The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

She smiled down at him, enjoying the dark look on his face. “Oh, you want to know how I know, since I wasn’t in the cold chamber with you? Anticipating your nocturnal visit, I marked the scrye waters with a little magic of my own before you tampered with them. They will reveal to me exactly what they revealed to you. That should tell me everything I need to know about your son’s whereabouts, I expect. Then I will find him and deal with him.”


Bek listened with growing despair, aware of how completely he had been duped into doing just what Shadea had wanted him to do in the first place. Now he was a prisoner and unable to do anything to help either Pen or his sister. At least they were both alive. He could assume that much from what she had just told him. He could also assume she would try to change that.

They continued down until he smelled the damp and felt the cold of the deep underground. Somewhere not too far away, he heard water running. The heat of the Druid Fire was absent, as if that part of the Keep was far removed from the earth-warmed core.

Finally, they arrived at a corridor lined with heavy doors kept closed by iron bolts thrown through iron rings. His captors opened one of the doors and placed him in the tiny room beyond, a space barely larger than a closet. There was a wooden bed, straw, and a bucket. The floor, ceiling, and walls were rough and uneven and had been hollowed out of the bedrock.

They untied his arms and legs, but left his gag in place.

“Remove the gag when I am gone,” Shadea said. “But first, listen to what I have to say. Behave yourself, and you might come out of this alive. I am locking your beloved wife up separately, in a place far away from you, somewhere you can’t find her easily. I know stone walls and iron doors can’t hold you, but they can hold her. If you try to escape, if your guards even think you are trying to escape, she will be killed at once. Do you understand?”

Bek nodded without speaking.

“Those guards will be stationed on each floor leading up, at each door, and they will communicate with each other regularly. If someone fails to answer, that will be the end of your chances of seeing your wife alive again. Behave yourself, and you and your family might still survive this.”

She motioned the Gnome Hunters back into the corridor, followed them out, closed the door with a heavy thud, and threw the bolt.

Standing alone in the darkness and listening to their receding footsteps, Bek Ohmsford was certain of one thing. No matter what Shadea a’Ru said, if he didn’t find a way to get out of there on his own, he wasn’t getting out at all.





FOURTEEN


“I’ve been thinking about what I said to you yesterday,” Pen said, sitting down beside Cinnaminson. It was midday, and he had been searching for her for almost an hour. She kept her gaze directed straight ahead as her fingers worked the threads of the delicate scarf she was weaving on a tiny hand loom. How she could tell one color from the other was a mystery to him, but from the look of the completed portion, she was having no trouble doing so.

“I spoke without sufficient thought for what I was saying,” he continued, watching her face for signs of a response. “You asked if I still cared about you, and I do. That was why I was so quick to tell you that you couldn’t go with us. All I could think about was what it would mean to me if something more happened to you.”

Still, she said nothing. They were seated high up in the bowl of the Gathering Place, the amphitheater used for elections when a Maturen was chosen, for presentations of music and song when there were celebrations and festivals, and for meetings of the entire population when it was necessary to make determinations that might affect the whole of the village. It sat well back against the cliffs and to the south end of the village, ringed by stone walls and hardy spruce, an oasis of calm in the otherwise bustling community.

It was deserted, save for the boy and the girl.

Pen sighed. “I want you to forget about what I said. You saved our lives back on the Lazareen, when the Galaphile was hunting us. You kept us from danger again in the Slags. You proved your value then, and I don’t have any right to start questioning it now. I don’t have any right to tell you what to do. You can decide for yourself.”

“Have you been talking with Khyber?” she asked quietly.

“I’ve been thinking about what she said,” he answered, avoiding the question. “She was so angry with me. It took me a while to sort it out.” He brushed at his red hair, knotting it in his fingers. “I didn’t know why she was so angry until I had thought about it for a while. I was presuming to speak for you when I didn’t have the right. You asked me because you wanted my support. I should have realized that, and I should have given it.”

She continued her weaving, her fingers moving smoothly and steadily, feeding in the colored threads and pulling them through, using the shuttle to separate and tighten down. He waited, not knowing what else to say, afraid he had already said too much.

“Do I have your support now?” she asked him finally.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to come with you? You, personally?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Why? Tell me, Penderrin. Why do you want me to come with you?”