Ilse Witch-Voyage of the Jerle Shannara, Book 1, Terry Brooks

That accounted for everyone but Truls Rohk. Of the shapeshifter, there was still no sign.

A blare of trumpets drew Bek’s eyes to where the crowd was parting to make way for the Elven King and his retinue. A long line of Home Guard marched through the gap, flanking standard bearers who bore the flags of all the Elven Kings and Queens dead and gone, personal icons sewn on brightly colored fields swirling in the breeze. When they had passed onto the airfield, the Elessedil family banner hove into view, a crimson image of the Elicrys emblazoned on a field of green. Kylen Elessedil followed on horseback, raised high enough above the heads of the crowd so that all could see him. His wife and children rode on horses behind him followed on foot by the more distant members of his family and his personal retinue. The long column marched out of the trees and onto the airfield and took up a Position directly in front of the airship’s curved bow.

The trumpets sounded once more and went still. The crowd quieted, and Kylen Elessedil lifted his arms in greeting.

“Citizens of Arborlon! Friends of the Elven!” His booming voice carried easily from one end of the field to the other. “We are gathered to witness and to celebrate an epochal event. A band of men and women of great courage will go forth this day on our behalf and on behalf of all free and right-thinking men and women everywhere. They sail the winds of the world in search of truths that have eluded us for thirty years. On their journey, they will attempt to discover the fate of my father’s brother’s expedition, lost those thirty years ago, of those ships and men, and of the Elfstones they carried, which are our heritage. On their journey, they will seek out treasures and magics that are rightfully ours and that can be put to the uses for which they were intended by the men and women for whom they were meant—Elves, one and all!”

A cheer rose from the crowd, swelling quickly to a roar. Bek glanced about at the faces of those gathered close, but found no expression on any save Quentin’s, where a kind of vague amusement flickered like candlelight in the wind and was gone.

“My brother Ahren leads this expedition on behalf of my family and our people,” Kylen continued as the cheering died away. “He is to be commended and respected for his bravery and his sense of duty. With him go some of the bravest of our Elven Hunters; our good friend from the Druids of Paranor, Walker, a complement of skilled and capable Rovers to captain and crew the ship, and a select band of others drawn from the Four Lands who will lend their talents and courage to this most important effort. Acknowledge them all, my friends! Praise them well!”

Again, the roar went up, the banners waved, and the air was filled with sound and color, and Bek, in spite of his cynicism, found himself infused with unmistakable pride.

Kylen Elessedil held up his hands. “We have lost a good and wellloved King in these past weeks. Treachery and cowardice have taken my father, Allardon Elessedil, from us. It was his dying wish that this expedition set forth, and I would be a poor son and subject indeed if I failed to honor his wishes. These men and women”—he gestured behind him toward the ship—“feel as I do. Everything possible has been done to assure their success and speedy return. We send them off with our good wishes, and we will not cease to think of them until they are safely home again.”

Clever, Bek thought, to lay everything off on the old King, dead and gone. Kylen had learned something of politics already. If the expedition failed, he had made certain the blame would not be laid at his feet. If it succeeded, he would be quick to share in the rewards and claim the credit.

Bek shook his head at Quentin, who just shrugged and grinned ruefully.

The crowd was cheering anew, and while the people did so, a member of the Elven High Council carried to the King a long, slender green bottle. The King accepted it, wheeled his stallion about, and walked him to just below the bow of the airship. Hands raised anew, he turned once more to the crowd.

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