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

Hunched close together on the padded seat, the Knight of the Word and the tatterdemalion rode north in search of their future.

IN THE DARKNESS behind them, still miles back but coming steadily on, the demon, in its newly acquired form, loped down the center of the highway, an indefatigable machine. That part of her that had been Delloreen was all but wiped away by her physical transformation. Once human in appearance, she was now all animal. Her skin was turned to scales. Her fingers and toes were turned to claws. Her hair was mostly gone; fringes remained only on pointed ears. Her human features were feral and wolfish. She no longer walked upright, but ran on all fours. She had lengthened out from well over six feet to well over ten. She was heavily muscled and sinewy and terrifying to look upon.

She had become something else entirely, and she reveled in it.

She had never been invested in her appearance, never cared for how she looked or what she seemed to be to those she encountered. She knew what she was: she was a demon. That she might become bigger and stronger and more ferocious was all that mattered. That she might become the most dangerous of the Void’s creatures was her primary goal.

She had not forgotten about Findo Gask, not entirely, but he no longer mattered to her. His insolence and his attempts to motivate her to do his bidding no longer mattered, either. The old man was her past, a vague memory at best, a reminder of dissatisfaction and frustration, a momentary distraction that had now all but faded from memory. Her goals, her purpose, had narrowed down to a single preoccupation—to find and kill the Knight of the Word who had twice now escaped her. She didn’t look beyond that. Hunting down and destroying the Knight was everything. After that, she would decide if anything else mattered. For now, there was only the pursuit and the satisfaction that awaited its conclusion.

Her long tongue lolled from between her fangs as she ran, and the pad of her rough paws and the click of her sharp nails on the blacktop sounded a steady tempo that set her pace. Lost in the workings of her sleek new form, in the steady rush of adrenaline the excitement of the hunt generated, she panted with undisguised eagerness and dreamed of the taste of the Knight’s fresh blood.

IT TOOK ANGEL AND AILIE the rest of the night and through the bulk of the morning to find their way north up the highway and then east onto the side roads that would take them to the Cintra. This was foreign country to Angel, who had never been north of Southern California, but Ailie, who by all rights should have known even less, seemed to know exactly where to go. Angel saw a few signs advising travelers who were long since dead and gone in a world equally dead and gone that they were passing into the Willamette National Forest. When Angel asked Ailie about this, the tatterdemalion said she didn’t know what it was called by humans, only by Elves. She added that she could already feel their presence.

Angel was in a somewhat better mood by now, her fear subsided, her steely determination regained. The darkness of the previous night with its attendant onslaught of black willies had faded with the rising of the sun and the beginning of the new day. She hadn’t conquered it entirely, but she did have it under control. When it surfaced again, she would be ready for it.

The forests through which they passed initially resembled most of the others they had traversed coming north—large sections sickened and wilted, the leaves turned gray, the bark scabbed over by parasites and mold.

Many trees were already dead, their skeletal frames suggesting the bones of giant animals standing upright and frozen in time. But as they reached the mountains and climbed into the passes, a change similar to the one that had begun to manifest only yesterday surfaced. Where before the trees had thinned to almost nothing, they now grew close together. Where before the leaves and bark were sickened, they now looked healthy and clean. The colors that had been leached away from the other forests were deep and vibrant here. Angel glanced back at Ailie, but the tatterdemalion just smiled enigmatically and gave her a reassuring hug.

A short time later, Ailie directed her off the main road onto a dirt track that was barely more than a woodland trail. They rode the Mercury down its length for several miles, passing through long stretches of old-growth trees so massive that Angel felt dwarfed in their presence. Streams ran through metal culverts that tunneled under the road, the waters rippling and singing before angling off into the woods. Once, they caught sight of a small waterfall off in the distance. Once, they saw a deer.

Finally, Ailie told her to pull over. Angel drove the ATV