The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

The King of the Silver River climbed the steps to the pilot box, not in a weary shuffle, but in a smooth, effortless glide. One wrinkled hand came to rest on the boy’s shoulder. “You must abandon your efforts to find your parents; they cannot help you in this. If it were possible for them to do so, I would have gone to them first. I shall speak with them in any case to warn them of the danger from your enemies. But your parents’ time is past, Penderrin; it is your time now. You must go in search of your aunt without them, and you must do so at once.”


“Then I shall go with him,” Tagwen declared bravely. “Finding the Ard Rhys is my responsibility, too.”

The King of the Silver River glanced at him appraisingly, then nodded. “You will make a good and loyal companion, Tagwen,” he said. His eyes shifted back to Pen. “Such companions will be needed. Find them where you will, but choose them with caution.”

He leaned forward, and his thin, aged voice lowered until it was almost a whisper. “Listen carefully. A potion has been used against the Ard Rhys, a magic of great power. The potion is called liquid night. It has imprisoned your aunt in another place, one that cannot be reached by ordinary means. A talisman to negate its magic is needed. The required talisman is a darkwand. It is a conjuring stick and must be fashioned by hand from the limb of a tree called a tanequil. The tanequil is sentient; it is a living, breathing creature. It will give up a limb only if it is persuaded of the need for doing so. It must act freely. Taking the limb by force will destroy the magic that it bears. Someone must communicate with the tanequil in a language it can comprehend. Someone must explain to it why its limb is so important. Penderrin, you have the gift of magic, the talent with which you were born, to do this.”

Pen was speechless. He was being told that his little magic, which he had repeatedly dismissed as being virtually useless, was suddenly his most important possession. He could hardly believe it, but the old man’s words bore weight, and he could not bring himself to dismiss them out of hand.

“How will I know what to do?” he asked. Even if he wasn’t sure yet whether he would go—and he most certainly wasn’t—he had to know what was needed if he did. “How will I know what language to speak to it or how to shape this darkwand from its limb?”

The King of the Silver River smiled. “I cannot tell you that. No one can. But you will know, Penderrin. When it is time, you will know. You will understand what to do, and you will find a way to do it.”

“Well, we have to find this tree first,” Tagwen interjected, huffing doubtfully. “How do we do that? Is it far away?”

“The tanequil grows in a forest on an island deep in the Charnal Mountains. To reach it, you must pass through gardens that were once the center of an ancient city called Stridegate. Trolls and Urdas inhabit the surrounding forests and foothills. They will know the way to enter and pass through.”

Pen shook his head. “I don’t know if I can do this.” He looked at Tagwen. “I’ve never even been out of the Borderlands.”

“I don’t know if you can, either,” Tagwen replied. His bearded face was scrunched up like crumpled paper. “But I think you have to try, Pen. What else can you do? You can’t abandon her.”

He was right, of course, but Pen was beset with doubts. The Charnal Mountains were more dangerous than the Black Oaks, and to try to penetrate them with as little experience as he had and not even a sense of where to go seemed foolish.

The King of the Silver River sighed with what seemed deep regret. “Life offers few certainties, Penderrin. This journey is not one of them. Hear me out, for there is more to know. What I have told you is only a first step. Your journey begins with your search for the tanequil. It begins with your shaping of a darkwand. But it ends in another place altogether. The darkwand must be taken to Paranor and the chamber of the Ard Rhys. There, the talisman’s magic will give you passage through the curtain of liquid night to where the Ard Rhys has been imprisoned. Only you, Penderrin, and you alone. No other may go with you. Not even Tagwen. When you find your aunt, the darkwand will give you passage back again—you, because you bear the wand, and your aunt, because the magic of the wand negates that of the liquid night.”

He paused. “But remember, no other may pass. The magic’s thread is slender and fragile, and it cannot be rewoven or lengthened to accommodate others. Passage over allows passage back, but there can be no deviations. There can be no exceptions.”

Pen was not at all sure why the other was making such a point of this, but he thought it was in reference to something very specific, something that the old man did not want to reveal in greater detail. That was in keeping with what he knew to be true about the ways of the ancients, the Faerie creatures who were the first people. They spoke in riddles and always held something back. It was in their nature, very much as it was in the nature of the Druids, and that would never change.

What should he do?