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

Sebec stared at him. “Do you mean the one you wear strapped across your back? That one? No, I don’t think that’s what she has in mind. She wants to talk to you about something else. But it isn’t my place to speak for her. She wants to do this in person.”

“But she did not choose to come herself, did she?”

“She doesn’t go much of anywhere these days, Paxon. She is very old and frail, and it is an effort for her just to get through the day while staying at home. You would be doing her a service by going, and I think maybe doing a service for yourself before matters are concluded.” He paused. “You know of her, don’t you? You are familiar with her name and history?”

Paxon nodded. “Aphenglow Elessedil.”

He knew very well who she was. Almost everyone did. And almost everyone knew her history—or as much of it as she allowed them to know. She had been alive for more than a century and a half, kept so by the Druid Sleep. Once within the protective confines of the sleep, Druids stopped aging until they woke again. An Ard Rhys was entitled to use it as often as he or she thought advisable, maintaining consistency in the rule of the Druid Order through longevity.

But Aphenglow Elessedil was famous from long before her time as the Ard Rhys in the Fourth Druid Order. She was a member of the Elven royal family, and in her youth she had helped her sister Arling, a Chosen of the Ellcrys, pass safely through the ordeal required for her to become the successor to the Ellcrys when the old tree died. She had stood with the Ohmsford twins, Redden and Railing, against the demon hordes when they had broken free of the Forbidding. She had spearheaded the quest undertaken by the Druid order under Khyber when it had gone in search of the missing Elfstones of Faerie, and because of her efforts one set of the precious Stones, at least, had been recovered.

There were rumors that all of them had been found and returned to the Four Lands but that the others had been lost again. The ones that remained were said to be scarlet in color, but few had ever seen them. They were kept at Paranor in the possession of the Druids as a part of the edict regarding recovered magic and its care and usage. The Elves, he knew, had laid claim to those Elfstones, demanding their return. After all, the Elves already had the blue Stones in their care. Why shouldn’t they be given possession of the scarlet Stones, as well?

But Aphenglow had denied their demands repeatedly, insisting that the Druid edict on the collection and preservation of magic superseded any nationalistic claims. She was content to let the Elves keep the seeking-Stones, which had been in their possession for thousands of years, but not those scarlet talismans now referred to as the draining-Stones.

So the antagonism and suspicion that had plagued her throughout her life continued, and Aphenglow Elessedil was never accepted back into the Elven nation as one of their own. She had made her choice, and she would have to live with it. She had chosen the Druid way, embraced its creed and enforced its laws, and it was clear that this is how it would always be. She was a Druid first and an Elf second.

All of this was common knowledge. Or common to the Leahs and the Ohmsfords who had grown up with it or heard about it later from their parents and grandparents. So Paxon knew something of Aphenglow, but none of it lessened the wariness he felt for Druids in general.

“I’m not sure how I feel about all this,” he admitted, locking eyes with Sebec. “Even the thought of going to Paranor makes me uneasy.”

Sebec nodded. “I understand. But I can assure you that you will be in no danger if you come and will be brought back whenever you are ready. The Ard Rhys only desires a chance to talk with you, nothing more.”

Paxon thought about leaving Chrys behind, about the risk that might be involved if he did. Arcannen might discover he was gone and take advantage of it. But he didn’t want to say anything to Sebec about that particular concern because the Druids might not know about those events after all. Sebec didn’t even seem to know the truth about his sword.

He looked away. He could simply refuse to go. He probably should. But what if what Aphenglow Elessedil wanted to talk to him about was important? What if it concerned Arcannen and might give him a way to help protect Chrys? What if it did have something to do with the Sword of Leah, and he would anger her by refusing even to discuss it?

What if he were simply being foolish and cowardly by imagining all sorts of things that weren’t real? Wasn’t he better off just going and getting it over with?

“All right, I will come,” he said. “But I’ll need time to say good-bye to my mother and sister. I need to make sure they will be all right without me.”

The young Druid smiled. “Why not let me speak with them? I can reassure them that they won’t have to worry about you.” He climbed to his feet. “I shall start immediately with your mother.”

And before Paxon could collect his wits sufficiently to question the suggestion, Sebec was walking into the house, calling his mother’s name.

S

IX

PAXON WAS ASTONISHED AT HOW AMENABLE BOTH HIS MOTHERand sister were to the prospect of his traveling to Paranor. This felt entirely wrong, but the matter was settled almost immediately. Once Sebec had made the suggestion and explained how important it was to the Ard Rhys, neither said a word in opposition. Perhaps it was the young Druid’s earnest demeanor that convinced them. Perhaps he used magic. Whatever the case, his persuasive skills exceeded anything Paxon had ever seen this side of Arcannen. His mother, so reticent about the Druids beforehand, was suddenly excited at the prospects she envisioned would be generated by her son’s newfound importance. His sister, in typical fashion, seemed more interested in Sebec himself than in his news, and dismissed Paxon’s departure with a casual wave and a cryptic remark about staying out of trouble.

As if he were the one who needed to worry about that particular problem.

At least he got his mother and sister to agree to take a few days to visit his mother’s sister in the town of Agave, at the eastern edge of the Highlands. It would take them away from the capital city while he was gone, hopefully removing them from any immediate danger of another visit from Arcannen.

“Are you sure about this, Mother?” he asked her when Sebec had finished speaking with her and had gone back out onto the porch with the fresh glass of ale she had pressed on him. “You don’t mind my going? You won’t worry about me?”

“I will always worry about you, Paxon,” she said, “but I don’t think there is any risk to you here. I don’t sense any duplicity in this young man. On the contrary, I think him honorable. He intends you no harm. You will be fine, and so will we.”

So he went, walking down to the airfield with his sword strapped across his back and his travel pack slung over one shoulder, less certain of what he was doing than either his sister or his mother, but doing his best not to show it. Sebec’s vessel was a Rover-crafted double-mast with good lines and black-dyed light sheaths bearing the emblem of the Fourth Druid Order emblazoned in gold. A crew of three awaited them—Trolls serving in the Druid Guard, chosen by the Ard Rhys herself from among volunteers who all came from the same village in the Northland and whose ancestors had served in the guard before them. Big, hulking men, they spoke not a word to either Sebec or Paxon, but simply went about their business, hoisting sails, tying off lines, powering up the diapson crystals in their parse tubes, and setting out.