Free Wards of Faerie: The Dark Legacy of Shannara by Terry Brooks Page B

dressing table, shedding her sleepwear as she went, soaked the washcloth that was always waiting next to the basin of water that was always kept fresh, and began to wash herself. When she was finished, she dried and dressed in fresh clothing chosen from her closet. Her Druid Sleep was ended. She was back in the real world to deal with whatever real problem was waiting.
    She walked to the mirror and began to brush her long, once-dark hair, streaked now with gray, the years having caught up to her in spite of the temporary reprieves granted her by the Druid Sleep. She had used it five times since becoming Ard Rhys, each period chosen carefully and with consideration for how matters fared both within and without the walls of the Keep. She had been alive for almost 110 years, yet she looked 50. She glanced at the reflection of her mostly unlined face. Possibly even younger, she corrected herself. But she did not take the sleep out of vanity or a desire to prolong her life; it was out of need and worry. Before she could give herself over to the death that awaited them all, Druid Sleep or no, she needed to find the next Ard Rhys. Among the members of the order, among those who had come late into her service but had stayed true to their vows, she must find a new leader.
    She wondered suddenly how many remained of those she had left behind.
    She would know soon. She hoped all had stayed. Bombax, Aphenglow, Pleysia, Carrick, Rendellin, and Seersha—they were among the best of those who had served. All of those with whom she had begun the new order in the time of Grianne Ohmsford were gone. Age and circumstance had caught up to them. None slept the Druid Sleepsave the Ard Rhys, so it was inevitable that at some point she would find herself alone.
    But others had traveled this path before her, and so she did not complain. She had made the choice all those years ago. It was pointless to harbor regrets now.
    She finished with her brushing and stood looking at her face: Elven to the core with all of the defining, distinctive features. An Elessedil, like Aphenglow, and it had made her think now and again that the young woman was the best choice to lead those who remained. But Aphenglow was conflicted and troubled by what she had done in choosing a life in the Druid order over one in the Elven community. The resentment and disappointment of the Elves shrouded and haunted her. She was not at peace, and Khyber did not think she could lead until she was.
    The others were a mix of raw talent and dangerous flaws. But she did not care to consider the matter just now and so pushed it aside.
    She was wrapped in her Druid robes and standing just inside the door, preparing to go out, when she heard the latch release and quickly stepped back.
    Aphenglow appeared in the doorway and on seeing her was so startled she gave a small cry. “Mistress! I didn’t … I thought …”
    Khyber extended her arms in greeting. “It’s all right, Aphen. I came awake on my own. Is that why you are here? To wake me?”
    The young woman nodded. “My return from Arborlon is the reason for needing to do so, and I thought it should be me.”
    “Is it something about the Elfstones?”
    Aphenglow looked shocked. “How did you know? I only just found the diary three days ago! But you already know?”
    Khyber smiled. “I know only a little. You can tell me the rest. Are the others waiting on you? Good, then let’s not keep them waiting any longer.” She hesitated. “Tell me. How long have I been sleeping?”
    “Five years, Mistress.”
    That long. She sighed, took the young Elf’s arm in her own, and side by side they walked from the sleeping chamber into the waking world.
    She was hungry, even though the sleep kept her sufficiently nourished, hydrated, and muscle-toned. But she put aside thoughts of food and drink and followed Aphenglow straight to the chamber where the others were gathered.
    “Rendellin disappeared two years ago,” Aphen was telling her as