Brooks, Terry - High Druid's Blade - The Defenders of Shannara (9780345540713)

But in spite of her skills and her potential, she spent her free time down in the taverns anyway—usually with Jayet—drinking with the men, throwing dice, being rowdy and wild. She didn’t get in fights anymore, but she remained confrontational and fiercely independent, and there was nothing he could think to do to change that. Even though his mother asked him now and then if there wasn’t something he could say to her, or a means of persuasion he could employ to help change her, he knew it was a waste of time.

Chrysallin Leah was who she was, and she was the only one who could ever change that.

Paxon was aware that he wasn’t all that settled, either. Hero status notwithstanding, he was always looking for something better to do with his life. Much of the time he felt he was drifting, following through with his mother’s expectations and the family’s needs and ignoring his own. Money for food and clothing was a life requirement, and it had to come from somewhere. In this case, it had to come from running the family business. The trouble was that, as a prospect for his life’s work, it was far from satisfying. But he had never found anything else—or at least anything that excited him sufficiently to justify moving away from cargo hauling and into what might turn out to be a reasonable alternative.

Yet he found himself wondering in the days following his encounter with Arcannen and uncovering of the Sword of Leah’s strange power if perhaps he wasn’t on the verge of doing so. His discovery was exciting and seemed indicative of better things to come. That he had managed to unlock the sword’s power and wield it, that he could use it as a weapon against even the darkest sorcery, was both awe inspiring and thrilling. It was an important responsibility, laden with possibilities, and he wanted to take advantage of them.

It made him remember some of his ancestors, the ones who had carried the sword on remarkable quests and accomplished great feats—Rone, Morgan, and Quentin—Leahs one and all.

It also made him think more carefully on Arcannen’s involvement with the sword. The sorcerer, he now believed, had known what the weapon could do when he first saw it. That he would try to come after it at some point seemed almost certain. But how would the sorcerer go about it? And what could Paxon do to prevent it from happening? Certainly, he had managed to escape once. But he had to admit that Arcannen was far more skilled and experienced with using magic than he was, and a second encounter might not turn out as well for him as the first one had.

Yet his options were limited by his circumstances. He was locked into fulfilling his family’s needs, making cargo hauls, and staying in Leah, and into living with one eye open while sleeping and looking over his shoulder at every sound and shadow while awake.

He thought about moving away. Maybe it was time. Another man, someone with flying and business skills, could be brought in to run their airfreight service. He could find another city with another kind of work that would better suit him and help keep his family safe by removing himself and the sword from the picture. Maybe Arcannen would lose interest in the talisman if it wasn’t around, and the danger would fade after a year or so and he could come home again.

He spent much of his time mulling this over, considering the risks and benefits and looking for a sign that would indicate which way he should turn.

On the first day of the third week following his return from Wayford, that sign appeared.

He was working down on the airfield, mending the frayed ends of lengths of radian draws that served as replacements for ones that had broken midflight, when a man approached, coming down from the airfield manager’s office at a slow, steady pace. Paxon had never seen him before, but he knew what he was the moment he caught sight of him. Black robes that reached to the ground and covered him from head to foot, a deep-set hood pulled back in the midday sun, and a silver medallion with a hand clasped about a burning torch marked him instantly as a Druid.

Paxon put down his tools and stood, a dark premonition forming in his chest, quickening his heart.

The stranger walked up to him, his blue eyes bright and cheerful. “Well met, Paxon Leah. My name is Sebec. I serve in the Fourth Druid Order.”

He held out his hand and Paxon shook it. Sebec was not particularly tall or imposing looking. If anything, he was slight of build and rather bookish in appearance. And he seemed very young. But there was an intensity to his gaze and a confidence in his manner that let Paxon know not to misjudge him.

“Your robes and medallion give you away,” the Highlander observed, releasing the other’s hand. “Can I help you?”

“It might be the other way around.” Sebec gave him a brief smile. “Is there somewhere we can go to talk?”

Paxon knew what he was suggesting. That it would be better not to talk out in the open where they could be seen, that whatever the Druid wanted to say would be better said in private. Paxon glanced around, trying to think where the best place might be.

“Perhaps we could go up to your home and sit outside in the yard while we talk,” Sebec suggested suddenly, revealing he knew more than a little about Paxon already.

Paxon didn’t argue. Together, they walked up from the airfield, skirting the edge of the city to reach the roadway leading to his home. Paxon watched the Druid out of the corner of his eye, still taking his measure, trying to decide what this was all about—even though he was afraid he already knew. It had to be about his confrontation with Arcannen. It was the only thing he could imagine the Druids would be interested in, although he wasn’t sure how the order had learned of it. He worried it might be because he had summoned the magic of the Sword of Leah, and they had a way of tracking such magic.

He worried they intended to take his sword away from him.

Once they had climbed the hill—a task Sebec accomplished without breaking a sweat—they sat down together on the porch steps. His mother called out from inside, then appeared in the doorway, brushing flour from an apron and smiling.

The smile dropped away when she saw Sebec. “Well met,” she greeted the Druid, quickly putting the smile back in place. “I’m Zeatha Leah.”

The young Druid stood. “Sebec, of the Fourth Druid Order.”

Something in his manner made her smile widen in spite of what Paxon recognized as her obvious discomfort. “Welcome to our home, Sebec. I’ve just baked cookies. Would you like some?”

So Paxon and Sebec sat together on the porch eating cookies and drinking cups of ale while looking out over the city. For a while, neither said anything, concentrating on their eating and drinking, lost in their separate thoughts.

“You have a beautiful view of the Highlands,” Sebec said finally.

“The land belonged to my family for centuries,” Paxon replied, nodding in agreement. “Once, we owned for as far as the eye can see. But now we make do with fifteen acres and this view.”

Sebec loosened the ties on his black robes to open them at the neck and let the breeze cool him. “This would be enough for me, if I lived here.”

Paxon didn’t respond, thinking it was enough for him, too, but he would have liked to experience the time when it all belonged to the Leah family and they were Kings and Queens of the Highlands. Just to see what it would have felt like.

“I’ve come to ask a favor of you,” Sebec said, putting down his empty cookie plate and cup. “I want you to come with me to Paranor to speak with the Ard Rhys. You won’t be gone long, maybe one night, maybe two. No more, and then I would bring you back again.”

“She’s going to take away my sword, isn’t she?” Paxon declared, unable to help himself. The words just tumbled out of him, and he felt a deep emptiness at the truth he knew they carried.