The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

The Dwarf shook his head slowly. His gloved hands flared with magic of his own. “You are no match for me, Elessedil. If you test me, you will be found wanting. You will be destroyed. Step aside. Give the boy to me and be done with this.”


They faced each other across the short stretch of mud and shallow water, two identically cloaked forms born of the same order but gone on separate paths. Elf and Dwarf, faces hard as stone, eyes locked as if bound together by iron threads, poised in a manner that suggested there would be no backing down and no quarter given. Pen found himself tensed and ready, as well, but he did not know what he would do when doing something became necessary. He could not think of anything that would help, any difference he could make. Yet he knew he would try.

“Your ship,” Ahren Elessedil said suddenly to Terek Molt, and nodded in the direction of the Galaphile.

The Dwarf turned to look, did so without thinking, and in that instant Ahren attacked, raising both hands and dispatching the elemental magic that he commanded in a burst of Druid fire. But it was not the other man he targeted; it was the warship, his elemental magic striking the vessel with such force that it was rocked from bow to stern. The infuriated Dwarf struck back instantly, his own fire hammering into the Druid. Ahren Elessedil had just enough time to throw up a shield before the other’s magic knocked him completely off his feet and sent him sprawling in the mud.

It was a terrible blow, yet Ahren Elessedil was up again immediately, fighting off the warrior Druid’s second thrust, steadying his defenses. Now arrows and darts cast down by the Gnome Hunters who were gathered at the railing of the Galaphile began to rain on the beleaguered Elf. Pen and Tagwen threw themselves out of the way as a few stray missiles nearly skewered them, then began crawling toward the protective shelter of the trees. Khyber screamed in rage, bringing up her own small Druid-enhanced magic to protect herself, and crouched down close by Ahren, poised to strike but still waiting on her uncle’s command.

Ahren Elessedil was fighting for his life, down on his knees with his hands extended and his palms facing out, as if in a futile effort to ward off what was happening. His protective shield was eroding under the onslaught of Terek Molt’s attack, melting like ice under searing heat. Yet once again, he chose to strike not at the Dwarf, but at the warship, diverting precious power from his defenses. Pen could not understand what the Elf was thinking. Ahren already knew that the ship was protected, that it was a waste of time and effort to try to damage her. Why was he persisting in this method of attack?

Yet suddenly, improbably, the Galaphile began to shudder, massive hull and ram-shaped pontoons rocking as if caught in a storm instead of resting in shallow water. Something of what Ahren was doing was making a difference, after all. Terek Molt seemed to sense it, as well, and redoubled his efforts. Druid fire exploded out of his fingers and into the Elf, staggering him, crumpling his shield. Pen heard Ahren call out to Khyber, the signal for which she had been waiting, and immediately she had the Elfstones in hand, arms outthrust. Brilliant blue light built about her fist, widening in a sphere that caused the boy to shield his eyes.

Then the magic exploded from her clenched fingers in a massive rush that swept over the Galaphile like a tidal wave. For a single instant the Druid warship was lit like a star, blazing with light, and then it burst into flames. It didn’t catch fire in just one place or even a dozen. It caught fire everywhere at once, transformed into a giant torch. With a monstrous whoosh it detonated in a fireball that rose hundreds of feet into the misty swamp sky, carrying with it the Gnome Hunters, bearing away a twisting, writhing Terek Molt, as well, the latter sucked into the vortex. A roar erupted from the conflagration, burning with such fury that it scorched Pen and Tagwen a hundred yards away, sweeping through the whole of the Slags.

In seconds, the Galaphile and all who had sailed her were gone.


Pen looked up from where he lay flattened against the mud and scorched grasses. Smoke rising from his blackened form, Ahren Elessedil lay sprawled on his back at the shoreline. Khyber knelt in shock some yards away, her arms lowered, the power of the Elfstones gone dormant once more. Her head drooped, as if she had taken a blow, and the boy could see her eyes blinking rapidly. She was shaking all over.

He forced himself to his feet. “Tagwen,” he called over to the Dwarf, finding him through eyes half-blinded by smoke and ash. Tagwen looked up at him from where he was huddled in a muddied depression, his eyes wide and scared. “Get up. We have to help them.”

The boy staggered across the flats, head lowered against the heat of the still-fiery bay. Flames and ash-smeared waters were all that remained of the Galaphile. Pen glanced at the charred mix, baffled and awed by what had taken place, trying unsuccessfully to make sense of it.