The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

Her obsession with finding Pen Ohmsford was more troubling. It was the parents who should concern them, he thought, particularly Bek Ohmsford, who had the use of the magic of the wishsong, which was Grianne Ohmsford’s principal weapon. Yet even though Shadea had locked the senior Ohmsfords in the cellars of the Keep, she wasn’t satisfied. Before imprisoning them, she had tricked them into revealing their son’s location so that she could continue to hunt him down. She was merely being safe, she insisted, but he thought it was something more.

Wheels within wheels. Games and more games. It was a part of the Druid culture, but he had never been comfortable with it. He was better at confronting problems in an open way, at meeting them head-on. It was one of the reasons he had gone to the Ard Rhys on that last night and asked her quite bluntly to resign her office. She might have been persuaded to do so, had he more time to convince her and had Shadea not been so anxious to use the liquid night. But Shadea was ambitious and manipulative; she was more representative of the Druid order at large. Traunt Rowan was more the exception. Oddly enough, it was one of the reasons he believed himself less vulnerable to Shadea’s anger. She knew he was neither ambitious nor covetous; she knew he was content to let her lead. His goal from the beginning had been to remove Grianne Ohmsford as head of the order; it had never been to take her place. In their desire for advancement and acquisition of power, the others were more aggressive than he was. It put them in dangerous waters, while he stood safely on the shore.

He refocused his gaze on Taupo Rough. The Gnome attack force had reached the base of the cliff walls and was forming up for an all-out assault. Scaling ladders and grappling hooks were being brought forward, and shield walls were being prepared. When everything was in place, the attack on the redoubt would begin.

“I want you to go down into the village with your Hunters,” he said suddenly to Pyson Wence. When the other gaped at him in disbelief, he added, “So that they can see we are committed to their efforts. I don’t need you to lead any charges, Pyson. I need you to provide reassurance.”

“Then you go!” the Gnome snapped.

“I would, but I have to command the airships when we begin to launch the catapults. I would leave you to handle this if you had any idea at all how to use a catapult. But you don’t, so your place is on the ground, keeping your Gnome Hunters in line.”

The Gnome Druid gave him a withering stare. “You don’t command me, Traunt Rowan. No one commands me.”

“Aboard this ship and on this expedition, I do,” he responded calmly. “I have been given the responsibility for bringing back the boy. You were sent to aid me. So you must do as I instruct you to do. As you agreed to do by coming with me, I might add.”

Pyson Wence did not move. “If I do so, what is to prevent you from leaving me behind? What if that is what Shadea has asked of you?”

His voice was petulant and accusatory. Traunt Rowan held his gaze. “Look at me, Pyson. Look closely. Do you see treachery in my eyes or hear it in my voice? Since when have you ever worried that I would betray any of us in this business?”

Long moments passed, their measure a blink of an eye to both as they stared each other down. “All right,” Pyson Wence said finally. His narrow face reflected displeasure and disgust. “I will do as you ask. I will go down with my people. I trust you, if not Shadea.”

He went over to the ladder and began to descend to the flats, his black robes billowing out behind him in the breeze. Traunt Rowan watched him in silence, thinking that if Pyson Wence had ever trusted anyone, it was a miracle.


Within the caverns of the Troll redoubt, Pen was sleeping soundly when a rough hand shook his shoulder and an equally rough voice said, “Wake up! You’re leaving!”

He jerked upright, groggy and lethargic, trying to figure out where he was. When he caught sight of Atalan moving over to Tagwen to wake the Dwarf, he remembered. He had no idea how long he had slept, but it didn’t feel as if it had been more than a few minutes. He rubbed his eyes and climbed to his feet. Khyber and Cinnaminson were standing by the cavern entry, staring out into the corridor. Heavy booming shook the chamber, as if a giant were striking the cliff face with a huge hammer. From somewhere not too far away, shouts and cries rose, the sounds of a battle being joined.

Pen moved over to the girls. “What’s going on? What’s happened?”

“The Druids and their Gnome Hunters are attacking the Trolls,” Khyber answered. “Hear that pounding? They’re using catapults to launch huge boulders into the cliff walls to break down the Troll fortifications. Gnome Hunters are scaling the cliffs on ladders and ropes, trying to breach the redoubt.”

“Which they will do, sooner than later,” Kermadec declared, appearing out of the corridor shadows. “They’re determined about this, it seems. We have to get you out now, before we lose the chance. All awake and ready to go?” He swung around. “Atalan! Gather up their things. Distribute them among the others. Hurry!”

Atalan hesitated. “Am I to go with you?”

“You are. Now join the others. Go!”