140 The Talismans of Shannara
by the door. “Sit there, please,” she said, indicating a vacant
seat by Fruaren Laurel.
Tiger Ty sat. The chamber went very still as those assem-
bled waited for Wren to speak. The doors leading in were
closed, sealed by the Home Guard on Wren’s orders until such
time as she permitted them to be opened again. Torches burned
in brackets affixed to the stone of the walls and in free-
standing stanchions at the front and back of the room. Smoke
rose toward the ceiling and dispersed through air loops high
overhead. The smoke left a faint coppery taste to the chamber
air.
Wren straightened. She had not bothered to change her
clothes, deciding she would not make the concession to the
dictates of formality. They would have to accept her as she
was. She had left Paun in her chambers. She would have
wished for Cogline or Walker Boh or any of those who had
stood with her once and were now dead or scattered, but wish-
ing for help from any quarter was pointless. If she was to suc-
ceed this night in what she intended to do, she would have to
do it on her own.
“Ministers, Council Members, my friends,” she began, look-
ing from face to face, her voice measured and calm. “We have
all come a very long way from where we were only weeks
ago. We have seen a great many changes take place in the life
of the Elven people. None of us could have foreseen what
would happen; maybe some of us wish things had turned out
differently. But here we are, and there is no going back.
Morrowindl is behind us forever, and the Four Lands are be-
fore us. When we agreed to come back, we knew what would
be waiting for us—a struggle with the Federation, with the
Shadowen, with Elven magic hideously subverted, with our
past brought forward to become our future. We knew what
would be waiting, and now we must face it.”
She paused, her gaze steady. “Yesterday the Wing Riders
spotted a Federation army coming up from the deep Southland.
Today, with Tiger Ty, I flew south to have a look for myself.
We found the army within the Tirfing, a day’s march above the
Myrian. The army is ten times ours and travels with siege and
war machines and supplies to sustain it well into another
month. It comes north and west. It comes in search of us. If I
The Talismans of Shannara 141
were to guess, I would say it would reach us in another ten
days.”
She stopped, waiting for a response. Her eyes traveled from
face to face.
‘Ten times ours? ” Barsimmon Oridio repeated doubtfully.
“How accurate is your estimation, my lady? ”
Wren had been anticipating this. She gave him a count, col-
umn by column, company by company, machines and wagons,
foot soldiers and horsemen, leaving nothing out. When she was
finished, the general of her armies was pale.
“An army of that size will wipe us out,” said Eton Shart
quietly. As always, he was composed, his hands folded on the
table before him, his expression unreadable.
“If we engage it,” Jalen Ruhl amended. The minister of de-
fense was slight and stoop-shouldered, his voice a deep rumble
in his narrow chest. “The Westland is a big place.”
“Are you suggesting we hide? ” Barsimmon Oridio de-
manded incredulously.
“Hiding won’t work,” Eton Shart interjected shortly. “We
can’t leave the city or we give up the Ellcrys. If the Ellcrys is
destroyed, the Forbidding comes down. Better we all perish
than that happen.”
There was a long pause as the ministers glanced at each
other doubtfully.
“A concession of some sort, perhaps? ” Perek Arundel sug-
gested, ever the compromiser. He was handsome in a soft way,
rather vain, but shrewd and quick-thinking. He looked about.
“There must be a way to make peace with the Coalition Coun-
cil.”
Again Eton Shart shook his head. “It was tried before. The
Coalition Council is a puppet of the Shadowen. Any compro-
mise will involve occupation of the Westland and agreement to