Ilse Witch

He passed his hand before the casing, and it was as if the side they were facing melted away. Within the blackness revealed, suspended blade downward, was a sword. The sword was slender and its metal shone a deep-bluish silver against the surrounding dark. The handle was old and worn, but finely wrought. Carved into its polished wooden grip was a fist that clenched and thrust aloft a burning torch.

“This is the Sword of Shannara, Bek,” the Druid whispered, bending close so that his words would carry no farther than the boy’s ears. “This, too, is your legacy. It is the birthright of the descendants of the Elven King Jerle Shannara, for whom this vessel is named. Only a member of the Shannara bloodline can wield this blade. Ohmsfords, who were the last of the Shannara, have carried this sword into battle against the Warlock Lord and the Shadowen. They have used it to champion the freedom of the races for more than a thousand years.”

He touched Bek’s shoulder lightly. “Now it is your turn.”

Bek knew the stories. He knew them all, just as he knew the history of the Druids and the Wars of the Races and all the rest. No one had seen this talisman in over five hundred years, when Shea Ohmsford stood against the Warlock Lord and destroyed him—though there were rumors it had resurfaced in the battle with the Shadowen. Rumors, the Druid’s words would suggest, that were true.

“The sword is a talisman for truth, Bek. It was forged to defend against lies that enslave and conceal. It is a powerful talisman, an1d it requires strength of will and heart to wield. It needs a bearer who will not shrink from the pain and doubt and fear that embracing the truth sometimes engenders. You are a worthy successor to those others of your family who have been called to the sword’s service. You are strong and determined. Much of what I exposed you to on this voyage was meant to measure that. I will be frank with you. Without your help, without the Sword’s power to aid us, we are probably lost.”

He turned back to the casing and passed his hand in front of it once more. The Sword of Shannara disappeared, and the wrappings of canvas and chains were restored.

Bek continued staring at them, as if still seeing the talisman they concealed. “You’re giving the Sword of Shannara to me?”

The Druid nodded.

The boy’s voice was shaking as he spoke. “Walker, I don’t know if I can—”

“No, Bek,” the Druid interrupted him quickly, gently. “Say nothing tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough. There is much to discuss, and we will do so then. You’ll have questions, and I will do my best to answer them. We will work together to prepare for what will happen when it is necessary for you to summon the sword’s magic.”

Bek’s eyes shifted anxiously, and the Druid met the question mirrored there with a reassuring smile. “Not against your sister, though one day you might have to use it in that way. No, this first time the magic will serve another purpose. If I have read the map correctly, Bek, the Sword of Shannara is the key to our gaining entry into Ice Henge.”

TWENTY-SEVEN





Come daybreak, Bek rose and went about his morning duties as cabin boy in something of a daze, still struggling with the previous night’s revelations, when the Druid intercepted him coming out of Rue Meridian’s cabin and told him to follow. It was an hour after sunrise, and Bek had dressed and eaten breakfast. He still had tasks to perform, but Walker’s summons didn’t leave room for discussion on the matter.

They climbed topside and walked forward to the bow railing, very close to where they had stood the night before. The sky around them was unchanged, gray and misted and impenetrable. Everywhere Bek looked, right or left, up or down, the color and light were the same. Visibility was still limited to thirty feet or so. Those of the ship’s company already on deck had the look of ghosts, ethereal and not quite fully formed. Redden Alt Mer stood in the pilot box with Furl Hawken, two Rovers were at work aft, braiding new ends on the portside radian draws, and Quentin sparred with the Elven Hunters on the foredeck under Ard Patrinell’s steady gaze. No one looked up as Bek passed or acted as if anything about the boy had changed, even though in his mind everything had.

“To begin with, you are still Bek Rowe,” Walker told him when they were seated together on a casing filled with light sheaths. “You are not to use the name Ohmsford. It is too recognizable, and you don’t want to draw unneeded attention to yourself.”

Bek nodded. “All right.”

“Also, I don’t want you to tell anyone what you’ve told me or what you’ve learned from me about your magic, your history, or the Sword of Shannara. Not even Quentin. Not one word.”

He waited. Bek nodded once more.

“Finally, you are not to forget that you are here to serve as my eyes and ears, to listen and keep watch. That wasn’t an idle assignment, meant to give you something to do until it was time to tell you who you were. Your magic gives you powers of observation that are lacking in most. I still need you to use those talents. They are no less important now than they were before.”