Terry Brooks - First King of Shannara

They made an odd pair, he reflected. Of similar size and look, both larger than average, blond and long-limbed, and reared with high expectations from their families, they were nevertheless entirely different. Tay was easy going and always the compromiser in difficult situations; Jerle was quick-tempered and confrontational and maddeningly unwilling to back down in any dispute. Tay was cerebral, intrigued by difficult questions and complicated puzzles that challenged and confused; Jerle was physical, preferring the challenge of sports and combat, relying on quick answers and intuition. Tay always knew he wanted to travel and study with the Druids at Paranor; Jerle always knew he wanted to become Captain of the Home Guard, the elite unit of Elven Hunters that protected the king and his family. They were different personalities with different intents and goals, yet something of who and what they were bound them together as surely as ties of blood or the dictates of fate.

“So you’re back,” Jerle announced, releasing Tay and stepping clear. He brushed at his curly blond hair with one massive hand and gave his friend a rakish smile. “Have you come to your senses at last? How long will you stay?”

“I don’t know. But I won’t be going back to Paranor. Things have changed.”

The other’s smile dimmed. “Is that so? Tell me about it.”

“All in good time. But let me do it in my own way. I am here for a specific purpose. Bremen sent me.”

“Then it must be serious, indeed.” Jerle knew the Druid from his time in Arborlon. He paused. “Does it involve this creature they call the Warlock Lord?”

“You were always quick. Yes, it does. He marches south with his armies to attack the Dwarves. Did you know?”

“There are rumors of Troll movement on the Streleheim. We thought they might march west against us.”

“The Dwarves first, you later. I am sent to persuade Courtann Ballindarroch to send the Elves to lend their support. I will need help in this, I expect.”

Jerle Shannara reached for his horse’s reins. “Let’s move off the roadway and sit in the shade while we talk. Do you mind if we don’t continue on to the city just yet?”

“I would rather speak to you alone, first.”

“Good. You look more like your sister every time I see you.”

They walked their mounts into the trees and tied them to a slender ash. “That’s a compliment, you know.”

“I do.” Tay smiled. “How is she?”

“Happy, settled, content with her family.” Jerle gave him a wistful look. “She did well enough without me, after all.”

“Kira was never for you. You know that as well as I. Look at how you live. What would you do in her life? What would she do in yours? You have nothing in common but your childhood.”

Jerle snorted. “That’s true of us as well, yet we remain close.”

“Close is not married. And it’s different with us.”

Tay settled himself on the grass, long legs folded before him.

Jerle hunkered down on a stump worn smooth by time and weather and looked at his boots as if he had never seen them before. His sun-browned hands were crisscrossed with white scars and small red nicks and scratches. Tay could not remember a time when they hadn’t looked like that.

“Are you still Captain of the Home Guard?” he asked his friend.

Jerle shook his head. “I’m considered too important for that these days. I am Courtann’s chief advisor in military matters. His de facto general, second-guessing all the real generals. Not that it matters much just now, since we’re not at war with anyone. But I suppose all that could change, couldn’t it?”

“Bremen believes that the Warlock Lord will attempt to subjugate the other Races, beginning with the Dwarves and then moving on. The Troll army is powerful. If the Races do not join together to stand against it, they will be overwhelmed, one by one.”

“But the Druids won’t let that happen. Moribund as they are these days—no offense, Tay—they wouldn’t stand still for that.”

“Bremen thinks that Paranor has fallen and the Druids have been destroyed.”

Jerle Shannara straightened slightly, his mouth tightening in response to the news. “When did this happen? We’ve heard nothing.”

“A day or two ago at most. Bremen went back to Paranor to make certain, but sent me to Arborlon, so I can’t be sure. It would help if you would send someone to see if it’s true before I speak with the king. Someone dependable.”

“I will do that.” The other shook his head slowly. “All the Druids are gone? All of them?”

“All but Bremen, myself, a Dwarf named Risca, and a young woman from Storlock who is still in training. We left Paranor together before the attack. Maybe someone else escaped later.”

Jerle gave him a sharp look. “So you’ve come back to warn us, to tell us of Paranor’s fall and to ask for help against the Warlock Lord and his Troll armies?”

“And one thing more. One very important thing. This is where I need your help the most, Jerle. There is a Black Elfstone, a magic of great power. This Elfstone is more dangerous than all the others, and it has been hidden since the time of faerie in the Breakline. Bremen has uncovered clues as to where it might be found, but the Warlock Lord and his creatures search for it as well. We must find it first. I intend to ask the king to mount an expedition. But he might be more disposed to grant the request if it came from you.”

Jerle laughed, a big, booming howl. “Is that what you think? That I can help? I wouldn’t stand too close to me if I were you! I’ve stepped on Courtann’s toes a time or two of late, and I don’t think he holds me in very high regard at the moment! Oh, he likes my advice on troop movement and defensive strategy well enough, but that is about as far as it goes!“ His laugh died away, and he wiped at his eyes. ”Ah, well, I’ll do what I can.“ He chuckled. ”You make life interesting, Tay. You always did.”

Tay smiled. “Life makes itself interesting. Like you, I’m just along for the ride.”

Jerle Shannara reached across, and they clasped hands once more, holding the grip firm for a long moment. Tay could feel the other’s great strength, and it seemed as if he could draw from it something of his own.

Still maintaining the grip, he rose to his feet and pulled his friend up with him. “We had better get started,” he advised.

The other nodded, and the smile he offered was bold and confident and filled with mischief. “You and me, Tay,” he said. “The two of us, just like it used to be. This is going to be fun.”

He meant something else entirely, of course, but Tay Trefenwyd supposed he understood.

Once arrived in Arborlon, Tay spent his time visiting with family and friends while he waited impatiently for confirmation from Jerle Shannara that Paranor and the Druids had fallen. His friend reassured him on parting that someone would be sent at once to discover if Bremen’s suspicions were correct. When that was done, a meeting with the Elf King, Courtann Ballindarroch, and the Elven High Council would be arranged. Tay would be given a chance to make his plea for help for the Dwarves and for a search for the Black Elfstone. Jerle promised to stand with him. For now, neither would say or do anything further about the matter.

This was difficult for Tay, who recalled vividly the urgency in Bremen’s admonition to seek Ballindarroch’s help. The old man’s voice whispered to him in the scrape of shoes on loose stone, in the voices of strangers he could not see, and even in his dreams.

But Bremen did not himself appear or send news of any son, and Tay knew that there was nothing to be gained by speaking out until word of Paranor’s condition had been received. Formal announcement of Ballindarroch’s pleasure at hearing of his return arrived almost at once, but no summons to appear before the king or High Council accompanied it. By all but Jerle Shannara, Tay’s return to Arborlon was thought to be solely a visit to family and friends.