The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

They had not taken away the darkwand, an oversight that surprised him. Having had it snatched away once already by Pyson Wence, he had been expecting to lose it again. But neither Druid had shown any further interest in the staff. He promised he would make them regret their carelessness, but then warned himself against making threats—even to himself—that he was in no position to carry out.

After giving it some consideration, he decided against trying to hide the staff. He could tuck it away amid all the stores, but they would notice it was missing the first time he limped about the room without it—and he would have to limp, at least for a day or two, to keep up the pretense that he was injured. No, hiding it would only call attention to it. They would find it quickly enough anyway, if they decided to look for it. It was better to just leave it lying out in plain sight and hope they paid no further attention.

He stuck it under the bench in a careless fashion and forced himself to pretend it didn’t matter.

After a time, one of the Gnome Hunters brought him a plate of food and a cup of ale. He consumed both hungrily, realizing he was starved. It had been more than a day since he had eaten, and the rush of events was all that had kept him going. He needed sleep, too. After finishing the meal, he lay down to nap and was asleep in seconds.

He woke to the sound of the lock releasing, and another tray of food was brought inside and deposited on the floor. The Gnome Hunter barely looked at him as he backed out the door and locked it. Pen peered through the cracks of the shutters securing the single window opening into the storeroom. The sky was brilliant with either a sunrise or a sunset, depending on direction. He decided, after a moment’s consideration, that it was a sunset. He had slept through an entire day.

He sat down and consumed his meal, thinking for the first time since he had been locked away of his friends back in the ruins of Stridegate. At least they were safe. Or safe from the Druids. They were still trapped by the Urdas and miles from any help. Kermadec would get them free, of course. Or Khyber, using her elemental magic to aid their efforts. But even after that it would take them a week to walk out and longer still to reach Paranor. Tagwen had meant well in promising they would come for him, but Pen knew that he couldn’t depend on it. He had given them a chance at life by agreeing to leave with the Druids, but he had not given himself much hope in return. No matter what Tagwen had promised, Pen knew he was on his own.

He thought about what that meant. Barring unexpected help from Druids still loyal to the Ard Rhys, he had to reach his aunt’s chamber with the darkwand in hand and employ it quickly. That presupposed a lot of things that shouldn’t be presupposed, the foremost of which was that he would be able to figure out how to use the talisman. He had no idea how it worked. He had no way of knowing what he had to do to summon its magic. Did he need to do anything? Or could he just stand there and wait to be whisked away?

The enormity of what he was hoping for left him momentarily shaken, and before he could pull himself together sufficiently to feel at least somewhat reassured that he would find a way out of his dilemma, the storeroom door opened, and his Druid captors reappeared.

He sat on his bench and stared at them, searching their faces for some indication of what to expect. Traunt Rowan seemed tense. Pyson Wence just looked angry. They moved into the room with an unmistakable air of authority, and Pen knew that the time for procrastination was over. Taking a deep breath, forcing himself not to look down at the darkwand where it lay on the floor beneath the bench, he came to his feet.

“I’m ready to tell you what you want to know,” he said.

Best not to wait on the inevitable, he decided, and saw that his words had an instant calming effect on both, although the Gnome’s brow remained dark and his eyes skeptical. “What is it that you think we want to know, little man?” he asked softly.

“You want to know what I’m doing out here. You want to know why I made such a long journey. You want to know if it has something to do with my aunt. Isn’t that right?”

Pyson Wence started to answer, but Traunt Rowan held up one hand to silence him. His eyes fastened on Pen. “I think you prefer not to play games with us, young Pen, so I won’t play games with you. The fact that you gave yourself up to save your friends tells me something about your character. I respect that. I won’t waste any more time trying to convince you that everything in your life is going to be all right when this is over. As it happens, that isn’t my decision. But you could help yourself—and your parents—considerably by doing just exactly what you propose. Tell us what we want to know, and I will see what I can do to help you. I have some influence in this matter. Shadea a’Ru is our leader, but Pyson and I are strong in our own right.”