The First King of Shannara

“Well met, Cogline,” Bremen replied, extending his hand, letting the other clasp it momentarily in his own. “Sent your cat to greet us, I see. What’s his name? Shifter? Startled my friend so badly he may have lost five years off his life.”


“Hah, we have the remedy for that, and if that’s Kinson Ravenlock who’s with you, he probably knows it already!” Cogline gave the Borderman a wave. “Druid Sleep will give you back those years in a blink!” He cocked his angular face. “You know what the cat’s for, my friend?” Kinson shook his head. “He screens out unwelcome guests, which includes just about everyone. The only ones who get this far are the ones who know how to talk to him. Bremen knows how, don’t you, old man?”

Bremen laughed. “Old man? Pot and the kettle there, wouldn’t you say?”

“I wouldn’t say yes, and I wouldn’t say no. So the girl found you, did she? Took her long enough. Mareth, isn’t it?” Cogline bowed slightly. “Lovely name for a lovely girl. Hope you drove all those Druids to distraction and a bad end.”

Bremen came forward a step. The smile disappeared from his face. “The Druids found a bad end all on their own, I’m afraid. Not two weeks past, Cogline. They’re all dead at Paranor save myself and two more. Hadn’t you heard?”

The other man stared at him as if he were mad, then shook his head. “Not a word. But I haven’t been out of the valley for a while either. All dead? You’re certain of that, are you?”

Bremen reached into his robes and brought forth the Eilt Druin.

He held it up for the other to see, letting it dangle in the light.

Cogline screwed up his mouth. “Sure enough. You wouldn’t have possession of that if Athabasca lived. All dead, you say? Shades! What did them in? Him, was it?”

Bremen nodded. There was no need to speak the name. Cogline shook his head again, folded his arms across his chest, and hugged himself. “I didn’t wish that for them. I never wished that. But they were fools, Bremen, and you know it. They built up their walls and closed up their gates and forgot their purpose. They drove us out, the only two who had an ounce of sense, the only two who understood what mattered. Galaphile would have been ashamed of them. But all dead? Shades!”

“We’ve come to talk about it,” Bremen said quietly.

The other’s sharp eyes snapped up to meet those of the old man.

“Of course you did. You came all this way to give me the news and talk about it. Kind of you. Well, we know each other, don’t we? One old, the other older. One a renegade, the other a castoff. Neither one the least bit devious. Hah!”

Cogline’s chuckle was dry and mirthless. He looked at the ground a moment; then his gaze swept up to Kinson. “Say, Tracker — you see the other one on your way in, sharp-eyed as you are?”

Kinson hesitated. “Other what?”

“Hah! Thought so! Other cat, that’s what! Didn’t see it?” Cogline snorted. “Well, all I can say is, it’s a good thing Bremen likes you or you’d probably be someone’s meal by now!” He chuckled, then lost interest and threw up his hands. “Well, come on, come on! No point standing around out here. There’s food waiting on the fire. I suppose you’ll want a bath, too. More work for me, not that it matters to you. But I’m a good host, aren’t I? Come on!”

Mumbling and grousing, he turned and loped up the steps and into the cabin, his visitors trailing obediently behind.

They washed themselves and their clothes, dried as best they could, dressed anew, and were sitting down to dinner by the time the sun set. The sky turned orange and gold, then crimson, and finally an indigo-amethyst that left even Kinson staring out through the screen of the trees in amazement. The meal Cogline served them was better than the Borderman would have expected, a stew of meat and vegetables, with bread, cheese, and cold ale.

They ate at a table set out in back of the cabin with the night sky visible above, its collection of stars laid out in kaleidoscopic order.

Candles lit the table, giving off some sort of incense that Cogline claimed kept the insects away. Maybe his claim was well founded, Kinson conceded, because there didn’t seem to be anything flying about while they ate.

The moor cats joined them, wandering in with the darkness to curl up close to the table. As Cogline had advised, there were two — a brother and a sister. Shifter, the male, whom they had encountered on their way in, was the larger of the pair, while the female. Smoke, was smaller and leaner. Cogline said he had found them as kittens, abandoned in the swamp regions of Olden Moor and prey at that age to the Werebeasts. They were hungry and frightened and clearly in need, so he took them home. He laughed at the memory. Little bits of fur then, but they grew up quick enough. He hadn’t done anything to make them stay; they chose to do that on their own. Probably liked his companionship, he opined.