The First King of Shannara

Tay took a deep breath. “We can’t let that happen.”


Jerle snorted derisively. “We can’t stop it! It’s done!” He gestured dismissively. “Courtann Ballindarroch will be lucky to live out another day. You saw what was done to him. He’s not a strong man, Tay. I don’t know why he’s still alive.”

Jerle pushed himself back against the wall, feet drawing up on the seat before him, looking a little like a small boy being kept indoors against his will. His clothes were in tatters; he hadn’t changed them since the fight. A wicked slash ran down the left side of his jaw. He had washed it and forgotten it. He looked a wreck.

Tay glanced down at himself. He didn’t look any better. They were both in need of a bath and sleep.

“What else will he do to stop us, do you think?” Jerle asked softly.

Tay shook his head. “Nothing here. What else is there to do? But he will go after Risca and Bremen, I expect. Maybe he already has.“ He looked out into the rain, listening to its patter on the glass.

“I wish I could warn them. I wish I knew where Bremen was.”

He thought of what had been done this night to the Elves — their royal family decimated, their sense of security shattered, their peace of mind lost. Much had been taken from them, and he was not at all certain that any of it could be regained. Jerle was right. Until the king recovered or died and was replaced, the High Council would do nothing to help the Dwarves. No one would take responsibility for such a decision. It wasn’t clear if anyone could. Alyten might attempt to act in his father’s place, but it was unlikely. Not strong like his father, he was a reckless, impulsive youth who had not been given a lot of responsibility in his life. Mostly, he had served as his father’s aide and done what he was told. He had no experience at leading. He would be king if Courtann died, but the High Council would not be quick to support his decisions. Nor would Alyten be quick to make them. He would be cautious and indecisive, anxious not to err. It was the wrong time for him to be king. The Warlock Lord would be quick to take advantage.

The size and complexity of the dilemma was depressing. The Elves knew who was responsible for the attack. The Skull Bearer had been clearly seen before its destruction, and the Gnome Hunters had been identified. Beth served the Warlock Lord. But Brona was faceless and omnipresent in the Pour Lands, a force that lacked a center, a legend bordering on myth, and no one knew how to reveal him. He was there, and yet he wasn’t. He existed, but to what extent? How were they to proceed against him? With the Druids destroyed at Paranor, there was no one to tell them what to do, no one to advise them, no one they respected enough to heed. In two swift strikes, the Warlock Lord had destroyed the balance of power in the Four Lands and rendered the strongest of the Races immobile.

“We can’t just sit here,” Jerle observed pointedly, as if reading Tay’s thoughts.

Tay nodded. He was thinking that time was slipping away, that he was suddenly in danger of failing to accomplish what Bremen had required of him. He stared out into the rain, a gray haze that rendered the world beyond his window seat muddy and indistinct.

Where once so much had seemed certain, now nothing was assured.

“If we can do nothing for the Dwarves, we must at least do something for ourselves,” he said quietly. His eyes fixed on Jerle’s. “We must go in search of the Black Elfstone.”

His friend studied him a moment, then nodded slowly. “We could, couldn’t we? Courtann has already given his approval.” A hint of excitement nickered in the hard blue eyes. “It will give us something to do while we wait out events here. And if we find the Stone, it will give us a weapon to use against the Warlock Lord.”

“Or at least deprive him of one he might use against us.” Tay was mindful of Bremen’s warning about the power of the Black Elfstone. He straightened on the window seat, shrugging off his depression, his sense of purpose returning.

“Well, well, look at you, my friend,” Jerle observed archly. “I like you better this way.”

Tay stood up, anxious. “How soon can we leave?”

A smile played at the comer of Jerle Shannara’s lips. “How soon can you be ready?”





Chapter Eleven


They set out at dawn of the following day, Tay and Jerle and the few they had chosen to go with them, leaving the city quietly, while its citizens were still waking and their departure would go unnoticed. They were only fifteen in number, so it was not difficult to slip away without being seen.