The Elf Queen of Shannara

Her reasonings fell apart about her like scraps of paper tumbled by the wind, a collapse of distant plans in the face of present needs. She looked about her at the rock and scrub, at the screen of Vog, and at the dark, bent forms of those who traveled with her. Staying alive was all she could afford to worry about for now.

The trek continued until it was nearing midday, and then Stresa brought them to an uncertain halt. Wren pushed forward from behind Garth to discover what was happening. The Splinterscat stood at the mouth of a cavern that burrowed ahead into the rock. To the right, the trail they followed continued sharply up the slope of the cliff face and disappeared into a tangle of vegetation.

“See, Wren of the Elves,” the Splinterscat said softly, bright eyes fixing on her. “We have a choice now. Phhfft! The trail winds ahead to the summit, but it is slow and difficult from here—sssppptt—not clear at all. The tunnel opens into a series of lava tubes formed by the ppbhhtt fire of the volcano years ago. I have traveled them. They, too, lead to the summit.”

Wren knelt. “Which is your choice?”

“Rwwll. There are dangers both ways.”

“There are dangers everywhere.” She dismissed his demurral. About her, the haze swirled and twisted against the island’s thick growth, as if seeking its own way. “We rely on you to lead us, Stresa,” she reminded him. “Choose.”

The Splinterscat hissed his discontent. “The tunnels, then. Phhfftt!” The bulky body swung about and back again. The spikes lifted and fell. “We need light.”

While Triss went off in search of suitable torch wood, the remainder of the company rummaged through backpacks and pockets for rags and tinder. Gavilan had the latter, Eowen the former. They placed them carefully inside the tunnel entrance and sat down to eat while waiting for Triss to return.

“Did you sleep?” Eowen asked softly, seating herself beside Wren. She kept her gaze carefully averted.

“No,” Wren answered truthfully. “I couldn’t.”

“Nor I. It was as difficult to speak the words as it was to hear them.”

“I know that.”

The red hair shimmered damply as the pale face lifted into view. “I have had a vision—the first since leaving Arborlon.”

Wren turned to meet the seer’s gaze and was frightened by what she saw there. “Tell me.”

Eowen shook her head, a barely perceptible movement. “Only because it is necessary to warn you,” she whispered. She leaned in so that only Wren could hear. “In my vision, you stood alone atop a rise. It was clear that you were on Morrowindl. You held the Ruhk Staff and the Elfstones, but you could not use them. The others, those here, myself included, were black shadows cast upon the earth. Something approached you, huge and dangerous, yet you were not afraid—it was as if you welcomed it. Perhaps you did not realize that it threatened. There was a glint of bright silver, and you hastened to embrace it.”

She paused, and her breath seemed to catch in her throat. “You must not do that, Wren. When it happens, remember.”

Wren nodded, feeling numb and empty inside. “I will remember.”

“I’m sorry,” Eowen whispered. She hesitated a moment, like a hunted creature brought to bay with nowhere left to flee, then rose and swiftly moved away. Poor Eowen, Wren thought. She looked after the seer a moment, thinking. Then she beckoned to Garth. The big man came at once, eyes questioning, already reading her concern. She shifted so that only he could see her.

Eowen has had, a vision of her own death, she signed, not bothering to speak the words this time. Garth showed nothing. Watch out for her, will you? Try to keep her safe?

Garth’s fingers gestured. I don’t like what I see in her eyes.

Wren sighed, then nodded. Neither do I. Just do the best you can.

Triss returned a few moments later bearing two hunks of dry wood that he had managed to salvage from somewhere on the rain-soaked slopes. He glanced over his shoulder as he approached. “There is movement below,” he advised them, passing one of the pieces to Dal. “Something is climbing toward us.”