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

Smiling did not seem to come naturally to Culph, and it must have cost him something to do so now. But at least he was showing some interest in their efforts, thought Kirisin.

“Everything I just told you is contained in the histories, and I am certain you would have found it all by yourself.” The old man frowned.

“It would have taken you more than one night, perhaps. It took me two days just to reread it all after the King asked me to look into the matter, and I had already read all the histories at least several times before!”

He paused again. “The thing of it is, knowing all of it doesn’t help you at all. The histories are only part of our lore, only a small piece of our recorded knowledge. There are other sources, too. Books that are not a part of the histories. Books that give us little-known information and unexpected insights. These books are also housed in this library, but they are not well read and not paid attention to. Most are rarely even opened.”

He paused. “Some have never been opened by anyone living.

Except for me.”

“What did you find?” Erisha asked eagerly.

“Not so fast, missy,” the old man snapped, patting the air in front of him with the palms of his hands. “Haven’t you learned anything about the value of patience?”

But Erisha wasn’t the least bit interested in learning about the value of patience. Nor was Kirisin feeling particularly patient either, at this point. They were eager to hear what the old man knew that he hadn’t told them. And waiting for him to reveal it was torture. “So there was something in one of these books?” he pressed.

Culph gave him another of those dreadful smiles.

“Something, indeed. A very important reference to the blue Elfstones you seek.

Let’s have a look.”

He rose, disappeared into the gloom for a few minutes, and then returned with a slim, worn book bound in leather that was cracked and faded. “A diary,” he said. “One of any number kept by various scribes over the centuries. They are stored in bins at the very back of the room. This one is an unofficial recording of a royal family’s life and death, written thousands of years ago by a man who served as their personal assistant. I call it a diary because it is this man’s private recollections, not recorded for official use, but as a personal undertaking. I found it some time ago when I was reorganizing the library, but didn’t pay much attention to it. When the matter of the Elfstones was raised by your father, I remembered it. After quite a search, I unearthed what I am about to read to you.”

He sat down between them and opened the book carefully, turning to the very last page. “It is written in an ancient language, an old dialect of Elfish, so my translation is a bit rough. But this is the gist of what it says:“I helped bury Pancea Rolt Cruer on this day, Queen to her people and mother of a family that has served the Elves long and well. With her passing, I resign my post and retire to the Hibbling Auer to live out the rest of my life. Then something, something, I can’t be sure. This entry shall be my last. She rests in the depths of Ashenell with the Stones sewn in her clothing, the decision her own, made years ago at the start of her reign. It was accepted thinking by then that the old magic had outlived its usefulness, that the time of Faerie was of the past and the time of Man was of the present and quite possibly the future. Magic gives way to science, and that path is different from our own. It was the Queen’s firm belief that use of magic now only places our people in danger. She would not be a part of that. But the decision was arrived at without consultation and in secret, and a record should beset out for those who come after. Something, something more. The world changes, and no one knows what the future holds. I leave it thus.”

The old man looked up, his wizened face expectant. “It ends there. Nothing more. But it tells us where the Elfstones are. Sewn into the clothing of a dead Queen, who lies buried somewhere in Ashenell.”

“The burial ground for our dead!” exclaimed Erisha excitedly. “All we need to do is to go there and find her tomb!”

“Yes, simple enough, it would seem,” Culph replied with a grimace. “I thought as you did. I even went to Ashenell to have a look.

Secretly, of course, so that your father would not know what I was trying to do.

I found the family plot for the Cruer Kings and Queens, but there was no marker bearing her name.”

Erisha stared at him, then glanced at Kirisin. “How can that be?”

Kirisin frowned and shook his head, his mind on something much more troubling. “You haven’t mentioned the Loden. But the King made it very clear to Erisha that he knew something about it, something that troubled him enough that he didn’t want his daughter using it to help the Ellcrys. What did you tell him that made him react like that? What did you find?”

Culph hesitated, an uncertain look in his sharp eyes. “We had an agreement when we started this conversation. Do we still have it?

Whatever we say or hear stays within this room?”