The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

The Dwarf ducked below the gunwales of the pontoon, and Pen threw a canvas over him, concealing him from view. He had no idea what he was going to do, but whatever it was, there was no point in taking chances until he found out if the Dwarf was right about who these visitors were.

There was also no point in pretending that he didn’t see them, so he turned to watch the Galaphile’s dark hull settle heavily into the waters of the cove. The skies over Rainbow Lake were darkening steadily with thunderheads and rainsqualls. It was going to be a bad storm when it hit. If he was going to make a run for it, he was going to have to do so soon.

He watched as a long boat was lowered over the starboard pontoon. Half a dozen passengers sat hooded and cloaked within, dark figures in the late afternoon gloom. Several took up oars and began to row, pointing the boat toward the docks. Pen caught a glimpse of their lifted faces as they strained against the oars. Gnomes, swarthy and sharp-featured, yellow eyes glittering and cold.

Something about the Gnomes convinced him instantly that Tagwen was right. He couldn’t say exactly why, because he had encountered Gnomes before at Patch Run and on his travels about the lake. He stepped into the pilot box, unhooded the parse tubes stacked on both sides of the cat, and pushed the controls to the port and starboard thrusters forward just far enough to nudge the diapson crystals awake.

“Whatever happens,” he whispered to Tagwen, his head lowered to hide his words, “don’t let them know you’re there.”

“You’d better worry about yourself,” came the muffled reply.

The long boat had landed, and its occupants were climbing onto the dock and walking toward the compound, spreading out in all directions right away, a maneuver clearly intended to cut off anyone trying to get around behind them. Pen was terrified by then, standing alone on the deck of the cat-28, the brace of long knives strapped about his waist and the bow and arrows at his feet pathetically inadequate for mounting any kind of a defense. He couldn’t begin to fight off men like those. Funny, he thought, how quickly he had given up on the possibility that they might be friendly.

One of them separated from the others and came toward him. This man wasn’t a Gnome, and he wasn’t wrapped in their mottled green and brown cloaks. This man wore the dark robes of a Druid. He was a Dwarf, and as he pulled back his hood to give himself a better field of vision, Pen immediately thought him twice as dangerous as the Gnomes. He had the stocky, square build of all Dwarves, the blunt, thick hands and the heavy features. But he was tall for a Dwarf, standing well over five feet, and his face looked as if it had been chiseled from rough stone, all ridges and valleys, nothing smooth or soft. His razor-edged eyes found the boy, and Pen could feel them probing him like knives.

But Pen stood his ground. There was nothing else to do except to run, and he knew that would be a big mistake.

“Can I help you?” he called out as the other neared.

The Dwarf came right up to the cat and climbed aboard without being invited, an act that in some quarters was considered piracy. Pen waited, fighting to control his terror, catching sight of the heavy blades the Dwarf wore strapped beneath his robes.

“Going somewhere?” the Dwarf asked him bluntly, glancing around in a perfunctory manner, then back at Pen.

“Home,” Pen answered. “I’m done for the day.”

He thought he kept his voice from shaking, but if he hadn’t, there was nothing he could do to steady it that he wasn’t already doing.

“Is this the Ohmsford place?” the Dwarf asked, squaring up before him, much too close for comfort. Behind him, the Gnomes were beginning to poke around in the shed and under the canvas-sheltered stores and equipment. “Bek Ohmsford?”

Pen nodded. “He’s away, gone east on an expedition. I don’t expect him back for weeks.”

The Dwarf studied him wordlessly for a moment, eyes searching his, measuring. Pen waited, his heart frozen in his chest, his breathing stopped. He didn’t know what to do. He understood now why Tagwen had been so afraid. The Dwarf’s gaze made Pen feel as if wild animals were picking him apart.

“Left you to look after things?” the Dwarf pressed.

Pen nodded again, not bothering with an answer this time.

“He must have some faith in you, boy. You don’t look very old.” He paused, a lengthy silence. “I’m told Ohmsford has a boy about your age. Penderrin. That wouldn’t be you, would it?”

Pen grinned disarmingly. “No, but he’s my friend. He’s up there at the house, right now.”