The Elf Queen of Shannara

“Tell me the rest of how you came to Arborlon,” the queen said softly, “and I will tell you what you are so anxious to know. Do not be concerned with Eowen. Eowen already knows everything that matters.”


So Wren related the balance of what had occurred on her journey, all that involved the wolf thing that was Shadowen and the discovery of the truth about the painted stones that her mother had given her as a child. When she was done, when she had told them everything, she folded her arms protectively, feeling chilled by her own words, at the memories they invoked. Then, impulsively, she rose and walked to where her discarded clothing lay. Searching hurriedly through the tattered pieces, she came upon the Elfstones, still tucked inside where she had left them after entering the city. She carried them to the queen and held them forth. “Here,” she offered. “Take them.”

But Ellenroh Elessedil shook her head; “No, Wren.” She closed Wren’s fingers over the Elfstones and guided her hand to a pocket of the sleeping gown. “You keep them for me,” she whispered.

For the first time, Eowen Cerise spoke. “You have been very brave, Wren.” Her voice was low and compelling. “Most would not have been able to overcome the obstacles you faced. You are indeed your mother’s child.”

“I see so much of Alleyne in her,” the queen agreed, her eyes momentarily distant. Then she straightened, fixing her gaze on Wren once more. “And you have been brave indeed. Allanon was right in choosing you. But it was predetermined that you should come, so I suppose that he was only fulfilling Eowen’s promise.”

She saw the confusion in Wren’s eyes and smiled. “I know, child. I speak in riddles. You have been very patient with me, and it has not been easy. You are anxious to hear of your mother and to discover why it is that you are here. Very well.”

The smile softened. “Three generations before my own birth, while the Elves still lived within the Westland, several members of the Ohmsford family, direct descendants of Jair Ohmsford, decided to migrate to Arborlon. Their decision, as I understand it, was prompted by the encroachment of the Federation on Southland villages like Shady Vale and the beginnings of the witch hunt to suppress magic. There were three of these Ohmsfords, and they brought with them the Elfstones. One died childless. Two married, but when the Elves chose to disappear only one of the two went with them. The second, I was told, a man, returned to Shady Vale with his wife. That would have been Par and Coll Ohmsfords’ great-grandparents. The Ohmsford who remained was a woman, and she kept with her the Elfstones.”

Ellenroh paused. “The Elfstones, Wren, as you know, were formed in the beginning by Elven magic and could be used only by those with Elven blood. The Elven blood had been bred out of the Ohmsfords in the years since the death of Brin and Jair, and they were of no particular use to those Ohmsfords who kept custody of them. They decided therefore at some point and by mutual agreement that the Stones belonged back with the people who had made them—or, more properly, I suppose, with their descendants. So when the three who came from Shady Vale married and began their new lives, it was natural enough for them to decide that the Elfstones, a trust to the Ohmsford family from Allanon since the days of their ancestor Shea, should remain with the Elves no matter what became of them personally.