Terry Brooks - First King of Shannara

The messenger took him directly to the front door of the summerhouse and told him to go inside. He entered alone, passed through the foyer to the living area beyond, and found Jerle Shannara waiting.

His friend shrugged and held up his hands helplessly. “I have no more idea than you. I was summoned, and here I am.”

“You told the king what we know?”

“I told him you needed an immediate audience with the High Council, that you had urgent news. Nothing more.”

They stared at each other, speculating on the matter. Then the front door opened, and Courtann Ballindarroch appeared. Tay wondered where he had come from—if he had walked down from the main house or had been listening outside the window in the gardens. Courtann was unpredictable. Physically, he was a man of average height and build, comfortably middle-aged, slightly stooped, graying a bit at the temples and along the edges of his beard, a series of deep creases beginning to show in his face and neck. There was nothing distinctive about Courtann; he looked very ordinary. He did not have an orator’s voice or a leader’s charm, and he was quick to admit confusion when beset by it. He had become king in the usual fashion, the eldest child of the previous king, and he neither sought power nor shied away from it.

What he brought with him to his rule as leader of the Elves was a reputation of not being given to unexpected or outrageous behavior, of not being inclined to dramatic or precipitous change, so that he was accepted by his people in the manner of a favorite uncle.

“Welcome home, Tay,” he greeted. He was smiling and relaxed and did not seem at all distressed as he came up to the younger man and clasped his hand. “I thought we might discuss your news in private before you present it to the High Council.” He ran his hand through his thick shock of hair. “I prefer to keep surprises at a minimum in my life. And, should you need an ally, perhaps I might serve. No, don’t look to your confidant—he hasn’t said a word. Even if he had, I wouldn’t listen to him. Too unreliable. Jerle is here only because I have never known either of you to keep secrets from the other, so there probably isn’t much point in trying to start now.”

He beckoned. “Let’s sit over here, in these padded chairs. My back has been bothering me. Grandchildren will do that to you. And let’s not be formal. First names will do. We’ve all known each other too long for anything else.”

It was true, Tay thought, seating himself across from the king and next to Jerle. Courtann Ballindarroch was older by a good twenty years, but they had been friends for their entire lives. Jerle had always lived at court, and Tay had spent much of his time there and so had seen much of Courtann. When they were boys, Courtann had taken them fishing and hunting. Special events and feasts had often brought them together. Tay had been present when Courtann had been crowned some thirty years ago. Each of them knew what to expect from the other.

“I am afraid I was skeptical from the first that you had returned for no better reason than to visit us,” the king advised with a sigh.

“You have always been much too directed to squander a visit home on social pleasures. I hope you don’t take offense.” He rocked back. “So what news do you have for us? Come now, let’s have it all.”

“There is a great deal to tell,” Tay replied, leaning forward to better hold the other’s gaze. “Bremen sent me. He came to Paranor almost two weeks ago and tried to warn the Druid Council that they were in danger. He had gone into the Northland and confirmed the existence of the Warlock Lord. He had determined that it was the rebel Druid Brona, still alive after several hundred years, kept so by the magic that had subverted him. It was Brona who found a way to unite the Trolls and subjugate them so that they would serve as his army. Before traveling to Paranor, Bremen tracked that army south toward the Eastland.”

He paused to choose his words carefully. “The Druid Council would not listen. Athabasca sent Bremen away, and a handful of us went with him. Caerid Lock was asked to come as well, but declined. He stayed behind to protect Athabasca and the others against themselves.”

“A good man,” the king advised. “Very able.”

“With Bremen leading us, we went to the Valley of Shale. There, at the Hadeshorn, Bremen spoke with the spirits of the dead. I watched him do so. They told him several things. One was that Paranor and the Druids would be lost. Another was that the Warlock Lord would invade the Four Lands, and that a talisman must be constructed to destroy him. A third concerned the location of a Black Elfstone, a magic the Warlock Lord searches for, but that we must find first. When the spirits of the dead departed, Bremen sent the Druid Risca to warn the Dwarves of their danger. He sent me to warn you. I was instructed to persuade you to bring your army east across the Borderlands to join forces with the Dwarves. Only by combining our strength can we defeat the Warlock Lord’s army. I was also instructed to request help in undertaking a search for the Black Elfstone.”

Ballindarroch was no longer smiling. “You are being very candid in relating all this,” the king advised, not bothering to hide his surprise. “I would have expected you to take a more subtle approach in seeking my help.”

Tay nodded. “That was my intention. And I would have done so if I were speaking to you before the High Council. But I am not. I am speaking to you alone. There are only the three of us present, and as you have pointed out we know each other well enough not to pretend at things.”

“There is a better reason than that,” Jerle interjected quickly.

“Tell him, Tay.”

Tay folded his hands before him, but did not drop his gaze. “I have waited until now to speak to you because I wanted to confirm Bremen’s suspicions about Paranor and the Druids. I asked Jerle to send someone back to see what had happened, to make sure. He did so. He sent Preia Starle. She returned this afternoon and spoke to me. Paranor has indeed fallen. All the Druids and those who guarded them are dead. Caerid Lock is gone. Athabasca is gone. There is no one left—no one, Courtann, who possesses the power necessary to stand against Brona.”

Courtann Ballindarroch stared at him wordlessly, then rose, walked to the window, looked out into the night, walked back, and seated himself once more. “This is troubling news,” he said quietly. “When you told me of Bremen’s vision, I thought it would turn out to be a trick, a subterfuge, something other than the truth. Anything. All the Druids dead, you say? So many of them our own people? But they have always been there, for as long as history records. And now they are gone? All of them? I can hardly believe it.”

“But they are gone,” Jerle declared, not willing to let the king dither over the matter. “Now we need to act quickly to prevent the same thing from happening to us.”

The Elf King rubbed his beard. “But not too quickly, Jerle. Let us think this through a moment. If I do as Bremen has asked and march the Elven army east, I leave Arborlon and the Westland undefended. That is a dangerous course of action. I know the history of the First War of the Races well enough to avoid its mistakes. Caution is necessary.”

“Caution suggests delay, and we don’t have time for that!” Jerle snapped.

The king fixed him with an icy glare. “Do not press me, Cousin.”

Tay could not risk an argument between them at this point.

“What do you suggest, Courtann,” he interjected quickly.

The king looked at him. He rose and walked to the window once more and stood with his back to them. Jerle glanced at Tay, but Tay did not acknowledge him. The matter was now between himself and the king. He waited for Courtann to turn back again, to cross the room and seat himself once more.