High druid of Shannara_ Jarka Ruus - Terry Brooks [72]
“Tagwen!” the speaker exclaimed again, reaching up to take the Dwarf’s hand. “What are you doing out here? And on an airship?”
“Desperate times require desperate acts,” Tagwen advised philosophically. He extended his own hand, and they shook. “I must say, flying with this boy is as desperate as I care to get.” He paused, glancing over at Pen ruefully. “Although I will admit, in all fairness, that he has saved my life several times on our journey.”
He reached out a hand and guided Pen to the forefront. “Penderrin Ohmsford, this is Ahren Elessedil. You might have heard your father speak of him.”
“Ah, young Pen!” the Elf greeted enthusiastically, shaking his hand, as well. “I haven’t seen you since you were too tiny to walk. You probably don’t remember me.”
“My father does indeed speak of you all the time,” Pen agreed. “My mother, as well.”
“They were good friends to me on our voyage west, Pen. If not for your father’s help, I would not have returned.” He gestured toward the girl. “This is my niece, Khyber, my brother’s daughter. She visits from Arborlon.”
“Hello again, Khyber.” Tagwen nodded to her. “You have grown up.”
“Not all that far,” she replied, her eyes staying on Pen. “That was a spectacular landing,” she said. “I didn’t think you were going to make it down.”
Tagwen went crimson again, the disapproving frown returning to his bluff features, so Pen jumped down from the decking with a mumbled thanks and quickly added, “Tagwen’s right. I was lucky.”
“I think it was more than that,” she said. “How long have you been flying airships?”
“Enough about airships!” the Dwarf huffed, noticing for the first time the debris in his beard and brushing it clean with furious strokes. “We have other things to talk about.” He lowered his voice. “Prince Ahren, can we go somewhere more private?”
Elves were gathered all around by then, come out of the trees to take a closer look at the airship and its occupants. Children were already scurrying around the pontoons and under the decking, making small excited noises amid squeals of delight. A few of the braver ones were even trying to climb aboard while their parents pulled them back.
“My cottage is just up the road, Tagwen,” Ahren Elessedil said. “We can clean you up and give you something to eat and drink. Khyber makes the best mango black tea in the Westland, a secret she won’t share even with me.” He gave the girl a wink. “Leave the skiff. She’ll be all right where she is. She’s an object of curiosity, but the villagers won’t harm her.”
“I don’t care whether they harm her or not!” Tagwen groused. “I’ve had more than enough of her for one day, thanks very much!”
They walked back through the village, Ahren Elessedil leading with Tagwen at his side, Pen following with Khyber. No one said very much, respecting the Dwarf’s wishes that they wait until they were in private to talk. Pen was thinking that even though Tagwen had insisted the Elven Prince-turned-Druid could help them in their search for the Ard Rhys, Ahren didn’t look up to it. If anything, he looked too soft and frail for the physical demands of such an endeavor. A strong wind might blow him away, the boy thought. But looks were misleading. Ahren Elessedil had survived the voyage of the Jerle Shannara when more than twenty others had not, and he wasn’t a Druid then. Tagwen had warned Pen not to judge Ahren too quickly, that what was visible on the surface was not necessarily representative of the man inside. Pen hoped he was right.
“Your father is Bek Ohmsford?” Khyber Elessedil asked him.
He nodded. “Do you know the story from your uncle?”
“All of it. It is the most famous story of this generation. My family doesn’t much care for it because they hold your aunt responsible for my grandfather’s assassination and Uncle Ahren responsible for helping her escape them and found the new Druid order