The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

“It doesn’t look like it’s ever going to stop,” Pen observed glumly, staring out the window of the inn.

The rain fell in sheets as it had been doing all night, flooding the roadways and turning low-lying stretches of waterfront into small inlets. The glass of the window he looked through was sufficiently obscured that he couldn’t see more than a dozen yards. Not much of anyone was moving about outside. Nothing was flying. Pen was not happy.

Khyber studied the gaming board in front of her, nodding absently at his comment. “Give it time, Pen. Storms out here are worse than they are inland. But they pass.” She moved a piece to confront one of his. “If you’re worried about pursuit, just remember that if we can’t fly, neither can they.”

“I don’t like being grounded like this,” he growled. “I feel trapped.” He took her piece with one of his own. He thought about Ahren Elessedil and Tagwen. “How long have they been gone now?”

She shrugged, eyes on the board. The Druid and the Dwarf had gone out early that morning in search of passage. With no one flying, the airship Captains would be gathered at their favorite inns and ale houses, passing the time while they waited to get back in the air. A few among them might be looking for business, and out of those there had to be at least one that the Druid would consider hiring. In their situation, discretion was as important as speed, and he wasn’t going to sign on with anyone with whom he didn’t feel comfortable. He wanted one of the Rovers, accomplished mercenaries who knew how to keep their mouths shut. Syioned was a regular stop for transport from the coast and continuing farther inland to the landlocked cities. Rover Captains made the run all the time, and more than a few of them would be here now.

Pen and Khyber had been told to stay at the inn, out of sight and trouble. The Druid was worried that someone would notice them and remember later, when those who hunted them found their way to the port. The less they were seen, the better. Especially Pen, with his distinctive long red hair. The inn was crowded, but those gathered were clustered in private groups and engaged in their own conversations. Not much attention was being paid to anyone else.

“When did you start flying airships?” Khyber asked. She looked up at him. “You must have been doing it a long time.”

He nodded. “Since I can remember. My mother always flew and my father, as well, after he met her. They took me with them everywhere after I was born, even when I was a baby. I remember learning to steer when I was barely old enough to stand on an upended crate and look over the pilot box railing.”

“I wanted to fly,” she said, “but my father, when he was alive, and after he died, my brother, insisted that someone always go with me. In a big warship with lots of the Home Guard for protection, I might add. Even after I began traveling out on my own, old enough to know how to take care of myself, I wasn’t allowed to go by airship.”

He shrugged. “You haven’t missed that much.”

She laughed. “What a terrible liar you are, Penderrin! You can’t possibly believe that! You’re the one who can’t wait to get back up in the skies! Admit it!”

“Okay, I admit it.” He was laughing, too. “But you can make up for what you’ve missed. I could show you.”

He moved another piece, and she responded. She was good at the game, but not nearly as good as he was. He had an innate sense of what she was going to do even before she did. She studied the board intently, aware that she was being backed into a corner.

“Have you thought about the fact that your father and my uncle Ahren were about the same age we are now when they sailed on the Jerle Shannara?” she said.

“More than once.”

“Do your parents ever talk about what it was like?”

“Once in a while, a lot of their friends died on that voyage, and I don’t think they like to remember it.” He looked at her. “How about your uncle? Does he ever say anything?”

She shook her head, her brow creasing. “He doesn’t like to talk about it, either. Because of the seer, I think. He was in love with her, though he won’t say so now. It’s too painful for him.” She cocked her head. “Are you afraid of what we’re doing, Pen?”

He leaned back, thinking about it. Was he afraid? What did he feel? He hadn’t really stopped to think about it. Or maybe hadn’t allowed himself, afraid of what he might discover.