The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

“He doesn’t want to talk now, but he will soon enough,” Pyson Wence hissed. “Do you hear me, little man?”


Traunt Rowan stepped forward and yanked Pen off the bench, holding him up so that they were face-to-face. “He hears you, Pyson.” He bent so close to the boy that their noses were almost touching. “Are you worried for your parents, Pen?” he whispered. “I worried for mine, too, but it wasn’t enough to save them. You think Grianne Ohmsford is worth giving up your life for, but she isn’t. She killed my parents, and in a way she will end up killing yours, as well, won’t she? She is a monster, Pen. She always was and she always will be. Except that now she’s where she belongs—with the other monsters.”

He let go of the boy, shoving him back onto the bench. “You think about it while we fly to Paranor. You think about how much she really means to you.”

He stepped back, flushed with the heat of his words. Then he turned and walked from the room, taking the staff and Pyson Wence with him.

In the ensuing silence, Pen was left alone to consider the fate that awaited him.


“What do you think you are doing?” a voice called out from behind Khyber, causing her to turn abruptly to face the speaker.

It was the sunset of the following day, and the light was weak and tinged with twilight, so she could not make him out clearly, other than to identify him as one of the Gnome crew. Of course, he couldn’t make her out, either, so she was able to act before he could determine who she was. A quick movement of her fingers caused him to hear an unexpected noise, a sound he recognized as dangerous. When he was looking the other way, she brushed the air about her to create a screen of mist and walked away.

It was one of the small skills she had learned from Ahren Elessedil while aboard the Skatelow all those weeks ago. A lifetime ago, she thought. It made her sad, remembering. It made her wish she could change things, even though she knew she couldn’t.

She glanced back at the Gnome Hunter, who was looking around in confusion, trying to figure out what had happened. It was the first time anyone had challenged her, but she had been prepared for the possibility. Still, she would have to be more careful. One sighting might go unreported. A second was more likely to draw attention.

They were flying south along the spine of the Charnals, come out of the Klu now and gone down below the Lazareen. Ahead, the bleak wasteland of the Skull Kingdom was a dark smudge against the extended green of the landscape stretching toward the southwest, where the light was a dim reddish gold band along the horizon. In another day, perhaps as early as the next evening, they would reach Paranor. The Druid warships were swift, and they flew unhindered and unconcerned through that dangerous country. Few enemies would dare to attack even a single Druid warship, let alone three.

She scanned the countryside below for a moment, then started for the starboard aft hatchway. The decks were mostly deserted, the crew below eating dinner, the night watch not yet come topside. Only the pilot and two crewmen were in view, and they were mostly passing time until they could eat and sleep.

She was at the hatchway when she saw the flash of light from the Athabasca, which was flying just ahead and to port. The light was sudden and intense, and it came from somewhere in the hold, belowdecks, flaring out through cracks in the shutters, slivers of brilliance against the black. She recognized it as magic right away; it was too sharp-edged for firelight. She stared momentarily in shock, then watched it flash a second time.

But that was all. She waited, but it didn’t come again. She listened for some indication of what had caused it, but heard nothing. She tried to read its origins using her own magic, probing the space between the vessels, but the air currents caused by the airships’ movements swept away all traces.

Was it Pen?

She had no way of knowing. She wouldn’t be able to tell anything until they landed at Paranor—perhaps not even then. She stared out at the dark bulk of the Athabasca. The ship was only a hundred yards away, but it might as well have been a hundred miles.

Disconsolate and frustrated, she dropped her gaze and slipped through the hatchway to try to get some sleep.





FOUR