The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

Tagwen realized two things immediately. First, that Kermadec would never set foot inside the Keep. He had made that plain enough quite some time ago, and he was not about to change his mind for Shadea a’Ru, whom he distrusted anyway. Second, if he were foolish enough to accept the invitation nevertheless, perhaps out of concern for the Ard Rhys, he would not come out again. Shadea a’Ru was looking for someone to blame for the Ard Rhys’ disappearance. Tagwen felt that instinctively. Why she felt it was necessary—or her responsibility—was beyond him, but what was happening was clear.

The Rock Trolls had never been a popular choice as protectors of the Druids. Elves had been used traditionally, a practice begun by Galaphile during the First Druid Council. An Elf himself, Galaphile had felt more comfortable relying on his own people in the wake of the destruction of the Old World and a thousand years of barbarism. Elven Hunters had warded the Druids until the fall of Paranor at the hands of the Warlock Lord. When the Third Council was convened, it was thought that Elves would be called upon again. But the Ard Rhys did not trust Kylen Elessedil sufficiently to rely on him to choose her protectors. By the time of his death, she was already committed to Kermadec and his Rock Trolls. Perhaps she felt more comfortable with them because her relationship with Kermadec did not owe anything to politics. She liked the independence of the Trolls; they gave their allegiance only when they felt it necessary and did not give it lightly. If they were your allies, you could rely on them.

None of that history would help the situation if Shadea managed to manipulate it, as she obviously intended. The Rock Trolls had responsibility for the safety of the Ard Rhys, and the Ard Rhys had disappeared right under their noses. It wouldn’t take much effort for the sorceress to convince the order that the blame should be laid squarely at their feet.

Tagwen glared at Shadea. “Kermadec won’t come inside; you know that.”

“I do,” she agreed. “But if he doesn’t, then I will take that as proof of his complicity in whatever has happened and dismiss him along with all of his Trolls. I don’t want them guarding the rest of us if they can’t do any better job of it than they did with the Ard Rhys.” She paused, a finger lifting to rest lightly on one cheek. “Refusing to come into the Keep suggests he is hiding something, Tagwen. If he isn’t, he should tell us so—all of us, who depend on him for our safety. Tell him I said he should explain himself, if he can.”

“Who gave you the right to tell anyone what to do, Shadea a’Ru?” the Dwarf demanded, standing his ground. “You don’t command the Druid order.”

She smiled. “Someone has to, in the Ard Rhys’ absence. My name has already been put forth. I will serve as best I can, but serve I will. I can do no less.” She looked past him at the empty room. “Go on, Tagwen. Do what I tell you.”

He started to object again, to say something so terrible it would leave no doubt about how he felt. Then he realized that an unguarded response might be exactly what she was hoping for. Something bad was going on, and he was beginning to believe that Shadea had a part in it.

He held his tongue. Better to keep his head. Better to stay free. Someone needed to tell Kermadec what was happening, to warn him of the danger.

Nodding curtly, he went out the door and down the hallway, his eyes downcast, his face flushed. A part of him wanted to run out of there as fast as he could and not come back. He was suddenly afraid, looking about as he went at the faces of those he passed, seeing suspicion and doubt and in some cases outright anger. As Shadea had said, the word was already out. Schemes were being hatched and alliances formed. If the Ard Rhys did not resurface soon, everything was going to go Shadea’s way.

On impulse, he made a short detour to the Rock Troll living quarters in the north courtyard and asked one of the watch commanders to bring a dozen of his men to the north gates on orders of the Ard Rhys. The commander did not argue. Tagwen had carried messages of this sort to him before from time to time; there was nothing unusual about this one.

Once outside the walls of the keep, Tagwen went to the edge of the forest and called for Kermadec. He knew the Maturen was camped somewhere just beyond the north gates. Waiting, he rubbed his beard and folded his arms across his burly chest, trying to think what he could do to stop Shadea from taking control.

“Bristle Beard!” Kermadec called with a laugh. His guttural tongue was rough-edged and resonant as he stepped out of the trees and stretched out his hand in greeting. “What’s the matter with you? You look as if you swallowed something sour. Could your day be going better, old Dwarf?”

Tagwen clasped hands with the Troll. “It could. But yours isn’t looking so good, either.” He glanced quickly over his shoulder. “Better listen carefully to me, Kermadec. I don’t know how much time we’ve got, but it isn’t much.”