The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

by Terry Brooks

  “Sunrise, tomorrow,” she repeated.

  “Don’t take any unnecessary risks. If you can’t get through, come back. We’ll find another way.”

  She reached out impulsively and patted his cheek. “Worry for someone who needs it, Captain. I will get through.”

  She arched an admonishing eyebrow at him, grinned at his obvious discomfort, then rose and hurried away.

  By nightfall, she was gone. She left without saying anything further to anyone, slipping from the Elven camp as if her departure were of no consequence. She was like that, a steady presence who never made much of the dangerous work she did. Pied sometimes wondered why she continued to risk herself after so many years, but he could never bring himself to ask her. He felt the reasons were hers, and she was entitled to keep them private. It was enough that she was there for the Home Guard every time he called on her.

  Unable to settle in, he slept poorly that night. With Drum gone, he lacked reassurance that things were in any sort of order and kept wondering what he had overlooked. He awoke well before sunrise, stiff and unrested, still dressed in the clothes he had worn for the past three days, rose from his blankets into the chilly morning air, buckled on his weapons, and walked down through the camp to find a cup of hot ale. It had quit raining, though the air was thick with the smell of damp and mist hung in gauzy blankets across the whole of the wilderness. They would march forward the last half mile when the false dawn began to brighten the eastern sky and would be at the backs of the Federation soldiers by true dawn. It would require that they travel in silence, and he had given the order the previous night that everything was to be lashed down or muffled. Whyl and two other scouts would go on ahead to prevent unexpected encounters. If things worked as he hoped, he would catch the Federation just rising and be on them before they knew what was happening.

  He found his Elven Hunters mostly awake or coming awake, as anxious as he was to get on with the effort of breaching the Federation lines and rejoining the Free-born army. Activity marked the whole of the camp, and everywhere he walked he was greeted with whispers and nods. He returned the greetings, aware of what they meant. The men and women had come to believe in themselves again, and he must see that they did not lose that newly rediscovered self-confidence through any failure of his.

  At the first indication of a graying in the east, the Elven command set out. They were formed up in units of fifty, with a commander of senior rank assigned to each. Erris Crewer had his archers deployed to either side of the regular units, both Elven Hunter and Home Guard, a screen against whatever they might encounter. They moved forward quickly, trusting to the scouts, who had gone on ahead, making their way through the deep gloom like wraiths.

  Elves knew how to stay hidden when it was needed; it was one of the first things they were taught while growing up, a part of their heritage from the Old World. That day, in their approach to the Federation, it served them well. Before the sun crested the horizon, they had reached the rear of the Federation siege lines and were able to see how the enemy was deployed and to analyze what they would have to do to get past. It was a daunting task. The Federation forces easily outnumbered them three to one, even there, at that position, and without regard for reinforcements that might be dispatched from other parts of the siege line once the Elves’ presence was discovered. The Federation soldiers were settled in behind fortifications that had been erected over the previous week, when the Elves were driven off the western heights and the rest of the Free-born allies were trapped east. An extended line of pack animals and horses was picketed farther back, blocking the Elven way forward and offering still another obstacle that they must get past.

  Pied took a long moment to consider how to proceed, weighing the choice of a breakthrough at a single point in the Federation line versus a breakthrough at several. The former kept things more tightly controlled, and he opted for it. They would all get through together or they would not get through at all.

  He put the most dependable and seasoned of his Elven Hunters in the vanguard with Ti Auberen in command, wedged Erris Crewer and his archers in behind them with swordsmen and spear bearers on the flanks, passed the signal back to be ready to make a run for it when the front ranks broke from cover, and settled back to wait for the dawn.

  We’ll need help to do this, he was thinking as he watched the gray horizon slowly brighten.

  Then a Federation picket that they had thought safely turned away wandered back through the lines and stumbled on them. He was dead almost immediately, killed by one of the archers, but not before he had gotten off a warning shout that caused heads to turn.

  Pied never hesitated. “Elessedil!” he shouted, and the Elves took up the cry.

  They broke from the cover of the gloom and the mist and charged through the Federation camp. Pied had been right in his assessment of the situation: The Federation soldiers were just beginning to stir from their sleep, and the Elves were in their midst before most even knew what was happening. The night watch fought back bravely but was swiftly overrun, and the Elves went through the camp virtually unopposed.

  The Federation soldiers who manned the fortifications were better prepared, however, and the battle to get past them was bitter and hot. Trapped against their own walls, they fought like demons, slowing the Elven rush sufficiently that for a moment it nearly stalled. Pied pushed his way to the forefront of the fighting, shouting at Ti Auberen to keep moving, to break through the lines. Home Guard warded him every step of the way, fighting to keep the enemy from getting close. From the center of the rush, Elven archers sent flurries of arrows down the siege lines, forcing the soldiers who manned them to duck for cover. In a concerted rush, the Elves slammed into the fortifications. Sandbags, earthworks, and wooden slats gave way under the crush, and the Elves were through and streaming across the flats separating the siege lines from the heights.

  Ahead, the Free-born gates were barely visible, a massive barrier formed of iron-reinforced timbers set into walls that stood twenty feet high. There was activity on those walls; Pied could see the movement from the soldiers manning them as he raced across the grasslands.

  But the gates were not opening to them.

  For just a moment, Pied considered the possibility that Troon had not reached Vaden Wick. It had never occurred to him that she could fail.

  At their backs, Federation soldiers were rallying, archers and javelin throwers trying to bring down the Elves from behind. Some among the pursued fell victim to the missiles, stricken and helpless and lost in the rush. Those in the Elven rear guard stopped to help where they could, but the press forward was intense and there was no time for hesitation. A knot of Federation soldiers swarmed onto the plains in a foolish chase that was brought up short when Erris Crewer wheeled his archers back long enough for them to use their longbows in a sustained volley that dropped the pursuers in their tracks.

  Farther down the line, Federation horsemen were riding out to intercept the Elves, charging hard and closing the distance between them with alarming quickness. Pied saw that the horsemen would reach the Elves before the Elves reached the protection of the Free-born, even should the Free-born be aware of what was happening.

  Why didn’t they open the gates?

  They were still a hundred yards from the walls when Pied shouted for Ti Auberen to form up ranks. The Elves wheeled into triangle formations and turned to face the approaching riders. Erris Crewer brought the archers into position at the rear, their ranks three deep, and the Elves prepared to stand and fight. Pied felt his heart sink. They could hold for a time, but in the end they would be overrun, caught out in the open with no place to hide and no one to stand with them.

  He moved to the front triangle to stand with Auberen. Neither spoke. There was nothing to say.

  Then, with the Federation riders almost on top of them and the Elven archers already letting go with their first volleys, the gates of the Free-born defenses finally swung open and out rode the Red Cloaks, the horse unit of t
he Bordermen of Callahorn, successors to the fabled Border Legion. They burst through the opening in a wave of crimson and a cacophony of wild cries, charging hard for the Federation cavalry. Clad in heavy armor and wielding lances, they tore through the Federation riders as if they were so many straw men, breaking apart their ranks and shattering the attack. In only minutes, the entire Federation force was in flight, and the Red Cloaks owned the grasslands.

  The Elves, meanwhile, were running for the gates once more, the cheers of the defenders urging them on. Pied ran with them, a surge of relief flooding through him. As he passed through the gates and behind the safety of the Free-born defenses, a hand reached out and grabbed his arm. Troon stood at his elbow, grinning broadly.

  “You didn’t think I got through, did you?” she shouted at him above the din of men and horses. “Admit it, you saw the gates were closed and you thought I’d failed.” Her gray eyes danced with glee. “Didn’t I tell you not to worry?”

  Pied responded by giving her a hug and was surprised when she hugged him back, even more surprised to discover how good it felt.

  He moved on, searching for Ti Auberen and Erris Crewer. They had to make arrangements for what would happen next. But his Lieutenants were nowhere to be found in the surge of ebullient soldiers coming in from the grasslands. He found himself carried along by the tide, swept uphill to the heights where the main body of the Free-born was settled. There was a general milling about as the newly arrived were sorted out—the healthy directed to campsites and the wounded taken away for treatment. Pied wandered through the crowd, wondering what had possessed him to hug Troon, something commanding officers did not do to soldiers, no matter the nature of the relationship. It wasn’t really the propriety of the action that bothered him; it was the emotions it had stirred. He had known Troon since they were children, but he had never been attracted to her. She was a Tracker in his Home Guard command, the one on whom he could always rely. She was his childhood friend, someone he liked to be around and who made him smile.

  But for a minute back there, he had felt like she might be something more.

  He forced his thoughts to other things and walked on.

  Not an hour later, as he was buckling on his weapons, he heard his name called. He’d had just enough time to find his command post, connect with Ti Auberen and Erris Crewer, wash himself from a basin of warm water, and change into fresh clothes. He looked up to see a powerfully built Dwarf with long black hair and a beard braided at the chin and just below both ears approach. Several others of similar size but less flamboyant looks flanked him, hard-eyed men wearing multiple blades and bearing scars on their hands and faces. There was not a smile to be found on any of them save for the leader, but he was smiling broadly enough for them all.

  “Captain Sanderling!” he boomed, his voice deep and resonant, the sound of it strangely compelling, like that of a practiced orator. “I’m Vaden Wick, Captain. Glad you made it through. We have been anticipating your arrival ever since your Tracker informed us of your coming. Heard about your success against the Federation three days back. That was impressive. Others would simply have kept running.”

  “I thought about it,” Pied said. He reached out to shake the other’s hand.

  “I doubt that. You haven’t the look.” Vaden Wick tugged on the braid below his right ear, casting quick glances about the Elven camp, his sharp eyes taking in everything. “We have a lot to talk about. Can we do it now?”

  He walked Pied down to the Free-born fortifications at the southern edge of the east plateau, exchanging greetings with his soldiers on the way, seemingly relaxed and unconcerned about anything. He had that quality of being able to disconnect from the burden of leadership when out among those he commanded, lending a sense of confidence to everyone he passed.

  But when they stopped at a watchtower that was hastily vacated for their use, he abruptly changed. “Captain, we have a problem, and I need your help in solving it.” He looked out across the Prekkendorran to where the Federation lines were dark creases against the horizon to the south, wrapping east and west about the Free-born encampment like a snake. “We’re trapped here, hemmed in on every side but the one where we don’t wish to go. We can’t allow that to last much longer. That big airship with the weapon that burned Kellen Elessedil and his fleet out of the skies was airborne yesterday, a practice run that took her just outside the rear lines but was clearly meant as a test of her fitness. Another day, maybe two, and they will come after us. When they do, we’re finished.”

  He looked over at Pied. “We have to find a way to stop that airship. You fought against her and you know her better than any of us. You damaged her or she would have done a good deal more than destroy the Elven fleet. I need to know if there is some way we can disable her when she comes after us again.”

  Pied shook his head. “I was lucky, that last time. We were in a skiff, too small even to be a threat, but we got behind her and under her and used rail slings to damage the steering. My guess is they won’t let that happen again. The next time she comes after us, she’ll have armor up all over.”

  Vaden Wick nodded. “I would guess so, too. So we need something else. Another way to damage her. A way to stop her before she even gets to us.”

  Pied looked at him, realizing suddenly what he was saying. “You plan on going after her, don’t you?”

  “If I get the chance. But I have to know how to knock her down before we engage her again. We have our airships ready to go, once we find what her weakness is. You’ve fought her and lived to tell about it. I thought you might have some insight.”

  Pied looked off into the distance. If he had any insight, it was eluding him. He wanted to help, but the depth of his knowledge about the Dechtera and her weapon was tiny. Mostly, he knew what would happen once the big Federation ship was aloft. Was there a weakness that the Free-born could exploit when that happened? He tried to think of one and failed.

  “You think we have today and maybe tomorrow,” he repeated.

  “At most.”

  Pied thought about it some more. “They seem to have only one of these weapons,” he said. “One ship, one weapon.”

  “So far.”

  “A prototype.”

  Vaden Wick looked at him, waiting.

  “Can they even build another?”

  The Dwarf shrugged. “Seems that if they could, they would have by now.”

  Pied took a deep breath, an idea forming. “I think we need to get to her while she is still on the ground,” he said. “We need to get to her and destroy her completely. Maybe they really can’t build another.”

  “We’ve thought of that. But she sits right in the center of the Federation camp, ringed by all sorts of protective barriers and hundreds of Federation soldiers. Neither a ground attack nor an air strike would even get close.”

  Pied nodded. “Not if they see it coming,” he said. “But maybe we can arrange it so they don’t.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Pied had been sleeping for several hours when he felt the hand gently shake him. He could tell from the light seeping through the tent flap that the sun had moved west, though it wasn’t yet dusk.

  He opened one eye and saw Drumundoon bending over him. At first, he thought he was dreaming. “Drum?”

  His aide knelt, and Pied could see clearly his young face with its high forehead and deeply slanted eyes. “It’s me, Captain,” Drum assured him.

  He experienced a sudden sinking feeling. “You didn’t get through to Arborlon?”

  “Oh, yes, Captain, I got through all right.” Drum rubbed his fringe of black beard. “I got there much quicker than I expected. I see you got through, as well. Everyone is talking about it. You’ve accomplished the impossible, if I may say so.”

  Pied blinked, trying to clear the sleep from his mind. “You may not.” He pushed himself up on one elbow. “Have you brought help?”

  Drumundoon nodded. “Three warships, several sloops, and two companies of Elven Hunters.
They landed a little over an hour ago on the Free-born airfield. More will follow. The Elven High Council was quick to act once they understood the gravity of the situation. Arling was less impressed, but she accepted that their consensus constituted an edict she could not afford to ignore.”

  Drum hesitated. “Now she wants to talk to you.”

  Pied pushed himself into a sitting position. “I would expect she does. But she will have to wait. I can’t go back there until this is finished.”

  Drum pursed his lips. “You don’t understand, Captain. She’s here.”

  “Here?” Now Pied was fully awake. “She came back with you?”

  “She wouldn’t have it any other way. The Council tried to dissuade her. Bad enough that we’ve lost a King. Losing a Queen as well would be too much. I even suggested she would do better to wait. But you know Arling. Once she has her mind set on something, that’s pretty much the end of the discussion. She said she was coming or the ships and men were staying.”

  Pied nodded. That was Arling. Stubborn, though in an entirely different way from Kellen. She thought matters through first before setting her mind. She considered all sides. The war on the Prekkendorran was not an undertaking she would ever willingly support. No matter what the attitude of the High Council, she would look for a way to extricate the Elves. To do that, she would want to get a firsthand look at how things stood. She was Queen now, and she knew how to rule like one.

  Of course, she had come to see how things stood with him, too. He could already picture her reaction.

  “Where is she?” he asked.

  “Right outside the tent,” his aide said. He paused while Pied absorbed that information, looking decidedly uncomfortable with having been the one to deliver it. “She is waiting for you to invite her inside. I told her I ought to wake you first.”

  She would have woken me differently, had she been given the chance, Pied thought. He could already see her angry face, hear her accusatory voice. He knew what was coming with the certainty that he knew his own name.