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

“Find a comfortable seat, Paxon,” Sebec directed. “The Ard Rhys will be with you shortly.”

He moved off, returning the way he had come, leaving Paxon on his own. The Highlander glanced around, found a bench in the sunshine, and took a seat. As he waited, staring off into the distance where the tips of the trees in the forest surrounding the Druid’s Keep shimmered with a light breeze and birds circled in the skies overhead, he kept thinking of the sword strapped across his back. Of what use was it to him now? As protection against Arcannen and for Chrys certainly, but beyond that, what was he supposed to do with it? It was a powerful magic, one that had served various Leahs over the centuries in their support of the Druids and their numerous quests. Was there a quest in his future, one not yet made clear to him? Or was he clinging to the weapon because it was the only thing he had that made it seem as if there might be something more for him than continuing to run an airfreight service?

He could smell the scents of the flowers that surrounded him, pungent and fragrant as they wafted in the breeze. He closed his eyes and breathed in those scents, and the memories they generated of the Highlands and home and family were so strong and poignant they almost brought tears.

“Paxon?” a soft, lyrical voice asked.

He opened his eyes quickly. Aphenglow Elessedil stood before him, wrapped in her Druid robes, the Eilt Druin laced around her neck, its silver emblem flashing in the sunlight. He had never seen her before, but he knew who she was instantly. She was tall and sparely built, her gaze steady, a smile on her face. She must have been very beautiful once, when she was young. She was still beautiful in the way some older women are, made so more because of her regal carriage and the proud, calm certainty she radiated than simply because of her physical features.

He rose to greet her, flustered by the direct look she gave him and by the knowledge of what she represented. “Lady,” he responded and managed a short bow.

She extended her hand and held his briefly. “Are you well rested?” she asked him.

“Very well.” He glanced around appreciatively. “This is a beautiful place. The gardens, of course, but all of Paranor, as well.”

“You have never been here, but you must have heard stories from your family.”

“I have heard many. From my grandparents and my mother—of Mirai Leah and Railing and Redden Ohmsford. And of you.”

“May I sit with you?” she asked.

He moved over to allow her to do so. “I am surprised to be here,” he admitted. “Why did you ask me to come?”

“You never knew Mirai, did you?” she asked instead of answering him. “She was a brave and resourceful young woman. You would have liked her. I think she had as much to do as anyone with the outcome at the Valley of Rhenn when my sister became the Ellcrys and the demon hordes were sent back into the Forbidding. You carry her blood in your veins; you carry Ohmsford blood within you, as well. A very potent mix that allows for special abilities. Even, perhaps, the presence of the wishsong.”

He had thought of that possibility more than once over the years, ever since learning of the complexity of his family’s history, of Leahs linked to Ohmsfords. But there had never been even a hint of such magic in his blood—not even the smallest suggestion that it might be present.

“I don’t think I have any use of magic,” he said. “I don’t think anyone in the family has since the Ohmsford twins.”

“But you have something else of value, don’t you?” She gestured to his sword. “You have the blade that is your family’s legacy from centuries ago, the blade Allanon dipped into the black waters of the Hadeshorn and infused with his own magic. The blade he then returned to Rone Leah, naming him protector of Brin Ohmsford when she went in search of the Ildatch in order to destroy it.”

So she knew about his sword. Paxon nodded but did not reply. He feared the worst now, could almost feel it happening. She had brought him here to claim the sword for the Druid order, and she would take it away in spite of his protests. He would want to do something to prevent her, but in the end common sense would prevail. Her magic was too powerful for him to resist. And he would never even think to try to use the sword against her. It would be pointless.

“Do you have to take it from me?” he asked finally.

“I don’t have to,” she answered, “but I should. Magic is not allowed in the hands of those who are not trained to use it, even if they have come by it in a legitimate way. It is a matter of public safety that such magic should be collected and held by the Druids.”

“The Druid Edict,” he said. “I know.”

“Still, that is not why I brought you to Paranor.” She looked off into the gardens, as if measuring something with her gaze. “You discovered the magic quite by accident. But you used it to good purpose—to save your sister. And you exercised reasonable judgment in doing so. What do you intend to do with it if you keep it?”

He thought a moment, and then shook his head helplessly. “I don’t really know.”

“Who else knows of the sword’s power besides you? Your sister? Does your mother know?”

He shook his head no. “Just Arcannen, as you might have already guessed if you know how I rescued my sister.”

“Tell me what happened, Paxon. Don’t leave anything out. I may be able to tell you more than you know about this business by the time you’ve finished.”

So Paxon, curious now as to what she meant, told her everything, from when Jayet came running up to get him at the cottage to when he returned home safely from Wayford with Chrys in tow. Aphenglow listened without interrupting, attentive to his every word.

When he finished, she gave a deep sigh. “The Druid order knows of Arcannen. This is not the first time he has been involved in something that works counter to our purposes. He will have to be dealt with eventually. He is a skilled sorcerer, but he is also venal and treacherous. You are right to be worried about him. He will come after you sooner or later. He will still want your sword, and he will not give up on trying to get it until he has it.”

“I thought as much.”

“You don’t know the half of it yet. Let me tell you what I suspect is the rest. Ostensibly, your sister got involved with throwing dice at a tavern with a stranger, who later turned out to be Arcannen. She bet more than she had, lost, and couldn’t pay. So he took her out of the tavern and back to Wayford where she could work off her debt at his pleasure house. You tried to stop it from happening, failed at the airfield, but picked yourself up and went after them. While you were attempting a rescue at Dark House, you drew out your sword and discovered it contained magic that responded to you. The magic saved your life. You fought your way free and rescued your sister. All well and good.”

She paused. “But ask yourself this. Isn’t it odd that he made a point of goading you into coming after him to save your sister and while doing so pointedly suggested you bring a weapon? So you did; you brought the Sword of Leah. But what if that was what he wanted you to do, what he expected of you all along? You’ve said you believe he recognized the power of the sword when he saw it—that you could tell as much when he tried to prevent you from drawing it out of its sheath. What if I told you he knew about the power of the sword all along? That he lured you to Dark House by kidnapping your sister so you would bring him the sword?”

Paxon frowned, considering. Arcannen had seemed suspiciously interested in the sword. “But if he wanted it so badly, why wouldn’t he just steal it from the cottage in the first place? It was hanging in plain sight over the fireplace. If he knew of it beforehand, wouldn’t it have been easier to get possession of it that way?”