The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

“No,” he answered, then immediately grimaced. “All right, yes, but only in a general sort of way. I don’t know enough to be afraid of anything specific yet. Except for that Druid, that Dwarf. He was pretty scary. I’m afraid of him.”


She brushed back strands of dark hair that had fallen forward over her face as she bent to the board. “I’m not afraid. I know some magic, so I can protect us if I have to. Uncle Ahren knows a lot of magic, though he doesn’t show it. I think he’s probably a match for anyone. We’ll be all right.”

“Glad you think so.”

“Don’t you have some of your father’s magic? He had the magic of the wishsong, like your aunt Grianne, didn’t he?”

Pen nodded. “True. But he didn’t pass it on to me. I think the bloodline has grown thin after all these years. He’s probably the last. Just as well, he’d tell you. He doesn’t trust it. He uses it now and then, but not much. He’s just as happy I don’t have any.”

“It might help if you did.”

Pen paused, considering whether or not he should tell her about the talent he did have. “Maybe.”

“You could protect yourself a little better. From those renegade Druids and their magic. From what you might come upon inside the Forbidding. Don’t you think so?”

He didn’t reply. They went back to the game, moving pieces until only eight remained on the board. Pen knew by then that he would win, but he let the game continue anyway. Playing it helped pass the time.

“Do you remember what Tagwen said about the tanequil giving me the darkwand if I could find it?” he asked her finally. He leaned forward over the board as if concentrating, deliberately lowering his voice. “It’s because I do have magic.”

She leaned in to meet him, their foreheads almost touching. Her Elven features sharpened with surprise. “What sort of magic? The wishsong? But you said not.”

“No. Something else. Something different.” He fiddled with one of the pieces, then took his hand away. “I can sense what living things are thinking, what they are going to do and why. Not people. Birds and animals and plants. When they make sounds, noises or cries or whatever, I can understand what they are saying. Sometimes, I can make the sounds back, answer them.”

She cocked one eyebrow. “That seems to me like it could be pretty important. I don’t know how exactly, but I think it could be. Have you told Uncle Ahren?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Well, you should. He ought to know, Pen. He’s a Druid. He might know something about it that you don’t, maybe a way you can use it that will help us.” She paused, studying his face. “Are you afraid to tell him? You can trust him, you know.”

“I know.” His eyes locked on hers. “I just don’t talk about it much. I never have.”

They went back to playing, the sound of the rain beating against the window increasing in intensity. All around them, voices and laughter fought to hold their ground. The flames of the lamps on the walls and the candles on the tables fluttered like tiny flags as the wind slipped through cracks and crevices in the wood boarding and gusted through the open door every time someone entered or left.

“I’ll tell him when he comes back,” Pen said finally. He moved his assault piece to confront her control. “Stand down. You lose, Khyber.”

They played another game and were in the middle of a third when the door opened to admit a drenched Ahren Elessedil and Tagwen. Shedding water from their all-weather cloaks like ducks come ashore, they hurried over to the boy and girl. “Get your things together,” Ahren told them quietly, bending down so that rainwater dripped on the tabletop. “We’ve found a ship.”


They gathered up their gear, strapped their packs over their shoulders, and departed the inn for the ship that the Druid had engaged. Better that they settle in at once so they could be ready to leave when the storm abated, the Druid advised. They had to walk from the side street on which the inn was situated back to the main roadway and down to the docks, then along the waterfront to where the ship was tied up at the pier. As they slogged through the downpour, Ahren Elessedil provided the details.

“The ship is the Skatelow. Appropriate name for its uses, I’d guess. Low and sleek in her hull, raked mast, lots of rigging on the decks. She can’t carry much in the way of passengers or freight with all the sail she stores, but she can probably outrun almost anything flying.”