armor. She had never experienced anything like this, and she
shrank from the fury of it. Bar stood apart, observing dispas-
sionately, issuing orders to messengers who carried them for-
ward, and exchanging comments with members of his staff and
occasionally with Triss. The Elves had seen a lot of fighting and
had fought a lot of battles. This was nothing new for them. But
for Wren, it was like standing at the center of a maelstrom.
As the battle wore on, she found herself thinking of the
senselessness of it all. The Federation was seeking to destroy
the Elves because they believed Elven magic was destroying
the Four Lands. While Elven magic was indeed at fault, it had
not been conjured by the Elves under attack but by renegades
Yet the Elves under attack were responsible for allowing their
magic to be subverted and the Shadowen to come into being IP
the first place. And the Federation was responsible for perpet-
uating the misguided witch hunt that would place all blame
with the Westland Elves. Mistakes and contradictions, miscon-
ceptions and false beliefs—they knotted together to make the
madness possible. Reason had no place’ here. Wren thought
disgustedly. But then in war, she supposed, it seldom did.
For a time me Elves held their ground and me Federation at-
tack stalled. But gradually the pressure of so many on so few
began to tell, and the Elves were driven back, first along the
slopes of the valley and then on its floor. They gave ground
grudgingly, but steadily. The attack was beginning to roll them
up like leaves before a broom. Bar committed the last of his re-
serves and left to join the fight. Triss sent the bulk of the Home
Guard forward to a position on the slopes several hundred yaros
below where he stood with Wren. The orders he gave were sim-
ple. There was to be no retreat unless he called for it. The Home
Guard would stand and die where it was to protect the queen.
Overhead, the Wing Riders were using their Rocs to carry
logs and boulders to drop into the center of the Federation
ranks. The damage was fearful, but the enemy archers had
wounded two of the giant birds, and the others were being kept
The Talismans of Shannara
395
at a distance. From out of the haze south marched further re-
inforcements for the Southland army. There were just too
many, Wren thought dismally. Too many to stop.
She had agreed to remain clear of the fighting, to save the
Elfstones for when they were needed most, either against the
Creepers and their Shadowen masters or against anything else
the dark magic might conjure up. So far nothing of that sort
had joined in the Federation attack. Even the black-cloaked
Seekers had not shown themselves. It appeared they felt they
were not needed, that the regular army could manage well
enough alone. It appeared that they were right.
The afternoon lengthened with agonizing slowness. The
Federation army now held the mouth of the valley and was
moving steadily toward its head. All efforts to slow the ad-
vance had failed. The Elves were giving way before it, se-
verely outnumbered, desperately tired, fighting for the most
part on heart alone. Wren watched the black and scarlet hordes
inch closer, and her hand closed over the bag that contained
the Elfstones and drew it forth. She had hoped not to have to
use the Stones. She was not sure even now that she could.
These were not Creepers she would be destroying; they were
men. It seemed wrong to use the magic against humans. It
seemed unconscionable. Using the Elfstones drained her of
strength and willpower; she knew that much from her encoun-
ters with the Shadowen here and on Morrowindl. But using
them drained her of humanity as well, threatening each time to
diminish her in a way that would not let her ever be herself
again. Killing of any sort did that to you, but it would be
worse if she was forced to kill human beings.
Triss moved up beside her. “Put them away, my lady,” he
said quietly. “You don’t have to use them.”