The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

He was gone for some time, but when he returned, he was carrying an odd assortment of roots and berries, which he deposited at her feet triumphantly. He clearly thought that this was what she would want to eat, and she decided not to disappoint him. She thanked him, cleaned the food as best she could, and ate it, grateful for the nourishment. Afterwards, he directed her to a small stream. The water seemed clean enough to drink, and so she did.

She was aware of the light failing around her, of the darkness settling in, heavy and enfolding. The silence of the day was deepening, as well, as if what little noise she had been able to discern on her travels had gone into hiding. The look and feel of the land around her was changing from gloom to murk, the kind of darkness she understood, the kind in which predators flourished. But the darkness here had a different feel to it. Partly, it was the absence of moon and stars. Yet the smell and taste of the night air were different, too, fetid and rotting, and it carried on its breath the scents of carrion and blood. She felt a tightening in her stomach, a response of her magic to unseen dangers.

“Better get up into that tree now,” Weka Dart urged, looking skittish and uneasy as he led her back from the stream, his side-to-side movements becoming quick feints.

She was aware that he hadn’t eaten anything of what he had brought her, and she asked him about it. His response was a grunt of indifference. They climbed the chestnut and settled themselves in a broad cradle formed by a conjoining of branches. Any sort of rest seemed out of the question, she thought, feeling the roughness of the bark digging into her back. She glanced down at her nightgown and found it tattered and falling away. Another day of this, and she would be naked. She had to find some clothes.

“Tomorrow,” he told her, on being asked what she should do. “Villages and camps ahead. Clothes can be found. But you’re a Straken—can’t you make clothes with magic?”

She told him no. He seemed confused by this. The hair on the nape of his neck bristled. “Magic can do anything! I’ve seen it myself! Are you trying to trick me?”

“Magic cannot do everything. I should know.” She gave him a sharp look. “Anyway, why would I want to trick you? What reason would I have for doing so?”

His face tightened. “Everyone knows Strakens have their own reasons for doing things. They like tricking other creatures. They like to see them squirm.” He was squirming himself, the fingers of his hands twisting into knots. “You’d better not try to trick me!”

She laughed in spite of herself. “You seem awfully concerned about being tricked. Why would that be, I wonder? A guilty conscience, perhaps?”

His eyes were furious. “I have a right to look out for myself! Strakens are not to be trusted!”

“I am not a Straken, Weka Dart,” she said again. “I’ve told you that already. Pay attention to me this time. Look at me. I am not a Straken. I am an Ard Rhys. Say it.”

He did so, rather reluctantly. He seemed determined that whether she admitted it or not, she was a Straken and not to be trusted, which made it odd that he had chosen to ally himself with her. Or rather, she corrected, choose her as a traveling companion. Clearly, if he felt as he did about Strakens, he would not travel with her if he could avoid it. It made her wonder what he was after.

“I should cover our tracks before the big things start to hunt,” he announced suddenly, and disappeared down the trunk of the tree before she could stop him.

He was gone a long time, and when he returned he was gnawing on something he held in one hand. It was hard to tell what it might have been, but it looked as if it was the remains of a ferret or rat. All that was left were the hindquarters. There was blood on the Ulk Bog’s mouth and face, and a wicked glint in his eyes. “Tasty,” he said.

“You look happy enough,” she observed, meeting his challenging stare. She had seen much worse than this, if he thought to shock her.

“Fresh meat,” he declared. “Nothing already dead. I’m no scavenger.”

He consumed what was left with relish, teeth tearing the raw meat into bite-size shreds that he quickly gulped down. Finished, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, licked his fingers, and belched. “Time for sleep,” he announced.

He stretched himself out on one of the limbs, looking as if sleep would come easily. “Where are your people, Weka Dart?” she asked him, too uncomfortable herself even to think of sleeping.

“Back where I came from. Still living in their burrows. They are a shortsighted, unimaginative bunch. Not like me. That’s why I left. I decided there was more for me in life than burrows and roots. But not if I remained with them.”

What a liar, she thought. Even the way he spoke the words gave him away. He must think she would believe anything. It made her angry. “Where is it you intend to go?” she pressed, keeping her anger carefully hidden.