The Elf Queen of Shannara

“I could use a little help,” Wren admitted. “What would it hurt you to give it to me, Tiger Ty?”


He ceased his ruminations and rocked back thoughtfully. “Well, now, you’ve got a point there, Miss Wren,” he replied, nodding in agreement with himself “Besides, I sort of like what I see in you. My son could use a little of what you’ve got. On the other hand, maybe that’s what he’s already got too much of! Humph!”

He cocked his head and his sharp eyes fixed her. “Out there,” he said, pointing to the Blue Divide. “That’s where they are, the ones that are left.” He paused, scowling. “It’s a long story, so make certain you listen close because I don’t intend to repeat myself. You, too, big fellow.” He indicated Garth with a menacing finger.

Then he took a deep breath and sat back. “Long time ago, better than a hundred years, the Land Elves held a council and decided to migrate out of the Westland. Don’t ask me why; I don’t pretend to know. The Federation, mostly, I’d guess. Pushing in, taking over, pretending everything that ever was or ever would be belonged to them. And blaming everything on the magic and saying it was all the fault of the Elves. Lot of nonsense. Land Elves didn’t like it in any case and decided to leave. Problem was, where could they go? Wasn’t as if there was anywhere a whole people could move to without upsetting someone already settled in. Eastland, Southland, Northland—all taken. So they asked us. Sky Elves get around more than most, see places others don’t even know exist. So we said to them, well, there’s some islands out there in the Blue Divide that no one lives on, and they thought it over, talked about it, took a few flights out on the Rocs with Wing Riders, and came to a decision. They picked a gathering spot, built boats—hundreds of them, all in secret—and off they went.”

“All of them?”

“Every last one, so I’m told. Sailed away.”

“To live on the islands?” Wren asked, incredulous.

“One island.” Tiger Ty held up a single finger for emphasis. “Morrowindl.”

“That was its name? Morrowindl?”

The other nodded. “Biggest of all the islands, better than two hundred miles across, ideal for farming, something like the Sarandanon already planted. Fruits, vegetables, trees, good soil, shelter—everything. Hunting was good, too. The Land Elves had some notion about starting over, taking themselves out of the old world, and beginning again in the new. Isolate themselves all over again, let the other races do what they wanted with themselves. Wanted their magic back, too—that was part of it.”

He cleared his throat. “As I said, that was a long time ago. After a while, we migrated, too. Not so far, you understand—just to the islands offshore, just far enough away to keep the Federation from hunting us. Elves are Elves to them. We’d had enough of that kind of thinking. Not so many of us to make the move, of course; not like the Land Elves. We needed less space and could settle for the smaller islands. That’s where we still are, Miss Wren. Out there, couple miles offshore. Only come back to the mainland when it’s necessary—like when someone lights a signal fire. That was the agreement we made.”

“Agreement with whom?”

“With the Land Elves. A few who remained behind of the other races knew to light the fire if there was need to talk to us. And a few of the Elves came back over the years. So some knew about the fire. But most have long since died. This Addershag—I don’t know how she found out.”

“Back up a moment, Tiger Ty,” Wren requested, holding out her hands placatingly. “Finish your story about the Land Elves first. What happened to them? You said they migrated more than a hundred years ago. What became of them after that?”