The High Druid's Blade: The Defenders of Shannara by Brooks Terry

Author:Brooks, Terry [Brooks, Terry]
Language: eng
Format: mobi, azw3
Tags: Epic, Science Fiction, Fiction, Action & Adventure, Fantasy
ISBN: 9780345540713
Google: 29YMcZe27v4C
Amazon: B00DPTK4KY
Publisher: Del Rey
Published: 2014-07-08T00:00:00+00:00

SIXTEEN

CHRYSALLIN LEAH’S SLEEP WAS DARK AND DEEP AND filled with nightmares. In succession they flooded her troubled mind, stealing away the momentary peace she had experienced after being rescued by Mischa, returning her to a sense of impending doom.

The first began in a meadow where she walked through sunlight toward a river, accompanied by her brother. Paxon was cheerful and his laughter was bright, and she felt his strong presence as a reassurance of her safety and freedom. She felt buoyant and at ease as she traversed a carpet of meadow wildflowers and smelled their sweet scent wafting on a soft breeze.

But soon she sensed a lessening of the wildflower presence as the swatches of color and the smells on the air diminished and then faded completely. She was in a pasture now, its carpet all dried and browned, the green of the fresher meadow grasses disappeared. The skies had lost the sun’s brightness, and clouds had moved in to curtain the blue. She slowed, hesitating, and as she did so she felt something grapple at her ankles and wrap about her legs. She looked down and found herself entwined by saw grass and weeds, whipcord-tough and working hard to bind her in place and hold her fast.

She struggled to break free, but the weeds and grasses were too strong, and finally she could not move at all. In desperation, she turned to find her brother, but he had disappeared. She cast about desperately, calling out his name, trying to discover what had happened to him. She could not believe he had left her like this, without a word of warning.

When she looked again to where she had last seen him, the gray-haired Elven woman who had bound and tortured her in Dark House was standing in his place, smiling. Her lips moved, shaping words that Chrysallin understood, even though they made no sound.

Tell me what you know.

Chrys screamed in terror, grasping for the knife she knew was tucked within her belt and finding it missing. She wrenched furiously at the grasses, but they only clung all the tighter to her. She clawed at strands and stalks, trying to pry them away from her, but they refused to budge.

Then tiny bugs emerged from the earth beneath her feet and began to climb her legs, working their way under her clothing and into her boots. She could hear the gnashing of their tiny teeth, and then they were biting her, tearing at her flesh. She felt her skin break and her blood begin to flow. She collapsed in despair, shrieking.

The bugs were suddenly all over her.

Abruptly, the meadow with its bugs and withered grasses and the gray-haired Elven woman disappeared into blackness, and she was alone again. She felt herself rising, and when the light returned, she was standing on a mountainside, high up in the clouds, wind whipping snow and particles of ice against her skin. She wore no coat, hat, or gloves. The cold was bitter and relentless as it tore at her clothing and lashed her skin.

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