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

“But she felt strongly about it. Her younger sister, Arlingfant, had become the new Ellcrys, and she believed her own sacrifice should be at least as meaningful. So with Seersha and a shape-shifter named Oriantha, she rebuilt the remains of the Fourth Druid Order. Afterward, she immediately began to search out new members, traveling the length and breadth of the Four Lands to find suitable candidates for training. Surprisingly, there were dozens. But she kept the number small at first, choosing only those who had a natural affinity for or actual possession of magic. She rebuilt the order slowly and with care. Then she reached out to all the governments and rulers of the Four Lands to ask for their support. Some gave it freely; others did not. Interestingly enough, it was the Dwarves and Trolls who were most supportive at first. The Elves remained reticent, even with Aphenglow as the Ard Rhys and her uncle as King of the Elven people.”

“But she must have found a way to break down that barrier,” Paxon interjected.

“Time and patience.” Sebec stopped them at an overlook and leaned on the half-wall contemplatively. “When her uncle died, a member of the Ostrian family ascended to the throne. She was less inclined than others to vilify the Druids. She was a more pragmatic and farseeing ruler, and she understood that the Elves and the Druids were natural allies. They had always shared a belief in the importance of and need for magic in the world. The Southland had already banned the use of all magic within its borders, and their position on the matter was intractable, not open to discussion. Although Arishaig had been rebuilt as the capital city, and a new Coalition Council with a new Prime Minister had been installed, the same old prejudices were embraced. Science was the path to prosperity and a better world; magic was outdated and dangerous and elitist.”

He paused. “Seersha was dead by then. She died in her sleep, the Histories say. Oriantha was acting Ard Rhys during a long period of time following Seersha’s death when Aphenglow went into the Druid Sleep. While she held that position, she did something Aphenglow had never been able to do: She managed to open lines of communication with the Federation and arrange for an exchange of ambassadors. Perhaps it was because she put a new face on the order or perhaps the Federation grew tired of its isolation. In any event, even with their differences about the need for magic still a barrier between them, they began talking to each other on a regular basis. It was the beginning of a more open relationship between the Druids and the Southland. The other lands quickly took advantage of this and joined in. Delegations visited and information was exchanged. Even the Gnome tribes participated, insofar as they could manage any kind of agreement regarding who was to represent them. It was the first time in history that this had ever happened.

“By the time the Ard Rhys awoke from her Druid Sleep, Oriantha was old and worn out, and she left the order shortly after. She was never seen again. The entire order was new, and Aphenglow found much that was different from when she had gone into the Druid Sleep. This was eight years ago. I came to her in her first year after waking, sent by a friend of one of the other Druids. She interviewed me, and I was accepted into the order. I already knew a little magic, so that helped. Two weeks later, she made me her personal assistant. She says she likes the way I think. She says I am more organized than she is, and I am younger and have greater energy. That helps to prevent her from wearing herself too far down.”

He smiled ruefully, running his fingers through the dark curls of his hair and shrugging. “She’s coming to the end of her life. I can’t imagine the world without her. I have been her assistant for seven years now, and I would gladly serve her for fifty. It has been my great privilege. She is the kindest person I have ever known.”

He was lost in reverie for a few seconds, and then he straightened abruptly and started ahead once more. “We’ll have a quick look at the study rooms and lecture halls and then go down to lunch. Afterward, you can start your training with Oost.”

E

IGHT

AS HE HAD PROMISED, FOLLOWING LUNCH SEBEC DELIVEREDPaxon to Oost Mondara, who was waiting for him in the courtyard of the Keep reserved specifically for weapons practice and training. The yard was dusty and sunlit, and there were no other Druids or trainees about. Oost was standing by a rack of weapons, arranging them in a manner that suggested the paternal love of a father for his children.

“From now on,” the Gnome said without turning around, “I will expect you to be here promptly at noon. This area is reserved for your training each day for three hours exactly, and I know you don’t want to waste a minute of it.”

“Good luck,” Sebec whispered to Paxon, and hurried away.

Paxon, determined to do whatever it took to prove he belonged, stepped forward and bowed. “I apologize.”

The Gnome turned slowly to face him. In the daylight, he was even more gnarled and bent. “Apologies are not necessary between a teacher and a student. Nor is bowing required. Now, let’s have a look at you.”

He made a slow circle of Paxon, saying nothing until he had completed his study of the Highlander and was facing him anew. “You have a solid build and good posture. You might not think that’s important, but how you carry yourself defines how you will perform with a blade. Is that your sword you have strapped to your back?”

“It is,” Paxon said. “I thought—”

“Take it off.” The command was brusque, perfunctory, as if perhaps it shouldn’t have even been necessary. “You won’t be needing it today. Or for quite a while yet. Tell me of your training. Formal or informal?”

“Informal,” Paxon admitted. “But I drilled with members of the Border Legion and the Red Guard while they were on leave and visiting Leah. A few were stationed in the Highlands and offered to teach me.”

The Gnome’s face crinkled in distaste. “How wonderful for you. But your education here will take a slightly different direction. I am sure you know how to use your sword in at least a rudimentary way. I am sure you could defend yourself, if need be. I am equally sure that once you discovered your sword possessed magic, you began thinking you might never again need to worry about fighting an average sort of battle. You could just use magic if things got too rough.”

Paxon almost said no, just to be perverse. But instead, he nodded. “It crossed my mind. But obviously you don’t approve.”

“Obviously I don’t. That sort of thinking can get you killed. Magic is a wonderful thing, but it is unpredictable and treacherous. It cannot be relied upon one hundred percent of the time. And it only needs to fail you once to put an end to your life. An ordinary blade, on the other hand, is always constant. Learn to use it, and you have only the limitations of your education and skills to hold you back. My job is to provide instruction that will allow you to know going into any battle what you can expect from your weapon and yourself. If you are forced to fight, you want no hesitation. Am I making myself clear?”

“Very.” He reached back, released the buckle that held his sword and sheath in place, and removed them.

“Give them to me, please,” Oost Mondara ordered, and held out his hand.

Again, Paxon almost declined. But what he hoped was good judgment and common sense overruled his reluctance, and he gave up the weapon to the Gnome. Oost took it from him, balanced it in his hand, drew out the blade and examined it from every angle, struck a combat stance against an imaginary foe, and sheathed the blade once again.