The Druid of Shannara

“Let him go, Morgan,” Quickening said, interrupting, her voice low and steady. Morgan released his grip and stepped back instantly. “He speaks the truth,” she said. “This is not his doing.”


Pe Ell had shoved forward like a knife blade. “It doesn’t matter whose doing it is.” His eyes fixed Carisman. “She goes with us.”

Carisman’s face went pale, and his eyes shifted anxiously from one determined face to the next. “They won’t let her,” he whispered, his gaze dropping. “And if they don’t, she will end up like me.”

He sang:

“Long ago, in times gone by, there was a fair, fair maiden.

She wandered fields and forest glens,

With all the world her haven.

A mighty Lord a fancy took, demanded that she wed him.

When she refused, he took her home,

And locked her in his dungeon.

She pined away for what she’d lost, a life beyond her prison.

She promised everything she owned,

If she could have her freedom.

A fairy imp her plea did hear and quickly broke the door in.

Yet freed her not as she had asked,

But claimed her his possession.



The moral is: If you offer to give up everything,

Be prepared to keep nothing.”



Horner Dees threw up his hands in exasperation. “What is it you are trying to say, Carisman?” he snapped.

“That your choices often undo you. That seeking everything sometimes costs you everything.” It was Walker Boh who answered. “Carisman thought that in becoming a king he would find freedom and has instead found only shackles.”

“Yes,” the tunesmith breathed, sadness flooding his finely chiseled features. “I don’t belong here any more than Quickening. If you would take her when you go, then you must take me as well!”

“No!” Pe Ell cried instantly.

“Lady,” the tunesmith begged. “Please. I have been here for almost five years now—not just several as I claimed. I am caged as surely as that maiden in my song. If you do not take me with you, I shall be kept captive until I die!”

Quickening shook her head. “It is dangerous where we go, Carisman. Far more dangerous than it is here. You would not be safe.”

Carisman’s voice shook. “It doesn’t matter! I want to be free!”

“No!” Pe Ell repeated, circling away like a cat. “Think, girl! Yet another fool to burden us? Why not an army of them, then? Shades!”

Morgan Leah was tired of being called a fool and was about to say so when Walker Boh caught him firmly by the arm and shook his head. Morgan frowned angrily, but gave way.

“What do you know of the country north, Carisman?” Horner Dees asked suddenly, his bulk backing the tunesmith away. “Ever been there?”

Carisman shook his head. “No. It doesn’t matter what’s there. It is away from here.” His eyes darted furtively. “Besides, you have to take me. You can’t get away if I don’t show you how.”

That stopped them. Everyone turned. “What do you mean?” Dees asked cautiously.

“I mean that you will be dead a dozen times over without my help,” the tunesmith said.

He sang:

“Sticks and stones will break your bones,

But only if the spears don’t.

There’s traps and snares placed everywhere,

And none to warn if I don’t.

Fiddle-de-diddle-de-de.”



Pe Ell had him by the throat so quickly that no one else had time to intervene. “You’ll tell everything you know before I’m done with you or wish you had!” he threatened furiously.

But Carisman held steady, even forced back as he was, the hard eyes inches from his own. “Never,” he gasped. “Unless … you agree … to take me with you.”

His face lost all its color as Pe Ell’s hand tightened. Morgan and Horner Dees glanced uncertainly at each other and then at Quickening, hesitating in spite of themselves. It was Walker Boh who stepped in. He moved behind Pe Ell and touched him in a manner they could not see. The gaunt man jerked back, his face rigid with surprise. Walker was quickly by him, his arm coming about Carisman and lifting him away.

Pe Ell whirled, cold rage in his eyes. Morgan was certain he was going to attack Walker, and nothing good could come of that. But Pe Ell surprised him. Instead of striking out, he simply stared at Walker a moment and then turned away, his face suddenly an expressionless mask.

Quickening spoke, diverting them. “Carisman,” she said. “Do you know a way out of here?”

Carisman nodded, swallowing to speak. “Yes, Lady.”

“Will you show it to us?”

“If you agree to take me with you, yes.” He was bargaining now, but he seemed confident.

“Perhaps it would be enough if we helped you escape the village?”

“No, Lady. I would lose my way and they would bring me back again. I must go to wherever it is that you are going—far away from here. Perhaps,” he said brightly, “I may turn out to be of some use to you.”

When pigs fly, Morgan thought uncharitably.

Quickening seemed undecided, strange for her. She looked questioningly at Horner Dees.