The First King of Shannara

“A locat?” Bremen shook his head. “I would have thought it would be Tay who...”


“No. Tay Trefenwyd is dead, killed in the Breakline weeks ago.” The Elven King’s voice was quick and hard, and the words tumbled out. “I was with him. We had gone to recover the Black Elfstone, as you had charged us. We found the Stone, but the creatures of the Warlock Lord found us. There were but five of us and a hundred of them. There were Skull Bearers. Tay knew we were doomed. His own magic was gone, used up in his struggle to gain possession of the Elfstone, so he...”

Words failed the king, and he could feel the tears spring to his eyes. His throat tightened, and he could not speak.

“He used the Black Elfstone, and it destroyed him,” the old man finished, his voice so soft it could barely be heard. “Even though I warned him. Even though he knew what would happen.” The worn, aged hands clasped tightly. “Because he had to. Because he could do no less.”

They stood mute before each other, eyes averted. Then Jerle bent to retrieve the scattered maps, picking them up and stacking them back on the table next to the canvas bundle. The old man watched him for a moment, then bent to help. When the maps were all in place again, the old man took the king’s hands in his own.

“I am sorry he is gone, more sorry than I can possibly tell you. He was a good friend to us both.”

“He saved my life,” Jerle said quietly, not knowing what else to say, deciding after a moment that this was enough.

Bremen nodded. “I was afraid for him,” he murmured, releasing the big man’s hands once more and moving over to a chair. “Can we sit while we talk? I have walked all night and through the day to reach you. The boy accompanied me. He is a survivor of an attack on Varfleet. The Northland army is ravaging the land and its people as it goes, destroying everything, killing everyone. The Warlock Lord grows impatient.”

Jerle Shannara sat across from him. The old man’s hands, when they clasped his own, had felt like dried leaves. Like death. The memory of their touch lingered. “What has become of the Dwarves?” he said, in an effort to direct his thoughts elsewhere.

“We have not been able to learn anything of them.”

“The Dwarves withstood the Northland invasion for as long as they were able. The reports vary as to what happened afterward. I know the rumors, but I have reason to believe they are wrong. have sent friends to discover the truth and to bring the Dwarves to our aid if they are able to come.”

The king shook his head, a discouraged look in his eyes. “Why should they come to our aid when we did not come to theirs? We failed them, Bremen.”

“You had reason.”

“Perhaps. I am no longer certain. You know of Courtann Ballindarroch’s death? And of his family’s destruction?”

“I was told.”

“We did what we could, Tay and I. But the High Council would not act without a king to lead them. There was no help for it. So we abandoned our efforts to help the Dwarves and went instead in search of the Black Elfstone.” He paused. “I question now the wisdom of our choice.”

The Druid leaned forward, his dark eyes intense. “Do you have the Elfstone in your possession?”

The king nodded. “Hidden safely away, awaiting your arrival. I want nothing more to do with it. I have seen what it can do. I have seen how dangerous it is. The only comfort I take from this whole business is that the Stone will be used to aid in the destruction of the Warlock Lord and his creatures.”

But Bremen shook his head. “No, Jerle. The Black Elfstone is not intended for that purpose.”

The words were sharp and stunning. The king’s face went hot and his throat tightened with rage. “Are you telling me Tay died for nothing? Is that what you are saying?”

“Do not be angry with me. I do not make the rules in this game. I am subject to fate’s dictates as well. The Black Elfstone is not a weapon that can destroy the Warlock Lord. I know you find this difficult to believe, but it is so. The Elfstone is a powerful weapon, but it subverts those who use it. It infects them with the same power they seek to overcome. The Warlock Lord is so pervasive an evil that any attempt to turn the Elfstone against him would result in the user’s own destruction.”

“Then why did we risk so much to recover it?” The king was livid, his anger undisguised.

The old man’s words were soft and compelling. “Because it could not be allowed to fall into Brona’s hands. Because in his hands it would become a weapon against which we could not stand. And because, Elven King, it is needed for something more important still. When this is over and the Warlock Lord is no more, it will allow the Druids to give aid to the Lands even after I am gone. It will allow their magic and their lore to survive.”