The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

by Terry Brooks

  “When did you start flying airships?” Khyber asked. She looked up at him. “You must have been doing it a long time.”

  He nodded. “Since I can remember. My mother always flew and my father, as well, after he met her. They took me with them everywhere after I was born, even when I was a baby. I remember learning to steer when I was barely old enough to stand on an upended crate and look over the pilot box railing.”

  “I wanted to fly,” she said, “but my father, when he was alive, and after he died, my brother, insisted that someone always go with me. In a big warship with lots of the Home Guard for protection, I might add. Even after I began traveling out on my own, old enough to know how to take care of myself, I wasn’t allowed to go by airship.”

  He shrugged. “You haven’t missed that much.”

  She laughed. “What a terrible liar you are, Penderrin! You can’t possibly believe that! You’re the one who can’t wait to get back up in the skies! Admit it!”

  “Okay, I admit it.” He was laughing, too. “But you can make up for what you’ve missed. I could show you.”

  He moved another piece, and she responded. She was good at the game, but not nearly as good as he was. He had an innate sense of what she was going to do even before she did. She studied the board intently, aware that she was being backed into a corner.

  “Have you thought about the fact that your father and my uncle Ahren were about the same age we are now when they sailed on the Jerle Shannara?” she said.

  “More than once.”

  “Do your parents ever talk about what it was like?”

  “Once in a while, a lot of their friends died on that voyage, and I don’t think they like to remember it.” He looked at her. “How about your uncle? Does he ever say anything?”

  She shook her head, her brow creasing. “He doesn’t like to talk about it, either. Because of the seer, I think. He was in love with her, though he won’t say so now. It’s too painful for him.” She cocked her head. “Are you afraid of what we’re doing, Pen?”

  He leaned back, thinking about it. Was he afraid? What did he feel? He hadn’t really stopped to think about it. Or maybe hadn’t allowed himself, afraid of what he might discover.

  “No,” he answered, then immediately grimaced. “All right, yes, but only in a general sort of way. I don’t know enough to be afraid of anything specific yet. Except for that Druid, that Dwarf. He was pretty scary. I’m afraid of him.”

  She brushed back strands of dark hair that had fallen forward over her face as she bent to the board. “I’m not afraid. I know some magic, so I can protect us if I have to. Uncle Ahren knows a lot of magic, though he doesn’t show it. I think he’s probably a match for anyone. We’ll be all right.”

  “Glad you think so.”

  “Don’t you have some of your father’s magic? He had the magic of the wishsong, like your aunt Grianne, didn’t he?”

  Pen nodded. “True. But he didn’t pass it on to me. I think the bloodline has grown thin after all these years. He’s probably the last. Just as well, he’d tell you. He doesn’t trust it. He uses it now and then, but not much. He’s just as happy I don’t have any.”

  “It might help if you did.”

  Pen paused, considering whether or not he should tell her about the talent he did have. “Maybe.”

  “You could protect yourself a little better. From those renegade Druids and their magic. From what you might come upon inside the Forbidding. Don’t you think so?”

  He didn’t reply. They went back to the game, moving pieces until only eight remained on the board. Pen knew by then that he would win, but he let the game continue anyway. Playing it helped pass the time.

  “Do you remember what Tagwen said about the tanequil giving me the darkwand if I could find it?” he asked her finally. He leaned forward over the board as if concentrating, deliberately lowering his voice. “It’s because I do have magic.”

  She leaned in to meet him, their foreheads almost touching. Her Elven features sharpened with surprise. “What sort of magic? The wishsong? But you said not.”

  “No. Something else. Something different.” He fiddled with one of the pieces, then took his hand away. “I can sense what living things are thinking, what they are going to do and why. Not people. Birds and animals and plants. When they make sounds, noises or cries or whatever, I can understand what they are saying. Sometimes, I can make the sounds back, answer them.”

  She cocked one eyebrow. “That seems to me like it could be pretty important. I don’t know how exactly, but I think it could be. Have you told Uncle Ahren?”

  He shook his head. “Not yet.”

  “Well, you should. He ought to know, Pen. He’s a Druid. He might know something about it that you don’t, maybe a way you can use it that will help us.” She paused, studying his face. “Are you afraid to tell him? You can trust him, you know.”

  “I know.” His eyes locked on hers. “I just don’t talk about it much. I never have.”

  They went back to playing, the sound of the rain beating against the window increasing in intensity. All around them, voices and laughter fought to hold their ground. The flames of the lamps on the walls and the candles on the tables fluttered like tiny flags as the wind slipped through cracks and crevices in the wood boarding and gusted through the open door every time someone entered or left.

  “I’ll tell him when he comes back,” Pen said finally. He moved his assault piece to confront her control. “Stand down. You lose, Khyber.”

  They played another game and were in the middle of a third when the door opened to admit a drenched Ahren Elessedil and Tagwen. Shedding water from their all-weather cloaks like ducks come ashore, they hurried over to the boy and girl. “Get your things together,” Ahren told them quietly, bending down so that rainwater dripped on the tabletop. “We’ve found a ship.”

  They gathered up their gear, strapped their packs over their shoulders, and departed the inn for the ship that the Druid had engaged. Better that they settle in at once so they could be ready to leave when the storm abated, the Druid advised. They had to walk from the side street on which the inn was situated back to the main roadway and down to the docks, then along the waterfront to where the ship was tied up at the pier. As they slogged through the downpour, Ahren Elessedil provided the details.

  “The ship is the Skatelow. Appropriate name for its uses, I’d guess. Low and sleek in her hull, raked mast, lots of rigging on the decks. She can’t carry much in the way of passengers or freight with all the sail she stores, but she can probably outrun almost anything flying.”

  “Made for our uses,” Tagwen grunted, his words nearly drowned out by a sudden gust of wind.

  “Not much in the way of comforts, but adequate for our needs,” the Druid continued. “Her Captain is a Rover named Gar Hatch. I don’t know anything about him other than what I’ve learned from talking with him and what a few on the waterfront tell me. He’s got a reputation for being willing to try anything, and they all say he can go places no one else would even think of trying. If I read him correctly, he’s done a lot of what we’re after—carrying passengers who want to keep it quiet. He’s charming, but there’s some snake in him, as well, so watch what you say. He knows we want to go east to the Lazareen, but that’s all I’ve given him to work with. What he cares about most is the money he will get, and I’ve satisfied him on that count.”

  “The Lazareen?” Khyber asked.

  “An inland lake at the foot of the Charnals, the first step of our journey. That’s all the Rover knows of our plans just yet.”

  They walked on for a while, not speaking, heads bent against the wind and rain. Pen was not only wet, he was cold. He had been out in the weather a lot aboard airships and knew how to dress for it, but in his haste to leave the inn this afternoon, he hadn’t given much thought to his personal comfort. He was regretting that oversight now.

  “Penderrin.”

  Ahren Elessedil had dropped back to walk besi
de him, letting Khyber and Tagwen go on ahead. Pen hitched up his pack and moved closer so that he could hear. The rain obscured the Druid’s face and ran off his shoulders in sheets.

  “I took the liberty of telling Captain Hatch that you had extensive airship experience,” he said. “I’m afraid I put you on the spot rather deliberately.” The hood shifted, and Pen caught a glimpse of his Elven features, somber and intense. “I don’t trust this fellow entirely; he’s a mercenary, and mercenaries always look out for themselves first. But he was the best I could do, and I didn’t want to delay our departure. The longer we wait, the better the chance that those hunting us will get wind of where we are.”

  Pen nodded. “I understand.”

  The Druid leaned closer. “The reason I told Hatch about your experience is so that he knows at least one of us can determine if he’s doing what he’s supposed to. I don’t want him telling us one thing and doing something else. I don’t want him thinking he can put one over on us. I don’t say that would happen, but I want to guard against it. I don’t know that much about airships; I never did. Your father was the pilot and your mother the navigator when it was needed. I was always just a passenger. That’s never changed. Khyber and Tagwen know even less than I do. In fact, I think it’s something of a miracle that Tagwen managed to reach you on his own.”

  “I thought that, too, after he told me what he’d done.” Pen blinked away the rain that swept into his eyes.

  “Stay alert on our journey, Pen,” Ahren said. “Don’t make it obvious, but keep an eye on what’s happening with the navigation of the ship. If anything looks wrong, tell me. I’ll deal with it. Can you do that?”

  “I can do it.”

  “Gar Hatch doesn’t know who we are, but that doesn’t mean he won’t find out. If he does, he might be tempted to make use of that information. The Druids are already looking for you. They’ve put it about that because of what happened to your aunt, you might be in danger, as well, and should be protected. If you’re seen, word is to be sent to them immediately.”

  He hunched his shoulders against the wind. “I gave him only first names, thinking it safe enough at the time, but now I wish I hadn’t given him even that. News of the Druid search didn’t reach Syioned until this morning, but now that it has, Hatch may hear of it. He isn’t a stupid man. Be very careful, Pen.”

  He moved away again into the rain, his cloaked form dark and shadowy in the gloom. Pen stared after him, slowing.

  Be very careful. Easily said, he thought; not so easily done.

  Aware suddenly that he was falling behind, he hurried to catch up with the others.

  SIXTEEN

  The storm raged on through the rest of the day and all that night, but by daybreak it had begun to diminish. By the time the general population of Syioned was stirring awake, the Skatelow had cast off her moorings and was under way.

  Pen and his companions had been huddled belowdecks since boarding, trying their best to sleep through the storm’s fury, and they had not had more than a rain-drenched glimpse of their vessel. Now, with the skies clearing and the sun a bright wash in the east, they came on deck to look around.

  Their transport was a sloop, a new design for airships, although a very old one for sailing ships. Ahren Elessedil had described it accurately. It was low and flat and clearly built for speed. A single mast and spars were rigged to fly a mainsail, foresail, and flying jib. In his travels, Pen hadn’t seen much of the latter, another sailing ship feature that had been converted for airship usage. A broad, billowing sail that traditionally captured the wind off the bow and gave the vessel extra thrust, the jib was used by airships to absorb a wider swath of ambient light that could be converted to energy by the diapson crystals that powered the ship. The Skatelow lacked the pontoons that serviced most of the older airships of the catamaran design, relying instead on its pilot’s sailing skills and the flatness of its hull to keep it steady in the air.

  Pen liked the Skatelow right away. It had been modified from its original design considerably to eliminate anything that might slow its flight. Except for the mast and rigging, everything else was tucked away belowdecks or in storage bins. Even the pilot box was recessed into the hull to cut back on drag. Everything was sleek and smooth, the ship a great swift bird that could hunt or run as needed. It was powered by eight diapson crystals, the most in use for a ship of only seventy-odd feet. Anything more and the thrust might have torn her apart. Even with eight, the Captain had to know what he was doing.

  Gar Hatch did, and he let Pen know it right from the first. Pen had been abovedecks less than five minutes when the Captain of the Skatelow hailed him over.

  “Penderrin!” he called out from the pilot box. “Stand to, lad! Give an old sailor an ear to bend!”

  Obediently, Pen walked down the deck to the box and climbed in beside Gar Hatch. The Rover was a big man, heavy and square through his midsection with huge arms and legs—a tree trunk of a man. Bushy hair sprouted from his face and head, even from his sizeable ears, giving him the appearance of a great woolly bear. When he spoke he had a tendency to rear back, his stomach thrust out and his chin tucked so far into his beard that his mouth disappeared entirely. What remained visible were his sharp, hawkish eyes, bright and dangerous.

  “You’re a sailor yourself, I’m told,” he said, his deep, rough voice rising from somewhere inside his beard. His breath smelled of fish and sea salt. “Been so since you were a small lad, an early old salt. Spent years sailing airships big and small about Rainbow Lake and the rivers that feed her. Good for you!”

  “My parents are the real sailors,” Pen said. “I learned what I know from them. They take customers on expeditions into the Eastland.” He stopped himself quickly. Remembering Ahren Elessedil’s admonishment, he was aware that he had already said more than he should have. “I just fly with them once in a while and look after the ships in dock,” he finished carefully.

  Gar Hatch didn’t seem to notice. “Grew up that way myself,” he said. “Learned what I know from my father and uncles, sailors all. On the coast, off the Blue Divide, whichever way the wind blew. We flew the big ships mostly, but I had my own skiff when I was your age. Got one of those yourself, your uncle tells me.”

  My uncle? “Yes, that’s right,” Pen answered quickly. “A cat-28. I built it myself.”

  “Did you now? Good for you, Penderrin!” The Rover laughed, his belly shaking with the effort. “Best way to learn about airships is to build one. Haven’t got the skills for that myself, but I’ve helped those who do. I learned keel from mast quick enough that way, so when I flew I understood if the lady didn’t like the way she was being treated.”

  Pen grinned. “I like this ship. I’ve never flown one, but I’ve seen them and I know how they’re made. This one is made to fly fast. Have you run out the string on her?”

  Hatch roared. “That’s the lad! Ask what matters, and no beating around the main mast! Sure, I’ve had her thrusters all the way open, and let me tell you, Penderrin, she can fly faster than fast! Nothing alive can catch her, save for the big birds off the coast, and they might have to work some to do it. She’s a glutton for speed, this one. You’re right, though. I gave her all her curves, all her smooth limbs and soft lines. She’s my lady, she is.”

  He paused. “You’ve never flown a sloop, did you say? Lad, that’s unconscionable! Do you want to try now?”

  Pen could hardly contain his excitement. “You’d let me?”

  “A sailor like yourself, born to the air?” Hatch leaned forward, his fish breath in Pen’s face. “Take the helm, Captain Pen.”

  Despite Ahren Elessedil’s warnings about the big man, Pen was desperate to fly the sloop, so he put aside his misgivings. It wouldn’t hurt to accept the offer, he told himself. He was just going to test his skills a bit, try out the controls, and see if he could manage the vessel. He had flown other airships of the same sort, some much bigger. Skatelow couldn’t be that much more difficult.

  Gar
Hatch backed away, and Pen stepped up to the helm. He glanced down quickly, noting thrusters, lifts, banking levers, and the like, all familiar to him, though located in somewhat different positions than he was used to. The compass was set dead center above the half wheel that managed the keel rudder.

  “There you be, young Pen,” the Rover Captain declared cheerfully. “A fine and proper set of controls for a fine and proper young sailor. Give her a try, lad.”

  Pen did so, easing into things slowly, carefully, setting trim before taking the airship a little higher with the lifts. She nosed upward, but he felt the tension in her hull, then a slight shaking. He frowned as he worked to steady her. It wasn’t as easy as he had thought. Everything was the same, but the sloop’s responses were less certain than he would have liked. He adjusted the thrusters and felt her shake some more. An effort at resetting trim proved unsuccessful. He eased the power back, glancing over at Gar Hatch.

  The Rover’s sharp eyes were glittering. “Not so easy as it looks, is it?” he asked, and Pen could see he wasn’t expecting an argument. “Flying a sloop is not the same as flying a cat-28 or even a warship with pontoons and rams for stability. A sloop needs tender loving care from a master who knows her needs.”

  He smiled, but even through the heavy growth of beard Pen could see the teeth behind. He realized with a sinking feeling that Hatch had been testing him. Knowing how difficult it would be for someone unfamiliar with the sloop to sail her, he had enticed Pen into trying so that he could judge the boy’s skills. The Rover was one step ahead of Ahren Elessedil; he knew that Pen had been asked to check up on him, even without having been present at the conversation. Now he had Pen’s measure, and the boy had helped him take it.