The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

She listened then as he told her everything that had happened since Tagwen had appeared in Patch Run to seek his father’s help. He told her of the little company that had come together in Emberen to start the quest for the tanequil. She learned of the death of Ahren Elessedil and of the dark creatures that had been enlisted by Shadea to hunt Pen down. He told her of the fate of the Skatelow and the Rovers who crewed her and of star-crossed Cinnaminson’s transformation into one of the aeriads. He told her of brave Kermadec and his Rock Trolls. He told her of the tanequil, of its dual nature and of the shaping of the darkwand. By listening, she came to understand how desperate the struggle had been to reach her and how much had been sacrificed so that Pen could find a way to bring her back into the Four Lands.

“I would have thought my father a better choice for this, too,” he finished. “But the King of the Silver River said that I was the one who was needed. I guess it was because my magic allowed me to communicate with the tanequil. Perhaps my father’s couldn’t do that. I don’t know. I only know that I had to come looking for you, that it was important that I try, even if I really didn’t think I could succeed.”

Grianne smiled in spite of herself. “Perhaps the King of the Silver River saw something in you that you didn’t see in yourself, Penderrin Ohmsford, because here you are, whether you believed it could happen or not.”

He smiled back. “I’m glad I found you, Aunt Grianne.”

Weka Dart was dancing around again, looking agitated, his craggy features twisting and knotting. “We should leave this place,” he whined anxiously. He glanced back in the direction of the Asphinx colony and the stone statues. “It is dangerous to remain here.”

Grianne nodded. “He is right, Pen. We can continue talking while we travel. We must go as quickly as possible to the doorway out of the Forbidding. Time slips away.”

They began retracing Pen’s steps, walking west toward the receding darkness, the dim gray brightening of the dawn at their backs. The vast sweep of the Pashanon stretched away before them, its stunted, broken landscape empty of movement. Far distant still to the north, the Dragon Line lifted in stark relief against the horizon. The sky remained clouded and the air hazy as the daylight brightened only marginally the world of the Jarka Ruus.

“I am very sorry to hear about Ahren Elessedil,” she said to Pen after a time. “He was the best of my Druids, the one I could always depend upon. It proved to be so here, at the end, too. But I will miss him.”

In truth, she felt as if her heart would break. Only losing Bek could hurt worse. Ahren had been with her since the formation of the Third Druid Order, the linchpin she had relied upon time and time again. He had committed to her during their return to the Four Lands from Parkasia, and she had come to respect him deeply. She looked off into the distance, took a deep breath, and exhaled wearily.

“I am sorry about your father and mother, too,” she continued, glancing over at him. “It isn’t fair that they should have been brought into this. It isn’t fair that any of you should have—Tagwen, Kermadec, the Rover girl, any who tried to help. I won’t forget. I will try to make things right again, as much as I can.”

“It was their choice,” Pen said. “Just as it was mine. We all wanted to help.”

She shook her head dismissively. “Shadea,” she said softly. “I should have done what Kermadec told me to do a long time ago; I should have rid myself of her. I should have rid myself of them all. Pyson Wence, Terek Molt, Iridia. Even Traunt Rowan. I am the most disappointed in him. I never thought he would turn against me, no matter how bad things got. I let my judgment be clouded. A bad thing for an Ard Rhys to do.”

She was silent for a moment. “How many of my Druids stand with Shadea and those others, Pen?” she asked. “Do you know?”

He shook his head. “Some, I guess. She is Ard Rhys now. The Druids all answer to her. But I don’t know how loyal they are.” He paused. “When I was a prisoner, she was away in Arishaig. She has an alliance with the Prime Minister.”

“Sen Dunsidan,” she whispered. “Another viper. I would expect him to be involved somehow. Shadea would not act without some sort of outside support, and Sen Dunsidan has always hated me.”

With reason, she thought. As the Ilse Witch, she had made his life nightmarish. But he had allied himself with the Morgawr and tried to have her killed. So she had reason to hate him, too. Yet she had forgiven him his maliciousness and thought he had done the same. Clearly, she had shown poor judgment there, as well.

“Are there any I can count upon within the order to support me?”

Pen shook his head. “I don’t know of any. No one came to help me but Khyber.”

She dropped the matter, and they walked in silence for a time. It was wrong of her to ask such things of Pen. He had no way of knowing the answers. Since her disappearance, his time had been spent in flight. The machinations of those at Paranor and elsewhere would not have been his concern; his concern would have been in trying to stay alive. Her answers to questions of that kind would have to wait until she was back in the Four Lands. Then it would be up to her to find them quickly.

Weka Dart was back to skittering about, crisscrossing the land ahead, dashing first this way and then that, chattering to himself, anxious to get where they were going. But she had a feeling about that. Something Pen had said when the Ulk Bog had mentioned him as being savior not only to her but also to him nagged at her.

“Weka Dart!” she called.