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

“Witch!” the demon cried, turning and kicking out at her.

But she caught its leg, wrapped her arms about its ankles, and pulled it toward her. Her face was rigid with concentration beneath the mask of blood that coated it, her strong muscles knotting with the effort of holding the demon fast. But the demon, for all that it looked to be a frail old man, was more powerful than she, and it tore itself away. It kicked at her again, and this time it did not miss, catching her in the face, snapping her head back. Kirisin heard her grunt with pain as she rolled away and lay still.

Hobbling, the demon went after her.

“Culph!” Kirisin cried out.

The demon turned, wild-eyed with rage. As it did so, Kirisin snatched the blue Elfstones from his pocket and held them out. He had just enough presence of mind to remember what they could do. A weapon even demons must respect, his enemy had told him. He gripped the Stones in his fist and pointed them toward the demon, envisioning what it was he wanted. The demon’s reaction was instantaneous. It shrank from him, wheeling away with arms raised to ward him off. Kirisin felt a rush of fierce satisfaction flood through him.

“Stupid boy!” the demon shrieked, hands making quick, sharp movements in the gloom.

Too late. The blue fire lanced out, enfolding the demon in a bright shroud of flame. The demon screamed, trying to fight off the flames and failing. It began to burn, clothes and flesh first and then whatever lay beneath. It thrashed in vain as the fire consumed it. Kirisin did not relent; he kept the fire trained on it, kept the power of the Elfstones strong and steady and focused. Old Culph disappeared. Anything vaguely Elven disappeared.

What remained was skeletal and as black as night, a child’s drawing of a monster.

Then even that was gone, consumed and rendered to a fine ash, a sediment that floated on the air in the haze of the torchlight, drifting in tiny flakes until finally settling on the ice and snow of the cavern floor, tiny leavings of a virulent plague finally overcome.

Kirisin lowered his arm. “That was for Erisha,” he whispered. “That was for Ailie. That was for Sim and Angel and everyone you ever touched with your black lying words!”

He was shaking with rage and near collapse. He thought he could feel his heart breaking with the memories his words conjured. There were tears in his eyes and bitterness in his mouth that he thought he would taste forever.

In the chill silence of the ice caves, he hugged himself to keep from falling apart.





Chapter THIRTY-THREE


TWILIGHT ON THE ROAD.

Panther walked point with Sparrow, his dark eyes following the descent of the sun as it dropped below the rim of the horizon south. The moon was already up, a three-quarter-full white orb against the gray, hazy sky.

Rolling hills turned brown and barren from drought and poisons flanked them in their passage, stark and empty save for small clusters of buildings that surfaced here and there like burrowing animals come up for a cautious look around.

Farther away, beyond the hills, mountain peaks loomed black and jagged.

Panther glanced behind him. Catalya walked a few yards back, her mottled face shadowed within the hood of her cloak, her eyes lowered to the freeway they traveled. Rabbit bounced along in front of her, circling back when she got too far ahead. Behind them and much farther back, Fixit drove the Lightning ATV. Owl and River were inside the cab with him, keeping watch over the comatose Knight of the Word. The rest of the Ghosts rode the hay wagon, bundled in among their dwindling stores of food and meager possessions, keeping watch as the shadows lengthened.

The end of the day was silent save for the low hum of the ATV’s solar-powered engine, the soft hiss of rubber tires on concrete, and the whisper of a light wind.

Panther found himself thinking of Logan Tom for what must have been the hundredth time in the past hour. Saving him from Krilka Koos and his stump-head followers was one thing. Saving him from himself was another. He hadn’t seemed that bad when they brought him back to the others, hadn’t seemed as if he were that damaged. Then, all at once, he wasn’t there anymore.

He kicked at the surface of the roadway. “Can’t nobody do nothing to bring him out of this?” he asked Sparrow suddenly.

She glanced over, shaking her blond head. She looked tired.

“He has to wake up on his own, when he’s ready.”

“But he hasn’t moved in two days! He doesn’t eat or drink.

Man can’t live long like that, you know?”

“I know. But that’s the way it is with these things. He’s hurt pretty bad, so he’s gone somewhere inside himself to try to heal. He just isn’t done with that yet.” She shrugged. “Besides, Owl is doing what she can for him.