First King of Shannara by Terry Brooks

and deductions that might one day find understanding.
    The Druid Histories. These were the books that mattered most to Bremen. These were the books that he intended to save.
    Kahle Rese was standing on a ladder arranging a worn and shabby collection of leather-bound tomes when Bremen entered. He turned and started when he saw who was standing there. He was a small, wiry man, hunched slightly with age, but nimble enough to climb still. There was dust on his hands, and the sleeves of his robe were rolled up and tied. His blue eyes blinked and crinkled as a smile lit his face. Quickly he scurried down the ladder and came over. He held out his hands and gripped Bremen’s own tightly.
    â€œOld friend,” he greeted. His narrow face was like a bird’s—eyes sharp and bright, nose a hooked beak, mouth a tight line, and beard a small, wispy tuft on his pointed chin.
    â€œIt is good to see you, Kahle,” Bremen told him. “I have missed you. Our conversations, our puzzling through of the world’s mysteries, our assessments of life. Even our poor attempt at jokes. You must remember.”
    â€œI do, Bremen, I do.” The other laughed. “Well, here you are.”
    â€œFor a moment only, I’m afraid. Have you heard?”
    Kahle nodded. The smile slipped from his face. “You came to give warning of the Warlock Lord. Athabasca gave it for you. You asked to speak to the Council. Athabasca spoke for you. Took rather a lot on himself, didn’t he? But he has his reasons, as we both know. In any case, the Council voted against you. A few argued quite vigorously on your behalf. Risca, for one. Tay Trefenwyd. One or two more.” He shook his head. “I am afraid I remained silent.”
    â€œBecause it did no good for you to speak,” Bremen said helpfully.
    But Kahle shook his head. “No, Bremen. Because I am too old and tired for causes. I am comfortable here among my books and seek only to be left alone.” He blinked and looked Bremen over carefully. “Do you believe what you say about the Warlock Lord? Is he real? Is he the rebel Druid, Brona?”
    Bremen nodded. “He is what I have told Athabasca and a great threat to Paranor and the Council. He will come here eventually, Kahle. When he does, he will destroy everything.”
    â€œPerhaps,” Kahle acknowledged with a shrug. “Perhaps not. Things do not always happen as we expect. You and I were always agreed on that, Bremen.”
    â€œBut this time, I’m afraid, there is little chance they will happen any other way than I have forecast. The Druids spend too much time within their walls. They cannot see with objectivity what is happening without. It limits their vision.”
    Kahle smiled. “We have our eyes and ears, and we learn more than you suspect. Our problem is not one of ignorance; it is one of complacency. We are too quick to accept the life we know and not quick enough to embrace the life we only imagine. We think that events must proceed as we dictate, and that no other voice will ever have meaning but ours.”
    Bremen put his hand on the small man’s narrow shoulder. “You were always the best reasoned of us all. Would you consider making a short journey with me?”
    â€œYou seek to rescue me from what you perceive to be my fate, do you?” The other man laughed. “Too late for that, Bremen. My fate is tied irrevocably to these walls and the writings of these few books I manage. I am too old and too set in my ways to give up a lifetime’s work. This is all I know. I am one of those Druids I described, old friend—hidebound and moribund to the last. What happens to Paranor happens also to me.”
    Bremen nodded. He had thought Kahle Rese would say as much, but he had needed to ask. “I wish you would reconsider. There are other walls to live within and other libraries to tend.”
    â€œAre there?” Kahle asked, arching one eyebrow.