it.
The Black Elfstone.
Clutching the talisman protectively, his mind awash with
new possibilities, he hurried away.
CHAPTER
15
WREN OHMSFORD CROUCHED wordlessly with her com-
panions in the darkness of the tunnels beneath the Keel
while the Owl worked in silence somewhere ahead,
striking flint against stone to produce a spark that would
ignite the pitch-coated torch he balanced on his knees. The
magic that had illuminated the tunnel when Wren had come
into the city was gone now, disappeared with Arborlon and the
Elves into the Loden. Triss had been the last to enter, carrying
Ellenroh from the bridge, and he had closed the door tightly
behind, shutting them away from the madness that raged with-
out, but trapping them as well with the heat and the stench of
Killeshan’s fire.
A spark caught in the darkness ahead, and a dark orange
flame flared to life, casting shadows everywhere. Heads turned
to where the Owl was already starting away.
“Be quick,” he whispered back to them, his voice rough and
urgent. “It won’t take long for the dark things to find that door.”
They crept swiftly after him, Eowen, Dal, Gavilan, Wren,
Garth, Triss carrying Ellenroh, and Cort trailing. Beyond, bur-
rowing down into the earth with the tenacity of moles, the howls
and shrieks of the demons tracked them. Sweat beaded on
Wren’s skin, the heat of the tunnels intense and stifling. She
brushed at her eyes, blinked away the stinging moisture, and
worked to keep pace. Her thoughts strayed as she labored, and
she remembered Ellenroh, standing at the center of the bridge-
head, invoking the Loden, calling forth the light that would
sweep up all of Arborlon and carry it down into the gleaming
depths of the Stone. She could see the city disappear, vanishing
as if it never were-buildings, people, animals, trees, grass, ev-
erything. Now Arborlon was their responsibility, theirs to pro-
tect, cradled within a magic that was only as strong as the nine
men and women to whom it had been entrusted.
She pushed past trailing roots and spider’s webs, and the
enormity of the task settled on her like a weight. She was only
one, she knew, and not the strongest. Yet she could not escape
the feeling that the responsibility was inevitably hers alone, an
extension of Allanon’s charge, the reason for which she had
come in search of the Elves.
She shook the feeling aside, crowding up against Gavilan in
her haste to keep moving.
Then abruptly the earth shuddered.
The line stopped, and heads lowered protectively as silt
broke free of the tunnel roof in a shower. The ground shook
again, the tremors building steadily, rocking the earth as if some
giant had seized the island in both hands and was struggling to
lift it free.
“What’s happening?” Wren heard Gavilan demand. She
dropped to her knees to keep from being thrown off balance,
feeling Garth’s steadying hand settle on her shoulder.
“Keep moving!” the Owl snapped. “Hurryl”
They ran now, crouched low against a pall of loose dirt that
hung roiling in the air. The tremors continued, a rumbling from
beneath, the sound rising and falling, a quaking that tossed them
against the tunnel walls and left them struggling to remain up-
right. The seconds sped away, fleeing as quickly as they did, it
seemed, from the horror following. A part of the tunnel col-
lapsed behind them, showering them with dirt. They could hear
a cracking of stone, a splitting apart of the lava rock, as if the
earth’s crust were giving way. There was a heavy thud as a
great boulder dropped through a crevice and struck the tunnel
floor.
“Owl, get us out of here!” Gavilan called out frantically.
Then they were climbing free again, scrambling from the
tunnel through an opening in the earth, clawing their way into
the weak morning light. Behind them, the tunnel collapsed com-
pletely, falling away in a rush of air, silt exploding through the
opening they had fled. The tremors continued to roll across
Morrowindl’s heights, ripping its surface, causing the rock to
grate and crumble. Wren hauled herself to her feet with the
others and stood in the shelter of a copse of dying acacia, look-