First King of Shannara Read Online Free PDF Page A

nodded. “I know of you. I am sorry, but you are not allowed to enter.”
    His eyes shifted to include Kinson. He was polite, but firm. No outcast Druids allowed. No members of the Race of Man either. Discussion not advised.
    Bremen glanced upward to the parapets as if considering the matter. “Who is Captain of the Guard?” he asked.
    â€œCaerid Lock,” the other answered.
    â€œWill you ask him to come down and speak with me?”
    The Elf hesitated, pondering the request. Finally, he nodded. “Please wait here.”
    He disappeared through a side door into the Keep. Bremen and Kinson stood facing the remaining guards in the shadow of the fortress wall. It would have been an easy matter to go by them, to leave them standing there looking at nothing more than empty images, but Bremen had determined not to use magic to gain entry. His mission was too important to risk incurring the anger of the Council by circumventing their security and making them look foolish. They would not appreciate tricks. They might respect directness. It was a gamble he was willing to take.
    Bremen turned and looked back at the forest. Sunlight probed its deep recesses now, chasing back the shadows, brightening the fragile stands of wildflowers. It was spring, he realized with a start. He had lost track of time on his journey north and back again, consumed with his search. He breathed the air, taking in a hint of the fragrance it bore from the woods. It had been a long time since he had thought about flowers.
    There was movement in the doorway behind him, and he turned. The guard who had left reappeared and with him was Caerid Lock.
    â€œBremen,” the Elf greeted solemnly, and came up to offer his hand.
    Caerid Lock was a slight, dark-complected man with intense eyes and a careworn face. His Elven features marked him distinctly, his brows slanted upward, his ears pointed, his face so narrow he seemed gaunt. He wore gray like the others, but the torch on his breast was gripped in a fist and there were crimson bars on both shoulders. His hair and beard were cut short and both were shot through with gray. He was one of a few who had remained friends with Bremen when the Druid was dismissed from the Council. He had been Captain of the Druid Guard for more than fifteen years, and there was not a better man anywhere for the job. An Elven Hunter with a lifetime of service, Caerid Lock was a thorough professional. The Druids had chosen well in determining who would protect them. More to the point, for Bremen’s purpose, he was a man they might listen to if a request was proffered.
    â€œCaerid, well met,” the Druid replied, accepting the other’s hand. “Are you well?”
    â€œAs well as some I know. You’ve aged a few years since leaving us. The lines are in your face.”
    â€œYou see the mirror of your own, I’d guess.”
    â€œPerhaps. Still traveling the world, are you?”
    â€œIn the good company of my friend, Kinson Ravenlock,” he introduced the other.
    The Elf took the Borderman’s hand and measure by equal turns, but said nothing. Kinson was equally remote.
    â€œI need your help, Caerid,” Bremen advised, turning solemn. “I must speak with Athabasca and the Council.”
    Athabasca was High Druid, an imposing man of firm belief and unyielding opinion who had never much cared for Bremen. He was a member of the Council when the old man was dismissed, though he was not yet High Druid. That had come later, and then only through the complex workings of internal politics that Bremen so hated. Still, Athabasca was leader, for better or worse, and any chance of success in breaching these walls would necessarily hinge on him.
    Caerid Lock smiled ruefully. “Why not ask me for something difficult? You know that Paranor and the Council both are forbidden to you. You cannot even enter these walls, let alone speak with the High Druid.”
    â€œI can if he