Terry Brooks - Terry Brooks - Paladins of Shannara - Allanon's Quest (Short Story)

He rubbed at his eyes, and his knuckles came away wet. “It was plain enough. I was to let myself be seen by one of Eventine Elessedil’s Elven Hunters. They come through here regularly, guarding against the Warlock Lord and his minions. Once I was identified, it was virtually assured that word would get back to the King. Because of my knowledge of Elven genealogy and your need to find a Shannara heir, you would be sent to speak with me. For something as important as this, no one else would do. When you came, I was to tell you of Weir. The Skull Bearers knew of him already, having tracked him down on their own. But he was an evil man and in no way likely to take up the Sword and become a champion for the Elves. He had already announced to the Skull Bearers that he wished to be an ally of the Dark Lord. What he didn’t realize was that it had already been decided he would be used in another way.”

“As a lure to attract me.” Allanon saw it now.

“Yes. But not for the reason you think. Not to kill you. The Warlock Lord had something more insidious in mind. Since Weir was the last of the Shannara, what Brona wanted was for his death to come at your hands. He wanted revenge against the Druids for the terrible harm Bremen had caused him all those years ago when he forged the Sword and placed it in the hands of Jerle Shannara.”

Allanon’s expression hardened, but still the knowledge served as a balm to his heart. He might have destroyed the world’s last hope, but he had not killed an innocent man. “But if you knew it was a trap, why didn’t you warn me? I could have helped you protect Collice.”

Derrivanian was already shaking his head once again. “You couldn’t have helped. No one could. And warning you wasn’t possible. If I had told you anything other than what I did, Collice would be dead. The Skull Bearer was in the back room with her when you were out here talking with me.”

Derrivanian’s face was haggard, and his eyes were filled with despair. “Don’t you see? I had to choose between you and Collice. I had already lost everything else that mattered in my life. I was not about to lose her, as well.”

He leaned forward, the fingers of his hands knotted together. “The Skull Bearer cautioned against saying anything that would warn you. If Weir did not die by your hand, if anything happened to change that outcome, if you learned it was a trap—even by accident—it promised it would return for Collice.”

“But you believed I might survive anyway?”

The old man could hardly bear to look at the Druid. “I hoped as much. Judge me as you wish. I deserve it. It was a roll of the dice with lives at stake. I knew the risks. I simply took the choice that seemed best at the time. I wagered your life against Collice’s.”

Allanon looked away. “You should know that the Skull Bearer still lives. I was too weakened from the struggle to destroy it.”

Derrivanian shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. It will gain nothing by killing me now. It’s too late. I tricked it.”

The Druid’s eyes locked on him. “How did you do that?”

The old man had a strange look on his face. “It was surprisingly easy. I knew that no matter what happened, it would return for me eventually. It never intended to keep its word. Once I had done what it wanted and tricked you into going after Weir, it would have no further use for me. It would wait for a time, then it would come back to finish me.”

He paused. “If I were in its place, I would do the same. But it waited too long. It made a mistake. It should have started by making very certain that Weir was indeed the last of the Shannara instead of wasting time playing games with you.”

Allanon stared. “What are you saying?”

“When I told you that Weir was the last of the Shannara kin, I lied. There is another. Weir was not the last.”

“Another heir? Are you lying this time, too?”

The old man shook his head. “It was necessary to tell you that Weir was the last. The Skull Bearer was listening. I was betraying you, but I was also using the betrayal to reinforce what the Skull Bearer wrongly believed. If you lived, I told myself, I would give the name to you. If you died, there was probably no hope for any of us. In any case, I would not allow my knowledge to fall into the wrong hands.”

Allanon could hardly believe what he was hearing. “So you’re sure? There really is another? Weir was not the last?”

Derrivanian shifted his gaze, first to the door, then to the windows, as if to reassure himself that no one else was listening. “There was a boy who was orphaned as a child, a boy whose father was an Elf and whose mother came west from the Borderlands.”

He paused. “The boy approaches manhood now, but he is not yet fully grown. His parents were good people, intelligent and responsible, the right sorts. It may be so with this boy.”

“His name?”

“Aren Shea.”

Allanon shook his head in rebuke, his dark face intense. “I recognize the name. But a fever took him while he was still very small, shortly after his parents died. That was years ago.”

“Yes. Tragic. He was the last of his line. The burial service was poorly attended since there were no longer any living relatives among the Elves. He was buried and forgotten. Even by you, it seems. Though you can visit his gravesite in Arborlon, if you wish.”

The Druid paused. “Are you saying he didn’t die?”

“Exactly—though I arranged for the circumstances surrounding his death to look as convincing as possible.”

“Because you knew. Even then. You knew he would be hunted.”

“His parents were killed under mysterious circumstances. Just before this happened, his mother brought the child to Collice and asked her to take him. She sensed the danger, I think. The women were close friends, and the boy’s mother knew my wife could be trusted. She asked Collice to keep him until she was certain the danger was past, then she would take him back. But if anything happened to the parents, we were to fake the boy’s death, then convey him to her brother’s home in the Borderlands and tell no one what we had done. We were to hide the truth from everyone so that her son might have a chance to live.”

“So you did as she asked? And the Warlock Lord and his Skull Bearers have not discovered the truth?”

“They have no reason to suspect the boy still lives. No one in the whole of the Westland knows the truth.”

“You are certain of this?”

“As certain as I can be. You will have to determine if I am right or not for yourself. The boy’s name is different now. He is called Shea Ohmsford. He was given his uncle’s surname. He resides in the village of Shady Vale in the forests south of the Border Cities.”

Derrivanian gave a weak smile and a shrug. “I have done what I promised myself I would do if you returned. It is the only thing I can offer as recompense for my behavior. I hope you can understand.” Then he gestured toward the door. “You should go now. Find the boy. Save him.”

Allanon rose. “You should take you own advice, then. Leave here immediately. Take your wife to Arborlon and ask the King for protection.”

The old man shook his head. “I sent her away to stay with friends the moment the Skull Bearer left to follow you. I asked them to hide her until they heard from me. I don’t know where she is.”

“Then join her. Do so before the Skull Bearer comes for you.”

The other man smiled, but there was no warmth. “No, it’s too late for that. It was always too late.” He took the glass of ale he had brought for himself and drained it. His eyes fixed on Allanon. “Do you really think we would be safe from the Warlock Lord and his Skull Bearers in Arborlon? Do you think we would be safe anywhere?”