The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

by Terry Brooks

  He felt her hand press against his back. “Do you think they might be watching as well as listening? Here?”

  He shook his head. He didn’t know. But he wasn’t about to chance it. The safety of his sister and his son were at stake, and some among the Druids might not have their best interests at heart, no matter what they said.

  They moved over to the window. The sun was setting on the horizon, a bloodred orb hung against a cerulean sky. Shadows had lengthened into dark pools, and the moon was just visible along the northeast horizon. The air outside felt cool and fresh on their faces as they leaned out, resting their arms on the stone sill, hunched close together with their backs to the room.

  Bek slipped the scrap of paper from its hiding place and laid it in front of them, keeping his hands cupped about it. They bent close. Four words were printed on it in block letters.

  DO NOT TRUST THEM.

  That was all. Bek studied the note a moment more, glanced at Rue, then pocketed it anew. When he had a chance to do so, he would destroy it. But he would have to be careful how he handled it. Druids could reconstruct messages from nothing more than ashes.

  “Clearly, not everyone is in agreement about what has happened to my sister,” he said. “The young Druid, for one.”

  “Maybe others, as well.”

  He laid his hand on her arm. “We can’t trust anyone.”

  She nodded, her eyes shifting to find his. “What are we going to do?”

  He smiled. “I was hoping you could tell me.” He leaned over and kissed her forehead gently. “I really was.”

  In bed that night, wrapped in each other’s arms, comforted by the darkness and the silence, they talked about it.

  “Do you think they are listening still?” She said it with an edge to her voice that suggested what she might do to them if she discovered they were.

  He stroked her hair. “I think they have better things to do.”

  “I hope they weren’t watching when we bathed. That makes my skin crawl. But I can imagine that ferret-faced Druid doing it.”

  “No one watched us bathe.”

  She was silent a moment, pressed up against him. “At least the meal they gave us was decent. They didn’t try to poison us.”

  “They have other plans for us. Poison doesn’t figure into things until we’ve served our purpose.”

  He felt her face turn toward his own in the dark. “Which is? You have a hunch, don’t you?”

  His voice was already a whisper, but he lowered it further. “I’ve been thinking about it. Grianne disappeared for no discernible reason, but Tagwen went outside the order to find help. That suggests he didn’t know who to trust among these Druids any more than we do. He knew he could trust Ahren, though. So he traveled to Emberen to ask for his help. Ahren would have given it willingly. That much I feel pretty certain about.”

  “Me, too.”

  “But then they went to Patch Run. Maybe they did so to look for us, but they found Pen, instead. So they asked Pen where we were. He probably told them and wanted to go with them. Somehow, he persuaded them that it was a good idea.”

  “Or they had to take him because they thought he was in danger.”

  “Right. But what happened then? Did they come looking for us? If they did, why didn’t they find us? Pen would have been able to track us down. He would have known how. Ahren would have helped him, using Druid magic. Anyway, something happened to prevent that. So now these Druids who’ve brought us here are looking for them. And, ostensibly at least, for Grianne, as well. But they can’t find them.”

  “They want us to find them,” Rue whispered. “They want us to do their work for them. But maybe not to help. Maybe to do harm.”

  It made sense. While the Druids might profess that their intentions were honorable, there was good reason to think otherwise.

  They were silent again for a time, pondering their fresh insight, trying to think through what they should do about it. Bek felt his wife tighten her grip on him. “We can’t help them. We can’t put Penderrin in any more danger than he is already in.”

  “I know.”

  “I hate it that he’s become involved in this, in your sister’s life, in Druid intrigues and gamesmanship.”

  “Don’t underestimate Pen. He is smart and capable, and he has some experience in the world. He might not have magic to protect him, but he has his wits. Besides, if he’s with Ahren, he’s as protected as he would be with us.”

  “I wouldn’t agree with that. Anyway, he shouldn’t have to be protected in the first place.”

  He felt her anger building. “Rue, listen to me. We can’t change what’s happened. We don’t even know for sure what that is. That’s what we came to find out. Maybe we will, once we have a chance to talk with that young Druid. In the meantime, it doesn’t do us any good to get too angry to think.”

  “What makes you think I’m angry?”

  “Well—”

  “Don’t you think I have a right to be angry?”

  “Well—”

  “Are you suggesting I can’t be angry and think at the same time?”

  He hesitated, uncertain of his reply, then felt her begin to shake with suppressed laughter. “Very funny,” he whispered.

  She poked him in the ribs. “I thought so.”

  They lay quietly, listening to each other breathe. Bek ran his hands along his wife’s ribs and down her legs. He could feel the ridges where scar tissue had formed over wounds she had suffered twenty years earlier aboard the Jerle Shannara. They were a testimony to her strength and resiliency, a reminder of how hard her early life had been. He had always believed her to be stronger than he was, tougher of mind and body both. He had never stopped thinking of her that way. Others might think that because he possessed the use of the wishsong’s magic, he was the stronger. Some might even think that being the male in their partnership made him the stronger. But he knew better.

  “I won’t get angry until after I get Penderrin back,” she said suddenly, her words so soft he could barely hear them. “I don’t make any promises after that.”

  “I wouldn’t expect it.”

  “We will get him back, Bek. I don’t care what it takes.”

  “We’ll get him back.”

  “How?”

  “You asked me that earlier.”

  “You didn’t answer.”

  “I was thinking. I’m still thinking.”

  “Well, hurry up. I’m worried.”

  He smiled at her insistence, but was glad she couldn’t see him doing so. She was scared for her son, and he would not want her to mistake how he was treating the matter. He was worried, too. But he understood that what was needed was a calm, measured approach to untangling the puzzle surrounding Pen’s and Grianne’s disappearances. Rue’s strength might lie in her determination, but his lay in keeping his wits.

  “I’ll hurry,” he promised.

  “I would appreciate that.”

  “I know.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Minutes later, they were asleep.

  EIGHT

  Bek and Rue were awake early, troubled enough by the challenges that lay ahead that the first inklings of light in the east were sufficient to bring them out of their fitful sleep. They washed and dressed and found breakfast waiting outside the door in the form of bread, cheese, fruit, and cold ale. When they retrieved the food tray, the hallway was deserted save for the Gnome Hunters, who were stationed across the hallway. Bek nodded agreeably but got no response.

  “I don’t think we are guests in the usual sense of the word,” he told Rue as he closed the door.

  Within an hour, Traunt Rowan was knocking, his eyes bright with anticipation. “Are you ready to try now, Bek?” he asked.

  Bek was. He had a plan, although he hadn’t confided it to Rue. He told her when they woke that he knew what to do, but that it was better if he kept it to himself. Her own response should not seem forced or planne
d. She must trust him even if it looked like he was doing something he should not. He understood what was needed. No one at Paranor could be trusted with Pen’s or Grianne’s whereabouts. If he was lucky enough to discover that information, it belonged to them and them alone.

  He had explained it all in a whisper as they lay together in the deep gloom of early dawn, still wary of who might be listening, determined to make no mistake that would reveal their true intentions.

  They left the sleeping chamber behind Traunt Rowan, who led them back down the hall and up the stairs to the cold chamber and the scrye waters. Bek held Rue’s hand in his own, a reassurance that transcended physical presence and touched on emotional support. He could read her feelings in her touch, in the strength of her grip. He took his cue from those. He spoke with the Druid conversationally, asking if there was any news, if the airships searching for his sister and son had returned, if the day seemed a good one. He told Traunt Rowan that their sleeping arrangements were more than adequate, better than they had been used to over the past few weeks. He praised the food. He talked to put the other at ease. He talked to calm himself.

  “Shadea is ready,” Traunt Rowan advised him as they reached their destination, and Bek understood it to be a warning that he should be ready, as well.

  The cold chamber felt frigid in the wake of the night’s recent departure, the chill of the darkness still present. Bek shivered involuntarily as he entered the room, hunching his shoulders against the sudden change in temperature. Shadea a’Ru stood to one side, looking out the window at the sunrise, her broad shoulders wrapped in a scarlet cloak that fell all the way to the floor. When she turned, he saw that the clasp that fastened it bore the crest of the Druid order, the instantly recognizable emblem of the Eilt Druin. It flashed brightly as the light caught it momentarily, and Bek thought he caught a reflection of that hard brightness in Shadea’s eyes as well.

  “We are anxious to begin, Bek,” she said perfunctorily, nodding to Rue, but not speaking to her. “Are you sufficiently rested now?”

  “I am,” Bek assured her. “Let’s begin.”

  She beckoned him to stand with her at the basin. Bek moved over to peer down into the swirl of deep green waters, seeing fluctuations on their surface that seemed to have no discernible origin. He studied them for a moment, then glanced at Shadea expectantly. As he did so, he caught sight of Gerand Cera, who was standing back and to one side of him in the shadows. He wondered how many more were in hiding somewhere in that room. He wondered if he was going to be able to fool them all.

  “You already understand what it is the scrye waters do,” Shadea said. “If you can use your magic to connect with their impulses, you should be able to reach beyond what is visible for a more comprehensive reading. I am hopeful that your reach will extend to the magic that resides in your sister or perhaps your son. Any little trace, any clue revealed by doing so may prove helpful.”

  Helpful to whom? he thought. But he said nothing, only nodding in response.

  “Would you move back from me a little?” he asked.

  All of them, Rue included, stepped away from the basin to give him the space he needed. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes in concentration. He calmed himself, centered himself, and then lost himself in the deep silence that settled over the room. He would have only one chance, and if he wasn’t convincing enough, he would be in the worst trouble of his life. These were Druids, he reminded himself for what must have been the hundredth time. Druids weren’t easily fooled when it came to the use of magic.

  On the other hand, none of them possessed or truly understood the magic of the wishsong. That was his edge, if he had any.

  He waited until he could hear himself breathing in the stillness, then summoned the magic. He began with a low humming, a sound that mirrored a wind’s whisper as it passed through the branches of the trees, soft and silky. He brought it out of its resting place and let it fill him with warmth. The cold of the room lessened and then disappeared. His concentration was so complete that the people around him disappeared as well. He was alone, lost in himself and in his magic.

  When he opened his eyes again, he saw only the basin in front of him. He reached out with his hands and let them hover just above the deep green waters, so close he could almost feel the strange ripples that disturbed the otherwise placid surface. He moved his hands slowly, taking his time, not rushing the flow of the magic from his body. He watched the waters respond as he let the first tendrils stroke their surface. He felt them shudder at the intrusion.

  He worked more swiftly then, enveloping the scrye waters in a broad swath intended to detect any obvious sign of Grianne or Pen. The former’s presence would reveal itself immediately, so strong was the connection between them. Shadea had been right about that; their shared use of magic was a powerful link. But nothing showed itself; no sign of his sister surfaced. He kept searching, sending the wishsong’s magic deep into the scrye waters, into the gridwork of the lines of power that crisscrossed the Four Lands, sifting and probing. He moved his hands in a slow, circular motion that took him in all directions, toward all of the possible places she might have gone.

  Still nothing.

  He was beginning to think that his efforts were a waste of time, a result he did not like to contemplate, when abruptly he touched on something. The surface of the scrye waters rippled in response, and he moved his focus away immediately so Shadea would not see. He continued his search in other areas, taking his time, trying to give an appearance of thoroughness. He must seem to be working hard at making the magic connect; he must not appear duplicitous. But it was harder now, because his instincts were to return to the place on the gridwork where he had found what he was looking for.

  Time slipped away. Nothing further revealed itself. He let his hands sweep back to the point of connection, a testing of his previous discovery. Once again, the scrye waters rippled, and he felt the presence of wishsong magic. Moving his hands away, he marked the place in his mind, knowing now where to go and what to look for.

  Then, preoccupied with his discovery and ready to break this off, he let his hands settle over the place on the gridwork that marked Paranor’s solitary spires.

  Instantly, the scrye waters boiled and steamed, then exploded in a massive geyser. Magic ripped through Bek, breaking down his defenses and his connection with the basin waters. He was caught completely unprepared, and the next thing he knew he was flat on his back on the floor, his clothing steaming and his hair singed.

  “Bek!” Rue was at his side, cradling his head in her hands, bent close to his face. He blinked hard, trying to dispel the dizziness that was making the room spin and her voice echo. Had he lost consciousness? How long had he been lying there? “Look at me!” she said. “Can you see me? Can you hear what I’m saying?”

  He nodded wordlessly. Their Druid hosts were gathered around him as well, crouched like vultures, faces a mix of hunger and expectation. He had planned to deceive them by creating a diversion with the wishsong’s magic. He hadn’t planned on it happening this way. His entire body throbbed and his head ached as if he had taken a physical beating.

  “What did you see?” Shadea demanded of him, her eyes narrowed. “You must have seen something, felt something.”

  He shook his head. His tongue felt thick in his mouth, and his teeth were gritted against the pain. “Nothing,” he mumbled as he worked his jaw muscles, trying to make them relax. “I don’t know what happened. I was working the magic, just a general search. My hands passed over Paranor’s location on the map. Then this.”

  He saw recognition in her eyes, a glint of satisfaction and exultation, a response that suggested she had found what she had been looking for and that it was not something she would ever reveal to him.

  Then a veiled, guarded look took its place, and she smiled. “You came in contact with the magic that wards the Druid’s Keep, Bek. It was a backlash of the protections we set in place for ourselves. Paranor was defending us. I shoul
d have warned you. Are you all right?”

  “I’ll need to rest myself a bit before I try again. I’m not done yet with my search.”

  “You shall have all the rest you need.” She stood up, glancing at the other two. “He has done well, for his first attempt. He’ll do even better next time. Traunt, take our guests back to their rooms. See that they have everything they need while Bek recovers. Food and drink and fresh clothing, perhaps a walk in the gardens later. On the morrow, Bek, we will try again.”

  She was gone from the room so quickly that he had no further chance to question her odd response. Still woozy, he drew himself up into a sitting position and hung his head between his knees.

  “That was dramatic,” Rue whispered as she placed his arm over her shoulders and helped him to stand. Traunt Rowan had moved ahead to open the door for them and was looking down the hallway after Shadea and Gerand Cera. “Did you intend to hurt yourself like that?”

  “I didn’t intend to hurt myself at all, if things had gone the way they were supposed to,” he whispered back. He saw the look of surprise in her eyes and managed a tired smile. “I didn’t plan any of that.”

  “What happened, then?”

  “I don’t know. Something I didn’t expect. But it wasn’t wasted effort, anyway.”

  She leaned close. “Penderrin?”

  He nodded. “I think I found him.”

  He fell asleep almost immediately after reaching their bedchamber, too exhausted even to remove his clothes. He slept soundly until Rue woke him to make him eat something, and then he fell right back asleep. He dreamed, but his dreams were disjointed and strange, a collection of images from his past life and from other lives entirely, all connected in a way that made them surreal and unfathomable. He thought he was aware of Rue speaking to him more than once, but it wasn’t enough to bring him out of the dreams.