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

“Let’s go after them,” he said abruptly. “Maybe we can still catch them.”

Starks gave him a look. “Maybe they would like that.” Then he shrugged. “Let’s do it anyway.”

They set out at once. Starks seemed to know where he was going, his head lifted, his eyes peering through the darkness as if he could see beyond it. They went at a fast trot, heading farther outside the town in the opposite direction from which they had come, following a narrow pathway into the trees. The shouts and laughter of Grimpen Ward slowly faded away, and the night’s stillness grew deep and pervasive. The only sounds now were of their own breathing and footfalls as they ran. Paxon had his sword out, ready for use, fully expecting that he would need it. Starks didn’t object. Once or twice, as they were running, Paxon caught sight of familiar boot prints in the soft earth ahead, and he knew they were on the right track.

Ahead, the woods opened onto a broad treeless stretch of pasture, and an airship sat bathed in moonlight on its far side. Two figures were running toward it and had nearly reached it.

“Leah! Leah!” roared Paxon, caught up in the moment, and with a sudden burst of speed he raced right past Starks in an effort to catch the fleeing men.

He should have used better judgment. Ordinary men would have offered no threat to him from this distance. But magic users were another story. They turned, and the entire pasture lit up with explosions of green fire. It had the look and feel of an attack by flash rips and fire launchers, and Paxon was suddenly dodging this way and that to avoid being struck. He heard Starks calling out to him from behind, but he was too busy trying to stay alive to respond.

One of the men abandoned the attack and scrambled aboard their two-man, powering up the diapson crystals and preparing to lift off. Paxon ran harder, close enough now that he thought he could launch his own attack.

But in the next instant he was struck a powerful blow that lifted him off his feet and threw him backward, his clothing on fire and his ears ringing. He collapsed, still clinging to his sword, fighting to stay conscious. An instant later Starks was bending over him, smothering the fire with a sort of dry mist that spilled from his fingers. Paxon gasped for breath and tried to sit up, hearing the sound of the airship ascending into the night sky.

“Stay where you are,” Starks ordered, pushing him down again. “It’s too late now. They’ve gone. What were you thinking, anyway?”

“I just thought … they might panic … and then I could catch them,” he gasped. “Stupid, I know.”

The Druid felt carefully along his arms and legs and torso. “No harm done, apparently. But don’t ever do that again or it will be your last outing with the Druids. Am I understood?”

Paxon nodded. “Can I get up now?”

Starks pulled him to his feet. “At least we know a few things we didn’t know before.”

“We do?”

The Druid grinned. “Well, for one, we know you can’t readily disengage your brain from your impulses. You’ll have to work on that. I’ll tell you the rest on our flight back to Paranor. Come along. And put that sword away, please.”

Feeling both exhilarated and sheepish, Paxon Leah did as he was told.

T

EN

ON THEIR RETURN FROM GRIMPEN WARD, STARKS AND PAXONwent immediately to the Ard Rhys to give their report. It was not a comfortable situation. Nothing they had set out to do had been accomplished. They had failed to find and claim the source of the magic the scrye waters had detected. The user—a boy not yet fully grown—was dead, likely at the hands of the men who had stolen the magic and escaped the Druids. A thorough investigation of the matter failed to turn up any explanation of what the magic was or how the boy had found it in the first place. No one had seen him use it; no one knew anything about how he had found it. No one even knew much about the boy himself. He was an orphan who had come looking for work several years ago and been hired to care for the horses of the inn guests. He lived in the maintenance shed and had no friends.

But, as he had indicated to Paxon, Starks had a couple of pieces of information he felt the Ard Rhys would find useful. First, it was clear that at least one of the men they had fought was a powerful magic wielder with skills the equal of his own. Second, the Druid had noted that the vessel their attackers had been flying had Federation markings, and it was likely the men aboard were in some way connected to the Southland.

“But this is the most important piece of information, Mistress,” he finished. “The men who stole the magic were expecting us. Clearly, they were magic hunters, and they would have taken precautions in any case. But they had set up a watch inside the tavern, and they knew us for who we were even though I wasn’t wearing the Druid robes that would identify us. They had it in their minds to kill us, and they very nearly did. But how did they know to look for us? How did they know we were coming?”

Aphenglow regarded him steadily. “You don’t think it was simply luck, I gather?”

“I don’t. I wish I did. But I think someone knew we were coming and told them so.”

“A spy.”

“Within the order. Yes. It is the best explanation, though not the easiest to accept.”

“No, hardly that.” She looked out her window for a long time, saying nothing. “Why would anyone go to so much trouble to claim a magic that seemed to have so little value? It was a minor magic when it revealed itself to the scrye. Is it possible it was much stronger than we believed? Or that it somehow evolved?”

“That would be unusual,” Starks offered quietly.

The Ard Rhys glanced at Paxon, who was doing his best not to be noticed. “What do you have to add to all this?” she asked suddenly. “You were there. What did you see that Starks didn’t?”

Paxon hadn’t planned on saying anything, so for a moment he was left speechless. “I only saw what he saw. Except …”

He paused, remembering suddenly. “Except that the man sitting at the table who went out the door ahead of us looked familiar. I didn’t see his face. It was the way he moved, how he held himself.” He shook his head. “But I’m not sure.”

“He reminded you of Arcannen, didn’t he?” she pressed him.

He nodded. “He did. But I just don’t know.”

“Well, he would be one who would be magic hunting. And he is a powerful magic user.” Starks smoothed back his dark hair and shrugged. “We should put an end to him, Mistress. Whether he was there or not, we’ve had enough of him.”

The Ard Rhys made no response, but instead got to her feet. “Is there anything more to report?”

To Paxon’s relief, Starks shook his head. He hadn’t said one word about the Highlander’s impetuous and dangerous charge across the pasture or how close he had come to getting himself killed. He hadn’t offered criticism of any kind.

“You may go, then. And thank you both for your service. Paxon, tomorrow you will report back to Sebec in the morning and Oost in the afternoon to continue your instruction. Starks, please write down everything you’ve told me for the records on magic retrieval. Now go eat something and then get some rest.”

And that was the end of matters for several weeks. During that time, Paxon began training with magic, as well as weapons, abandoning the heavy wooden sword in favor of his own blade. It was Oost Mondara who determined he was ready, and Oost who turned him back over to Sebec for his lessons on using magic. Paxon was surprised when he discovered it was to be Sebec, mostly because the Druid seemed so young—not much older than his student, after all. But it made sense that the Druid who had provided him with his lessons on the theory of magic’s uses during their days of long talks and discussions should be the same one who provided his practical experience.