First King of Shannara Read Online Free PDF

orders it,” Bremen said simply.
    The other nodded. Sharp eyes narrowed. “I see. You want me to speak to him on your behalf.”
    Bremen nodded. Caerid’s tight smile disappeared. “He doesn’t like you,” he pointed out quietly. “That hasn’t changed in your absence.”
    â€œHe doesn’t have to like me to talk with me. What I have to tell him is more important than personal feelings. I will be brief. Once he has heard me out, I will be on my way again.” He paused. “I don’t think I am asking too much, do you?”
    Caerid Lock shook his head. “No.” He glanced at Kinson. “I will do what I can.”
    He went back inside, leaving the old man and the Borderman to contemplate the walls and gates of the Keep. Their warders stood firmly in place, barring all entry. Bremen regarded them solemnly for a moment, then glanced toward the sun. The day was beginning to grow warm already. He looked at Kinson, then walked over to where the shadows provided a greater measure of shade and sat down on a stone outcropping. Kinson followed, but refused to sit. There was an impatient look in his dark eyes. He wanted this matter to be finished. He was ready to move on. Bremen smiled inwardly. How like his friend. Kinson’s solution to everything was to move on. He had lived his whole life that way. It was only now, since they had met, that he had begun to see that nothing is ever solved if it isn’t faced. It wasn’t that Kinson wasn’t capable of standing up to life. He simply dealt with unpleasantness by leaving it behind, by outdistancing it, and it was true that things could be handled that way. It was just that there was never any permanent resolution.
    Yes, Kinson had grown since those early days. He was a stronger man in ways that could not be readily measured. But Bremen knew that old habits died hard, and for Kinson Ravenlock the urge to walk away from the unpleasant and the difficult was always there.
    â€œThis is a waste of our time,” the Borderman muttered, as if to give credence to his thoughts.
    â€œPatience, Kinson,” Bremen counseled softly.
    â€œPatience? Why? They won’t let you in. And if they do, they won’t listen to you. They don’t want to hear what you have to say. These are not the Druids of old, Bremen.”
    Bremen nodded. Kinson was right in that. But there was no help for it. The Druids of today were the only Druids there were, and some of them were not so bad. Some would still make worthy allies. Kinson would prefer they deal with matters on their own, but the enemy they faced was too formidable to be overcome without help. The Druids were needed. While they had abandoned their practice of direct involvement in the affairs of the Races, they were still regarded with a certain deference and respect. That would prove useful in uniting the Four Lands against their common enemy.
    The morning wore on toward midday. Caerid Lock did not reappear. Kinson paced for a time, then finally sat down next to Bremen, frustration mirrored on his lean face. He sat wrapped in silence, wearing his darkest look.
    Bremen sighed inwardly. Kinson had been with him a long time. Bremen had handpicked him from among a number of candidates for the task of ferreting out the truth about the Warlock Lord. Kinson had been the right choice. He was the best Tracker the old man had ever known. He was smart and brave and clever. He was never reckless, always reasoned. They had grown so close that Kinson was like a son to him. He was certainly his closest friend.
    But he could not be the one thing Bremen needed him to be. He could not be the Druid’s successor. Bremen was old and failing, though he hid it well enough from those who might suspect. When he was gone, there would be no one left to continue his work. There would be no one to advance the study of magic so necessary to the evolution of the Races, no one to prod the