The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

“Yesterday.” Rowan wouldn’t look at her. “The message indicated he was in pursuit of the boy and the others and had caught up with them in Anatcherae. That would have been two days ago.”


She forced herself to stay calm, to think it through. Courier birds released from the Galaphile brought her regular messages from Molt, indicating where he was and what he was doing. Nothing in yesterday’s message suggested the Dwarf was in any trouble, let alone the sort that would cause a Druid warship to be destroyed. Magic of such power was unusual, and it would have to have been employed in just the right way. The Elfstones? Perhaps. But Ahren Elessedil was not a warrior Druid or trained in battle the way Molt was. It was inconceivable that he would have prevailed in a confrontation.

They entered the cold chamber to find Iridia Eleri standing at the basin, staring down at the scrye waters with haunted eyes, arms folded across her rigid body. Her eyes snapped up at their entry, and the haunted look gave way to one of rage.

“If you had sent me, this wouldn’t have happened!” she hissed at Shadea, making no effort to hide her feelings.

Shadea ignored her, walking over to the basin and looking down. Heavy ripples emanated from a point at the eastern shore of the Lazareen, perhaps somewhere within the Slags. She knew that country. Dangerous to anyone, no matter how well armed or prepared. There was no mistaking what she was reading in the waters. The nature of the ripples clearly indicated a massive explosion, one instigated by a use of magic. The little blip that had served as a beacon for the Galaphile was gone. Traunt Rowan was not mistaken in what he had told her.

“There’s no way of knowing who survived this,” she said, mostly to herself.

“Not without sending someone to find out,” Traunt Rowan said.

Iridia spun around the end of the basin and came face-to-face with Shadea. Although smaller of frame and stature, Iridia looked as if she intended to attack the bigger woman. Shadea took a step back in spite of herself.

“This is on your head,” Iridia snapped, her words as sharpedged as daggers, her voice freezing the air. She was shaking with rage. “You are responsible for this travesty, you and your insistence on doing whatever you choose to do. What do you need with the rest of us, Shadea? What have you ever needed with us? I thought you my friend, once. I thought we were sisters. But you are incapable of friendship or loyalty or caring of any sort. You are as much a monster as that creature you summoned to bear the Stiehl. And I am no better. I have been one of your monsters, one of those who act in your behalf. I have been your tool.”

She shook her head slowly. “No more. Not ever again.”

She held the other’s gaze for a moment longer, then turned and walked from the room. Unimpressed, Shadea watched her go. She thought it unfortunate that Iridia could no longer sort things out in a reasonable manner. Her attachment to Ahren Elessedil had left her emotionally unstable, and Shadea found herself hoping that the Elven Prince had gone the way of the Galaphile. Then, perhaps, Iridia would come back to herself.

Shadea looked over at Traunt Rowan. “Are you of a like mind?”

The Druid shrugged. “I am no one’s tool, and I do what I choose. Iridia’s problems are her own. On the other hand, I question the wisdom of your decision to send Terek Molt after that boy. I don’t see the benefit to it. It distracts us from what matters.”

“What matters is making certain no one finds a way to bring the Ard Rhys back!” she snapped at him. “Why can’t you see that? All of you are so certain it can’t be done. But remember who she is. Others thought her dead and gone, as well, and lived to regret it.”

“No one can go into the Forbidding—”

“Hssst! Don’t even speak the word!” She leaned close. “It is bad enough that Ahren Elessedil and the boy know what has happened, and it would be a mistake for us to think that they do not. They will seek a way to reach her. Successful or not, they will not forgive us for what we have done. This matter will not resolve itself while they live. If you think otherwise, say so now!”

He stared at her in silence, then shook his head. “I think as you do.”

Shadea wasn’t sure she believed him, but it was enough of an affirmation for now. She looked back at the scrye waters. Another message would arrive by tomorrow if Terek Molt was still alive. If not, then she could only hope that he had taken the boy, the Elven Prince, and that sycophant Tagwen with him to the grave. Then she could stop thinking about all of them and concentrate on what was happening at Paranor.