The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

There were murmurs of assent to this, but Shadea ignored them, knowing that what she had in mind for Grianne Ohmsford would please them all. Once they heard, there would be no more mutterings. “What of you, Traunt?” she asked the Southlander. “You’ve said nothing.”


“I have been thinking.” He smiled faintly. “Thinking about how much we are entrusting you with. It seems to me that more than one of us ought to be involved in this effort—not just in the planning, but in the execution. It would require a stronger commitment, which is what you are looking for. It would give us all a sense of participation beyond what you have proposed so far.”

“It would also entail a greater risk,” she pointed out, not liking where his suggestion was going. “Two stand a greater chance of being detected than one. Whoever administers the potion and the spell must approach the Ard Rhys secretly. Stealth and quickness will determine success or failure.”

“Two can move as quietly as one,” he argued, shrugging. “Moreover, if one falters, the other can still act. It offers us a measure of protection.”

“I don’t intend to falter,” she said coldly, openly angry.

“We’ll draw straws to see who goes with you,” Iridia said, siding with Rowan.

Both Pyson Wence and Terek Molt nodded in assent. Shadea knew when she was up against a wall. She was not going to get them to back off without arousing suspicion. “All right,” she agreed. “But only one.”

She rose and walked to a stack of crates containing serving ware packed in straw and drew out four strands. Breaking off three, she evened them between her fingers and offered them to the others. Terek Molt snatched the first. It was short. Iridia drew a short straw, as well.

The other two looked at each other, hesitating. Then Traunt Rowan picked from the remaining two straws. His was the long one.

“How fitting,” Shadea sneered, “since taking part was your idea. Now give me your word, Traunt. Your oath and your promise as a Druid to stand with me no matter what.”

He nodded, unruffled. “You always had that, Shadea, from the moment you told me what you intended and recruited me to your cause. I am as committed as you will ever be.”

Perhaps, she thought. But we will never know for sure because there is no way to test such a claim. For her purposes it was sufficient that he was committed to support her as the new Ard Rhys after Grianne was dispatched. Once she held that office, and despite what she had told them to gain their support, they would all become expendable. Her plans were greater than they knew and did not include them.

“We are agreed then,” she said, looking from face to face, seeking again any sign of hesitation.

“We are agreed,” Traunt Rowan affirmed. “Now tell us where you intend to imprison the Ard Rhys. Where can you send her that she cannot find a way back to haunt us?”

Shadea a’Ru smiled at the looks on their faces when she told them.





FOUR


Sen Dunsidan was a cautious man. He had always had reason to be cautious, but he had more reason these days since he had more to lose. His life’s accomplishments were impressive, but the price exacted in exchange had been severe and permanent. It wasn’t the sort of price one could measure in terms of wealth. If it had been only money, he would not have been as cautious as he was. The price levied against him was a piece of his soul here and a part of his sanity there. The price was psychological and emotional, and it left him bereft of almost anything resembling peace of mind.

Not that he had ever possessed much of that in any case. Even in the days when he was only Minister of Defense of the Federation and in the thrall of the Ilse Witch, he had compromised himself in almost every way imaginable to advance his position and increase his power. Peace of mind was a benefit that did not accrue to those who lacked moral restraint. He was cautious back then, as well, but not nearly as much so as now. He saw himself as invincible in those days, too clever for anyone to outsmart or outmaneuver, too powerful to be challenged. Harm might come to lesser men, but not to him. Even the Ilse Witch, for all her disdain and aloofness, was wary of him. He knew how she saw him—how most saw him. A snake, coiled and ready to strike. He did not take offense. He liked the image. Snakes were not cautious. Others were cautious of snakes. It was beneficial to instill a sense of uneasiness in those with whom he was compelled to deal.