She flattened herself in the wash and peered skyward. The
moon was there, and the stars, and nothing else. Shades! She
came to her knees. The wash offered her some protection, but
not nearly enough. And the night was no friend, for the war
shrike’s eyesight was ten times better than her own. It could
see her clearly in the wash, and she could see nothing of it.
She rose and sent the Elven magic stabbing out, hoping to
get lucky. The fire raced away, working across the flats, and
she felt the power rush through her. She howled in exhilara-
tion, unable to help herself, saw the war shrike coming just an
instant before it reached her, swung the magic about
furiously—too late—and threw herself down once more. But
her quickness saved her, the blue fire of the Elfstones forcing
the shrike to change direction at the last minute, causing it to
miss her once again.
She saw Tib Ame this time, just a glimpse as he streaked
past, blond hair flying. She heard his cry of rage and frustra-
tion, and she shrieked out after him, furious, taunting.
The skies went still, the land silent. She huddled in the
wash, shaking and sweating, the Elfstones clenched in her
hand. She was going to lose this fight if she didn’t do some-
338 The Talismans of Shannara
thing to change the odds. Sooner or later, Gloon was going to
get through.
Then she heard a new cry, this one far off to the west, a wild
shriek that pierced the suffocating silence. She turned toward
it, recognizing it yet unable to place it. A bird, a Roc. It came
again, quick and challenging.
Spirit! It was Spirit!
She watched his dark shadow race out of the night, coming
down from high up, as swift as thought. Spirit, she thought—
and that meant Tiger Ty! Hope surged through her. She started
to rise, to cry out in response, then flattened herself again
quickly. Gloon was still out there, looking for an opportunity
to finish her off. Her eyes swept the darkness, searching in
vain. Where was the shrike?
Then Gloon rose out of the dark to meet this new chal-
lenger, thick black body gathering speed. Wren scrambled to
her feet, shouting in warning. Spirit came on, then at the last
possible moment veered aside so that the war shrike swept past
harmlessly and wheeled about to give chase. The giant birds
circled each other cautiously, feinting and dodging, working
for an advantage. Wren gritted her teeth, earthbound and help-
less. Gloon was bigger than Spirit and trained to kill. Gloon
was a Shadowen, and had the magic to sustain him. Spirit was
brave and quick, but what chance did he stand?
There was a flurry of movement as the birds came at eacb
other, locked momentarily in a shriek of rage, and then broke
apart again. Once more they began to circle, each trying to get
above the other. Wren came out of the wash and back onto the
flat of the plain. She moved after them as they edged away,
following because she did not want to lose contact, still deter-
mined to help. She could not leave this battle to Tiger Ty and
the Roc. This was not their fight. It was hers.
Again the birds dove at each other and locked, talons and
beaks tearing and ripping. Black shadows against the moonlit
sky, they twisted and turned, their wings flailing madly as they
spiraled down. Wren raced after them, Elfstones in hand. Just
let me get close enough! was all she could think.
At what seemed the last possible second the birds broke
apart, staggering rather than flying away from each other,
feathers and gristle and blood falling away from their tattered
The Talismans of Shannara 339
bodies. Wren gritted her teeth in rage. Gloon shook himself
and rose, flattening out in a long slow spiral. Spirit arced up-
ward and fell back, wobbly and unsure. He tried to right him-
self shuddered once, dropped earthward, and vanished. Wren
gasped in dismay—then caught her breath in wonder as Spirit
suddenly reappeared, steady once more, miraculously recov-
ered. A feint! Directly under Gloon now, he rose from the