The Elf Queen of Shannara (20 page)

Ellenroh Elessedil swept up to her, robes billowing out like banners flown from the Ruhk Staff she held pressed to her body, the Loden still glimmering with wicked white light.

“Aurin Striate,” the queen called out as she reached them, her eyes fixing momentarily on the Owl. “Go ahead of us, if you will. Summon Bar and Eton from their chambers—if they are still there. Tell them . . .” Her breath seemed to catch in her throat, and her hand tightened about the Ruhk Staff. “Tell them that Phaeton died in the attack, an accident, killed by an arrow from his own bowmen. Tell them that I wish a meeting in the chambers of the High Council at once. Go now, quickly.”

The Owl melted into the crowd and was gone. The queen turned to Wren, one arm coming up to encircle the girl's slender shoulders, the other gesturing with the Staff toward the city. They began to walk, Garth a step behind, the Home Guard all around.

“Wren,” the Elf Queen whispered, bending near. “This is the beginning of the end for us. We go now to determine if we can be saved. Stay close to me, will you? Be my eyes and ears and good right arm. It is for this that you have come to me.”

Saying no more, she clutched Wren to her and hurried on into the night.

 

 

XII

 

 

T
he chambers of the Elven High Council were situated not far from the palace within an ancient grove of white oak. The building was framed by massive timbers and walled with stone, and the council room itself, which formed the principal part of the structure, was a cavernous chamber shaped like a hexagon, its ceiling braced with beams that rose from the joinder of the walls to a center point like a sheltering star. Heavy wooden doors opened from one wall and faced a three-step dais on which rested the throne of the Elven Kings and Queens, and flanking the throne were standards from which pennants hung that bore the personal insignia of the ruling houses. To either side, set against the remaining walls, were rows of benches, a gallery for observers and participants in public meetings. At the center of the room was a broad stretch of flooring dominated by a round table and twenty-one seats. When the High Council was in session, it sat here, and the king or queen sat with it.

Ellenroh Elessedil entered the chamber with a flourish, robes sweeping out behind her, the Ruhk Staff carried before her, and Wren, Garth, Triss, and a handful of the Home Guard trailing after. Gavilan Elessedil was already seated at the council table and rose hurriedly as the queen appeared. He wore chain mail and his broadsword hung from the back of his chair. The queen went to him, embraced him warmly, and moved on to the head of the table.

“Wren,” she said, turning. “Sit next to me.”

Wren did as she was asked. Garth drifted off to one side and made himself comfortable in the gallery. The chamber doors closed again, and two of the Home Guard took up positions to either side of the entry. Triss moved over to sit at the table next to Gavilan, his lean, hard face distant. Gavilan straightened in his chair, smiled uneasily at Wren, smoothed out his tunic sleeves nervously, and looked away. Ellenroh folded her hands before her and did not speak, clearly waiting for whoever else was expected. Wren surveyed the chamber, peering into dark corners where the lamplight failed to penetrate. Polished wood gleamed faintly in the gloom behind Garth, and images cast by the flames of the lamp danced at the edges of the light. At her back, the pennants hung limp and unmoving, their insignia cloaked in heavy folds. The chamber was still, and only the soft scrape of boots and the rustle of clothing disturbed the silence.

Then she saw Eowen, seated far back in the gallery opposite Garth, nearly invisible in the shadows.

Wren's eyes shifted instantly to the queen, but Ellenroh gave no indication that she knew the seer was there, her gaze fastened on the council chamber doors. Wren looked back at Eowen momentarily, then off into the shadows. She could feel the tension in the air. Everyone seated in that room knew something was going to happen, but only the queen knew what. Wren took a deep breath. It was for this moment, the queen had told her, that she had come to Arborlon.

Be my eyes and ears and good right arm.

Why?

The doors to the council chamber opened and Aurin Striate entered with two other men. The first was old and heavyset, with graying hair and beard and slow, ponderous movements that suggested he was not a man to let things stand in his way. The second was of average size, clean-shaved, his eyes hooded but alert, his movements light and easy. He smiled as he entered. The first scowled.

“Barsimmon Oridio,” the queen greeted the first. “Eton Shart. Thank you both for coming. Aurin Striate, please stay.”

The three men seated themselves, eyes fastened on the queen. They were all looking at her now, waiting.

“Cort, Dal,” she addressed the guards at the door. “Wait outside, please.”

The Elven Hunters slipped through the doors and were gone. The doors closed softly.

“My friends.” Ellenroh Elessedil sat straight backed in her chair, her voice carrying easily through the silence as she spoke. “We can't pretend any longer. We can't dissemble. We can't lie. What we have struggled for more than ten years to prevent is upon us.”

“My Lady,” Barsimmon Oridio began, but she silenced him with a glance.

“Tonight the demons broke through the Keel. The magic has been failing now for months—probably for years—and the things without have been stealing its strength for themselves. Tonight the balance shifted sufficiently to enable them to create a breach. Our hunters fought valiantly to prevent it, doing everything they could to throw back the assault. They failed. Phaeton was killed. In the end, I was forced to use the Ruhk Staff. If I had not done so, the city would have fallen.”

“My Lady, that is not so!” Barsimmon Oridio could keep silent no longer. “The army would have rallied. It would have prevailed. Phaeton took too many chances or he would still be alive!”

“He took those chances to save us!” Ellenroh was stone faced. “Do not speak unkindly of him, Commander. I forbid it.” The big man's scowl deepened. “Bar,” the queen spoke gently now, the warmth in her voice evident. “I was there. I saw it happen.”

She waited until his fierce eyes lowered, then turned her gaze again to the table at large. “The Keel will not protect us much longer. I have used the Ruhk Staff to strengthen it, but I cannot do so again or we risk losing its power altogether. And that, my friends, I cannot allow. I have called you together then to tell you that I have decided on another course of action.”

She turned to Wren. “This is my granddaughter, Wren, the child of Alleyne, sent to us out of the old world as Eowen Cerise foresaw. She appears, the foretelling promises, in order that the Elves should be saved. I have waited for her to come for many years, not really believing that she would or that if she-did she could do anything for us. I did not want her to come, in truth, because I was afraid that I would lose her as I lost Alleyne.”

She reached over and touched Wren's cheek softly with her fingers. “I am still afraid. But Wren is here despite my fears, having crossed the vast expanse of the Blue Divide and braved the terrors of the demons to sit now with us. I can no longer doubt that she is meant to save us, just as Eowen foretold.” She paused. “Wren neither fully believes nor understands this yet.” Her eyes were warm as they found Wren's own. “She has come to Arborlon for reasons of her own. The shade of Allanon summoned her and dispatched her to find us. The Four Lands, it seems, are beset by demons of their own, creatures called Shadowen. We are needed, the shade insists, if the Four Lands are to be preserved.”

“What happens in the Four Lands is not our problem, my Lady,” Eton Shart advised calmly.

She turned to face him. “Yes, First Minister, that is exactly what we have said for more than a hundred years, haven't we? But what if we are wrong? What if our problem is also theirs? What if, contrary to what we have believed, the fates of all are linked together and survival depends on the forging of a common bond? Wren, tell those gathered how you came to find me. Tell them everything that was told to you by the Druid's shade and the old man. Tell them as well of the Elfstones. It will be all right now. It is time they knew.”

So Wren related once more the story of how she and Garth had come to Arborlon, beginning with the dreams and ending with her discovery of who she was. She spoke hesitantly of the Elfstones, uncertain still that she should reveal their presence. But the queen nodded encouragingly when she began, so she left nothing out. When she was finished, there was silence. Those seated at the table exchanged uncertain glances. Gavilan stared at her as if seeing her for the first time.

“Now do you understand why I think it impossible to ignore any longer what takes place beyond Morrowindl?” the queen asked quietly.

“My Lady, I believe we understand,” the Owl said, “but we need to hear now what you propose to do.”

Ellenroh nodded. “Yes, Aurin Striate, you do.” The room went still once more. “There is nothing left for us here on Morrowindl,” she said finally. “Therefore, it is time for us to leave, to return to the old world, and to become a part of it once again. Our days of disappearance and isolation are finished. It is time to use the Loden.”

Gavilan was on his feet instantly. “Aunt Ell, no! We can't just give up! How do we know the Loden even works after all this time? It's just a story! And what about the Keel's magic? If we leave, it's lost! We can't do such a thing!”

Wren heard Barsimmon Oridio growl in agreement.

“Gavilan!” Ellenroh was furious. “We are in council. You will address me properly!”

Gavilan flushed. “I apologize, my Lady.”

“Now sit down!” the queen snapped. Gavilan sat. “It seems to me that we owe our present predicament to indecision. We have failed to act for too long. We have allowed fate to dictate our choices for us. We have struggled with the magic even after it became apparent to all of us that we could no longer depend upon it.”

“My Lady!” a pale-faced Eton Shart cautioned hurriedly.

“Yes, I know,” Ellenroh responded. She did not look directly at Wren, but there was a flicker of movement in her eyes that told the girl that the warning had been given because of her.

“My Lady, you are asking that we give up the magic entirely?”

The queen's nod was curt. “It no longer serves much purpose to retain it, does it, First Minister?”

“But, as young Gavilan says, we have no way of knowing if the Loden will do as we expect.”

“If it fails, we have lost nothing. Except, perhaps, any chance of escape.

“But escape, my Lady, is not necessarily the answer we are looking for. Perhaps help from another source . . .”

“Eton.” The queen cut him short. “Consider what you are suggesting. What other source is there? Do you propose to summon more magic still? Do we use what we have in another way, convert it to some further horror, perhaps? Or are we to seek help from the very people we abandoned to the Federation years ago?”

“We have the army, my Lady,” a glowering Barsimmon Oridio declared.

“Yes, Bar, we do. For the moment. But we cannot regenerate those lives that are lost. That magic we lack. Every new assault takes more of our Hunters. The demons materialize out of the very air, it seems. If we stay, we won't have an army much longer.”

She shook her head slowly, her smile ironic. “I know what I am asking. If we return Arborlon and the Elves to the world of Men, to the Four Lands and their Races, the magic will be lost. We will be as we were in the old days. But maybe that is enough. Maybe it will have to be.”

Those seated about the table regarded her in silence, their faces a mix of anger, doubt, and wonder.

“I don't understand about the magic,” Wren said finally, unable just to continue sitting there while the questions piled up inside. “What do you mean when you say the magic will be lost if you leave Morrowindl?”

Ellenroh turned to face her. “I keep forgetting, Wren, that you are not versed in Elven lore and know little yet of the origins of the magic. I will try to make this simple. If I invoke the Loden, as I intend to do, Arborlon and the Elves will be gathered within the Elfstone for the journey back to the Westland. When that happens, the magic that shields the city falls away. The only magic left then is that which comes from the Loden and protects what is carried within. When Arborlon is restored, that magic ceases as well. The Loden, you see, has only one use, and once put to that use, its magic fades.”

Wren shook her head in confusion. “But what about the way it restored the Keel where the demons breached it? What of that?”

“Indeed. I appropriated some of the same magic that the Loden requires to transport the city and its people. In short, I stole some of its power. But using that power to shore up the Keel drains what is needed for the Elfstone's primary use.” Ellenroh paused. “Wren, you are aware by now that the Elves recaptured some of the magic they had once wielded in the time of faerie. They did so after discovering that the magic had its source in the earth and its elements. Even before we came to Morrowindl, years ago, long before my time, a decision was made to attempt a recovery.” She paused. “That effort was not entirely successful. Eventually it was abandoned completely. What magic was left went into the formation of the Keel. But the magic exists only so long as there is need. Once the city is gone, the need is gone. When that happens, the magic disappears.”

“And cannot be reinstated once you return to the Westland?”

Ellenroh's face turned to stone. “No, Wren. Never again.”

“You assume . . .” Gavilan began.

“Never!” Ellenroh snapped, and Gavilan went still.

“My Lady.” Eton Shart drew her attention gently. “Even if we do what you suggest and invoke the power of the Loden, what chance do we have of getting back to the Westland? The demons are all about. As you say, we have barely been able to hold our own within the walls of the city. What happens when those walls are gone? Will even our army be enough to get us to the beaches? And what happens to us then without boats and guides?”

“The army cannot hold the beaches for long, my Lady,” Barsimmon Oridio agreed.

“No, Bar, it can't,” the queen said. “But I don't propose to use the army. I think our best chance is to leave Morrowindl as we came to it—just a handful of us carrying the Loden and the rest safely captured inside.”

There was stunned silence.

“A handful, my Lady?” Barsimmon Oridio was aghast. “They won't stand a chance!”

“Well, that's not necessarily true,” Aurin Striate quietly mused.

The queen smiled. “No, Aurin, it isn't. After all, my granddaughter is proof of that. She came through the demons with no one to help her but her friend Garth. The truth of the matter is that a small party stands a far better chance of getting clear than an entire army. A small party can travel quickly and without being seen. It would be a hazardous journey, but it could be done. As for what would happen once that party reached the beaches, Wren has already made those arrangements for us. The Wing Rider Tiger Ty will be there with his Roc to convey at least one of us and the Loden to safety. Other Wing Riders can remove the rest. I have thought this through carefully and I believe it is the answer to our problem. I think, my friends, it is the only answer.”