The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

Drumundoon came to attention, a habit he couldn’t seem to break, even when only the two of them were present. Tall and lanky, he towered over the shorter Sanderling. “Good morning, Captain.”


“Good morning, Drum.” Pied led the way as they moved down through the Elven camp toward the King’s tent. He brushed back his mop of sandy hair and squinted up at the cloudless sky. “So he’s made up his mind.” He shook his head. “I wish he’d wait.”

“You don’t know what he’s decided,” Drumundoon ventured hopefully. “He might have decided not to try it.”

“No.” Pied shook his head. “He had his mind made up last night when I left him, and he’s not changed it. I know him. He goes with his first impression of a plan, and he liked this one right from the start. It doesn’t matter what the risks are. It doesn’t matter that the source is suspect. All that matters is that it’s bold and it favors his nature. Like his father, all he lives for is to break the stalemate and drive the Federation down off the heights and south again. He’s obsessed with it.” He shook his head again. “I can’t reason with him.”

“You have to try.”

“Of course, I have to try. I am being summoned to try. He likes it when he can win these arguments. He forgets that he wins them solely because he is King. But that is the way things are, and I can’t change them.”

They walked in silence, wending their way through the Home Guard units encamped about the King’s pavilion tent, where brightly colored banners flew bravely in the midday breeze, marking the territories they had occupied for months or, in some cases, for years. Elven Hunters came and went with the beginnings and endings of their tours of duty, but the camps remained, like markers in a landscape that had been trampled and pummeled and fought over for so long that nothing recognizable was left. The desolation depressed Pied, the barren earth and broken rock, the colors all brown and gray. He missed the green of his Westland home. He missed the lushness of the trees, the cool breeze off the Rill Song, and the sound of birds singing. He wanted it all back again. Wanted it now. But he would have to wait. Even though he had been there almost two months, he knew it would be another two at least before the King lost interest and went home again.

Still, he knew the situation—had known it from the moment he had accepted his appointment. A Captain of the Home Guard was the King’s right hand, and where the King went, he went, too. This King was not a stay-at-home King. This King was restless.

“You sent Acrolace and Parn to see what they could discover?” he asked finally.

Drumundoon nodded. “Last night. They haven’t returned. Can you stall until they do?”

“Probably not.” He hunched his shoulders defensively. “I wish this wasn’t being rushed so. I would feel better about things if a little more thought were being given to the probable consequences of guessing wrong. It bothers me that we are so eager to charge into things.”

“The King,” Drumundoon pointed out.

“The King, indeed. What sort of advice is he getting? If someone besides me would speak up, we might be able to bring him to his senses.”

“There is no one but you.” His aide smiled cheerfully. “His advisers, Ministers and otherwise, are all back in Arborlon, safely out of harm’s way. You know that. They want no part of this foolishness. Half of them want no part of this war at all. This was always an Elessedil war more than it was an Elven war. First, it was the King’s father, after his grandfather’s death, and now it is the King. All of them have viewed it in the same way—a chance to expand Elven influence into other territories, to reassert Elven control over the rest of the Four Lands, to place the Elven people at the forefront of development and expansion.”

Pied Sanderling grunted. “We have Druids for that. Let them be the ones to spread their influence.”

“Cheek by jowl with the Federation. They have no time for the Free-born. Not since the disappearance of the Ard Rhys. Not that it would make any difference while Kellen Elessedil is King, in any case. He hates the Ard Rhys and her Druids. He blames them as his father blamed them for all the bad things that have happened to the Elves. There’s no reasoning with him on the subject. He sees our future as leader of the Free-born, and that’s the end of it.”

Pied glanced over at him. “You never cease to amaze me. Your political sense is as astute as …” He paused.

“As your own, Captain,” the other interjected quickly. “Don’t pretend otherwise.”