The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

“You would leave the order?”


She laughed again, and the sound sent a chill up his spine. It wasn’t the laugh itself; it was the emptiness it suggested. “I have already left the order. Better to be your adviser in Arishaig than a whipping boy in Paranor. Understand me, Sen Dunsidan. I am a sorceress of great power. I was born with it; I was trained to use it. I am the equal of Shadea, though she might not think so. I might have been the equal of Grianne Ohmsford. I want for myself what you want—recognition and power. Yours will come with the Federation’s victory over the Free-born. Mine will come when I have replaced Shadea as Ard Rhys. Together, we can make both happen more easily. Accept my offer.”

He studied her without speaking. Could she have turned against him and become Shadea’s spy? Could this be an elaborate charade, part of a plan to eliminate him? But, no, if Shadea wanted him dead, it would be easy enough to make him so. It would not require such a complicated approach. Besides, what use was he to Shadea if he was dead? Another from the Council would simply take his place, and she would risk losing her alliance with the Federation. He could think of no reason she would want that to happen.

He folded his arms across his chest. “Very well, Iridia. I accept. Your advice would be most welcome.” He held up one finger. “But I hope this isn’t a game you play with me. If I find that it is, I will have you killed without another thought. You might be a Druid, but you are still only made of flesh and blood.”

Her pale face tilted slightly, as if she were seeing a strange animal. “Who was it who offered her services to you as your spy in the Druid camp? Who was it who told you of a way to dispose of Grianne Ohmsford without casting suspicion on yourself? Who brought you the liquid night? Who has stood by you every step of the way? Name another, besides me.”

There was a coldness to the challenge that warned him against any answer but one. “Your point is well taken.” He felt dangerously close to the edge of something he neither understood nor could control. What was it about her that was suddenly so troubling?

“I shall arrange rooms for you in my home,” he added quickly, realizing that he was staring.

She didn’t seem to notice. She rose and walked to the bedroom door. “Do not bother. I will look after myself. I am used to doing so.” Then she turned. “When you have need of me, I shall be there.”

She drew her cloak close about her and was gone.


Guards were stationed at the chamber doors and servants were at work farther down the hallway of the Prime Minister’s residence, so the Moric waited until it was safely alone in an empty room at the back of the house before shedding its clothing and skin. It hated the stench of both and was anxious to return to the sewers, where it had been in hiding for several days while spying on the human Dunsidan. When the clothes and skin were removed, it folded them up and stuffed them into a bag under its cloak, strapping the bag over its sleek body. It would not wear them again until the next meeting. By then, it would be better able to bear the smell.

Relieved of its disguise and free to depart, it went out the window. It was three stories up, but since it had come in by climbing the wall, it had no difficulty leaving the same way. Using its claws to grip the stones, it went down like a lizard, crawling and skittering until it was back on the ground. From there, it scurried across the grounds and through the shadows to the edge of the compound, went over the wall, and faded into the night.