of Shannara. In that image, the brothers were lost with Menion
Leah in the lowlands of Clete at the start of their journey toward
Culhaven. No amount of skill or woodlore seemed able to help
them, and they might have died there if Shea, in desperation,
had not discovered that he possessed the ability to invoke the
power of the Eifstones given him by the Druid Allanon-the
same Elfstones she carried now. In that image, dredged up by
her dreams out of a storehouse of tales only barely remembered,
she uncovered a truth she had forgotten-that the magic could
do more than protect, it could also seek. It could show the
holder a way out of the darkest maze; it could help the lost be
found again.
She bit her lip hard against the sharp intake of breath that
caught in her throat. She had known once, of course-all of
them had, all of the Ohmsford children. Par had sung the story
to her when she was little. But it had been so long ago.
The Elfstones.
She sat frozen within the covering of her blankets, stunned
by her revelation. She had possessed the power all along to
get them free of Eden’s Murk. The Elfstones, if she chose to
invoke the magic, would show the way clear. Had she truly
forgotten? she wondered in disbelief. Or had she simply blocked
the truth away, determined that she would not be made to rely
on the magic, that she would not become subverted by its
power?
And what would she do now?
For a moment she did nothing, so paralyzed with the fears
and doubts that using the Elfstones raised that she could only
sit there, clutching her blankets to her like a shield, voicing
within her mind the choices with which she had suddenly been
presented in an effort to make sense of them.
Then abruptly she was on her feet, the blankets and the fears
and doubts cast aside as she made her way on cat’s feet to where
her grandmother lay sleeping. Ellenroh Elessedil’s breathing was
shallow and quick, and her hands and face were cold. Her hair
curled damply about her face, and her skin was tight against her
bones. She lay supine within blankets that swaddled her like a
burial shroud.
She’s dying, Wren realized in dismay.
The choices fell away instantly, and she knew what she must
do. She crept to where Garth slept, hesitated, then moved on
past Triss to where Gavilan lay.
She touched his shoulder lightly and his eyes flickered open.
“Wake up,” she whispered to him, trying to keep her voice from
shaking. Tell him first, she was thinking, remembering his kind-
ness of the previous night. He will support you. “Gavilan, wake up.
We’re getting out of here. Now.”
“Wren, wait, what are you . . . ?” he began futilely for she
was already hastening to rouse the others, anxious that there be
no delays, so worried and distracted that she missed the fear
that sprang demonlike into his eyes. “Wren!” he shouted, scram-
bling up, and everyone came awake instantly.
She stiffened, watching the others rise up guardedly-Triss
and Eowen, Dal come back from keeping watch at the campsite’s
edge, and Garth, hulking against the shadows. The queen did
not stir.
“What do you think you are doing?” Gavilan demanded
heatedly. She felt his words like a slap. There was anger and
accusation in them. “What do you mean we’re getting out? Who
gave you the right to decide what we do?”
The company closed about the two as they came face to
face. Gavilan was flushed and his eyes were bright with suspi-
cion, but Wren stood her ground, her look so determined that
the other thought better of whatever it was he was about to say
next.
“Look at her, Gavilan,” Wren pleaded, seizing his arm, turn-
ing him towards Ellenroh. Why couldn’t he understand? Why
was he making this so difficult? “If we stay here any longer, we
will lose her. We haven’t a choice anymore. If we did, I would
be the first to take advantage of it, I promise you.”
There was a startled silence. Eowen turned to the queen,