The Elves of Cintra (Book 2 of The Genesis of Shannara)

“Right behind you, Simralin Belloruus,” was the immediate response.

The answering voice was so close that Angel jumped despite herself. She wheeled about to find a solitary figure standing not three feet away. The nature of the speaker was not immediately identifiable. Male and grown, but the rest was a mystery. The face and body both were concealed by a long cloak and hood wrapped tightly about. A hand that was definitely human emerged from one sleeve and gestured.

“Heard you coming half a mile away.” The hand withdrew.

“You made a lot of noise for a Tracker.”

“Hiding our approach wasn’t my intention,” Simralin declared. “If I didn’t want you to know I was coming, you wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?” A small laugh drifted through the dark.

“Well, now that you’ve arrived, would you and your companions like to come inside and have something to eat?” There was a pause. “Traveled a long way to get here, didn’t you. Through the high desert, maybe? Not your usual route, Sim.” Another pause. “Um, a bath might be a good idea before you eat. Then straight to sleep. You all seem a bit used up.”

The speaker stepped around them carefully, started toward the cottage, and suddenly stopped short. “Oh, here’s something I almost missed!” The hand gestured toward Angel. “A human! Making friends with the enemy now, are we, Sim? Or is she something special?”

“This is Angel Perez,” Simralin replied, giving Angel a wink. “And she is something special. She is a Knight of the Word.”

“Ah, a bearer of the black staff. Pleased to meet you.” The hand extended, and Angel took it in her own. It was lean and hard. “And the boy? Is this your brother?”

“The very one. Kirisin.”

The hand extended again, and Kirisin gave it a quick shake.

“Larkin Quill. Now we all know who we are. Come inside.”

He took them through the shadows and gloom and the door of the cottage. The solitary light they had seen earlier burned from a smokeless lamp set on a table, but there were no other lights in evidence, and the little house was buried in darkness. Angel had to look carefully before moving so as not to bump into things. Kirisin wasn’t so fortunate and promptly ran into a chair.

“Put on some lights, Sim,” their host ordered. “Not everyone can see in the dark as well as I can.”

Simralin moved comfortably about the cottage, obviously familiar with its interior, lighting lamps with only a touch of her hand. Angel could see no power source and smell no fuel burning. She had never seen anything quite like it. She was also surprised by the deep, rich, loamy smell of the cottage, as if it were as much a part of the forest as the trees. She had even caught a strong whiff of that smell on Larkin.

But these were only small surprises compared with what followed. As the light chased back the dark, Larkin removed his hooded cloak and turned to face them. He was a lean Elf of indeterminate age with strong, sharp features and a shock of wild black hair. He looked strong and fit beneath his loose, well-worn clothing, and his slightly crooked smile was warm and welcoming.

But his eyes, flat and milky and fixed, caused Angel to take a quick breath.

Larkin Quill was blind.

“I can always tell when someone first notices,” he said to her. “There is a kind of momentary hush that is unmistakable. Isn’t that how it was with you, Sim?”

“That was how it was,” she agreed.

Angel was stunned. How could this man find his way about in the tangle of the forest so easily when he was blind? How had he been able to tell who they were or of what sex without being able to see them? How had he known they were dirty or had traveled far? Simralin gave her a knowing smile.

“Hard to believe, isn’t it? He takes great pleasure in showing off his skills.

He went blind about five years ago, but his other senses have compensated for it in an extraordinary way. He can see much better than you or I over short distances. Sometimes I wonder about the long distances, as well. He sees things that I don’t think sighted people even notice. That’s how he manages to live out here all by himself.”

“I was a Tracker like Sim,” Larkin said. “When I lost my sight, I lost my job. No one thought I could do it anymore. I wasn’t too pleased about that because I knew how well I could see. Better than they could, those who thought I had no further use. So I moved out here, away from everyone but the few like Sim who would take the trouble to come see me. It was my way of proving I was still whole, I suppose. Childish, in a way. But it suits me.”

He moved over to the tiny kitchen and without pausing or fumbling brought down glasses and poured out the contents of an ale jug until each was full.

“Long-range Trackers like myself know about Larkin,”