High druid of Shannara_ Jarka Ruus - Terry Brooks [78]
Except for that boy.
She ran her fingers distractedly through her chopped-off blond hair, letting the short ends slip through her fingers like the loose threads of her perfect plan. It was all because of Terek Molt, who was the most reliable of her coconspirators and the one Druid she thought she could depend upon. To let that boy — that slip of a boy — make a fool of him like that was unforgivable. It was bad enough that none of them had thought to lock up Tagwen, who they should have known would not sit idly by and do nothing after his beloved Ard Rhys disappeared, but to lose the boy, as well, was too much. She should have taken care of the matter herself, but it was impossible for her to do everything.
She stalked to the door and stood staring at it a moment, thinking to go out again to calm herself. She had walked the corridors earlier, an intimidating presence to the Druids she now commanded. They would obey her because she was Ard Rhys, but also because they were afraid of her. No one would challenge her openly while she had the backing of Molt and the others and the Ard Rhys was gone, though some would plot behind her back, just as they had plotted against Grianne Ohmsford. She could do nothing about them until they tried to act, but she could let them know she was watching and waiting to catch them out.
She walked back to the window and looked out again. The first sharp gusts of wind were rippling the tree limbs, signaling the approach of the rainstorm. She had half a mind to put all of them out into it, every last Druid — to make them hike to the Kennon Pass and back again as an exercise in deprivation and humility. Some of them might not come back, and it wouldn’t make her unhappy if they didn’t.
Her thoughts returned to Tagwen and the boy. They might have escaped her for the moment, she thought, but sooner or later she would find them again. The parents, as well. She had Druids and airships looking for all of them and had put out the word to all corners of the Four Lands. She had kept it simple. The ones she sought were members of Grianne Ohmsford’s family and they were in danger. Help could be given them at Paranor, where their Druid protectors would keep them safe. Anyone seeing them was to send word. As incentive, she had offered a substantial reward. Most would ignore the offer, but the greedy among them would look around. Someone would see the boy and his Dwarf companion and report them. And when they were found, she would deal with them herself.
She was contemplating the satisfaction that enterprise would give her, when a sharp knock sounded, and without bothering to wait for her to respond, Terek Molt barged in.
“What do you think you are doing?” she snapped at him. “Rooms have doors for a reason, Molt!”
“We’ve found them,” he rumbled in his deep, subterranean voice, ignoring her. “West, across the Mermidon.”
She started. “Tagwen and the boy?”
“Only moments ago, someone used Elfstone magic. It was visible on the scrye waters in the cold chamber. Iridia was there to see it. There is no mistaking what it is.”
The cold chamber was where the Druids read the lines of power that crisscrossed the Four Lands. The scrye waters were the table of liquid on which all uses of magic revealed themselves as ripples that indicated the extent of the power expended. Grianne Ohmsford herself had implemented it at Paranor more than a dozen years ago, a tool she had employed as the Ilse Witch.
“Elfstones?” she asked. She did not yet understand the connection.
“Of course, Shadea,” he said, smiling with such satisfaction that she wanted to tear his face off. “They’ve escaped us and gone for help from the one Druid