else was taken back inside the circle of the wagons where they settled themselves within the comforting light of the fire. The wine was passed about, though fewer drank this time. Conversation resumed, but it was low and guarded and the word “Devil” was mentioned frequently. The men kept the women and children close, and everyone looked thoroughly disquieted.

Wil walked Amberle several paces back from the anxious group, his head lowered.

“I want you to stay close,” he said quietly. “Do not leave me for any reason.”

“I won’t,” she promised. Her eyes were intense as they found his and then glanced away quickly. “Do you think …?”

Cephelo cut short her thought, calling suddenly for music, clapping his hands and encouraging those about him to do likewise. The Valeman and the Elven girl joined in obediently. A few weak cheers greeted Cephelo as he moved about the fire.

Wil glanced about uneasily. “If there is anything out there, and if whatever it is attacks this camp, then you and I are getting out. We will try to reach Artaq, then make a run for it. Are you willing to risk it?”

She nodded. “Very.”

Cymbals shivered their silver cry, and the stringed instruments hummed softly. Hands began to clap, steady and confident.

Then the cough broke almost on top of them, booming out of the darkness with frightening suddenness, heavy and terrible. Shouts sounded from the guards—shouts filled with terror, shouts that cried, “Devil, Devil!” Those gathered about the fire scattered, the men rushing for their weapons, the women and children fleeing in confusion. A scream rose above the clamor, high and quick, dying almost immediately into stillness. Beyond the circle of the wagons, something huge and dark moved in the night.

“Demon!” Wil whispered the name almost without thinking.

An instant later the creature appeared through a gap between two of the wagons, pushing aside the wooden homes as if they were made of paper. It was unquestionably a Demon—but much bigger than anything the Vale-man and the Elven girl had encountered fleeing Havenstead. It stood on two legs, more than fifteen feet tall, its massive body bent and heavy and covered with mottled brown and gray hide that hung from it in thick folds. A crest of scales ran from its neck the length of its back and down either leg. Its face was blasted and empty, a mass of teeth curving out from jaws that opened wide to emit its deep, booming cough. From two great, clawed hands dangled the broken body of a Rover guard.

It flung the dead man aside and came forward. Cephelo and a dozen more Rovers met it with pikes and swords. A few thrusts penetrated the thick hide, but most were turned aside. The creature was slow and ponderous, but incredibly strong. It shambled forward through the wall of defenders, swatting them aside effortlessly. Cephelo threw himself directly into the Demon’s path, leaping up to thrust his broadsword deep into the creature’s gaping mouth. The monstrous thing barely slowed, jaws snapping the sword into splinters, clawed hands reaching for the Rover Leader. Cephelo was too quick, but another Rover went down, tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape. The Demon’s foot dropped on the struggling man like a rock.

Wil was already moving Amberle toward the far side of the encampment, intent on reaching the tethered horses, when he saw Cephelo go down as well. The defenders were attempting to entangle the Demon’s legs when one massive arm caught the big man a glancing blow and sent him tumbling head over heels. Hesitating in a gap between the wagons, Wil watched the other Rovers spring to Cephelo’s defense, two grabbing the inert form and pulling it to safety while the others feinted and jabbed at the monster to draw its attention. The Demon swung about, pikes and swords hacking at its armored body, and reached for the nearest Rover wagon. It seized the heavy carrier and, with a single lunge, threw it over. The wagon fell with a crash, splitting apart, metal ornaments and silk rolls spilling into the firelight. The defenders cried out in fury and resumed their hopeless attack.

Amberle was pulling urgently on Wil Ohmsford’s arm, but still the Valeman hesitated. He could not bring himself to believe that something so huge and so slow had managed to track them all the way from Havenstead. No, this creature had escaped through the wall of the Forbidding on its own, wandered down into the Tirfing, and simply stumbled on their caravan. It had come alone, blindly, stupidly—but a thing of such destruction that it was clear already that the Rovers were no match for it. Despite their efforts to turn or stop it, the Demon would surely destroy the entire caravan.

But the Rovers would not run. The garish wagons, the cumbersome wheeled houses—these were their homes. Everything they owned was in them. No, the Rovers would not run. They would stand and fight; and if they did so, they would die. The Demon was a thing of another age; its power was greater than that of flesh and blood and bone. It would take power as great as its own to stop it. Only he possessed that power. But this was not his fight. These people had stolen from him; he owed them nothing. His first and only responsibility was for Amberle. He should take her and go quickly. Yet if he did, what would become of the Rovers—not only the men, but the women and children as well? Had they harmed him? Without his help, they stood no chance at all against the Demon.

His indecision was complete when he remembered that his grandfather had once told him that when he had used the Elfstones in his flight from the Warlock Lord, he had inadvertently told his enemy exactly where he could be found. It might well be the same now. Some of these Demons were creatures capable of using magic; Allanon had told him this was so. If he were to use the Elfstones, he might lead them right to him.

He looked quickly at Amberle. What she saw in his eyes told her at once what he intended to do. Wordlessly she released his arm. He pulled off his right boot and reached into it for the Elfstones. At least he must try, he told himself. At least he must do that much. He could not let these people die.
He opened the pouch and poured the three blue Stones into his open palm. Closing his fists over them tightly, he stared back into the camp.

“Stay here,” he told the Elven girl.

“No, wait …” she called after him, but he was already running.

The Demon had turned away from the wagons and was driving the Rovers before it as it advanced toward the center of the encampment. Cephelo was back on his feet, swaying unsteadily as he leaned against a wagon at one side and yelled encouragement to the defenders. Wil closed the distance between himself and the combatants until no more than twenty yards separated them. Raising his fist above his head, he willed forth the power of the Elfstones.

Nothing happened.

He experienced a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. The one thing he had feared most had come to pass—he could not control the power of the Elfstones. Allanon had been wrong. Only his grandfather could invoke their power, not he. They were not his to command. They would not obey him.

Yet they must! He tried again, concentrating on the feel of the Stones in his hand, calling down to the magic that lay buried somewhere within them. Still nothing. Yet this time he sensed something he had missed before—a barrier of some sort that blocked his efforts, a barrier somewhere within himself.

The shouts of the Rovers broke sharply through his thoughts, and he saw that the Demon was coming directly toward him. The defenders were behind the creature now, stabbing and thrusting with their weapons at its legs and flanks, trying to turn it from the Valeman. One massive arm swung out, knocking two men sprawling, and scattering the rest. The booming cough rolled out of its throat. Cephelo began hobbling frantically toward the battle, supporting himself with a broken pike, his dark clothing torn and covered with dust and blood. Wil saw them all as if they had been frozen in a single instant of still life, struggling as he did so to free the power that lay locked within the Elfstones. It did not occur to him to run; he simply stood there in the center of the Rover camp, a solitary figure with one arm raised to the night sky.

Then Eretria appeared from out of nowhere, darting forward, her slender form a shadow of sudden movement that flashed between the Demon and the Valeman, one brown hand hurtling a fiery torch into the monster’s face. The creature caught the burning stick of wood in its jaws, snapping at it reflexively—yet slowing as it did, as if somehow bothered by the fire and smoke. Taking advantage of its momentary hesitation, Eretria caught hold of Wil and began pulling him backward until both lost their footing, stumbled and went down. The Rover defenders rallied at once, snatching up
brands from the fire and throwing them at the Demon in an effort to confuse it. But the monster had already started forward again. Wil scrambled back to his feet hurriedly, pulling Eretria up with him. At that same moment Amberle reached his side, a long pike held firmly in both small hands as she prepared to defend them all. Wordlessly the Valeman grabbed her arm, pushed both women behind him, and turned to face the advancing Demon.