The Elf Queen of Shannara

Wren stared, then glanced hurriedly over at Garth, who for once appeared as surprised as she was. How could this creature talk? She turned back again. “What do you mean, I share some responsibility?”


“Rrrowwwggg. I mean, you’re an Elf, aren’t you?”

“Well, no, as a matter of fact I’m not. I’m a . . .” She hesitated. She had been about to say she was a Rover. But the truth was she was at least part Elf. Wasn’t that how the creature had identified her—by her Elven features? She frowned. How did it know of Elves anyway?

“Who are you?” she asked.

The creature appraised her silently for a moment, blue eyes unblinking. When he spoke, its voice was a low growl. “Stresa.”

“Stresa,” she repeated. “Is that your name?”

The creature nodded.

“My name is Wren. This is my friend Garth.”

“Hssttt. You are an Elf,” Stresa repeated, and the cat face furrowed. “But you are not from Morrowindl.”

“No,” she responded. She put her hands on her hips, puzzled. “How did you know that?”

The blue eyes squinted slightly. “You don’t recognize me. You don’t know what I am. Hrrrrowwl. If you lived on Morrowindl, you would.”

Wren nodded. “What are you, then?”

“A Splinterscat,” the creature answered. He growled deep in his throat. “That is what we are called, the few of us who remain. Part of this and part of that, but mostly something else altogether. Puurrft.”

“And how is it that you know about Elves? Are there still Elves living here?”

The Splinterscat regarded her coolly, patient within his snare. “If you help me get free,” he replied, his rough voice a low purr, “I will answer your questions.”

Wren hesitated, undecided.

“Fffppht! You had better hurry,” he advised. “Before the Wisteron comes.”

Wisteron? Wren glanced again at Garth, signing to indicate what Stresa had said. Garth made a brief response.

Wren turned back. “How do we know you won’t hurt us?” she asked the Splinterscat.

“Harrrwl. If you are not from Morrowindl and you have come this far, then you are more dangerous than I,” he answered, coming as close as he probably could to laughing. “Hurry, now. Use your long knives to cut the webbing. The edge of the blade only; keep the flat turned away.” The strange creature paused, and for the first time she saw a hint of desperation in its eyes. “There isn’t much time. If you help me—hrroww—perhaps I can help you in return.”

Wren signed to Garth, and they moved over to where the Splinterscat was bound, careful to avoid triggering any of the snares still in place. Working quickly, they sliced through the strands entangling the creature and then backed away. Stresa stepped over the fallen webbing gingerly and eased past them to where the ground was firm. He spread his quills and shook himself violently. Both Wren and Garth flinched at the sudden movement, but no quills flew at them. The Splinterscat was merely shaking loose the last of the webbing clinging to his body. He began preening himself, then stopped when he remembered they were watching.

“Thank you,” he said in his low, rough voice. “If you had not freed me, I would have died. Grrwwll. The Wisteron would have eaten me.”

“The Wisteron?” Wren asked.

The Splinterscat laid back its quills, ignoring the question. “You should already be dead yourself,” he declared. The cat face furrowed once more. “Pffftt!” he spit. “You are either very lucky or you have the protection of magic. Which is it?”

Wren took a moment to respond. “You promised to answer my questions, Stresa. Tell me of the Elves.”

The Splinterscat bunched itself up and sat down. He was bigger than he had looked in the snare, more the size of a dog than the cat or porcupine he looked. “The Elves,” he said, the growl creeping back into his voice, “live inland, high on the slopes of Killeshan in the city of Arborlon—hrrowggh—where the demons have them trapped.”

“Demons?” Wren asked, immediately thinking of those that had been shut away within the Forbidding by the Ellcrys. They had already broken free once in the time of Wil Ohmsford. Had they done so again? “What do these demons look like?” she pressed.

“Sssssttt! Like lots of different things. What difference does it make? The point is, the Elves made them and now they can’t get rid of them. Pfft! Too bad for the Elves. The magic of the Keel fails now. It won’t be long before everything goes.”

The Splinterscat waited while Wren wrestled with this latest news. There was still too much she didn’t understand. “The Elves made the demons?” she repeated in confusion.

“Years ago. When they didn’t know any better.”

“But . . . made them from what?”

Stresa’s tongue licked out, a dark violet against its brown face. “Why did you come here—grrwll? Why are you looking for the Elves?”