The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

by Terry Brooks

  “Do you have a brother?” he asked Pen. The boy shook his head. “Well, if you did, I would hope he would treat you better than Kermadec treats me. He was born earlier, but not necessarily smarter. He is Maturen now, but I will be Maturen one day, too.”

  He broke off and turned away, leading them into a series of narrow tunnels that twisted and turned through the rock. Several times, they encountered Trolls coming from the other direction, but not once did Atalan give way, bulling past the oncoming Trolls with an insistence that bordered on rudeness. He seemed of such an entirely different temperament than Kermadec that Pen could not come to terms with the idea that they were really brothers.

  “So you are the reason for all this madness,” Atalan offered at one point. “What is it about you that attracts this kind of attention from the Druids?”

  Pen shook his head. “The Ard Rhys is my aunt.”

  “Your aunt?” Atalan seemed impressed. “Missing for several weeks now, isn’t she? Do they think you know where she is?”

  “I don’t know what they think. Except that they don’t want me hunting for her.”

  Atalan nodded. “That would explain why they want you so bad. It would explain why my brother is so intent on helping you, too. He thinks the Ard Rhys is the Word’s own child. He thinks she can do no wrong. He forgets what she was before, a creature of darkness and murder. You know of this, don’t you?”

  Pen nodded. He was growing angry. “She was a creature of the Morgawr and not responsible for what she did,” he answered in clipped tones.

  Atalan glanced back once more. “If you say so.”

  They went on through the tunnels until they had reached a room far back in the cliff rock, where the light was dim and hazy and the noise of the activity taking place below was muted almost to silence.

  The Rock Troll gestured. “Wait here.”

  He disappeared down another passageway, and when he was safely out of hearing, Pen said to Cinnaminson, “I don’t think he likes us much.”

  She turned her milky gaze on him and smiled. “You don’t like him, either. But this is mostly about his brother. You shouldn’t take it personally.”

  He nodded, thinking it was easy to say, but hard to do. Especially when it was your family that was being attacked. But she was right, of course, so he put the matter aside. They sat together in the chamber, listening to the faraway sounds of the Trolls and waiting for something to happen.

  When Atalan finally returned, he was carrying food and drink, which he deposited in front of them with barely a word before disappearing again. With nothing better to do, they began to eat. But it wasn’t more than a few minutes later that Tagwen and Khyber appeared at the chamber entrance.

  “Shades, Penderrin, can’t you stay out of trouble for five minutes without someone keeping watch over you?” snapped the latter. “What happened to you out there? Are you all right, Cinnaminson?”

  She rushed over to the Rover girl and embraced her warmly, giving Pen a dark look. Tagwen, standing at the entry with his arms folded over his burly chest, knit his brow in reproof and glared at him. Pen could tell already that nothing he said was going to make any difference.

  Aboard the Druid flagship Athabasca, Traunt Rowan stood at the forward rail with Pyson Wence and watched the Gnome Hunters flood the abandoned Troll village. Already, the smell of smoke rising from fires and the sound of furniture being smashed had begun to reach them. Their orders, once it was determined that Kermadec intended to fight, were to destroy as much of Taupo Rough as possible and then lay siege to the cliffside redoubt. The Trolls might think themselves safe inside their rock fortress, but the Druid warships were equipped with catapults designed to breach such defenses. More to the point, the Trolls were outnumbered and constrained by the presence of their women and children. The Trolls might hold out for a day or even two, but in the end, they would be overrun.

  “I don’t like it that Shadea is so intent on finding this boy,” Pyson Wence said quietly, his gimlet eyes shifting to find Rowan’s dark face. “I don’t like it that we’re out here at all.”

  “Do you suspect that she wants us out of the way?” the Southlander asked, keeping his attention focused on the progress of the Gnomes. Wence had brought them to Paranor from among his own people, but they were under Rowan’s immediate command in this operation. Pyson Wence was adept at many things, but he was not a soldier.

  “I think she would like to see what happened to Terek Molt happen to us. I don’t trust her.”

  “If you did, you would be unique.”

  “It troubles me that we have lost both Molt and Iridia in the span of a week’s time. One dead and one disappeared, and now here we are, the last two of Shadea’s company, dispatched from Paranor to hunt this boy while she cuddles with Gerand Cera and schemes to make the position of Ard Rhys a lifetime appointment.”

  Shadea’s infatuation with Cera bothered Traunt Rowan, as well, but he wasn’t convinced yet that it was real. Shadea was far too self-centered to make a pairing of equals with another Druid. She was up to something, and on first hearing of her alliance with Cera, he had decided to wait her out. She wasn’t yet so firmly entrenched that she could afford to discard her old allies. It was unfortunate about Molt and Iridia, but what had happened to them was not directly Shadea’s doing.

  Her obsession with finding Pen Ohmsford was more troubling. It was the parents who should concern them, he thought, particularly Bek Ohmsford, who had the use of the magic of the wishsong, which was Grianne Ohmsford’s principal weapon. Yet even though Shadea had locked the senior Ohmsfords in the cellars of the Keep, she wasn’t satisfied. Before imprisoning them, she had tricked them into revealing their son’s location so that she could continue to hunt him down. She was merely being safe, she insisted, but he thought it was something more.

  Wheels within wheels. Games and more games. It was a part of the Druid culture, but he had never been comfortable with it. He was better at confronting problems in an open way, at meeting them head-on. It was one of the reasons he had gone to the Ard Rhys on that last night and asked her quite bluntly to resign her office. She might have been persuaded to do so, had he more time to convince her and had Shadea not been so anxious to use the liquid night. But Shadea was ambitious and manipulative; she was more representative of the Druid order at large. Traunt Rowan was more the exception. Oddly enough, it was one of the reasons he believed himself less vulnerable to Shadea’s anger. She knew he was neither ambitious nor covetous; she knew he was content to let her lead. His goal from the beginning had been to remove Grianne Ohmsford as head of the order; it had never been to take her place. In their desire for advancement and acquisition of power, the others were more aggressive than he was. It put them in dangerous waters, while he stood safely on the shore.

  He refocused his gaze on Taupo Rough. The Gnome attack force had reached the base of the cliff walls and was forming up for an all-out assault. Scaling ladders and grappling hooks were being brought forward, and shield walls were being prepared. When everything was in place, the attack on the redoubt would begin.

  “I want you to go down into the village with your Hunters,” he said suddenly to Pyson Wence. When the other gaped at him in disbelief, he added, “So that they can see we are committed to their efforts. I don’t need you to lead any charges, Pyson. I need you to provide reassurance.”

  “Then you go!” the Gnome snapped.

  “I would, but I have to command the airships when we begin to launch the catapults. I would leave you to handle this if you had any idea at all how to use a catapult. But you don’t, so your place is on the ground, keeping your Gnome Hunters in line.”

  The Gnome Druid gave him a withering stare. “You don’t command me, Traunt Rowan. No one commands me.”

  “Aboard this ship and on this expedition, I do,” he responded calmly. “I have been given the responsibility for bringing back the boy. You were sent to aid me. So you must do as I instruct you to do. As you agreed to do b
y coming with me, I might add.”

  Pyson Wence did not move. “If I do so, what is to prevent you from leaving me behind? What if that is what Shadea has asked of you?”

  His voice was petulant and accusatory. Traunt Rowan held his gaze. “Look at me, Pyson. Look closely. Do you see treachery in my eyes or hear it in my voice? Since when have you ever worried that I would betray any of us in this business?”

  Long moments passed, their measure a blink of an eye to both as they stared each other down. “All right,” Pyson Wence said finally. His narrow face reflected displeasure and disgust. “I will do as you ask. I will go down with my people. I trust you, if not Shadea.”

  He went over to the ladder and began to descend to the flats, his black robes billowing out behind him in the breeze. Traunt Rowan watched him in silence, thinking that if Pyson Wence had ever trusted anyone, it was a miracle.

  Within the caverns of the Troll redoubt, Pen was sleeping soundly when a rough hand shook his shoulder and an equally rough voice said, “Wake up! You’re leaving!”

  He jerked upright, groggy and lethargic, trying to figure out where he was. When he caught sight of Atalan moving over to Tagwen to wake the Dwarf, he remembered. He had no idea how long he had slept, but it didn’t feel as if it had been more than a few minutes. He rubbed his eyes and climbed to his feet. Khyber and Cinnaminson were standing by the cavern entry, staring out into the corridor. Heavy booming shook the chamber, as if a giant were striking the cliff face with a huge hammer. From somewhere not too far away, shouts and cries rose, the sounds of a battle being joined.

  Pen moved over to the girls. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

  “The Druids and their Gnome Hunters are attacking the Trolls,” Khyber answered. “Hear that pounding? They’re using catapults to launch huge boulders into the cliff walls to break down the Troll fortifications. Gnome Hunters are scaling the cliffs on ladders and ropes, trying to breach the redoubt.”

  “Which they will do, sooner than later,” Kermadec declared, appearing out of the corridor shadows. “They’re determined about this, it seems. We have to get you out now, before we lose the chance. All awake and ready to go?” He swung around. “Atalan! Gather up their things. Distribute them among the others. Hurry!”

  Atalan hesitated. “Am I to go with you?”

  “You are. Now join the others. Go!”

  Black eyes glittering eagerly, Kermadec’s brother snatched up everything in sight belonging to the four companions and bolted from the room. It was clear that he had taken on a new attitude.

  Pen was less happy about the pending flight. “Kermadec,” he said, drawing the big Troll’s attention. “I’m sorry about this. I shouldn’t have let Tagwen talk me into coming. Look what I’ve done.”

  To his surprise, Kermadec laughed. “Well, you can make that argument, Penderrin. You can say that this is all your fault. But the fact remains that we need to bring back the Ard Rhys from where Shadea and those others have sent her. Besides, what’s happening now would have happened sooner or later. There’s no peace for the Trolls of Taupo Rough while your aunt is lost to us. So don’t blame yourself for this. Blame her, if you want to blame anyone, for not listening to me or Bristle Beard when we warned her to be more careful.”

  He beckoned Tagwen over and gathered all four around him. “Now, listen. We haven’t much time. Evacuation of the women and children is already under way. All will be spirited away through tunnels that open onto the other side. The men will follow as soon as they are out. Then a march will be undertaken to reach a new safehold. We’ve done this before, and we are practiced at it. Everyone will just disappear. There won’t even be a trail left. The Druids and the Gnomes will never know what happened.

  “But first, we have to get you out. I’ve selected a dozen Trolls to provide escort. That includes Atalan and myself. You’ll be as well looked after as possible. But we have to move quickly in the beginning, because as soon as it is discovered we are gone, Traunt Rowan is going to realize what we have done and bring his warships over the peaks and down the other side to search for us. He’ll have the advantage from the air because we must cross the Klu Mountains to reach the Inkrim. That’s a journey of perhaps a week on foot. A long time to be out in the open, but we haven’t any choice.”

  He looked at each of them in turn, measuring. “Are you up to it? Are you ready to try?”

  All nodded, but the Troll shook his head. His blunt features were tight. “Don’t be too quick to sign on. If any of you wants to stay behind, now is the time to tell me. It won’t be held against you. Not by me or by any of those who go with me.” He paused. “Cinnaminson?”

  She stiffened. “Why do you choose to start with me? Is it because I am blind?”

  Kermadec reached out with his huge hand and placed it gently on her shoulder. “No, girl. I start with you because you have less of a stake in all this than the others do. It would be easiest for you to walk away.”

  “Once, that was so.” She shook her head slowly. “Not anymore. My decision is made. I am going.”

  Kermadec looked at the other three. “Pen, you haven’t any choice, so there’s no reason to ask you. And Tagwen will go because he doesn’t trust me to get the job done alone. What of you, Khyber Elessedil?”

  She gave him a fierce look. “I will go because my uncle would have gone if he had lived. I stand now in his shoes.”

  Kermadec nodded his approval. “Then we’re a company.” He wheeled away. “Come with me.”

  He led them back down the corridor they had come through earlier, toward the shouting of fighters and the thunder of siege weapons. Pen felt his temperature rise and his hands begin to sweat as the sounds of battle reverberated through the mountain catacombs. He remembered how it had felt to be chased through the streets of the village, dodging arrows and sling stones, trying to stay safe. He did not care to experience that again, and yet it seemed as if that was exactly what was going to happen. He wished they had an airship and could simply fly away. He wanted to be back in the skies, where he felt safe.

  The main chamber of the redoubt was filled with Trolls charging in all directions. The men stood at the walls where the cliffs opened to the village below, crouching behind their fortifications as boulders smashed into the rock and arrows whizzed past their heads. The women and children were making their way in small groups toward the back part of the cavern, then filing down a series of tunnels into the torchlit dark. The women, distinctive by their smoother skin and slender bodies, herded the tiny children like puppies, urging them along, carrying those too small to walk. They seemed calm on the face of things, moving deliberately and with purpose, evidencing none of the panic that Pen felt. Their self-control impressed the boy, and he tightened his own resolve.

  With Kermadec leading the way, they hurried after the women and children. Dust was falling from the cavern ceiling as the pounding of the catapult missiles against the rock walls grew more insistent, the resulting reverberations deep and threatening. It felt as if the mountain might come down about them, broken in two by the constant hammering. Pen ducked his head instinctively and reached over to take Cinnaminson’s hand. He did so as much for himself as for her, and was grateful when she squeezed his fingers reassuringly.

  They were mingling with the women and children now, the latter staring up at him with curious, anxious eyes. He tried not to read accusation in those stares; the children wouldn’t know that their upheaval was his fault. He smiled at them as he hurried past. He didn’t know how else to tell them that he wanted them to think better of him than he thought of himself.

  “Stay together!” Kermadec called back.

  Silt rained down on Pen in a sudden shower, and he tripped over one of the children. Releasing Cinnaminson’s hand, he paused to pick the child up, brushing off its tiny head, handing it back to the closest of the women. The woman took the child and smiled at him, her strange black eyes and smooth features drawing him in. Something in the look she ga
ve him reminded him of his mother, and suddenly he missed her so that it made him ache. The shock was like a physical blow, and it left him stunned and momentarily disoriented. His world compressed to a tightness about his heart, where the things he needed most felt the farthest away.

  Still struggling with his feelings, he hurried after the others.

  SIXTEEN

  They fled through the tunnels, away from Taupo Rough and deep into the mountain rock. At first they followed the women and children, a part of their steady flow down the boltholes, and then they broke away to follow a different set of tunnels and did not see them again. Pen and the rest of their small group moved swiftly and purposefully, sliding through the darkness with torches to light the way and a sense of urgency to keep them focused. The din of the battle they had escaped was audible for a time, then dimmed and faded, and they were left with the soft scrape and rustle of their own movements in the ensuing silence.

  No one spoke. All of their efforts were concentrated on moving through the tunnels, on getting clear of the pursuit that was sure to follow. It might be that the Druids and their Gnome Hunters couldn’t track them through the rock corridors, but Pen knew that Kermadec and his Trolls would not rely on that. He held Cinnaminson’s hand as they went, drawing on the strength he found there, reassuring himself that she was with him. He didn’t even try to tell himself that the contact was for her; he knew that she was better able to navigate the dark than he was. It was to keep his despair and loneliness at bay, for he was afraid that otherwise, without the feel of her, he would give way to the dark emotions that threatened to overwhelm his failing sense of purpose and leave him drained of strength.

  The eyes of those women and children haunted him, burned into his memory, became ghosts in his mind. That wouldn’t have happened had he felt less guilt over their fate. But he could not absolve himself of the responsibility he felt, no matter what Kermadec might say. Too much of what had transpired already on the journey was directly attributable to him. Fortunes altered, plans shattered, and lives given up—that was pretty much the story for everyone with whom he had come in contact since leaving Patch Run. It might not be his fault and his involvement might not matter anyway in the long run, but he could only see what was, not what might be. His presence was the catalyst for everything that had happened. So much depended on him, and the weight of it was terrifying.