The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

Penderrin stood at her elbow. She gave him a quick smile, her reflections and musings scattering like dust motes. “It’s a beautiful day, Pen. Perhaps that is a good omen.”


He smiled back guardedly. “Do you really think you can do something to help?” he asked. “Do you think there is a chance you can get her back?”

“I think maybe there is. Don’t you?”

He bit his lip. “I think that if anyone can do it, you can.”

“That is high praise, coming from a boy who found his way into the Forbidding and back again.” She paused. “Perhaps when we get there, you will discover that you don’t really need me after all, that you can do this by yourself.”

She saw the unsettled look that crossed his face. “No,” he said. “I’ve seen what’s down there, how she’s bound by the tree roots with the others. I don’t think I would be strong enough to free her on my own.”

They were flying to Stridegate and the island of the tanequil, where they would attempt to reclaim Cinnaminson. She thought that perhaps she had made the decision to do so even before coming out of the Forbidding, that she knew even then that she owed the boy that much. She understood from what he had told her how much the girl meant to him and how hard it had been to give up trying to free her and come looking for Grianne instead. That sort of sacrifice deserved more than a simple thank-you. She had waited until things were settled with the order and the treaties between the Federation and Free-born signed before acting. She had waited until his parents had returned home. It wasn’t that she didn’t think they would support their son’s efforts to free Cinnaminson; indeed, they would want to help. But making the attempt was something she had decided she must do with Pen alone, for reasons she had kept to herself. Only Kermadec and his Trolls were invited to come along.

She put a hand on Pen’s shoulder. “You are a lot stronger than you think,” she said. “I want you to remember that. Don’t make the mistake of underestimating what you can do.”

He shrugged. “I’m not very strong, really.” He hesitated. “I think that you are wonderful for doing this. I won’t ever forget, even if we don’t get her back.”

She almost hugged him, but couldn’t bring herself to do so. She had been distanced from others for too long, and although she might feel affection toward them, she was not comfortable with demonstrating it. She still saw herself as an outcast, as someone who didn’t really belong anywhere and would never be close to anyone. Worse, she saw herself as dangerous, more so since the events that had taken place inside the Forbidding. The workings of the wishsong’s magic when she had transformed herself into a Fury and when she had destroyed the Graumth had left her shaken. For the first time since she was a child, she was uncertain of the magic. Something about it was changed—perhaps still changing—and she was not sure how well she could control it.

She looked off into the horizon. “Strength comes to us through belief and determination, Pen. The trick is in recognizing how to use it.”

“You’ve done that better than I have,” he said quietly.

She glanced over at him and smiled.

How I wish that were true.


The grave diggers arrived around midday on their way south, and the old man invited them to eat with him. He set out ale and cheese and bread and sat with the three men around an old wooden table that occupied one corner of the porch and looked out over the fields of wheat he farmed as his family had farmed them for five generations.

“How is it up there?” he asked, after food and drink were consumed and the men were smoking.

The stocky one shook his head. “Bad. A lot of bodies. We did the best we could, along with the others. But they’ll be finding the bones of those we missed for years.”

“At least it’s over,” the old man said.

The tall one shook his head in reproof. “Should have been over years ago. Didn’t accomplish anything, did it? Years and years gone and nothing’s changed. Except a lot of good men are dead.”

“And women,” the stocky one added.

The tall one grunted. “Treaty with the Free-born gives us just exactly what we had before the war started. The only good thing that’s come of all this is we have a new Prime Minister. Maybe he won’t be as stupid as Sen Dunsidan was.”

He looked at the old man. “Did you hear what happened with that one?”

The old man shook his head.