Terry Brooks - High Druid's Blade

They found the airship with no problem and boarded for home. Starks went back to his station in front of the pilot box and to his reading. After moving aimlessly about the decking for a time, Paxon settled down by the bowsprit to mull over what had happened. He kept thinking he should have realized the truth sooner; he could not shake the feeling he must have missed something he should have seen. Mostly, he thought of Iantha’s young face and her eagerness to be liked–nothing you wouldn’t find in any ordinary young girl. She hadn’t been much older than Chrysallin, and it haunted him that a young girl’s life could be cut short so easily and without any fault on her part. He realized anew how lucky he was to have gotten his sister free of Arcannen before something evil had happened to her.

He wished he could have done the same for Iantha.

He found himself wondering what the Ard Rhys would do with the deadly stone that had cost the girl and her father their lives. He hoped she would smash it into a thousand fragments and throw them into the sea.

Below him, the countryside passed away in a rolling carpet of plains and forests and fields with rivers angling through it all. The rain, which had started much earlier and continued to fall throughout the day, abated finally, but the gloom and a misty haze remained. Long before it became dark, they were enveloped in low–slung banks of clouds. Far away, distant from where they flew, lights began to appear in the towns and villages, fireflies against the closing darkness.

They spent that night in the Tirfing aboard ship. Paxon was unable to sleep, and he took the watch, sitting forward by the bowsprit once more, looking out over a countryside moonlit and calm beneath a clear sky, still troubled.

He was there only a short time when Starks came over to join him.

“Not happy with things, are you?” the Druid asked.

Paxon shook his head. “I should feel better about this than I do.”

“You were sent to protect me, and you did. You were sent to help me find and destroy the creature that was killing the people of Eusta, and you did. You were sent to bring back whatever magic was at work, and you have.” Starks nodded to himself. “That’s as much as you can expect, Paxon. You might wish it made you feel better, but that isn’t always how it is afterward. You have to accept that.”

“I know. But I can’t forget how she looked when she was dying. She was a victim of what that gemstone had done to her. She wasn’t a bad person. She was a victim. She shouldn’t have had that happen to her.”

“No one should. But life isn’t fair, and the right thing doesn’t always happen. You know that.”

Paxon didn’t respond. He did know. But he didn’t like it, and he wasn’t happy about how it left him hollowed out and dissatisfied.

“It just doesn’t feel like we did as much as we could.”

Starks gave him a nod. “This is how it is. Sometimes, it isn’t so satisfying. Sometimes, people die. We do what we can, Paxon. You have to be at peace with that. If you think you need more, you shouldn’t be doing this.” He paused. “Maybe you should give that some thought.”

He rose. “But I think you are doing exactly what you should be doing. You did well back there. You showed courage and intelligence. You have my approval even if you don’t have your own. I’m going to bed. You should do the same.”

He disappeared below, leaving Paxon to consider how much of what he had just heard he believed.

They reached Paranor by midafternoon of the following day. Starks told Paxon to go clean up while he gave his report and the sack containing the dangerous gemstone to the Ard Rhys. She would want to see him later, but he might as well look and smell a little better before that happened.

So Paxon washed and dressed in fresh clothes, then walked down to the dining hall to find something to eat. He was midway through an especially wonderful potato leek soup when Starks reappeared.

“She would like to see you right away,” he said. He did not look happy.

Paxon didn’t miss it. “What’s wrong?”

“It would be better if she explained. Go to her working chambers. She’s waiting for you there.”

Paxon left the table and his half–eaten meal and went down the hallways and up the stairs of the Keep until he reached the door that opened to her chambers. He paused, a premonition already telling him that this was bad.

When he knocked, she called out at once. “Come in, Paxon.”

He did, and found her at her desk, immersed once more in paperwork. The trussed–up feed bag containing the gemstone sat to one side. His eyes went to it immediately, and she gave him a tired smile. “You want to know what I will do with it?”

“Yes,” he admitted.

“It will be sealed away in a special compartment in the catacombs beneath the Keep. We have others of this sort down there, as well.” She paused. “We would destroy it, if we could, but such magic released from the confines of the stone would spread to other places and take other forms. We could end up with more than one dark magic, and it might even prove more dangerous than it is now.”

“So you can’t destroy it?”

She shook her head no. “Only contain it. But that’s usually enough. Sit down.”

He sat, waiting for her to say something more.

“As you know, we sent someone to keep watch over your sister and mother, just in case Arcannen returned. Sebec made the arrangements himself. He sent one of our own, a young Druid with only a year’s experience in using magic, but life skills that made him a good choice. He was to shadow your sister and mother, and he was to make sure nothing happened to them.”

She paused. “Yesterday, he was found dead on the streets of the city. It was made to appear as if he was the victim of a theft, but those who found him and reported back to us say it was something more. Whatever else it was, it wasn’t a robbery. There were signs of magic in play. He was deliberately killed.”

“My sister?” he asked quickly.

She gave him a steady look. “She’s disappeared.”

CHRYSALLIN LEAH WOKE TO A ROOM FILLED WITH SHADOWS and emptiness, the only light seeping in through narrow cracks in a tightly shuttered window, the only sounds those she made when she stirred far enough to discover she was chained to the bed she was lying on. Her head was filled with cotton and her mouth was dry, but there was no cure on hand for either condition. She tested her limbs against the chains and found the former drained of strength and the latter secure. She was not going to change either condition right away no matter what she tried.

She lay back reluctantly, stretching her long legs and torso and waiting for her lethargy to fade, wondering where she was.

Or how she had gotten there, for that matter.

The events leading up to her present situation were far from clear. She remembered going to the Brew Tide to help Jayet. That had been later in the afternoon, when the tavern was just starting to fill up. The crowd had been boisterous and impatient. Everyone wanted to get served at once, and no one was prepared to wait. She was flying around the room, caught up in the excitement and laughter of the drinkers, smiling and joking with them, and loving every minute. Later that night, she and Jayet would go down to the river for a private swim. The cool water would wash away the sweat and the smoke and the tavern smells, and the day would come to a pleasant, relaxing close.

But the swim had never happened. What had? She had been serving the customers, carrying trays with tankards of ale and bowls of soup and plates of bread, and then …

She had gone outside. Just for a moment, to get a breath of fresh air, to escape the din.