casks, and shredding whoever stood in their way.
The Federation army was in total disarray. Men charged
about wildly, striking out at anyone or anything they encoun-
tered, frequently themselves. Officers tried to restore order, but
no one was certain who was who, and the effort was swept
away in the tide of confusion.
Now Desidio’s Elven Hunters struck from the front, bowmen
first, raining arrows into the camp, one volley after another.
Then the cavalry swept out of the night with a terrifying howl.
From high overhead Wren watched the Elven horses cut a
swath through the front ranks of the Federation, charging deep
into the camp and then out again, scattering watch fires and
men, sending soldiers and retainers fleeing into the darkness.
But the Federation army was huge, and the attacks barely
scratched its edges. Already ranks of men had formed at its
center, where calm still prevailed, and were beginning a slow,
steady march outward toward the source of the trouble. Hun-
dreds of foot soldiers armed with shields and short swords
trooped through the melee, shoving aside or trampling their
own men, seeking out the intruders. In moments they were at
the camp’s perimeter, the light of burning wagons and siege
machines reflecting off their armored bodies like blood.
Wren searched the darkness to discover what had become of
her Elves. The Rocs were already winging south again, and Ti-
ger Ty had turned Spirit to follow. She scanned the camp over
her shoulder as they sped away into the dark, and there was no
sign of Desidio’s Hunters or the Home Guard. The Federation
soldiers were advancing from out of the firelight, searching in
vain for an enemy that had already vanished. Behind, the entire
siege and pack train was in flames, pyramids of fire that
burned hundreds of feet into the night sky and gave off a heat
so intense that Wren could feel it even from where she flew.
The stench of ash and smoke was thick in her nostrils, and the
cries of the injured filled her ears. Men lay everywhere,
bloodied and still.
TTre Talismans of Shannara 203
We have our victory, she thought, but felt the intensity of
her initial satisfaction diminish.
Away they flew, Spirit trailing the others momentarily before
catching up. Spread out, they descended to where the make-
shift baskets waited, found the Home Guard already in place,
snatched up the retaining straps, lifted the baskets into the air,
and sped away west toward the forests. It was all accomplished
in a few moments, and then they were passing over the trees,
far from the madness of the Federation camp, back into the
shelter from which they had come.
When they set down again within the forest. Wren sum-
moned her commanders to discover the extent of their own
losses. The Rocs had passed through the strike unscathed.
All of the Home Guard were safely returned save one. Only
three of the Elven Hunters had been lost, cavalry pulled from
their horses. There were a number of injuries, but only one
was serious. The attack had been a complete success.
Wren thanked Triss, Desidio, and Erring Rift, and ordered
the vanguard to pack up. They would slip north now before the
Federation could begin to search for them, choosing a new
spot within the Westland forests to hide. Come morning, they
would scout the damage to the enemy and decide what to do
next. Tonight had been a good beginning, but the end was still
far from sight.
Quickly the Elves prepared to move out. Whispers of satis-
faction and handclasps passed from man to man as they
worked. The Elves had fought their first battle in their homeland
in more than a hundred years and won. Morrowindl’s long night
was finally behind them, and some small part of the rage and
frustration that they had lived with all their lives had been re-
leased. For many, there was a renewed sense of being set free.
Wren Elessedil understood. As Queen of the Elves that night
in more than name, as her grandmother’s hope of what she
could be and Garth’s promise of what she would be, something