The Sword of Shannara, Part 1: In the Shadow of the Warlock Lord by Terry Brooks Read Free Book Online Page A

legend!”
    Shea looked over at his brother, remembering then what the inscription was supposed to read. He looked back at Allanon, who was watching him intently.
    “How does this concern me?” he asked quickly. “I’m not a son of the House of Shannara—I’m not even Elven. I’m a half-blood, not an Elf, not a king. Eventine is the heir to the House of Shannara. Are you telling me that I’m a lost son—a missing heir? I don’t believe it!”
    He looked quickly to Flick for support, but his brother appeared to be completely lost, staring in bewilderment at the face of Allanon. The dark man spoke quietly.
    “You do have Elven blood in you, Shea, and you are not the true son of Curzad Ohmsford. That you must know. And Eventine is not directly of the blood of Shannara.”
    “I have always known that I was an adopted son,” the Valeman admitted, “but surely I could not have come from … Flick, tell him!”
    But his brother just stared at him in astonishment, unable to frame an answer to the question. Shea stopped speaking abruptly, shaking his head in disbelief. Allanon nodded.
    “You are a son of the House of Shannara—a half son only, however, and far removed from the direct line of descent that can be traced down through the last five hundred years. I knew you as a child, Shea, before you were taken into the Ohmsford householdas their own son. Your father was Elven—a very fine man. Your mother was of the race of Man. They both died when you were still very young, and you were given to Curzad Ohmsford to raise as his own son. But you are a son of Jerle Shannara, albeit a distant son and not of pure Elven blood.”
    Shea nodded absently at the tall man’s explanation, confused and still suspicious. Flick was looking at his brother as if he had never seen him before.
    “What does all this mean?” he asked Allanon eagerly.
    “What I have told you is known also to the Lord of Darkness, though he does not yet know where you live or who you are. But his emissaries will find you sooner or later, and when they do, you will be destroyed.”
    Shea’s head jerked up, and he looked at Flick fearfully, remembering the tale of the huge shadow seen near the lip of the Vale. His brother, too, felt a sudden chill, recalling that awful feeling of terror.
    “But why?” asked Shea quickly. “What have I done to deserve that?”
    “You must understand many things, Shea, before you can understand the answer to that question,” replied Allanon, “and I have not the time to explain them all now. You must believe me when I tell you that you are descended from Jerle Shannara, that you are of Elven blood, and that the Ohmsfords are a foster family to you. You were not the only son of the House of Shannara, but you are the only son who survives today. The others were Elven, and they were easily found and destroyed. That is what prevented the Dark Lord from finding you for so long—he was unaware that there was a half son alive in the Southland. The Elven kin he knew of from the first.
    “But know this, Shea. The power of the Sword is unlimited—it is the one great fear with which Brona lives, the one power he may not withstand. The legend of the Sword is a powerful amulet in the hands of the races, and Brona means to put an end to the legend.He will do this by destroying the entire house of Shannara, so that no son will come forth to draw the Sword against him.”
    “But I did not even know of the Sword,” protested Shea. “I did not even know who I was, or anything about the Northland or about…”
    “It does not matter!” cut in Allanon sharply. “If you are dead, there can be no doubt about you.”
    His voice died away in a weary murmur, and he turned to look again at the distant mountaintops beyond the fringe of tall elms. Shea lay back slowly on the soft grass, staring at the pale blue of the late-winter sky laced with small, soft wisps of white cloud that drifted from the tall hills. For a few pleasant moments