The First King of Shannara

Twilight came and went, and night deepened into warm breezes and soft silence. The meal concluded, and as they sat back to sip ale from fired clay mugs, Bremen told Cogline what had befallen the Druids at Paranor. When he was finished, the once-Druid sat back with ale glass in hand and shook his head in disgust.


“Fools all, down to the last man,” he said. “I’m sorry for them, sorry they came to such an end, but mad, too, because they wasted the opportunities Galaphile and the others gave them in forming the First Council. They lost sight of their purpose, of the reason for their being. I can’t forgive them that.”

He spit into the darkness. Smoke looked up at him and blinked, startled. Shifter never moved. Kinson looked from one to the other, wild-haired recluse and his pet moor cats, and wondered what living out here for any length of time did to your mind.

“When I left the Druids, I went to the Hadeshorn and spoke with the spirits of the dead,” Bremen went on. He sipped at his ale, the creases of his weathered face deepening with the memory.

“Galaphile himself came to me. I asked him what I might do to destroy Brona. In response, he showed to me four visions.” He described them one by one. “It is the vision of the man with the sword that brings me to you.”

Cogline’s angular face squinched down on itself like a fist. “Am I supposed to help you find this man? Am I supposed to know him?”

Bremen shook his head. His gray hair looked as fine as silk in the candlelight. “It is not the man, but the sword that requires your attention. This is a talisman that I must forge. The vision reveals that the Eilt Drain will be transformed by the forging and made part of the weapon. The weapon will be anathema to Brona. I don’t pretend to understand the particulars as yet. I only know the nature of the weapon that is needed. And I know that special care must be taken in its forging if it is to be strong enough to overcome Brona’s magic.”

“So you’ve come all the way here to ask me about it, have you?” said the other, as if the curtain had just been raised and the truth revealed.

“No one knows more about the science of metallurgy than you. The forging process must be a fusion of science and magic if it is to be successful. I have the magic — my own and that of the Eilt Druin — to incorporate into the process. But I need your knowledge of science. I need what science alone can provide — the proper mix of metals, the correct temperatures of the furnace at each melding, and the exact times of curing. What form of tempering must be used if the metal is to be strong enough to withstand whatever force is directed against it?”

Cogline dismissed the matter with a wave of his hand. “You can just stop right there. You’ve already missed the point. Magic and science do not mix. We both know that. So if you want a weapon forged of magic, then use magic. You don’t need anything from me.”

Bremen shook his head. “We have to bend the rules a bit, I’m afraid. Magic is not enough to accomplish the task. Science is needed as well. Science brought out of the old world. Brona is a creature of magic, and magic is what he has armored himself against. He does not know science, does not care about it, has no regard for it. For him, as for so many, science is dead and gone, a part of the old world. But we know differently, don’t we? Science lies dormant as magic once did. Magic is favored now, but that does not mean that science has no place. It may be necessary in the forging of this sword. If I can implement the best techniques of old world science, I have one more strength on which to rely. I need that strength. I am alone with Kinson and Mareth. Besides us, there are only two more who are allied with us, one gone east, the other west. We are all. Our magic is but a fraction of that of our enemy. How shall we prevail against the Warlock Lord and his minions without a weapon against which they cannot defend?”

Cogline sniffed. “There is no such weapon. Besides, there is nothing to say that a weapon forged of science — in whole or in part — would stand any better chance than one forged of magic. It might just as easily be true that magic is all that can prevail against magic, and that any form of science is useless.”

“I do not believe that.”

“Believe what you choose.” Cogline rubbed irritably at his hair.

A scowl twisted his thin mouth. “I left the world and its more conventional beliefs behind me a long time ago. I haven’t missed them.”

“But both will catch up with you sooner or later, just as they catch up with us all. They won’t go away or cease to be simply because you reject them.” Bremen’s eyes fixed on the other.

“Brona will come here one day, after he has finished with those of us who have not hidden away. You must know that.”

Cogline’s face hardened. “He will rue that day, I promise you!”

Bremen waited, saying nothing, not choosing to challenge the statement. Kinson glanced at Mareth. She met his gaze and held it.