The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

She knew how he felt about her. To him, she was still the Ilse Witch and that would never change. He was afraid of her, no matter how hard she tried to convince him that her time as the Morgawr’s creature was at an end. She might be Ard Rhys of the Third Druid Council, but that was not how he saw her. Because he could not change old habits, she knew his fear would rule his thinking. That meant he would be looking for a way to eliminate her.

She didn’t mind that. He had always been looking for ways to eliminate her, from the moment they had formed that first alliance, nearly twenty-five years ago. That was how Sen Dunsidan dealt with allies and enemies alike; he used them to the extent he could while searching for ways to render them ineffective, which often meant eliminating them altogether once they had served their purpose. In some cases he had been successful, but he had never posed a threat to her. He did not possess the tools to cause her harm, lacking both magic and allies to accomplish that end. Alone, he could do nothing.

Besides, he was the least of her worries. She had other, more dangerous enemies with which to contend, others with equally strong motives for seeing her dispatched, others living closer to home.

She didn’t like thinking of it. So much hard work had gone into re-forming the Druid order, and now it was a nest of vipers. It wasn’t what she had intended or envisioned, but there it was. Kermadec was right. Her position grew more tenuous with the passing of every day, and if the erosion of her authority continued, she would lose control completely. If that happened, she would have failed, and she could not bear even to think of that.

She returned her thoughts to Sen Dunsidan and the more immediate concerns of tomorrow’s meeting. She was seeking a truce in the battle on the Prekkendorran, one by both Federation and Free-born, one that would result in a stand-down of both armies. And that might lead to a gradual reduction in forces and a chance at peace. But neither side was showing much interest in the idea, even though after nearly fifty years of conflict it seemed almost inconceivable to her that they could think of anything else. Most of the people who had initiated the struggle were dead and gone. Only the inheritors were left, men and women who probably didn’t have any real idea of the circumstances that had triggered the war.

Not that any of them cared, she thought darkly. War was often its own excuse.

A knock at the door announced the arrival of Tagwen. She bid him enter. The Dwarf shuffled in under a load of books and papers, which he deposited on the working table to one side, where she could pick through them. They were the detritus of her previous efforts to persuade Sen Dunsidan and the Federation to her cause. Tagwen studied the stack forlornly for a moment, then looked at her.

“Is he settled in his chambers?” she asked.

“Quite comfortably. He should be. He has the best rooms in the Keep.” Tagwen didn’t like Sen Dunsidan, a fact he didn’t bother to hide from her, though he was careful to hide it from others. “I left him to his ale and cogitation. More of the former, less of the latter, unless I miss my guess.”

She smiled in spite of herself. She rose and stretched. “Everyone is advised of tomorrow’s gatherings?”

He nodded. “You meet privately with the Prime Minister after breakfast, then he addresses the full council, then he meets with a select few—you know them all and they know one other—and then you sit down for some serious bargaining, which will once again probably result in nothing much being decided.”

She gave him a hard look. “Thank you for your optimism. What would I do without it?”

“I prefer reality to fantasy,” he said, huffing through his beard as he met her gaze squarely. “Better for you if you did the same now and then. And I am not talking about your meeting with the Prime Minister.”

“Have you been trading opinions with Kermadec again?”

“The Maturen sees things far more clearly than some people. He doesn’t waste time on looking for ways to smooth things over when he sees it is a waste of effort. You ought to listen to him.”

She nodded. “I do. I just can’t always follow his advice. I am not in a position to do so. You know that.”

Looking back at the stack of documents on the table, then at the half-eaten dinner sitting cold on the plates he had brought earlier, Tagwen didn’t say anything for a moment. “He wants to know if you’ve decided yet when you are leaving.” Tagwen looked back at her.

She walked to the window and looked out at the moonlit sky. Her rooms in the high tower were so far above the forest that wrapped the Keep that the trees seemed a black ocean stretching away to the Dragon’s Teeth. She had decided that she would go to the Hadeshorn to seek the advice of Walker’s shade about what she had seen in the ruins of the Skull Kingdom. Shades did not always give direct answers to questions of that sort, but they sometimes revealed insights into what was being sought. Someone or something was behind those fires that burned on air and in those strange flashes of light, and the magic invoked had come from a source she did not recognize. Walker’s shade might at least be willing to tell her about it.