Terry Brooks: High Druid's Blade

He walked over to where it was docked inside its locked hangar–a building that was more shed than hangar, constructed specifically to shelter the vessel from weather and tampering. He checked the lock, then released it and opened the door. With Jayet’s help, he pulled the Sprint clear, put up its raked single mast, and fastened down the radian draws. Then he closed the door to the shed and locked it anew.

“Ready?” he asked her.

She nodded. “Let’s fly.”

Moments later they were airborne, winging their way south. Paxon had traveled to Wayford on cargo hauls a few times, and he could find his way without maps or compass. But he didn’t know anything much about the city proper, having flown in and out again without leaving the airfield. Once they got to Wayford, he would need help.

He wasn’t taking anything about this mission for granted. He knew he was going to need all kinds of help from one source or another. Maybe Jayet would provide some of it. Maybe strangers would provide the rest. But he would need luck, too. Probably a lot of it.

Even so, his conviction that he could find his sister and bring her home again remained undiminished. Nothing would prevent that from happening.

They flew south through the rest of the day and into the night. By the time the lights of the city came in sight, it was well after midnight. Jayet was sleeping, curled up in her seat behind him, her spiky hair flattened against the cushions, her face relaxed and bathed in starlight. He found her suddenly pretty–an attribute he’d somehow overlooked before. He smiled in spite of himself. She didn’t look so tough now.

Wayford’s airfield was three times the size of Leah’s, and the sea of ships that filled her acres of open grassland and landing pads seemed to stretch away for thousands of yards. He maneuvered the Sprint onto a pad that was vacant, close to the field manager’s office, and shut her down. Jayet was awake, looking around sleepily.

Paxon climbed out of the pilot box and stretched. “Wait here.”

He reached inside the pilot box, pulled out the Sword of Leah–which he had taken off while they were flying–and strapped it across his back once more. Then he walked over to the field manager’s office and stepped through the door. The boy sitting at the field manager’s desk might have been thirteen or fourteen, but no older. “Kind of young to be an airfield manager, aren’t you?” Paxon asked him.

The boy shrugged. “I’m old enough.” He was looking at Paxon’s sword, its black length poking up over the latter’s shoulder.

“Can you give me that pad for one night? Maybe for two?”

“Yours as long as you want it. Just sign the register.”

He shoved a book across the desk, and Paxon filled in the requisite space. “How much?”

“Pay when you leave.” He gestured. “Nice–looking blade. Old, but it has clean lines. Bet you know how to use it, too.”

“Want to take a look?”

The boy rocked forward and stood up. Paxon unsheathed his sword and offered it to him. The boy examined it carefully, handed it back, and once it was sheathed again extended his hand. “I’m Grehling Cara. My dad’s the airfield manager. He’s off for the night, but I fill in for him. He’s teaching me the business.”

“Paxon Leah. Your father must have some confidence in you.”

The boy pointed out the window at the Sprint. “I like your ship, too. Did you build her yourself?”

Paxon nodded. “From the ground up. Can I ask you something? Do you know a man called Arcannen?”

The boy gave him a look. “Why do you want to know?”

“I need to find him. I need directions.”

“Are you friends with him?”

Paxon shook his head. “Why do you ask?”

Grehling sat down again. “Oh, just because. He flew in earlier today and told me he had a friend coming in from the Highlands who might ask how to find him.” His eyes fixed on Paxon. “I thought you might be that friend.”

So Arcannen had expected him to follow, after all. Paxon felt a surge of anger at the other’s arrogance, but quickly tamped it down. “Well, you should know he is not my friend.”

Grehling nodded. “I thought that might be. Arcannen doesn’t have many friends, just lots of people who do business with him. He owns Dark House, a place where they do things my father won’t talk about. But I know anyway. He’s a magic wielder, a sorcerer. He’s very powerful and very dangerous. People disappear around him all the time. Maybe you should think twice about trying to find him.”

“I should, but I can’t. He’s taken something that isn’t his, and I intend to get it back.”

“A girl?”

“My sister, Chrysallin. You saw her?”

He nodded. “Coming off his airship earlier. I keep my eyes open. Look, I can give you directions if you want, but they might be a little different from the ones Arcannen would give you. Mine might help keep you safe. I don’t like Arcannen, and I don’t like doing anything that helps him. So maybe I’ll help you, instead. But if I do, I’ll need some extra coins for making sure your Sprint is kept safe and ready to lift off the minute you’ve finished your business.”

Paxon sat on the edge of the desk. “You seem awfully eager to help someone you barely know, Grehling. Why is that?”

He shrugged. “I knew someone Arcannen took to Dark House, someone like your sister. Someone I liked.” His lips tightened. “She never came out again. Do you want my help or not?”

“I’m listening.”

When the boy was done explaining, Paxon thanked him for his help and paid him the coins he wanted. “You’ll find your sister on the top floor,” Grehling said in parting. “That’s where he keeps all the new ones, at first.”

He offered his hand, and Paxon shook it. “Better keep that sword of yours handy.”

Paxon went back out to the Sprint and Jayet. She was still in the pilot box, eyes half closed. “Time to go,” he said.

“Was that a boy you were talking to in there?” she asked. She rumpled her hair and yawned.

“A boy who is a lot older than he has a right to be,” he answered. “Watch out for that one.”

Jayet nodded sleepily. “I watch out for all of them. Can we please eat something? I’m starved.”

They walked from the airfield into the city, following the directions Grehling had provided, and quickly found a tavern that was open all night. They took a seat at a table at the back of the room, ordered ale and soup and bread, finished it off, and quickly left. No one paid any attention to them.

Back on the streets of Wayford, Paxon explained what Grehling had suggested they do.

“Arcannen lives at Dark House, which is what I thought it was–a pleasure house specializing in exotic and forbidden acts. Very exclusive. Chrys will be there, probably locked up in a room somewhere on the upper floor, according to Grehling. He says other girls who work for Arcannen are kept there, too, at first. He told me how we can get inside, but then we still have to find out which room she is in.”

“That might be difficult if there are guards.”

“There are, but not so many at this time of night because everything shuts down after two until late morning. There will only be a few, and all but one of them will be watching the doors. The other one roams the halls. He’ll be the most dangerous, the way we’re going in. We’ll have to get rid of him right away once we’re inside.”

“You’re going in tonight? Without sleep?”

“Do you think I should wait until morning, Jayet? This is my sister we’re talking about.”

She shook her head. “I suppose not. But maybe a few hours wouldn’t hurt. You haven’t slept at all. What difference would it make if you waited for first light?”