The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

The Elven Hunter nodded and hurried off across the grass with several anxious glances back. In spite of his promise, he would tell his friends what had been said. In particular, he would tell them that their commander was anticipating another attack, one that might not turn out as well for the Elves as this one had. Word would spread quickly. Panic, if not squelched, would as well.

Pied turned back to Ti Auberen and Erris Crewer. “Form up the wounded—everyone who can’t fight another battle right away. Detail enough men to carry those who can’t walk. Use as few as you can manage, but enough so that they can travel afoot for several days. I want them to make for the Rappahalladran, then for the villages in the Duln. They will find wagons there to complete the rest of the journey home. With luck, they will come across an airship to transport them. Form up everyone else and prepare to march. We’ll move east toward that pass Whyl mentioned, the tougher one that leads to the defensive position of our allies. Our best choice now is to try to link up with Vaden Wick before the enemy finds us again. There’s some cover along the way. It may help shield us from Federation airships.”

“Captain, if they send airships after us, whether it’s the one with that weapon or not, we won’t be able to hide this many men,” Erris Crewer pointed out quietly.

Pied met his gaze. “Get on with it, Lieutenant. I want all burials completed and the wounded dispatched north within the hour. I want the rest of us heading east. Wait, not all of us. Detail two dozen men to stay behind to watch the pass in case the Federation decides to send scouts through to see if we’re still here. We don’t want them to find out too quickly that we’ve gone. All we need is a presence to keep them guessing. The men can use the time to create false trails. I want them to hold the pass for one day, then catch up to us. Put a Tracker or two in the mix. And bring up Whyl again, as well. We’ll need what he knows about the country.”

When they were gone, he walked over to Drumundoon. His aide shifted his lanky body from foot to foot. He looked dusty and tired, but he smiled at Pied anyway. “Not much help for some things, is there, Captain?”

“Drum, I need you to do something,” Pied replied, taking the other’s arm and steering him away from everyone else. “Word has to be sent to Arborlon of what’s happened. Maybe it’s already been done, but we can’t know. The Elven High Council has to be told that the King and his sons are dead. More to the point, they have to be told to send reinforcements. More airships, more men to fly them. We don’t stand a chance without their support. I want you to do this. Travel on foot until you can find horses. Then ride until you can find an airship. Take two of the Home Guard with you, just in case. Leave at once.”

Drumundoon looked at him. “Arling will be Queen now,” he said. “It will be her decision.”

He was saying that she might not be favorably disposed toward Pied’s suggestion, no matter what the High Council said. Nor toward Pied, for that matter, once she learned that he had failed to keep her sons safe. But there was nothing Pied could do about it without speaking to her. He had to hope she would allow him the opportunity, that something of what he believed she had once felt for him would persuade her to do what was right.

“Do the best you can, Drum,” he said quietly. He placed his hand on the other’s shoulder. “But do it quickly.”

“I don’t like leaving you, Captain,” his aide replied, shaking his head slowly, looking down at his feet.

“I don’t like having you leave me. But we don’t always get to choose in these matters. I have to send someone I can depend upon to do this. There isn’t anyone I depend on more than you.”

He thought he saw Drumundoon actually blush, but it was hard to tell beneath the layers of dirt and sweat. Drum rubbed his fringe of black beard and nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

He was, as usual, as good as his word. By the time the wounded were loaded on litters and their bearers and caregivers ready to depart, Drum was already gone. Pied found himself wishing he could have given his friend something more than encouragement, but at least he was sending him out of the fighting. Drum was a good man, but he wasn’t meant to stand in the front lines on a battlefield.

Maybe I’m not meant for this, either, Pied thought. But here I am.

He slung his longbow across his shoulders, cinched his quiver a notch tighter, and went off to meet his fate.





SEVEN