The Elfstones of Shannara Read Online Free

plunged toward him, scattering gravel and rearing to a sudden halt.
    Before the horse was fully at rest, Arion was off and facing his brother. Where Ander was short and dark, Arion was tall and fair, and his resemblance to their father at the same age was striking. That, together with the fact that he was a superb athlete and an accomplished weapons master, hunter and horseman made it inevitable that he should be Eventine’s pride and joy. There was also a compelling charisma about Arion—a charisma that Ander had always felt lacking within himself.
    â€œWhere bound, little brother?” Arion asked. As usual, when speaking to the younger Prince, his tone held a slight hint of mockery and contempt. “I wouldn’t bother our father, if I were you. He and I were up late working on some rather pressing matters of state. He was still sleeping when I looked in.”
    â€œI was heading for the stables,” Ander replied quietly. “I had no intention of
bothering
anyone.”
    Arion grinned, then turned back to his horse. With a hand on the pommel, he leapt lightly into the saddle, disregarding the stirrup. Then he turned to look down at his brother. “Well, I’m off to the Sarandanon for a few days. The people in the farming communities are all stirred up—some old fairy tale of doom overtaking us all. A lot of nonsense, but I’ve got to settle them down. Don’t get your hopes up, though. I’ll be back before father leaves for the Kershalt.” He grinned. “In the meantime, little brother, look after things, will you?”
    He flipped the reins and was off in a rush that carried him through the gates and away. Ander swore softly to himself and turned back. He was no longer in a mood to go riding.
    He should have been the one to accompany the King on the mission of state to the Kershalt. Strengthening the ties between the Trolls and the Elves was important. And while the groundwork had already been laid, it would still require diplomacy and careful negotiating. Arion was too impatient and reckless, with too little feeling for the needs and ideas of others. Ander might lack his brother’s physical skills—though he was capable enough—and he might lack as well Arion’s natural flair for leadership. But he possessed a gift for thorough, deliberate reasoning and the patience needed in diplomatic councils. On the few occasions when he had been called on, he’d demonstrated such abilities.
    He shrugged. There was no sense in dwelling on it now, however. He had already appealed to Eventine to go on the journey and been turned down in favor of Arion. Arion would be King someday; he must have the practice at statescraft he needed while Eventine still lived to guide him. And maybe that made sense, Ander conceded.
    Once, Arion and he had been close. That was when Aine was alive—Aine, the youngest of the Elessedil sons. But Aine had been killed in a hunting accident eleven years ago, and after that the bond of kinship had no longer been enough. Amberle, Aine’s young daughter, had turned to Ander for support, not to Arion, and the older brother’s jealousy had soon manifested itself in open contempt. Then when Amberle had forsaken her position as one of the Chosen, Arion had blamed his brother’s influence, and his contempt had degenerated into thinly masked hostility. Now Ander suspected their father’s mind was being poisoned against him. But there was nothing he could do about it.
    Still deep in thought, he was passing through the gates down the pathway to his house when a shout brought him around.
    â€œMy Lord Prince, wait!”
    Ander stared in surprise at the sight of a white-robed figure running toward him, one arm waving frantically. It was one of the Chosen, the redheaded one—Lauren, wasn’t that his name? It was unusual to see any of them outside the Gardens at this hour. He waited until the young Elf reached him, stumbling