The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

He shook his head in exasperation. “Drum just can’t keep quiet about things, can he?”


“It’s the army. You know how it works. Word gets around. There aren’t any secrets.” She glanced down at her weapons belt, and then hitched up her pack on her shoulders. “I don’t like flying. I need to sit down. I’ll be ready when you are.”

He let her go; it was pointless to carry the discussion further because there was no reason to chastise her. She was there because she wanted to be. She was risking her life for him and for her comrades. It was hard to find fault with that.

They flew east until they had reached the far end of the Prekkendorran, then turned south and flew across the flats to the low mountains that buttressed the east end of the Federation lines. Slipping down the far side of those mountains, they got several miles behind the Southlanders, then turned west. In another hour, maybe less, they would reach their destination. It would not yet be midnight.

He glanced over at the flits. They were little gnats compared to the big ships of the line. But gnats were pesky and difficult to swat. Big ships would have trouble getting close to the Dechtera. Flits might have a chance.

A small chance, he thought.

He moved over to the railing and settled down to wait.


It was nearing midnight when the Wayford, skimming the tops of trees and hills south of the Federation lines, landed beyond a screen of woods that offered some small concealment from discovery. North, the horizon was lit by the glow of the Federation campfires, a dull yellowish coloring of the night sky. Pied disembarked with his company and began unloading the flits, weapons, and spare crystals for the return trip. A single crystal powered each flit, and the crystal had enough stored power for about two hours of use. After that, the flier was on borrowed time. Two hours would be enough to get them there, even given the necessity of evasive maneuvers. The spare crystal would get them back again.

If there was any getting back to be done.

When the group was assembled and the gear was checked and strapped in place, Pied told them what they were going to do and how they were going to do it. Once aloft, they would not be able to speak to one another; they would have to react on instinct. Knowing what they had to do and how they were supposed to do it was the framework that would hold them together. Acting as a team was what would keep them alive.

No one had to be told what the odds were of them succeeding. No one needed to speak of it and no one did.

“Remember that no matter what happens to us, that ship and her weapon have to be destroyed,” Pied finished. “If we fail, thousands of Free-born will die. Don’t let that happen.”

They strapped themselves into the flits, taking time with the fastenings and the lines, bunched together in the center of a clearing that gave them sufficient room to lift off. Then, one by one, led by Pied and Sersen, a Southlander who had volunteered because he knew the country, each flier opened the single parse tube containing the diapson crystal that powered the flits, and soared off into the night.

Shadows against a night sky both clouded and misty, they flew low to the ground in near blackness, the only light coming from ahead of them, where the Federation fires burned through the gloom. Barely able to keep one another in sight, they flew in as tight a formation as possible, following the lead of Sersen, who chose their path and kept them on track for their destination. Pied, locked away in a kaleidoscopic rush of wind and sweeping landscape, found he was surprisingly calm. He was going to his death, in all likelihood, and yet he was at peace. He wished he could hold on to the moment, could stay in it forever.

The fringes of the Federation camp came into view, and Sersen took them right, keeping them within the concealment of the dark, just out of view of the sentries stationed along the backside of the enemy army. The airfield lay farther down the line, cradled by a series of low hills occupied by hundreds of Federation soldiers. They would have to fly right down into the center of that cradle, and when they did so they would come under attack from every side.

Pied took a deep breath and watched the Federation fleet begin to take shape in the harsh glow of the fires that warded the airfield. He found the Dechtera at once; her huge bulk was unmistakable. The weapon was mounted on her foredeck, covered over with sailcloth. Dozens of Federation soldiers stood on her decks and on the ground surrounding her hull. Pied’s stomach lurched as he made a quick count and realized that they would be outnumbered at least thirty to one. Even without the rail slings on the surrounding hills and the soldiers manning them, even without the Federation camp being so close that it would take only minutes for an organized response to any attack, the odds his little force faced were insurmountable.