The Sword of Shannara Trilogy the Sword of Shannara Trilogy

  The Druid nodded. “You will see why, Flick, once I have explained what has happened in the Four Lands these past few days. Listen closely to me, Valemen.”

  He edged his chair closer to the table and leaned forward. “A long time ago, a very long time ago, before the Great Wars and the evolution of the new races, even before the development of Man as a civilized species, there was a terrible war fought between creatures that, for the most part, no longer exist. Some of these creatures were good and caring; they revered the land and sought to protect and preserve it against misuse and waste. For them, all life was sacred. But there were others who were evil and selfish; their ways were destructive and harmful. They took from the land and from its life without need or purpose. All were creatures whose physical characteristics and capabilities differed in the main from your own—that is to say, their appearance was different from yours, and they were capable of behavior no longer innate to the men of this world. In particular, they possessed to varying degrees powers of magic—at least, we would call it magic or sorcery or the mystic. Such power was common at that time, though some among these creatures possessed the power to a greater extent than others; thus their capacity for good or evil was enhanced proportionately. All of these creatures, both good and evil, existed together in the world and, because Man had not yet developed beyond a primitive life form existing within a narrow geographical space, the world was theirs alone. It had been so for centuries. But their existence together had never been harmonious. They lived in continuing conflict, for they worked at cross-purposes—the good to preserve, the evil to destroy. From time to time the balance of power between the conflicting sides would shift, as first the good and then the evil would dominate the drift of things.

  “The struggle between them intensified through the years until finally, after centuries had passed without resolution of the conflict, the leaders in each camp banded together all who supported them, and the war began. This was not a war the like of which we have seen since. This was not a war on the order of the Great Wars, for the Great Wars employed power of such awesome proportion that the men who wielded it lost control entirely and were engulfed in the resulting cataclysm. Rather it was a war in which power and strength were skillfully employed at each turn—in which the creatures involved stood toe to toe in battle and lived and died on the skill they wielded. This was like the Wars of the Races, which have dominated the history of the new world; in the Race Wars, the Warlock Lord perverted the thinking of those who served him, turning them against one another so that in the end he might enslave and rule them all. But in this war, there was never any deceit or illusion that swayed those who fought it. Good and evil were polarized from the beginning; no one stood aside in neutrality for there were no neutral corners to be found. This was a war fought to determine forever the character and mode of evolution of life on the earth across which it was waged. It was a war that would decide whether the land would be forever preserved or forever desecrated. Each camp had resolved once and for all to achieve total victory over the other. For the creatures of evil, if they were defeated, it meant banishment; for the creatures of good, if they lost, it meant annihilation.

  “So the war was fought—a terrible, monstrous war that I will not even attempt to describe, for there would be no point in doing so. For our purposes here it is only important that you know that the evil ones were defeated. Their power was broken and they were driven back and finally trapped. Those who had defeated them used their powers to create a Forbidding, a wall of imprisonment behind which the evil was to be placed. Their prison was not of this world nor any world, but a black hole of emptiness and isolation where nothing but the evil would be permitted to exist. Into this hole the evil was banished, sealed away behind the wall of the Forbidding for all time.

  “The strength behind the Forbidding was a marvelous tree called an Ellcrys. The creatures of good created the Ellcrys out of the earth’s life source, which they called the Bloodfire, and out of their own power. They gave her life so that, by her presence in the world, the Forbidding might endure long after they themselves were gone, long after the world they had struggled so long and desperately to preserve had altered and evolved beyond any recognition. Her life span was not to be measured by any standard that they possessed. But so long as she lived, the Forbidding continued, and so long as the Forbidding continued, the evil would remain shut within its prison.”

  He settled back in his chair, easing his tall frame gingerly away from the table to relieve cramped muscles, his arms slipping down into his lap. His dark eyes stayed locked on those of the Valemen.

  “It was believed that the Ellcrys would live forever—not by those who gave her life, for they knew that all things must eventually pass away—but by those who followed them, by all who nurtured and loved and honored this wondrous tree that was their protector for countless centuries. For them, the Ellcrys became a symbol of permanency; she survived the destruction of the old world in the holocaust of the Great Wars, she survived the Race Wars and the power of the Warlock Lord, and she survived after every other living thing that had existed with her had passed away—everything but the earth herself, and even the earth had changed while the Ellcrys had remained constant.”

  He paused. “So the legend grew. The Ellcrys would live forever. It was eternal. That belief never faltered.” His face lifted slightly. “Until now. Now the belief is shattered. The Ellcrys is dying. The Forbidding begins to erode. The evil ones imprisoned within begin to break free once more and come back into this world that was once theirs.”

  “And these creatures caused your injuries?” Wil surmised.

  Allanon nodded. “Some already walk the Four Lands. Though I thought to keep my presence secret, they have discovered me. They found me at Paranor within the Druid’s Keep and very nearly finished me.”

  Flick looked alarmed. “Are they still searching for you?”

  “They are—but I have reason to believe that they won’t be so quick to find me this time.”

  “That doesn’t reassure me much,” the Valeman grumbled, glancing toward the doorway of the little room a bit apprehensively.

  Allanon let the remark pass. “You may remember, Flick, that I once told to Shea and to you the history of the races. I told you how all of the races evolved from the old race of Man following the destruction wrought by the Great Wars—all of the races but one. The Elves. I told you that the Elves were always there. Do you remember?”

  Flick grunted. “I remember. That was something else you never explained.”

  “I said that theirs was another story for another time. That time is now—in part, at least, though I don’t propose to digress on the history of the Elven people at any great length. But some things you should know. We have spoken only in the abstract of the creatures that fought this war of good and evil that culminated in the creation of the Ellcrys. We must give them identity. All were creatures that became part of the old legends of faerie when men emerged from the darkness of barbarism and began to populate and build upon the world. They were creatures of magics, as I have said, both great and small. There were diverse species—some all good, some all bad, some whose individual peoples divided and went in opposite ways. They had names that you will recognize—Faeries, Sprites, Goblins, Wraiths, and the like. The new races, though human in ancestry, were named from four of the more numerous and best recorded of these creatures of supposed legend—Dwarves, Gnomes, Trolls and Elves. Except, of course, that the Elves are different. They are different because they are not simply a legend reborn—they are the legend survived. The Elven people are the descendants of the faerie creatures that existed in the old world.”

  “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 break through. 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 hav
e 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?”