The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

“Hurry,” Khyber whispered, the word evidence that her own efforts were beginning to fail.

He continued until he had cut into ten strands. It was tedious, demanding work. His eyes watered and his body cramped, but it was his mind that screamed for release. Still, he was afraid to stop, afraid that starting up again would be too dangerous, that it risked discovery through the sheer repetitiveness of the magical activity. Too much of anything would be noticed in a place like Paranor, especially with the scrye waters able to detect any usage of magic at all.

Bek cut two more strands, making his tally an even dozen. When he had finished with the twelfth, he was too tired to go on. He withdrew the cutting edge of his magic and let the wishsong go still. He closed his eyes wearily and leaned back against the passageway wall. “That’s all I can do,” he whispered to Khyber.

She exhaled sharply, and when he opened his eyes again, the Elfstones had gone dark. She was slumped down across from him, her fingers closed tightly about the talismans. “Do you think it was enough? Will it break apart for your sister and Pen? I couldn’t tell. I couldn’t feel the weakening at all. All I could do was make out the places where it might give way.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

He reached over from behind the open door and pushed against it. The door closed softly, and the latch caught. They were left in darkness again save for where greenish light leaked through the cracks, blade-thin and knife-sharp. In the ensuing silence, they stared at each other wordlessly, wondering if they had done enough.


Shadea a’Ru had finished rechecking the strength and positioning of the triagenel and was on her way back down the hall when Traunt Rowan reappeared from the cold chamber. She noticed for the first time how much he had aged over the past few weeks. His strong face was lined and gray, the way he held himself was less confident and erect. He had been the most dependable of her allies, the strongest-minded if not the strongest wielder of magic, and she was dismayed that he had not held up better. It pointed up again a truth she regretted.

In the end, she was the only one she could depend on. In the end, she was in the battle alone.

“You were right to have me check the scrye waters,” he announced perfunctorily. “The Druid on watch said there was a noticeable disturbance perhaps eight or ten hours ago, one that clearly indicated the presence of a powerful magic. He said he failed to report it because he thought it was Druid magic. The truth is he was afraid he would stumble into something he shouldn’t know about and pay the price for doing so.”

“What does that mean?”

His laugh was bitter. “It means our decision to keep everyone guessing about who is expendable is having unavoidable consequences. We have created a climate of fear, Shadea, in which no one wants to risk drawing attention. Better to keep silent than to make a mistake and become another unfortunate example.”

She glared at him, then looked away. He was right, of course. What was the purpose in getting mad at him for pointing out something she already knew? She had the Druids well in line and working to complete their tasks, but they were frightened and uncertain. Her early, unexplained dismissals had made them that way. Now she was in danger of losing them all.

She was no better than Grianne Ohmsford.

But that would change, she promised herself. She would make it change.

She looked back at him. “What was the source of the disturbance?”

“The furnace chamber, where we sent the Elven girl to be killed. I think we must assume she is still alive. Pyson sent an armed unit to search that whole area. They found evidence of blood, but nothing else.”

Shadea shook her head. “What is she up to? What does she think she can accomplish?” Her hard gaze fixed on him. “I want her found, Traunt. I want her found and killed. I don’t care how it’s done or who knows. We have to put an end to this business.”

He nodded wordlessly. There was nothing for him to say.

They walked back down the hall toward her chamber. “I received word from our spies in Arishaig,” he said quietly. “Iridia has disappeared.”

She looked over in surprise. “How long ago?”

“Several days, at least. She simply vanished. Sen Dunsidan doesn’t seem bothered, though. That leads me to believe he may have had something to do with it.”

She nodded, thinking that Sen Dunsidan couldn’t have gotten rid of Iridia on the best day of his life. It was far more likely that her Gnome assassins had been more successful than she had believed, even if they hadn’t gotten word back to her yet.

They reached her door. “Find that girl,” she repeated, turning to face him. “And anyone else she might have brought with her into Paranor. Tell Pyson to have his Gnome Hunters sweep the Keep again—every passageway, every room.”