The First King of Shannara

The palace came in sight, a blaze of light against the darker backdrop of the Gardens of Life. But as they neared the front entry, the messenger took him left down a pathway that led to the summerhouse at one end of the compound. Tay glanced across the broad, dark sweep of the grounds, searching for the Home Guard that kept watch. He could sense them, could count their numbers if he chose by using his magic, but could see nothing. Inside the palace, framed against the lighted windows, shadows came and went like faceless wraiths. The messenger showed no interest, directing him past the main house to where Ballindarroch had chosen to receive him. Tay wondered at the abruptness of the summons. Had something new occurred? Had there been another tragedy? He forced himself not to speculate, but to wait for his answer.

The messenger took him directly to the front door of the summerhouse and told him to go inside. He entered alone, passed through the foyer to the living area beyond, and found Jerle Shannara waiting.

His friend shrugged and held up his hands helplessly. “I have no more idea than you. I was summoned, and here I am.”

“You told the king what we know?”

“I told him you needed an immediate audience with the High Council, that you had urgent news. Nothing more.”

They stared at each other, speculating on the matter. Then the front door opened, and Courtann Ballindarroch appeared. Tay wondered where he had come from — if he had walked down from the main house or had been listening outside the window in the gardens. Courtann was unpredictable. Physically, he was a man of average height and build, comfortably middle-aged, slightly stooped, graying a bit at the temples and along the edges of his beard, a series of deep creases beginning to show in his face and neck. There was nothing distinctive about Courtann; he looked very ordinary. He did not have an orator’s voice or a leader’s charm, and he was quick to admit confusion when beset by it. He had become king in the usual fashion, the eldest child of the previous king, and he neither sought power nor shied away from it.

What he brought with him to his rule as leader of the Elves was a reputation of not being given to unexpected or outrageous behavior, of not being inclined to dramatic or precipitous change, so that he was accepted by his people in the manner of a favorite uncle.

“Welcome home, Tay,” he greeted. He was smiling and relaxed and did not seem at all distressed as he came up to the younger man and clasped his hand. “I thought we might discuss your news in private before you present it to the High Council.” He ran his hand through his thick shock of hair. “I prefer to keep surprises at a minimum in my life. And, should you need an ally, perhaps I might serve. No, don’t look to your confidant — he hasn’t said a word. Even if he had, I wouldn’t listen to him. Too unreliable. Jerle is here only because I have never known either of you to keep secrets from the other, so there probably isn’t much point in trying to start now.”

He beckoned. “Let’s sit over here, in these padded chairs. My back has been bothering me. Grandchildren will do that to you. And let’s not be formal. First names will do. We’ve all known each other too long for anything else.”

It was true, Tay thought, seating himself across from the king and next to Jerle. Courtann Ballindarroch was older by a good twenty years, but they had been friends for their entire lives. Jerle had always lived at court, and Tay had spent much of his time there and so had seen much of Courtann. When they were boys, Courtann had taken them fishing and hunting. Special events and feasts had often brought them together. Tay had been present when Courtann had been crowned some thirty years ago. Each of them knew what to expect from the other.

“I am afraid I was skeptical from the first that you had returned for no better reason than to visit us,” the king advised with a sigh.

“You have always been much too directed to squander a visit home on social pleasures. I hope you don’t take offense.” He rocked back. “So what news do you have for us? Come now, let’s have it all.”

“There is a great deal to tell,” Tay replied, leaning forward to better hold the other’s gaze. “Bremen sent me. He came to Paranor almost two weeks ago and tried to warn the Druid Council that they were in danger. He had gone into the Northland and confirmed the existence of the Warlock Lord. He had determined that it was the rebel Druid Brona, still alive after several hundred years, kept so by the magic that had subverted him. It was Brona who found a way to unite the Trolls and subjugate them so that they would serve as his army. Before traveling to Paranor, Bremen tracked that army south toward the Eastland.”

He paused to choose his words carefully. “The Druid Council would not listen. Athabasca sent Bremen away, and a handful of us went with him. Caerid Lock was asked to come as well, but declined. He stayed behind to protect Athabasca and the others against themselves.”