The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

“She isn’t looking at it that way.”


“Well, she should. She needs to distance herself from her emotions. She needs to exercise better judgment.”

“A mother can’t always do that.”

“A Queen can. And should.”

There was no satisfying him on the subject. He refused to consider any alternative but the one that favored Pied. Drum was nothing if not loyal. He had known of the entire conversation and confronted Pied with the whole of it minutes after Arling’s departure. He didn’t seem bothered in the least by the fact that if he had been caught eavesdropping, he would very likely have been shipped home in shackles. What mattered to him was that the Queen had done Pied an injustice that should be set right, and Pied did not seem inclined to do anything about it.

There were reasons for that, though Pied didn’t want to talk about them. He was sick at heart at what had happened to Kellen and his sons and dismayed by Arling’s response, even though he understood it and did not fault her for it. Mostly, he was weary. When the mission was finished, he did not want to continue as commander of the Elven army. Nor did he want to go back to being Captain of the Home Guard. Even if Arling had asked him to do so, a response he did not foresee, he would have refused. His sense of accountability for what had happened to Kellen and the boys weighed on him as if a tree had fallen on his shoulders. Nothing would ever be the same in his relationship with the Elessedils. He no longer belonged in the position of Captain of the Home Guard. He did not even think he belonged in Arborlon.

Drum would never understand that. So there was no point in discussing it with him. It was better if Pied simply presented it as settled and let time do the rest.

Drum stepped back, eyeing him critically. “You’re done. As good as I can make it.”

“That will have to be good enough,” Pied replied.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Drumundoon stuck out his hand. “Good luck to you, Captain. I’ll be here when you return.”

Pied took his hand and clasped it tightly. “I count on that, Drum. I really do.”

He turned away and moved to where the Wayford was anchored, signaling to the other dark-clad figures scattered about that they were leaving. The Free-born ship was rigged for sailing and ready to fly, her captain already in the pilot box, her crew of six at the lines and anchor ropes. It was dark enough that they could lift off without drawing attention. If they flew east, into the darkness, they wouldn’t be seen when they turned south. After that, it would be up to fate and luck.

Pied climbed the rope ladder with the other twelve members of his tiny force, taking quick note of the flits that were stacked on both sides of the mainmast before turning to take a head count. As he did so, he caught sight of Troon, black-faced and black-clad like the others, levering one leg over the ship’s railing and pulling herself aboard. Breaking off his count, he went over to her at once, took her firmly by the arm, and drew her aside.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded, trying to keep his anger in check.

She arched one eyebrow. “I think you can figure that out for yourself, Captain. I decided I didn’t want to be left behind.”

“You’ve just finished one mission. You’re not ready for another.”

“I’m ready enough. I had time to sleep last night once I was inside the Free-born lines. I told you it wasn’t that hard. I slept today, as well.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want you doing this.”

“You left it up to the Home Guard to choose a dozen of us. I volunteered, and I was chosen. A Tracker might prove useful.”

“Well, I’m overruling the vote. You’re off.”

She stood her ground. “Because you are afraid I might not be up to doing what’s needed? Or because of something else?” She gave him a moment, then shrugged. “Anyhow, we’re already under way.”

Pied glanced around hurriedly. She was right. The Wayford was lifting off, anchor lines released, her sails catching the evening breezes, the ground falling away below. He watched in frustration as the Free-born camp disappeared into the gloom and the ship swung about to fly east, and then he looked back at her, scowling. “I don’t like it that you’re here. It’s asking too much.”

“Of you or of me?” She glanced into the rigging as if the answer lay there. “For my part, I gather I am asking less of you than some. I am only asking to come along and help in whatever way I can. I might not be getting many more chances to do that.” She looked back at him. “We’ve been friends a long time, Pied. Friends are supposed to stand by each other in difficult times. It seems to me, given how things have turned out for you, that standing by you just now is mandatory.”