Terry Brooks - High Druid's Blade

Mischa sat down again, eyes still fixed on Chrysallin. “Drink your tea, get some liquid in your body. Then you should sleep. You’ll be safe enough here.”

“They’ll be … looking for me,” Chrysallin said.

“Arcannen’s away. His minions will look once they find you gone, but that won’t happen right away. Even when it does, they won’t know where to start. They won’t know how you got free or where you might have gone once you did. They’ll look, but mostly they’ll wait for his return.”

“But I … should go before … that happens. While … I still have … a chance to do so.”

“Not in your condition. You aren’t strong enough. Drink, now,” she repeated. “All of it. You leave after you’ve rested a bit, gotten stronger, clearheaded enough to know what you’re about. I can’t go with you. If they find me gone, they’ll know. I have to stay here, keep working, and not let them know I was the one who helped you. No choice in this, girl. I’m at risk now, too.”

Chrysallin nodded quickly. “I know.”

All the while, the pain that had racked her body for the time of her captivity continued to throb and pulse, a constant reminder of her weakened and debilitated condition. She tried to pretend it was getting better, but she could tell it wasn’t. Even without knowing how bad it was, she could be certain it wasn’t good. How many bones had been broken? How many ligaments torn? How many organs irreparably damaged by the torture she had suffered? She wanted to get a look at herself in a mirror, but she didn’t see one anywhere and didn’t want to ask the old woman to give her one.

She could only imagine how she looked. She was grateful to Mischa for not saying anything about it, for letting the matter be.

She set down her tea. “Is there … somewhere I can rest? Just for a little while?”

Mischa led her to one of the two bedrooms in the back of her home. It contained a single bed, a nightstand, and a chest of drawers. She guided Chrysallin to the bed and sat her down. “Sleep here. As long as you want. I’ll be close by. I don’t go back to work until tomorrow. By then, you can be on your way.”

“Where should I go?” Her voice was getting stronger now, clearer.

“Go to your brother. Go to Paranor to find him, if you must. But be aware of the danger you face if you do. She will be there. Home is Leah, but Leah is not safe, either. Arcannen will just come for you again. Best if you get to your brother. Just remember the Ard Rhys is not what she seems. Stay away from her.”

“But it’s Paranor. How can I avoid her?”

Mischa shook her head. “I don’t know. I just know you don’t want to fall into her hands again. Into Arcannen’s hands. If you do …”

She trailed off, looked away, and stood up. “Wait here.”

She left the room, was gone for a few minutes, and then returned. She sat next to Chrysallin on the bed. “Here,” she said. She handed the girl a long, slim object. It was wrapped in a soft cloth, but was hard underneath.

It felt like a knife.

Chrysallin looked at the old woman. “If you are threatened by Arcannen–in any form–use this,” the old woman said. “It’s what you think it is. But very special. Use it without hesitating, without thinking. There will be no time for either. Can you do that?”

Chrysallin nodded slowly, thinking of the pain and anguish, remembering what had been done to her. “Yes.”

Mischa stood. “I’ll leave it with you. It belongs to you now. Keep it safe.” She started away. “Keep it for when you are threatened. Especially by the Elven witch. Remember what she has done to you. Remember she will try to do it again.”

She stopped at the door and turned back, her face haggard, her eyes intense. “I will keep watch while you sleep. As long as I am able. At least until I have to return to Dark House to work on the morrow. But I will be back for you. Rest well, girl.”

Then she went out the door and closed it softly behind her.

It was nearing nightfall when Grehling made his way toward Dark House from the airfield with his delivery. A small box had come in during the afternoon, shipped from Arishaig for Arcannen. Normally, he would have brought it over at once. But Arcannen was not in Wayford now in any case, and he saw no need to rush. He waited until his shift at the airfield was finished–his father had given him the night off–before making the delivery.

He had no idea what was in the box and didn’t care to know. All that mattered was getting it where it was supposed to be and ending his involvement. His attitude toward the sorcerer had not improved since the incident with Paxon Leah and his sister, and he doubted that would change anytime soon.

He was closing in on his destination when he saw the old woman Mischa coming out of an alleyway beside the building where she lived. Right away he froze in place until she paused to look behind her, and then he stepped quickly into the deep shadows of a doorway. It was already hard to see, the light leached from the sky by night’s arrival and by rolling clouds that had blanketed the city since sunrise. Pressed back against the walls of the alcove, he watched the old woman creep into view like a predator in search of food and start down the street toward Dark House.

Immediately he decided to wait awhile before continuing on. He didn’t like Mischa. He couldn’t have said what it was exactly, only that his fear and dislike of her was a tangible thing and he suspected she was evil in a way that matched Arcannen. She and the sorcerer were two of a kind, twin dark stars in a firmament of scheming and machinations. He had only spoken to her a couple of times, and a couple was more than enough for him to form an opinion. It wasn’t that she threatened him or tried to harm him. It was his conviction that she could do either–and it wouldn’t cause her to lose much sleep if she did.

Even the way she moved was unnerving. Like a spider. He was small and skinny, so there wasn’t much of him to spy, but he was frozen in place nevertheless. People often didn’t see him because he was not particularly noticeable. He used that to his advantage here, willing her not to look in his direction but to keep moving ahead.

She did so, disappearing around a corner and moving out of sight.

He glanced back at the building. A single light burned in a window on the second floor. The rest of the building was dark.

That was probably where she had her rooms.

He wondered why she seemed so furtive around her own home, as if not wanting anyone to see where she was coming from. She lived there, after all; everyone knew it. So why all the stealth and suspicion? Why all the casting about, as if afraid she would be seen?

He wondered suddenly what her place was like inside. He wondered what she kept in there.

Grehling gave her almost half an hour before resuming his delivery. Then he hurried on, dropped the package at the front door with the guards, and went his way, the matter set aside, but not forgotten.

CHRYSALLIN LEAH’S SLEEP WAS DARK AND DEEP AND FILLED with nightmares. In succession they flooded her troubled mind, stealing away the momentary peace she had experienced after being rescued by Mischa, returning her to a sense of impending doom.

The first began in a meadow where she walked through sunlight toward a river, accompanied by her brother. Paxon was cheerful and his laughter was bright, and she felt his strong presence as a reassurance of her safety and freedom. She felt buoyant and at ease as she traversed a carpet of meadow wildflowers and smelled their sweet scent wafting on a soft breeze.

But soon she sensed a lessening of the wildflower presence as the swatches of color and the smells on the air diminished and then faded completely. She was in a pasture now, its carpet all dried and browned, the green of the fresher meadow grasses having disappeared. The skies had lost the sun’s brightness, and clouds had moved in to curtain the blue. She slowed, hesitating, and as she did so she felt something grapple at her ankles and wrap about her legs. She looked down and found herself entwined by saw grass and weeds, whipcord–tough and working hard to bind her in place and hold her fast.