fused to think about living with her in the Elessedil family
home. Stresa was content with his new country, happy in his
solitary life, and he had promised more than once that he
would be there if she ever needed him. The trouble was that
she needed him more than she cared to admit. But Stresa had
gone through a lot for her already and was happy now; she did
not have the right to place fresh demands on him just to as-
suage her own insecurity.
Still, she missed him greatly. Stresa, that strange and unpre-
dictable creature from the world that had cost the Elves so
much, would always be her friend.
It was dark now, the sun disappeared entirely beneath the
horizon west, the stars a scattering of pinprick lights, the moon
a fading crescent east above the treetops, the night’s sounds
gentle and soothing and filled with the promise of sleep.
Would that it were so for her, she thought. Sleep would come
hard this night, harder than most, for she must meet with the
High Council and determine the fate of the Elves. And of her-
self, perhaps, as well.
She walked from the Gardens, passing the Black Watch
once more, listening to the barely discernible sounds of the
Home Guard shadowing her. Sometimes she found herself
wishing she were a Rover girl again and nothing more, her life
made simple anew, all of the constraints of her stewardship
lifted, her freedom restored. She would give up being queen.
She would give up the Elfstones, those three blue talismans
that nestled within the leather bag hung about her neck, the
symbol of the magic that had been bequeathed to her by her
mother, of the power she had been given to wield. She would
shed her life as if it were a season’s skin grown old, and she
would become …
What? What would she become, she wondered?
The Talismans of Shannara 139
In truth, she no longer knew—maybe because it no longer
mattered.
When she walked into the chambers of the High Council
barely a quarter of an hour later, those she had summoned
were waiting, seated about the council table at which the queen
presided. She entered with Tiger Ty trailing (he had remained
outside until now, uncertain of his welcome in her absence)
and walked directly to her seat at the head of the table. Every-
one rose in deference, but she perfunctorily waved them back
into their seats.
The room was cavernous. High walls of stone and wood
supported a star-shaped ceiling formed of massive oak beams.
The High Council was dominated at the far end by a dais
which supported the throne of the Elven Kings and Queens and
which was flanked by the standards of the ruling Elven houses
and at its center by the ancient twenty-one-chair round table.
Benches forming gallery seats for public viewing when the full
Council was in session ran the length of either wall.
There were six members present this night besides herself,
the full complement of the High Council’s inner circle. Triss
was there, as Captain of the Home Guard; Eton Shart as First
Minister; Barsimmon Oridio as General of the Elven Armies;
Perek Arundel as Minister of Trade; Jalen Ruhl as Minister of
Home Defense; and Fruaren Laurel as Minister of Healing.
Only Laurel was new, appointed on the Council’s recommen-
dation when Wren told them she wanted a minister responsible
for overseeing efforts to heal the Elven Westland. Laurel was
cooperative and hardworking, a woman in her middle years
with a steady, likeable disposition; but like Wren she was un-
proven. She held a secondary position in the eyes of the re-
mainder of the Council. Wren liked her but wasn’t sure she
could be counted on in a fight.
She would find out tonight.
She stood in front of her chair and faced the High Council.
“I asked Wing Rider Tiger Ty to sit in on this session of the
Council since the subject matter directly concerns his people.”
She made it a statement of fact and did not ask approval. She
beckoned the gnarled Wing Rider forward from where he stood