Terry Brooks - The Elfstones of Shannara

He sighed and turned away, not sure why he had made this last visit of the day to the Gardens. The Chosen had returned to their compound an hour earlier, tired and discouraged, silent in their sense of futility. But he had come anyway, drawn by an unreasoning hope that somehow the answers they so desperately needed could be found here. He had not found those answers, of course, and with the coming of nightfall there was little sense in staying longer.

As he passed out of the Gardens, he could feel the sentries of the Black Watch staring after him. They remained unaware of the damage to the tree, but they could sense that something was wrong. The activities of the Chosen had told them that much. Word would soon be spreading, he thought — rumors growing. Soon the people would have to be told.

But for the moment, at least, all was quiet. Lights were already going out and many windows were darkened as the people pre prepared for sleep. He envied them. There was little chance that he would. sleep that night — he or the King.

He sighed again, wishing that there was something he could do for his father. Eventine had always been so sure of himself, had always been so supremely confident that a solution could be found to any problem. But now, in the two visits Ander had made to report his lack of progress, the old King had seemed lost somewhere within himself. He had tried halfheartedly to mask it from his son, but it was obvious that he was looking with despair on the ending of everything he had worked all his life to accomplish. Here, at last, was a challenge that was beyond all his powers. With barely a word to his son, he had sent him back to continue aiding the Chosen in any way he could.

It had proved a futile task. Ander had questioned each of them carefully, then assembled them and probed their collective memory, searching for any small piece of information that might lead to Safehold. But he had learned nothing more than what he already knew.

A search of the carefully preserved records of their Order had yielded nothing, either. He had studied histories that dated back centuries, checking and rechecking There were repeated references to the sacred Bloodfire, the life source of their world and all its living things. But nowhere was there even the briefest mention of the. mysterious place called Safehold.

Nor had the Ellcrys given them any further assistance in their search. At Ander’s suggestion, the Chosen had gone back to her again. They had gone to her over and over, one by one and all together, begging her to give them something more to further their understanding of her images. But she would not speak to them. She remained silent.

As he came near the compound of the Chosen, he saw that all the lights were out. Routine had apparently taken over and they must have returned to their sleeping quarters at their usual time, shortly after finishing their evening meal. He hoped they would find some relief in sleep. Maybe they would. Sometimes hopelessness and despair were even more fatiguing than physical labor, and they had experienced little else during the long day.

He was moving quietly past their compound, following a pathway that led toward the manor house to make one final report to his father, when a dark shadow moved from under a low tree beside the path.

«My Lord Prince?»

«Lauren?» he asked. Then, as the figure moved closer, he saw that it was indeed the young Elf. «Why aren’t you asleep?»

«I tried to sleep, but I couldn’t. I… I saw you go up to the Gardens and I hoped that you’d come back this way. Prince Ander, can I speak to you?»

«You are speaking to me, Lauren,” Ander reminded him. But his brief attempt at amusement did nothing to lighten the seriousness of the other’s expression. «Have you remembered something?»

«Perhaps. Not about what the Ellcrys told us, but something I think you should know. Can I walk with you a ways?»

Ander nodded. They turned back along Ander’s chosen path, moving slowly away from the compound.

«I feel as if I ought to be the one to solve this problem,” Lauren began after a moment. «Maybe… it’s because the Ellcrys spoke first to me; that makes finding Safehold seem almost my personal obligation. I know that’s probably giving too much importance to myself, but it’s the way I feel, nevertheless. In any case, I don’t want to overlook anything.» He glanced at the Prince. «Do you understand what I am trying to say?»

«I think so. Have we overlooked something, then?»

«Well, something has occurred to me. I thought I should mention it to somebody»

Ander stopped and looked at the young Elf.

«I didn’t want to say anything to the King.» Lauren’s uneasiness increased. «Or to any of the others. I’m not really sure how much of this they know… and we don’t talk about her…»

He trailed off. Ander waited patiently.

«It’s about Amberle. My Lord, after her choosing, she spoke with the Ellcrys many times — long conversations.» The words came slowly. «It was different with her than with the rest of us. I don’t know whether she ever realized that. We never really talked about it…»

Ander had stiffened sharply. Lauren saw his reaction and hurried on. «But maybe the Ellcrys would talk to her again. Or she might understand better. Perhaps she might learn something we could not.»

There was a long moment of silence as the two faced each other. Then Ander shook his head slowly «Amberle can’t help us now, Lauren. She’s gone: Even her mother doesn’t know where she went. There’s no possible way we could find her in time to make any difference.‘’

The red–haired Elf nodded slowly, the last trace of hope leaving his face. «It was just an idea,” he said finally, then turned back toward the compound. «Good–night, Prince Ander.»

«Good–night, Lauren. Thank you for telling me, anyhow.»

The Chosen nodded again before moving back up the pathway, his white robes rustling softly as he disappeared into the night. Ander stared after him for a moment, his dark face troubled. His father had asked for any hint — anything that might offer a clue to the location of Safehold. Yet there was really no hope of finding Amberle. She might be anywhere within the Four Lands. And now was hardly the time to bring her name up to Eventine. She had been his favorite, the granddaughter whose choosing had filled him with deep pride and joy. But her betrayal of her trust had been harder for him to bear than even the death of her father Aine.

He shook his head slowly and continued on toward the manor house.

Gael was still on duty, his face drawn with fatigue and his eyes troubled. It was inevitable that he should come to know of, the problem they faced, but he could be trusted to maintain secrecy. Now he started to rise, then sank back again at Ander’s motion. «The King is expecting you,” he said. «He’s in his study, refusing to retire. If you could persuade him to sleep, even for a few hours…»

«I’ll see what I can do,” Ander promised.

Within his private study, Eventine Elessedil looked up as his son entered. His eyes studied Ander’s face momentarily, reading the failure written there. Then he pushed himself back from the reading table at which he had been seated and rubbed his eyes wearily. He rose, stretched, and walked slowly to the curtained windows, peering through the folds into the darkness beyond. On the book–littered table, a tray of food had been pushed aside, hardly touched. Candles burned low, their wax dripping and puddling on the metal holders. The small study was still and somber, its oak bookcases and tapestry–covered walls a dim mix of faded colors and shadow. Scattered about in piles lay the books that Gael must have spent the day bringing up from the vaults.