Terry Brooks - The Sword of Shannara

It was in the early–morning hours, wrapped with the blanket silence of darkness and hidden by the shadows of the heavy forests that so completely shut out the reassuring light of the moon and stars, that the company stood at last before the cliffs of Paranor. It was a moment that would last forever in their minds, as expectant eyes traveled upward over the steep rock walls, unbroken by trail or ledge, upward past the dwarfed height of the tall pines and oaks, which ended abruptly as the cliffs began, upward still farther to the man–made structure at its apex — the Druid’s Keep. The Keep was castlelike, age–old walls of blocked stone rising to peaked turrets and spiraled towers that cut the sky in proud defiance. It was unmistakably a fortress built to withstand assault by the strongest army, the ancient home and protectorate of the all but extinguished race of men called Druids. Within the heart of this stronghold of stone and iron had long rested the memorial of Man’s triumph over the forces of the spirit world, the symbol of the courage and hope of the races in times long past, forgotten over the years as generations passed away and old legends died — the wondrous Sword of Shannara.

As the seven men stood there surveying the Druid’s Keep, Flick’s mind traveled back over the events that had taken place since the company had departed the Dragon’s Teeth at sunset. They had traveled quickly over the open grasslands separating them from the forest surrounding Paranor, reaching the seclusion of its dark perimeter without incident in only a few short hours. At that time, Allanon briefed them on what to expect next. The forest, he said, was impenetrable unless one knew how to avoid the dangerous obstacles that the Warlock Lord had created to discourage any attempt to reach the Druid’s Keep. Wolves prowled the entire woodland, huge, gray beasts that could catch anything on two or four feet and tear it to pieces within seconds. Beyond the wolves, surrounding the base of the cliffs beneath the Keep, was an impregnable barrier of thorns, coated with a poison for which there was no known cure. But the resourceful Druid was prepared. They moved quickly into the black forest, not bothering to choose any approach but the direct one, their path taking them straight for the fortress. Allanon warned them to stay close to him, but the warning was quite unnecessary. Only Menion seemed eager to forge ahead of the group, and the highlander rejoined them instantly at the first sound of the marauding wolves. The great, gray beasts attacked within minutes after the men entered the forest, their eyes bloodred in the darkness, their huge jaws snapping in blind hatred. But before they could reach the alarmed group, Allanon placed a strange whistle to his lips and blew softly. A sound so high pitched as to be indistinguishable to the men was emitted and the snarling wolves scattered brokenly, wheeling about and scurrying off with loud cries of dismay, their frightened whimpers still. audible long after they were lost from sight.

The wolves appeared twice more during the remainder of the trek through the forest, although it was impossible to tell if it was the same pack or a different one. Flick was inclined to believe they were different packs after observing the effect of the strange whistle. Each time the wolves cringed in terror, leaving the travelers untouched. The company reached the thorn barrier without difficulty. But the bristling mass of poisonous spikes that confronted them seemed truly impenetrable, even by the redoubtable Allanon. Once again he reminded them that this was the homeland of the Druids, not the Warlock Lord. Leading them to the right, he skirted the edge of the barrier until he reached a point that seemed to satisfy him. Quickly pacing off a distance from a nearby oak that looked for all the world to Flick like any other oak, the Druid marked a spot on the ground before the thorny obstruction, nodding to the others that this was to be the spot of entry. Then to their amazement, the grim mystic simply walked up to the razor–shaip spikes and disappeared into the vegetation, only to reappear a moment later unharmed. In hushed tones he explained to them that at this point the barrier was fake and quite harmless, a secret passage to the fortress. There were others as well, all indistinguishable to any human eye unaware of what to look for. And so the company passed through the barrier, discovering that the spikes were indeed harmless, and stood at last before the walls of Paranor.

It seemed impossible somehow to Flick that they should be here at all. The journey had been an endless one while they were making it, the dangers encountered by them never conquered, only evaded and ultimately substituted, one for another. Yet here they were. All that remained was to scale the cliffs and seize the Sword, no simple task, but nevertheless no more difficult than the others they had faced and successfully completed. He gazed upward to the castle battlements, studying briefly the spaced torches that lit the ramparts, knowing that the enemy guarded those walls and the Sword within. He wondered who the enemy was, what it was. Not the Gnomes or the Trolls, but the real enemy — the creature that belonged in another world, but that had invaded this one in some inexplicable way to enslave the humans who inhabited it. He wondered vaguely if he would ever know the reason behind all that had happened to them, the reason why they stood here now, hunters for the legendary Sword of Shannara, of which none of them save the Druid mystic knew anything. He sensed that there was a lesson somewhere to be learned, but at the moment it eluded him. He only wanted to get the matter over with and get out of there alive.

His thoughts ended abruptly as Allanon motioned them forward along the steep walls of the cliff. Again, the Druid seemed to be searching for something. A few minutes later he halted before a smooth portion of the cliff face, touched something in the rock, and a concealed door swung open to reveal a hidden passageway. Allanon stepped inside for a moment and returned with unlit torches, giving one to each of the company and indicating that they were to follow him. They moved silently inside, halting momentarily in the small entryway as the stone door closed noiselessly behind them. Squinting in the near blackness, they saw a vague outline of stone steps leading upward into the rock, barely visible in the dim light of a lone torch flickering just ahead in the passage. They climbed carefully to that torch and each man lit his own to provide the necessary light for the ascent to the castle. Putting a single finger to his lips to indicate that he expected absolute silence, the dark figure of their leader turned and began to climb the damp stone steps, his black cloak billowing slightly as he walked, filling the entire passageway ahead with its shadow. The others followed without a word. The assault of the Druid’s Keep had begun.

The staircase rose in a continual spiral, winding and twisting until at last no one knew how far they had come. The air in the passage became gradually warmer and more comfortable to breathe, and the dampness of the walls and steps diminished until it was entirely gone. Their heavy leather hunting boots scraped faintly against the stone, echoing through the deep silence of the caverns. Hundreds of steps and many minutes later, the company reached the end of the tunnel. A massive wooden door, bound with iron and fastened into the rock, blocked their passage. Allanon again proved that he knew the way well. A single touch on the binding and the door swung silently open to admit the men into a large chamber with numerous passages leading out of it, all of them well lit by burning torches. A quick look around revealed no one in sight, so Allanon brought the company around him once again.

«We are directly below the castle proper,” he explained in a barely audible whisper as the others crowded close. «If we can reach the room where the Sword of Shannara rests without being seen, then we may be able to escape without a fight.»