The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

“We both have a healthy respect for what she will likely do to us if she gets the chance,” Traunt Rowan answered for him. “As should you.”


She gave him a quick shake of her head. “I don’t respect anyone who misuses power as she has. I don’t respect anyone with her history. She is an animal, and I will see her caged or put down.”

“Brave words, Shadea.” He looked less than convinced. “How do you intend to give them weight?”

She shrugged. “We’ll create a triagenel,” she said.

For the first time that afternoon, she saw agreement reflected in their eyes.


“First,” she declared, when they had finished discussing how the triagenel would be achieved, “we have to dispose of the girl. She’s told us what we want to know about the boy. She has no further use. Sooner or later, someone will come looking for her, and I don’t want them to find her here.”

Pyson Wence shrugged. “What do you want done with her?”

“Have your Gnome Hunters take her down to the furnaces and throw her in.” She glanced at the girl, who still lay unconscious on the floor. “She won’t be much trouble, but bind her anyway. Here, take these and throw them in, as well.”

She handed the pouch with the Elfstones to Traunt Rowan. He stared at them in disbelief. “But, Shadea—”

“They’re useless to us,” she interrupted quickly. “Only Elves can make use of their magic. We’re not Elves. If we can’t make use of them, let’s see to it that no one else can, either. Besides, they are markers. If anyone finds them on us or at Paranor, they will have found a link to the girl. We don’t want that. No, throw them into the furnace and be done with it. Come back here when it is finished, and we will begin building the triagenel.”

When they were gone, taking the girl and the Elfstones with them, she slipped from the room and went down through the corridors and stairwells of the Keep to a small guardroom that sat near the back of the north wall. A triagenel is strong enough to hold even Grianne Ohmsford, she was thinking as she moved along the passageways. Traunt Rowan and Pyson Wence recognized this and so were willing to offer their talents to form it. Three magics from three separate sources, combined in the right way, created a net that would contain and neutralize even the most powerful magic wielder. It took time and effort to build a triagenel, but she had never heard of anyone who was able to overcome one once caught in it. Stringing it about the perimeters of the room would assure them of snaring anyone who entered. There was no escaping a triagenel, once caught in it. Only its creators could undo it. Grianne Ohmsford and the boy would be snared like rabbits—or more like wolves—but snared nevertheless. By the time the triagenel was released, their lives would be over.

She considered the possibility that the triagenel would disintegrate before they were ready to attempt their return. It enjoyed only a limited lifetime, only a finite period of existence because the magic was so powerful that eventually it became unstable and collapsed. But another could be built. And another after that, should the need arise. At some point, it would be clear that her victims weren’t coming back after all, and the effort to create further triagenels could be abandoned.

She was satisfied that her plan would work. She was confident that she could undo the damage that her inept allies had created.

She reached a heavy wooden door at the end of a darkened passageway set in the recesses of the northeast tower. She rapped sharply on it and heard a murmur of voices and a furtive scuffling from the room beyond. Then the lock released and a bearded face thrust into view. Eyes that were mean and piggish fixed on her, then looked quickly away. The man’s head disappeared back inside the chamber.

“Gresheren!” he hissed.

She waited until a second man appeared, this one big and hulking, but with a sharper, more cunning look to him. He bowed to her immediately and stepped outside the room and into the hallway, closing the door behind him.

“Mistress,” he greeted. “You have need of me?”

She took him away from the door and into the shadows. “I have a job for you. I want you to select four of your best men to dispose of someone. They will have the advantage of numbers and surprise, but that is likely all. They must strike quickly and surely. There will be no second chance. If they succeed and return alive, I will give them a year’s pay for their efforts.”

“Fair enough, Mistress,” he rumbled. “More than fair. Who is it that you want killed?”

“A traitor, Gresheren,” she told him. “A Druid traitor.”





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