The Elf Queen of Shannara

“Go left, it says,” the Splinterscat translated, the words a low growl in its throat.

They did as the Tree Squeak advised, moving into the vog. The last of the daylight faded away and darkness closed about. The only light came from far ahead, an odd white glow that shimmered faintly through the haze. They were forced to slow, to grope ahead in the darter pockets, to pause and listen and then judge where it was safe to venture. The demons seemed to be ahead of them—massed, Wren was willing to bet, between themselves and their destination.

She discovered soon enough that she had guessed right. The company crested a rise on a slide of lava rock thick with withered scrub, and abruptly the mist cleared. Quickly they flattened themselves into the brush. Hunched close together in the shadows, they stared out at what lay before them.

Arborlon stood on a rise less than a mile ahead and was itself the source of the strange glow. The glow emanated from a massive wall that ringed the city, pulsing faintly against the mist and clouds. All about, the demons pressed close, shadows that slipped in and out of the vog and mist, faceless, formless wraiths caught momentarily in the glare of fires that burned from fissures in the earth where spouts of molten lava had broken through. Jets of steam filled the air with ash and heat and turned the charred earth into a ghostly, fiery netherworld. Demon growls disappeared into rumblings that rose from deep within the earth where the volcano’s molten core churned and tossed. In the distance, looming high above the city and the wraiths that besieged it, Killeshan’s maw steamed, jagged and threatening, a fire monster waiting to feast.

Wren’s eyes shifted from the besieged city to the ruined landscape in shock. That the Elves could have allowed themselves to be trapped in a world such as this was beyond belief. She felt herself go hollow with fear and loathing. How could this have come about? The Elves were healers, trained from the moment of their birth to restore life, to keep the land and its living things whole. What had prevented that here? Arborlon was an island within its walls—its people somehow preserved, somehow still able to sustain themselves—while the world without had become a nightmare.

She bent close to Stresa. “How long have things been like this?”

The Splinterscat hissed. “Fffpphtt! Years. The Elves have been barricaded away for as long as any of us can remember, hiding behind their magic. Ssstttppp! See the light that rises from the wall that shields them? Mmssst. That is their protection!”

The Tree Squeak chittered softly, causing her to turn. Stresa grunted. “Hwrrrll. The Squeak says the light weakens and the magic fails. Not much time left before it goes out completely.”

Wren stared out again at the carnage. Not much time, she repeated to herself. Shades, there could be little doubt of that. She experienced a sudden sense of futility. What was the point of her search now? She had come to Morrowindl to find the Elves and return them to the world of Men—Allanon’s charge to her at the Hadeshorn. But how could the Elves ever return out of this? Surely they would have done so long ago if it were at all possible. Yet here they remained, ringed all about. She took a deep breath. Why had Allanon sent her here? What was she supposed to do?

A great sadness filled her. What if the Elves were lost? The Elves were all that was left of the world of faerie, all that remained of the first people, of the magic that had given life when life began. They had done so much to bring the Four Lands into being when the Great Wars ended and the old ways were lost. All of the children of Shannara had come from Elven blood; all of the struggles that had been waged to preserve the Races had been won by them. It seemed impossible that it could all be relegated to history’s scroll, that nothing would remain of the Elves but the stories.

Myths and legends, she reflected—the way it is now.

She thought again of the promise she had made to herself to learn the truth about her parents, to find out who they were and why they had left her. And what of the Elfstones? She had vowed to discover why they had been given to her. Her fingers lifted to trace the outline of the leather bag about her neck. She had not thought of the Elfstones since they had begun their ascent of Blackledge. She had not even thought to use the magic when they were threatened. She shook her head. But then why should she? Look how much good the magic had done the Elves.

She felt Garth’s hand on her shoulder and saw the questioning look in his eyes. He was wondering what she intended to do. She found herself wondering the same thing.

Go home, a voice whispered inside her. Give this madness up.

Part of her agreed. It was madness, and she had no reason to be here beyond foolish curiosity and stubborn insistence. Look at how little her skills and her training could help her in this business. She was lucky she had gotten this far. She was lucky even to be alive.