The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

He hesitated. “I don’t want this to be about you and me.”


“But it is about you and me. It has been from the first day we met. Don’t you know that?”

He nodded. “I guess I do. I just don’t want to use that as the reason for your coming. But it is the reason. I want you to come because I want you to be with me. I don’t want you anywhere else but with me.”

She went still, her fingers motionless, her entire body frozen. He saw her differently in that instant, as if she had been captured in an indelible image, a portrait of such exquisite beauty and depth that he would never imagine her any other way. It made his heart ache to see her so. It made him want to do anything for her.

Without looking at him, she reached for him with her right hand, laying it feather-light across his own. “Then I will come,” she said.

She went back to her weaving, silent once more, her attention on her work, her hand gone from his. He stared at her for a moment, wanting to say something more, but deciding against it. Just then, things were better left as they were.

He rose. “I think I should see how the Skatelow looks, now that they’ve moved her off the plains. I’ll find you later.”

She nodded, and he went down off the risers to one of the passageways that exited from the amphitheater floor to the ring of stone walls and spruce trees outside. From there, he walked down through the village to the south gates and passed out onto the flats, then worked his way back toward the cliffs until he reached the shallow defile into which the Skatelow had been pulled to conceal her from view. He did that without really being aware of anything but Cinnaminson. Her face, her body, her voice, her words, her smell, the movement of her hands as she wove the delicate scarf.

He was still thinking about her two hours later, happily lost in a mix of dreams and memories that gave him the first real peace he had known in days, when the Troll watch sounded the alarm.


Khyber Elessedil was standing with Tagwen outside Kermadec’s home, listening while the little man held forth on the peculiarities of Troll life, when the horns began to wail and the drums to boom. The sounds were so unexpected and so earth shattering that for a moment she stood staring at the Dwarf, who stood staring back.

“What is that?” she managed finally.

He shook his burly head, his blunt fingers tugging at his beard anxiously as he glanced around. “Don’t know. A warning?”

Trolls had begun running everywhere, all sizes and shapes, men, women, and children, entire families and households, charging out of buildings and down roads and alleyways with a single-mindedness that suggested they understood the sounds perfectly. After a moment, Khyber was able to discern a pattern to their movements that suggested what was happening. The women and children were all retreating back through the village toward the cliffs, the biggest scooping up the smallest in squirming bundles. They took nothing else with them, not one single implement or piece of clothing. They went without the slightest hesitation or thought for what they were doing, moving swiftly without seeming to look rushed.

They have practiced this often, Khyber thought.

The men, meanwhile, were all moving in the other direction, down toward the front walls of the village, to the gates and ramparts that served as protection and fortification. Some wore chain mail and plate armor. All carried weapons. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what was happening.

Khyber rushed back inside the house for her short sword. When she came out again, Kermadec was standing with Tagwen, huge and forbidding in a towering iron helmet and a chain-mail chest and shoulder guard.

“We’re under attack,” he advised, his words clipped and hard. She had not heard him sound like that before. All of the heartiness and openness was gone; his voice had gone tight and rough with anger and menace. “Airships fly in from the south bearing Druid insignia. We can assume the reason for their visit.”

Khyber buckled on her sword, then felt for the reassuring presence of the Elfstones in her tunic pocket. She had no idea if she would be required to use them, but she intended to be ready. She glanced at Tagwen, who carried no weapons, then back at Kermadec. “How did they find us?”

The Rock Troll shook his big head. “No idea. The Druids have ways of finding anyone, if they put their minds to it. I don’t think they followed you. If they had done so, they would have been here sooner. I think they found you some other way.”

He turned away from them to yell instructions to a squad of Troll warriors passing by, gesturing toward the south wall, separating out one and sending him in another direction. The village was alive with movement; swarming with Trolls. It felt like controlled chaos.