The First King of Shannara

“Oh, yes, we are, Risca,” Bremen cut him short. “We most certainly are. Four against the Warlock Lord, his winged hunters, his netherworld minions, and the entire Troll nation — how much more desperate could we be? No one else at Paranor has offered to help us. Only Mareth. I am not inclined to turn down anyone out of hand at this point.”


“You said earlier that she keeps secrets from you,” Kinson pointed out. “That hardly inspires the trust you seek.”

“We all keep secrets, Kinson,” Bremen chided gently. “There is nothing strange in that. Mareth barely knows me. Why should she confide everything in our first conversation? She is being careful, nothing more.”

“I don’t like it,” Risca declared sullenly. He leaned the heavy cudgel against his massive thigh. “She may have magic at her disposal and she may even have the talent to use it. But that doesn’t change the fact that we know almost nothing about her. In particular, we don’t know if we can depend on her. I don’t like taking that kind of chance with my life, Bremen.”

“Well, I think we should give her the benefit of the doubt,” Tay countered cheerfully. “We will have time to make up our minds about her before there is need to test her courage. There are things to be said in her favor already. We know she was chosen to apprentice with the Druids — that alone speaks highly of her. And she is a Healer, Risca. We might have need of her skills.”

“Let her come,” Kinson agreed grudgingly. “Bremen has already made his mind up anyway.”

Risca frowned darkly. His big shoulders squared. “Well, he may have made up his mind, but he hasn’t necessarily made up mine.” He rounded on Bremen and stared wordlessly at the old man for a moment. Tay and Kinson waited expectantly. Bremen did not offer anything further. He simply stood there.

In the end, it was Risca who backed down. He simply shook his head, shrugged, and turned away. “You are the leader, Bremen. Bring her along if you like. But don’t expect me to wipe her nose.”

“I will be sure to tell her that,” Bremen advised with a wink to Kinson, and beckoned the young woman over to join them.

They set out shortly afterward, a company of five, with Bremen leading, Risca and Tay Trefenwyd at either shoulder, Kinson a step behind, and Mareth trailing. The sun was up now, cresting the Dragon’s Teeth east to light the heavily forested valley, and the skies were bright and blue and cloudless. The company traveled south, winding along little-used trails and footpaths, across broad, calm streams, and into the scrub-covered foothills that lifted out of the woodlands to the Kennon Pass. By midday they were climbing out of the valley into the pass, and the air had turned sharp and cool. Looking back, they could see the massive walls of Paranor where the Druid’s Keep rested high on its rocky promontory amid the old growth. The sun’s intense light gave the stone a flat, implacable cast amid the wash of trees, a hub at the center of a vast wheel. They glanced back on it, one after the other, lost in their separate thoughts, remembering events past and years gone. Only Mareth showed no interest, her gaze turned deliberately forward, her small face an expressionless mask.

Then they entered the Kennon, its rugged walls rising about them, great slabs of stone split by the slow swing of time’s axe, and Paranor was lost from view.

Only Bremen knew where they were going, and he kept the information to himself until they camped that night above the Mermidon, safely down out of the pass and back within the sheltering forests below. Kinson had asked once when he was alone with the old man and Risca had asked in front of everyone, but Bremen had chosen not to respond. His reasons were his own, and he kept them that way, offering no explanation to his followers.

No one chose to contest his decision.

But that night, after they had built their fire and cooked their tood (Kinson’s first hot meal in weeks), Bremen revealed at last their destination.

“I will tell you now where we are going,” he advised quietly.

“We are traveling to the Hadeshorn.”





Chapter Five


They were seated about the small fire, their dinner finished, their hands busy with other tasks. Risca worked to sharpen the blade of his broadsword. Tay sipped from an aleskin and sketched pictures in the dust. Kinson worked a fresh length of leather stitching through one boot where the sole was loosening. Mareth sat apart and watched them all with her strange, level gaze that took in everything and gave nothing back.

There was a silence when Bremen finished, four heads lifting as one to stare at him. “I intend to speak with the spirits of the dead in an effort to discover what it is that we must do to protect the Races. I will try to learn something of how we should proceed. I will try to discover our fates.”