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

They took a last look around, making sure they were still alone, and then, leaving Ailie in the shadowy cover of the trees, moved forward into the dark cathedral of Ashenell. Kirisin glanced back once at Ailie, her child’s face a pale shimmer of brightness in the moonlight, then turned away for good.

Erisha took the lead now, winding through the clusters of stone markers, moving deeper into the grounds toward its older plots. Moonlight spilled through the limbs of the trees in narrow bands, piercing the shadows, spearing the dark earth. In places, the light disappeared completely, but for the most part they were able to make their way without difficulty. Night birds gave solitary calls in the near silence, and the shadows of owls passing overhead swept past them like wraiths. Kirisin fought back against the anticipation that was building inside in gathering waves. He wasn’t afraid—at least not yet. But his fear lurked just out of sight, a presence that could surface in an instant’s time. It kept him on edge, watchful both for himself and the others. They must be very careful, he told himself. There must be no mistakes.

They passed out of the smaller markers into a forest of sepulchers, crypts, and mausoleums, aboveground tombs that hunkered down in the darkness amid the towering old-growth trees. There were bold carvings of runic symbols and strange creatures on stone doors and lintels. These tombs were very old, so old that some of their dates designated times before the advent of the human race. Many were written in ancient Elfish, a few in languages that were unrecognizable. They had the look of stone giants, monsters that slept, waiting to be awakened.

Kirisin glanced at Simralin, but she seemed unbothered by the tombs, her face calm and her movements relaxed as she strode ahead of him.

She had always been like that—so under control, so confident in herself—and he had always envied her for it.

Erisha had reached a section of Ashenell that was dominated by a huge stone mausoleum, the crypts and sepulchers surrounding it left diminished in its shadow. The names on all of the mausoleum’s lesser children were carved in the same heavy block letters: GOTRIN.

They spread out to cover as much ground as possible, working their way through the maze of markers, reading names and dates, searching for mention of Pancea Rolt Gotrin. It wasn’t until they had gone through all the markers once and were working their way back again that Kirisin, drawn to the intricacy of the carvings on the walls of the large mausoleum, noticed a strange symbol carved in an otherwise flat and unmarked surface on one side of the tomb. He stared at it a moment, wondering what it was, started away again when nothing suggested itself, and then stopped and turned back for another look, recognition flooding through him.

The symbol, if you looked carefully, was decipherable. It consisted of three letters in Elfish imposed one on top of the other. The letters were P, R, and G—the first letters of Pancea Rolt Gotrin’s names.

“Erisha!” he hissed.

She turned at the sound of her name and hurried over. He pointed at the symbol, mouthed the three letters, and traced them as he did so.

She nodded at once in agreement.

“Why is it here?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Simralin and Angel Perez had joined them by now, and Kirisin revealed what he had found. Simralin understood and explained the nature of the symbol to Angel. The Knight of the Word brushed at her short-cropped hair and frowned. “Is this her tomb?”

“Doesn’t say so,” Simralin replied. “It is a family crèche with the remains of dozens and dozens of lesser Gotrins. A Queen would have her own tomb, separate from the others.”

They fanned out, rechecking every marker within twenty yards. They found no mention of Pancea. Reassembling next to the symbol, they spoke in low, cautious voices, the night their only witness as they deliberated the puzzle.

“It’s a symbol, but maybe it’s something else, too,”

Kirisin suggested.

“What sort of something else?” His sister took a closer look. “It seems an ordinary carving.”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” He touched the symbol with his fingers, tracing the letters, then pressed them to see if there was any give and felt around the ridges for anything he might have missed. He shook his head again. “It’s something else,” he repeated, the words a mumble that ended in a question mark.

“Could it have another meaning besides what the letters suggest?” Erisha asked suddenly. “Could they stand for something besides her name?”

Kirisin was looking all around now—at the other markers, the distant shadows, the leafy boughs of the trees surrounding them, and the ground, strewn with twigs and leaves and woodsy debris. Was he missing something?

Angel Perez stepped forward. “Wait a minute. You said Pancea had command of magic and that she was probably a witch. Maybe she provided for that. Maybe it takes magic to summon magic.”