The Sword of Shannara Trilogy (160 page)

Wil moved over beside Amberle and they watched in silence as the Rover girl knelt beside Wisp and cradled the sobbing Elf in her arms. Whispering softly, she held him close against her and stroked the furry head. Long moments passed and finally Wisp stopped crying. His head lifted slightly.

“Pretty thing?”

“It’s all right, Wisp.”

“Pretty thing take care of Wisp?”

“I’ll take care of you.” She gave Wil a stern look. “No one will hurt you.”

“Not hurt Wisp?” The wizened face lifted to find her own. “Promise?”

Eretria gave him a reassuring smile. “I promise. But you have to help us, Wisp. Will you do that? Will you help us?”

The little fellow nodded eagerly. “Help you, pretty thing. Good Wisp.”

“Good Wisp, indeed,” Eretria agreed. Then she bent close to him. “But we have to hurry, Wisp. The Demon—the one that followed us into the Hollows—it still hunts for us. If it finds us, it will hurt us, Wisp.”

Wisp shook his head. “Not let it hurt Wisp, pretty one.”

“No, it won’t hurt you, Wisp—not if we hurry.” She stroked his cheek. “But we have to find this mountain—Healer, what is it called?”

“Spire’s Reach,” Wil offered.

She nodded. “Spire’s Reach. Can you show us how to get there, Wisp? Can you take us there?”

Wisp glanced uncertainly at Wil, then past him to the burning tower. His eyes remained fixed on the tower for a moment, then shifted back to Eretria.

“I will take you, pretty one.”

Eretria rose and took the little fellow’s hand. “Don’t worry, now. I’ll take care of you, Wisp.”

As they moved past Wil, the Rover girl winked. “I told you that you needed me, Healer.”

They melted into the gloom of the forest. Wisp led, slipping eel-like through the mist and the tangle of the woods, Eretria’s hand gripped firmly in his own. Hebel followed with Drifter, then Wil with Amberle, his arm about her waist to lend support as she limped along gamely beside him. But almost immediately, the others began to widen the distance between them; in trying to catch up, Amberle stumbled and went down. Wil did not hesitate. He simply picked up the Elven girl and went on, cradling her in his arms. To his surprise, Amberle did not protest. He had expected that she would, so fiercely self-reliant had she been throughout their journey. But she was quiet now, her head resting on his shoulder, her arms draped loosely about his neck. Not a single word passed between them.

Wil pondered her behavior momentarily, then his mind was racing on to other matters. Already he was working on a plan for their escape—not just from the Hollows, but from the Reaper as well. For it did them no good to escape from the Hollows, if they did not escape from the Reaper as well. Certainly the Hollows were dangerous, but it was the Reaper that really frightened Wil—a relentless hunter that nothing seemed able to stop, a creature that defied the laws of reason and probability and simply pushed
aside the obstacles that hindered its search for the fragile woman-child the Valeman carried. He knew he must not let it find her. Even the Elfstones, could he find a way to unlock their awesome power, might not be enough to stop this creature. They must escape it, and they must escape it quickly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They moved ahead cautiously. Gradually their eyes began to adjust, and they could see that the cavern ran well back into the core of Spire’s Reach, its roof and walls far beyond the glow of the lamps. The floor of the cavern was uneven, but free of obstructions, and they walked deep into the blackness. At last Wisp brought them to the rear wall of the cavern. Before them were a series of openings, little more than narrow clefts in the rock, one very much like another, splitting the cavern wall and disappearing from view.

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

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

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

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

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

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