The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

With Ahren Elessedil leading, the four companions walked down through the center of the city, mingling with the crowds as they searched for a likely place to secure lodging for the days ahead. Pen could barely make himself concentrate on the task at hand, his mind still on Cinnaminson and her whispered words. Come back tonight. He was intoxicated by them, made light-headed at the prospect of what they meant, chilled by the prospect of the danger at which they hinted. He wasn’t afraid, though. He was fearless when it came to her. He understood that by even considering a secret return, he was risking not only his own safety but also the success of his undertaking. Yet he couldn’t help himself. He had to go to her.

It took them the better part of an hour to find what Ahren was looking for, a small, prosperous inn just off one of the main roadways, one that was better kept than those closer to the docks, one frequented by other travelers than sailors. It was called Fisherman’s Lie. It sat on a corner that opened onto a small plaza and was wrapped by a veranda that fronted both streets. Broad double doors opened into the common room, where travelers sat to visit and drink glasses of ale. Tables and benches and a long serving bar took up most of the available space. Flowers grew in boxes under the windowsills, and baskets hung from the veranda and eaves, splashes of color to brighten the clapboard facade.

Ahren left the other three on the porch while he went inside to take rooms. The less they were all seen together, the less likely it was that anyone would make the connection to the four the Druids were hunting. Since Khyber had cut Pen’s hair short and bound his head in a scarf, none of them was particularly noticeable. But there was no point in taking chances. Those tempted by the money the Druids offered would be looking hard.

The Elf emerged in moments with the rooms secured. They went into the dining room after that and sat at a table in the back while waiting for their food. Sipping at glasses of cold ale, they talked about their situation.

“Hatch knows who I am,” Ahren said quietly, eyes scanning the mostly empty room as he spoke. “Or at least he knows what I am. He might not know my name yet, but there is a good chance he will find out. Or if not him, then one of the crewmen. All of them will be asking around, talking with other Rovers.”

“Maybe not,” Pen offered hopefully. “You might have scared him out of it.”

Ahren smiled. “Not likely. Not that man. If he finds out who we are, he will look for a way to turn it to his advantage. It’s his nature. So we have to be very careful until we set sail again. That’s why I didn’t tell him where he could find us. He mustn’t know. If he betrays us, our enemies will still have to search us out. That won’t be easy in a city of this size.”

“We should just leave him right here and now and be done with it!” Tagwen snapped. He scowled into his glass. “Take him up on his offer. That way we can stop worrying about him.”

“But not about getting to where we have to go,” Ahren replied. “I don’t trust him, either, but he is right when he says we will have trouble finding anyone else to fly us into the Charnals. Even by looking, we risk giving ourselves away. Say what you want about Hatch, he knows how to sail. His reputation is one of getting in and out of tight places. We need that. I think we have to stick with him.”

“One of us could watch the Skatelow and see who comes and goes,” Khyber suggested.

Her uncle shook his head. “That’s too risky and too time-consuming. Besides, any one of them could give us away. We can’t watch them all. Better to keep our heads down and wait this out. I will speak with Hatch each day to see how matters stand. If he lies to me, I will know. The rest of you will remain here, inside, out of sight. No one leaves the inn without permission until it is time to sail. Agreed?”

All of them nodded, but Pen knew it was an agreement he was going to break.


He waited until it was dark and Tagwen was asleep before slipping out of his bed. He crossed the room in his bare feet, boots in hand, and went through the door without a sound. Instead of leaving by the inn’s front entrance, he went out the back, taking the rear stairs to the street. Cloaked and hooded, he went quickly toward the waterfront. The night air was clear and sharp, turned cold after sunset, and the sky was bright with stars. It was close to midnight, but the streets were still bustling with activity, the denizens of the ale houses and pleasure dens just beginning their night’s fun. Many were sailors, come from all over, a mix of travelers passing through. None of them looked at him. None spoke.

He was taking a chance, risking everything. He was neither happy nor sad about it, felt neither guilt nor satisfaction. Such things didn’t matter to a boy who thought he was in love. What mattered was that Cinnaminson was waiting, and the thought of her drove every other consideration from his mind. His excitement gave him courage and determination. It gave him a sense of invulnerability. Whatever happened, he was a match for it. His certainty was so complete that he never stopped to question whether his bravado might be playing him false. On that night, there was no place in his heart for rational thinking.