HS 3 – The Elf Queen of Shannara
CHAPTER
I
FIRE.
It sputtered in the oil lamps that hung distant and
solitary in the windows and entryways of her people’s
homes. It spat and hissed as it licked at the pitch-coated
torches bracketing road intersections and gates. It glowed
through breaks in the leafy branches of the ancient oak and
hickory where glassed lanterns lined the treelanes. Bits and pieces
of flickering light, the flames were like tiny creatures that the
night threatened to search out and consume.
Like ourselves, she thought.
Like the Elves.
Her gaze lifted, traveling beyond the buildings and walls of
the city to where Killeshan steamed.
Fire.
It glowed redly out of the volcano’s ragged mouth, the glare
of its molten core reflected in the clouds of vog-volcanic ash-
that hung in sullen banks across the empty sky. Killeshan loomed
over them, vast and intractable, a phenomenon of nature that
no Elven magic could hope to withstand. For weeks now the
rumbling had sounded from deep within the earth, dissatisfied,
purposeful, a buildingup of pressure that would eventually de-
mand release.
For now, the lava burrowed and tunneled through cracks
and fissures in its walls and ran down into the waters of the
ocean in long, twisting ribbons that burned off the jungle and
the things that lived within it. One day soon now, she knew,
this secondary venting would not be enough, and Killeshan
would erupt in a conflagration that would destroy them all.
If any of them remained by then.
She stood at the edge of the Gardens of Life close to where
the Elicrys grew. The ancient tree lifted skyward as if to fight
through the vog and breathe the cleaner air that lay sealed
above. Silver branches glimmered faintly with the light of lan-
terns and torches; scarlet leaves reflected the volcano’s darker
glow. Scatterings of fire danced in strange patterns through
breaks in the tree as if trying to form a picture. She watched
the images appear and fade, a mirror of her thoughts, and the
sadness she felt threatened to overwhelm her.
What am I to do? she thought desperately. What choices are
left me?
None, she knew. None, but to wait.
She was Ellenroh Elessedil, Queen of the Elves, and all she
could do was to wait.
She gripped the Ruhk Staff tightly and glanced skyward with
a grimace. There were no stars or moon this night. There had
been little of either for weeks, only the vog, thick and impene-
trable, a shroud waiting to descend, to cover their bodies, to
enfold them all, and to wrap them away forever.
She stood stiffly as a hot breeze blew over her, ruffling the
fine linen of her clothing. She was tall, her body angular and
long limbed. The bones of her face were prominent, shaping
features that were instantly recognizable. Her cheekbones were
high, her forehead broad, and her jaw sharp-edged and smooth
beneath her wide, thin mouth. Her skin was drawn tight against
her face, giving her a sculpted look. Flaxen hair tumbled to her
shoulders in thick, unruly curls. Her eyes were a strange, pierc-
ing blue and always seemed to be seeing things not immediately
apparent to others. She seemed much younger than her fifty-
odd years. When she smiled, which was often, she brought
smiles to the faces of others almost effortlessly.
She was not smiling now. It was late, well after midnight,
and her weariness was like a chain that would not let her go.
She could not sleep and had come to walk in the Gardens, to
listen to the night, to be alone with her thoughts, and to try to
find some small measure of peace. But peace was elusive, her
thoughts were small demons that taunted and teased, and the
night was a great, hungering black cloud that waited patiently
for the moment when it would at last extinguish the frail spark
of their lives.
Fire, again. Fire to give life and fire to snuff it out. The image
whispered at her insidiously.
She turned abruptly and began walking through the Gar-
dens. Cort trailed behind her, a silent, invisible presence. If she