Terry Brooks - First King of Shannara

“I am convinced by everything you have told me, Tay, so do not look upon my response as a contradiction. I have great faith in Bremen’s word. If he says that the Warlock Lord lives and is the rebel Druid Brona, then it must be so. If he says that the land’s magic is being pressed into evil’s service, then it must be true. But I am a student of history, and I know that Brona was never a fool, and we must not assume that he will do what we expect. He surely knows that Bremen, if still alive, must try to stop him. He has eyes and ears everywhere. He may know what we intend, even before we intend it. We must make sure of what is needed before we act.”

There was a moment’s silence as his listeners absorbed his words. “What will you do then?” Tay asked finally.

Courtann smiled his fatherly smile. “Go with you before the High Council and give you my support, of course. The Council must be made to see the necessity of acting on your news. It should not be hard. The loss of Paranor and the Druids will be enough to persuade them, I think. Your request to go in search of the Black Elfstone will be approved at once, I expect. There is no reason to delay action on that. Of course your shadow, my cousin, will insist on going with you, and as you might suspect, I would prefer that he did.”

He rose, and they stood up with him. “As for your second request, that our army march to the aid of the Dwarves, I must consider that a while longer. I will dispatch scouts to see what we can determine of the Warlock Lord’s presence in the Four Lands. When they report back, and after I have thought this matter through and the High Council has had time to debate it, a decision will be made.”

He paused, waiting for Tay’s response. “I am grateful, my lord,” Tay acknowledged quickly. In truth, it was more than he had expected.

“Then show it by making a strong argument to the Council.”

The king put his hand on Tay’s shoulder. “They wait for us now in the Assembly. They will want to know that the time they gave up with their families this evening was in a good cause.” He glanced at Jerle. “Cousin, you may come with us if you think you can manage to hold your tongue. Your voice is well respected in these matters, and we may require your insight. Agreed?”

Jerle nodded that it was. They went out of the summerhouse into the night and walked down to the Assembly. Members of the Home Guard materialized out of nowhere, front and back, dark shadows against the distant torchlight of the palace. The king didn’t seem to notice them, humming softly as he walked, glancing at the stars with mild fascination. Tay was surprised, but pleased that the king had acted as quickly as he had. He breathed the night air, taking in the fragrance of jasmine and lilac, and gathered his thoughts for what lay ahead. He was already planning the trip west, thinking through what they would need, which routes they would choose, how they would proceed. How many should they be? A dozen should be sufficient. Enough to stay safe, but not so many as to draw attention. He was conscious of Jerle at his elbow, a large, impassive presence, lost in his own thoughts. It felt good to have him there, steady and reliable. It brought back memories of what had once been, when they were boys. There was always an adventure waiting to be undertaken then, a new cause to consider, a different challenge to be met. He had missed that, he guessed. It felt good having it back again. For the first time since his return, he thought he might be home.

He spoke that night before the High Council with a conviction and persuasiveness that surpassed anything of which he believed himself capable. All that Bremen had asked of him he accomplished. But it was Bremen himself, even absent, who made the difference. The old man was liked and respected in Arborlon, and during his time there he had won many friends with his work on the recovery of Elven history and magic. If he sought the help of the Elves, especially given the destruction of Paranor and the Druids, the Council would see that he got it. Permission was granted to mount a search for the Black Elfstone. A company would be formed under the joint leadership of Tay Trefenwyd and Jerle Shannara. Swift consideration was promised on the request for aid to the Dwarves. Support was strong and enthusiastic—more so than Courtann Ballindarroch had anticipated. The king, seeing the effect that Tay’s words were having on the members of the Council, added his support as well, careful to stress that there were still questions to be resolved before aid could be sent to the Dwarves.

It was midnight when the High Council adjourned. Tay stood outside the Assembly and clasped hands with Jerle Shannara in silent congratulation. The king brushed past them with a smile and was gone. Overhead, the sky was pinpricked with stars, and the air about them was sweet and warm. Success was a heady intoxicant.

Things had gone the way Tay had hoped, and he wished impulsively that he could get word of it to Bremen. Jerle was talking nonstop, flushed with excitement, anticipating the journey west, a new adventure to be undertaken, an escape from the boring routine of his court life in Arborlon.

In that moment of high jubilation, it felt to them both as if all things were possible and nothing could go wrong.

When the others had gone and they were all that were left, Tay and Jerle walked up together from the Assembly to the palace. They took their time, still caught up in the euphoria of their success before the High Council, neither of them ready for sleep. The night was still, the city about them at peace, the world a place of dreams and rest. Torches flickered in doorways and at the intersections of roads, beacons against the onslaught of shadows made deeper by the fading of the moon south below the horizon. Buildings loomed out of the darkness like great beasts curled up in sleep. The trees of the forest lined the walkways and surrounded the Elven homes, sentinels standing shoulder to shoulder, motionless in the dark. It gave Tay, as his gaze wandered idly across the open spaces and through the shadows, an odd sense of comfort, as if he were being watched over and protected. Jerle talked on, working his way from subject to subject in eager consideration of the events that lay ahead, arms gesturing, laugh booming out. Tay let him go, swept along in his wake, detached enough that he could listen and still let his thoughts wander, thinking of how his past had come around to his present, of how perhaps what had been left behind could be reclaimed again.

“We will need horses to cross the Sarandanon,” Jerle was musing. “But we can travel faster through the forest leading up to the valley, and then again once we are into the Breakline, if we are afoot. We’ll have to pack differently for each portion of the journey, carry different provisions.”

Tay nodded without answering. No answer was required.

“A dozen of us at the minimum, but perhaps two would be better. If we’re forced to stand and fight, we can’t be caught shorthanded.” His friend laughed. “I don’t know what I’m worried about. What would dare come against the two of us!”

Tay shrugged, looking down the walk to where the lights of the palace had come into view through the trees. “I am hopeful that we won’t have to find out.”

“Well, we’ll be cautious, you can be sure. Leave quietly, stick to the cover of the trees,—stay away from dangerous places. But...“ He stopped and brought Tay about to face him. ”Make no mistake—the Warlock Lord and his creatures will be hunting us. They know that even if Bremen did not escape the Druid’s Keep, a handful of his followers did. Quite possibly they suspect he penetrated their Northland safehold. They know we will be looking for the Black Elfstone.”