The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

On the far side of the cavern, a tunnel opened into the rock wall, and soon they were burrowing downward once more. They had been descending steadily since they had set out, and if Pen was judging right, they were below the level of the village of Taupo Rough by several hundred feet. He wanted to know where they were going, wanted to reach a place where he could ask, and wanted most of all to get out in the open air again, where he could breathe. The mountain and its darkness pressed down against him with suffocating force. He was a flier, born to the air, and he hated being closed away.

But the tunnels wound on, deep and dark passageways thick with stale air and tar smoke, dead feeling and tomblike. Pen closed his mind to them after a while, a defense against his distaste and the hint of fear that lay behind it. He whispered now and again to Cinnaminson, just so that he could hear her voice. Each time, she squeezed his hand, as if sensing his need to make contact.

When they finally emerged from the tunnels, it was late afternoon and the sun had disappeared behind the peaks west, the light gone gray and misty. A narrow wedge of sky was visible overhead, distant and thick with clouds. They were deep in a valley where the shadows were so heavily layered that the trees carpeting the slopes surrounding them seemed already given over to night. Mountains rose all about them in sheer cliffs and jagged edges. Pen stood with the others, breathing the fresh, cold air and thinking that he had somehow tunneled down to the bottom of the world and must now climb back out again before he lost his way forever.

Kermadec was speaking in his deep, calm voice with one of the Trolls at the front of the line, but the conversation was being conducted in his own tongue so that Pen could not understand it. When they were finished, the other Troll disappeared into the trees, and Kermadec walked over to the boy and his companions.

“Barek will scout ahead to make sure the way is safe. We will follow in a few minutes.” He gestured toward the dense line of peaks that lay east. “These are the Klu. Part of the Charnals, but their own range, as well. To the extent that it’s possible to do so, we’ll travel at night from here on.” He paused. “Is everyone all right?”

They nodded, all of them, but with nothing that approached enthusiasm. Pen was somewhat relieved to find that his companions had seemingly fared no better than he had within the tunnels and the dark.

Kermadec nodded. “We’ll go on in a few minutes. We have to cross the valley floor before nightfall to be certain we’re safe enough to get some sleep. Drink plenty of water. The air is dry here. You won’t notice it until you pass out.”

Pen and his friends did as the big Troll instructed, casting uneasy glances back at the opening to the tunnels from which they had emerged, then at the sky overhead where searching airships might appear at any second.

“It will take them a day or two just to discover we’re gone,” Tagwen announced confidently.

“Only if they are exceedingly stupid,” Atalan shot back, overhearing as he walked past. He gave a dismissive shrug. “The fortifications will have been abandoned by now and our people moved on. We’re being hunted already, little man.”

Tagwen scowled deeply, not at all happy with being addressed in such familiar terms by the young Troll. After Atalan had moved away, Pen said quietly to the Dwarf, “His name is Atalan. He claims he’s Kermadec’s brother.”

Tagwen shook his head. “Kermadec never spoke of a brother. He never spoke about his family at all. Whoever this fellow is, he’s in need of some manners.”

“I don’t think he’s overly fond of Kermadec, from what he said earlier. I think he resents Kermadec’s position as Maturen.”

The Dwarf snorted. “Kermadec is a force to be reckoned with, make no mistake. If we’re to complete this journey in one piece, he is the one who will make it possible. His brother, if that’s what he is, ought to know as much.”

At Kermadec’s command, they began walking east through the trees. Because they were already on the valley floor, travel was smooth and steady. The Trolls set the pace and chose the way, finding paths where there didn’t seem to be any, moving everyone along, keeping watch on all sides. Pen felt much better out in the open again, and his earlier discomfort subsided and eventually disappeared. Things didn’t seem so impossible when he didn’t have an entire mountain pressing down on him. He gazed skyward and thought wistfully that if they could find an airship to convey them the rest of the way, things would be perfect.

But there would be no airships, of course. Kermadec had made it clear that airships were at risk in those mountains, and that travel afoot was much safer if their intent was to remain safely concealed from would-be pursuers. It was a choice that Pen might not have made, but they were in Kermadec’s country, and the Rock Troll would know the best way to get to where they were going. Whatever else happened, Pen did not care to experience another encounter with the Druids who hunted him.