The First King of Shannara - Terry Brooks [91]
He ate, bathed, dressed in fresh clothing, and then told them what had kept him. After making certain that the magic that warded the Druid’s Keep was returned to its safehold and that the Keep was intact, he had gone once more to the Hadeshorn to speak with the spirits of the dead. He was hoping that he might learn more of the visions he had been shown on his last visit, that something further might be revealed to him. But the spirits would not speak, would not even appear, and the waters of the lake rose up in such fury at his summons that they threatened to inundate him, to drag him down into their depths for the audacity of his intrusion. His voice took on an edge as he described his treatment. He had been given all the help he was going to get, it appeared. Their fate, from here forward, was largely in their own hands.
On being asked of Cogline, he demurred. Time enough for that later. For now, they would have to be patient and let an old man catch up on his sleep.
Kinson and Mareth knew better than to argue. A few days of rest were clearly necessary to restore the old man’s strength.
But before the sun had risen the following day, the Druid collected them from their beds and in the deep, predawn silence took them out of the still sleeping village of the Stors toward Darklin Reach.
Chapter Fourteen
With Preia Starle and Retten Kipp still absent and the ‘Sarandanon drawing near, Tay Trefenwyd now assumed the point position for the little company from Arborion. Jerle Shannara objected, but not strongly, conceding Tay’s argument that with his Druid skills he was best suited to keep watch against whatever threatened. Tay spun out a faint webbing of magic, strands that extended like nerve endings to warn him of what waited ahead. Using his Druid training, he drew upon his command of the elements to test for the presence of intruders.
Nothing revealed itself.
Behind him, the others fanned out, keeping watch left and right.
The morning warmed, the dampness of the past two days dried, and the trees ahead thinned so that the valley of the Sarandanon grew visible, its broad sweep spreading away into the haze of the mountains farther west.
Tay’s mind wandered. For the first time since his return from Paranor, he allowed himself to consider what losing Preia Starle might mean. It was an odd exercise, since she had never really been his to lose in the first place. To the extent that she belonged to anyone, she belonged to Jerle. She had always belonged to him, and Tay had known it. But he realized that he had thought of her as his anyway, that he had loved her steadfastly and without bitterness toward Jerle, accepting as settled her relationship with his best friend, content to keep her as he might a memory that he could call up and admire but never really possess. He was a Druid, and Druids did not take mates, their lives given over to the pursuit of knowledge and the dissemination of learning. They lived apart and they died alone. But their feelings were the same as those of other men and women, and Tay understood that somehow he had always been sustained by his feelings for Preia.
What would it mean for him if she was gone?
The question burned through him like fire, heating his blood, searing his skin, threatening to immolate him. He could barely get through the question, let alone address the answer. What if she was dead? He had always been prepared to lose her in other ways.
He knew that she would marry Jerle one day. He knew that they would have children and a life apart from him. He had separated himself from any other possibility long ago. He had left all that behind when he had gone to live among the Druids, to be a member of their order. He recognized that what he felt for her could find no expression in real life, but must remain a fantasy locked within his imagination — that she was never to be more to him than a close friend.
But thinking of her dead, of her