The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

“I don’t know what she was like before,” Pen said. “But I think she is a good person now. She doesn’t want to get close, but she wants to help. She tries to be kind. At least, that’s how she was with me, and she didn’t even know me then. What do you think has happened to her?”


Tagwen shook his head. “Whatever it is, I think it has something to do with Terek Molt and Shadea a’Ru and the rest of their little group of traitors. At first I thought it had something to do with her trip into the Northland a few days before she disappeared, but I don’t think that now.”

He took a few minutes to explain what he knew about Grianne Ohmsford’s journey into the ruins of the Skull Kingdom with the Maturen Kermadec, then segued right into a dissertation about the cliques of Druid troublemakers who had made things so difficult for the Ard Rhys at Paranor. The boy listened attentively, thinking that there was a lot about his aunt that he didn’t know, much of it because his parents never discussed it. He was seeing her in an entirely new light now, and his admiration for her was growing.

“I would have walked away from all that a long time ago,” he said. “I think Kermadec is right. She should just start over.”

Tagwen shrugged. “Well, it’s all to do with politics and appearances, Pen. If she were free to act as she chose without consequences, I expect there would be some very surprised Druids when she was finished.”

Pen was silent for a moment, contemplating the ramifications of what he had just learned. If someone had acted against his aunt, as powerful as she was, and that same someone was responsible for sending Terek Molt and those gimlet-eyed Gnomes after him, then he was in a world of trouble—much more than he had thought he was. He wondered what was at stake that would cause someone to take such drastic action. If it was Shadea a’Ru, then perhaps the lure of becoming Ard Rhys was enough. But given his aunt’s dark history, he thought it more likely that it had something to do with revenge or misguided loyalties or fanatical beliefs. Those who committed atrocities always seemed to do so out of a misconceived sense of righteousness and the greater good.

“Do you think she’s dead, Tagwen?” he asked impulsively.

It was a terrible thing to ask the Dwarf, who was beside himself with feelings of guilt and despair already, and Pen regretted asking the question as soon as it was out of his mouth. But boys ask those kinds of questions, and Pen was no exception.

“I don’t care to think about it,” the Dwarf said quietly.

Pen cringed at the sadness he heard in the other’s voice. “It was a stupid question.”

Tagwen nodded noncommittally. “Go to sleep, Pen,” he said, nudging him with his boot. “There’s nothing more to be done this night.”

Pen nodded. There didn’t seem to be. He wasn’t at all certain how much could be done on waking, but at least a new day might grace him with a better attitude. The damp and cold had leeched all the good feelings out of him. The running and hiding had stolen his confidence. They would both come back with the advent of a new day, just as they always did with a little rest and a little time.

He rose and stepped out of the pilot box, ducked down into the sleeping compartment, and rolled himself into a square of sailcloth. He was asleep almost at once.


He dreamed that night, and his dreams were dark and frightening. He was fleeing through a forest, the trunks huge and black, whipping past him in a blur as he ran. He was running as fast as he could, but he knew it wasn’t fast enough to escape what was chasing him. It was close behind him, its shadow looming over him, and if he was to look back at it, even for a moment, he would be doomed. He didn’t know what was back there, only that it was something terrible. All he could do was run from it and hope that eventually he would find a way to escape.

But his fear overcame his reason, and he turned to look—just a glimpse, nothing more. The moment he did so, he knew he was doomed. A massive airship hovered right above him, dropping slowly, preparing to crush him. The airship had eyes as cold as those of a snake, razor-sharp fangs, and a long, wicked tongue that licked out at him. The ship was alive, but it was what lay inside, what he couldn’t see from where he was on the ground, that really terrified him. What waited in the bowels of the airship was what would have him after the ship had crushed him into the earth. He would still be alive, but he would wish he wasn’t.

With the airship so close he could feel its wood brush against his hunched back, he threw himself to one side into a deep ravine, and then he was falling, falling …