«It’s twisted!»
Wil felt along the ankle, checking the bones. «Nothing broken, just a bad sprain.» He sat down beside her. «We can take a few moments to rest, then go on. I can help you down the slope; I can even carry you if it becomes necessary.»
She shook her head. «Wil, I am so sorry. I should have been more careful.»
«You? I was the one who fell.» He grinned, trying to appear cheerful. «Well, maybe one of the old man’s Witch Sisters will come along to help us out.»
«That is not funny.» Amberle frowned. She looked about uneasily. «Maybe we should wait until morning to climb down any further. My ankle might feel better by then. Besides, even if we made it down before dark, we would have to spend the night there, and I don’t, much care to do that.»
Wil nodded. «Nor I. Nor do I think we should try to find our way about at night. Daylight will be soon enough.»
«Maybe we should go back up to the rim.» She looked at him hopefully.
The Valeman smiled. «Do you really believe the old man’s story? Do you think there are Witches living down there?»
She stared at him darkly. «Don’t you?»
He hesitated and then shrugged. «I don’t know. Maybe. Yes, I guess so. There is very little I don’t believe anymore.» He sat forward slowly, arms coming up about his knees. «If there are Witches; I hope they are frightened of Elfstones, because that is just about all the protection we have left. Of course, if I have to use the Stones in order to make them afraid, we may be in a lot of trouble.»
«I don’t think so,” she responded quietly.
«You still think I can use them, don’t you — even after what happened on the Pykon?»
«Yes. But you shouldn’t.»
He looked at her. «You said something like that once before, remember? After the Tirfing, when we camped above the Mermidon. You were worried for me. You said that I should not use the Stones again, even if it meant saving you.»
«I remember.»
«Then later, when we fled the Pykon, I told you that I could no longer use the Stones, that their power was lost to me, that my Elven blood was not strong enough. You told me that I should not be so quick to judge myself that you had confidence in me.»
«I remember that, too.»
«Well, look at what we have been saying. I think I should use the Stones, but don’t think I can. You think I can, but don’t think I should. Funny, isn’t it?» He shook his head. «And we still don’t know which of us is right, do we? Here we are, almost to Safehold, and I still haven’t found out…»
He stopped suddenly, realizing what it was that he was saying.
«Well, it’s not important,” he finished, looking away.
«Better that we never find out. Better that they be given back to my grandfather.»
They were silent for a moment. Almost without thinking, Wil reached into the Rover tunic and lifted out the pouch that held the Elfstones. He fingered it idly and was about to return it again when he noticed something odd about its feel. Frowning, he opened the drawstrings and dumped the contents into his open palm. He found himself staring at three ordinary pebbles.
«Wil!» Amberle exclaimed in horror.
The Valeman stared at the pebbles in stunned silence, his mind racing.
«Cephelo,” he whispered finally. «Cephelo. Somehow he switched these for the Stones. Last night, probably while we slept. It had to be then; they were in the pouch that morning in Grimpen Ward — I checked.» He rose slowly, still talking. «But this morning, I forgot. I was so tired last night — and you fell asleep almost at once. He must have drugged the ale to be certain I would not awake. No wonder he was so anxious to be rid of us. No wonder he made light of Hebel’s warning about the Hollows. He would be happy if we never came back. The reward meant nothing to him. It was the Elfstones that he wanted all along.»
He started up the trail, his face livid. Then abruptly he remembered Amberle. Turning quickly back, he lifted the Elven girl in his arms, held her close against him, and scrambled back to the rim of the Hollows. For a moment he looked about, then walked to a clump of high bushes several yards back. Stepping beneath the shelter of their boughs, he set the Elven girl down.
«I have to go back for the Elfstones,” he declared quietly. «If I leave you here, will you be all right?»
«Wil, you don’t need the Stones.»
He shook his head. «If we have to test that theory, I would prefer that it be done with the Stones in my possession. You heard what the old man said about the Hollows. The Stones are all that I have to protect you.»
Amberle’s face was white. «Cephelo will kill you.»
«Maybe. Maybe he has gotten so far up the trail by this time that I won’t even get close to him. But Amberle, I have to try. If I don’t find him by dawn, I’ll turn back, I promise. With or without the Elfstones, I will be with you to go into the Hollows.»
She started to say something more, but then stopped. Tears ran down her cheeks. Her hands lifted to touch his face.
«I care for you;” she whispered. «I really do.»
He looked at her in astonishment. «Amberle!»
«Go on,” she urged him, her voice breaking. «Cephelo will have stopped for the night and you may catch him if you hurry But be careful, Wil Ohmsford — do not give your life foolishly. Come back for me.»
She reached up to kiss him. «Go. Quickly.»
He stared at her wordlessly for one instant more, then sprang to his feet. Without looking back, he ran from her and in seconds had disappeared into the forest gloom.
Chapter Thirty–Nine
At dawn of the same day that found Wil and Amberle faced with the disappearance of the Elfstones, the Demons attacked Arborlon. With a frightening shriek that shattered the morning stillness and reverberated through the lowland forests, they burst from the cover of the trees, a massive wave of humped and twisted bodies that stretched the length of the Carolan. In a frenzy that cast aside reason and thought, the creatures of the dark swept out of the gloom that was still thick within the shadowed woods and threw themselves into the waters of the Rill Song. Like a huge stain spreading over the water, they filled the river, large and small, swift and slow, leaping, crawling, shambling bodies surging and heaving through the swift current. Some swam the river’s waters, thrusting and kicking to gain the far bank. Those light and fleet flew above, hopped upon, or skimmed over the river’s surface. Others, so huge that they might walk upon the river’s bottom, lunged awkwardly ahead, snouts and muzzles stretched high, bobbing and dipping. Many rode crude boats and rafts, poling mindlessly into the river and grasping tightly at whomever or whatever came within reach, thus to be pulled to safety or carried to the bottom with that which had failed to give them aid. Madness gripped the Demon horde, born of frustration with and hatred for the enemy that waited a scant few hundred yards away. This time, certainly, they would see that enemy destroyed.
But the Elves did not panic. Though the number, size, and ferocity of the Demons who came at them might have broken the spirit of a less determined defender, the Elves stood their ground. This was to be their final battle. It was their home city that they defended, the heart of the land that had been theirs for as long as the races had existed. All else had been lost now, from the Rill Song west. But the Elves were determined that they would not lose Arborlon. Better that they fight and die here, the last man, woman and child of them, than that they be driven entirely from their homeland, outcasts in foreign lands, hunted like animals by their pursuers.
Atop the battlements of the Elfitch, Ander Elessedil watched the Demon tide sweep forward. Allanon stood beside him. Neither man spoke. After a moment, Ander’s eyes lifted. High overhead a small dot appeared out of the clear blue of the dawn skies, growing in size as it circled downward until it took shape. It was Dayn and his Roc,
