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

Chrys was staring at her. “How do … you know this?”

The old woman smiled. “I’ve cleaned Dark House for fifty years, and never a word of complaint, never a day taken that was not given to me. I am as much a part of that place as the furniture and less recognizable. They see right through me. They do not even realize I am there. They think me a crone with no mind and no purpose but to serve them.”

She paused, winking. “That’s how I found out about you. That’s how I learned they caught you and brought you back again after the first time. They talked when I was in hearing, and never knew I was there. Arcannen and his witch woman—they were both of them so much smarter than an old cleaning lady. They let everything slip out, saying how it would work, what it would do for them, when it would happen. I listened at the door to the room where you were held for other bits and pieces, knew what you were going through, but couldn’t get to you. Until now.”

Chrysallin could barely take it all in. It felt like another terrible dream, this whole tale of intrigue and deception. Her brother and herself made pawns, the Sword of Leah used for murder, the Druids infiltrated and subverted by the sorcerer’s magic, an assassination planned—could any of this be real?

“The Elven woman … is a Druid?” she repeated, her mouth gone dry again, her words scratchy and harsh.

Mischa nodded slowly, then rose and came over to the girl, bending down so that her lips were right next to Chrysallin’s ear. “But not just any Druid. Oh, no. She is disguised in clever clothes, that one.”

She stepped back and locked eyes with the girl. “The gray-haired lady, Chrysallin Leah, is the Ard Rhys!”

• • •

At Paranor, in Aphenglow Elessedil’s personal chambers, Paxon Leah sat facing her, his face horror-stricken. “How could this have happened?” he demanded.

Some days earlier the Druid assigned to keep watch over his mother and sister had been killed, and Chrysallin had disappeared. All this while he was off with Starks in the Southland village of Eusta, trying to track down the changeling that had been preying on the people living there. It was so impossible to believe that he was still trying to get his mind around the idea.

“Arcannen?” he asked.

She shook her head in a gesture of uncertainty. “It would seem likely, but we don’t know for certain. No one saw what happened to her. No one saw any sign of Arcannen. Chrysallin simply vanished. Someone took her, and now we have to find out where she is. We are looking.”

“It has to be Arcannen. He’s still trying to get at me through Chrys.” He rose quickly, his weariness forgotten. “I have to go find her.”

“Sit down, Paxon,” she said quietly.

Even though her voice was soft, there was iron in it—an unmistakable authority that he responded to instantly. Slowly, he lowered himself back into his seat. “You can’t expect me to do nothing,” he said to her.

“No, but I can expect you not to do something foolish. Before you go looking for your sister, you have to think it through. You have to know what you are up against. If Arcannen took her, he did so for the reason you already set out—to get at you. So he will be expecting you to come looking for her. He will be waiting for you. He will have a plan to take you prisoner, as well. Or at least a plan to persuade you to give him your sword. It won’t be like it was before. You won’t get your sister back so easily. You realize that, don’t you?”

He nodded sullenly. “I realize it. But at the end of the day I still have to go. I have to find him and deal with him. I have to save Chrys.”

“Then do so with a plan, not with little more than emotions and hope. Starks must have taught you that much in the time you’ve been with him.”

Paxon exhaled wearily. “He did. More than you know. You’re right. I have to give this some thought. He won’t have Chrys with him even if I find him. He will have her hidden away somewhere. He will use her as barter for the sword, but he won’t give me a chance to get her back without first giving up the sword.”

She stood up. “I want you to take Starks with you. He will provide balance to your impetuous urges. He will be a voice of reason and protect against foolish decisions. Listen to him. Do what he tells you. He has a lot of experience, and he tends to be calm even when things come closest to being out of control. Will you accept his help?”

“Of course. But he might not want to do this. It isn’t his problem.”

“I’ve already spoken with him about it. He has agreed to go with you and offer what help he can.” She paused. “He likes you, Paxon. He respects your determination and courage.”

“I would be grateful to have Starks come with me,” Paxon said at once.

“Then take today to talk about it with him. Think it through. Consider your options. Leave tomorrow, after you have done so. Remember that you won’t be helping your sister if you act out of haste. You can only help her if you are better prepared and smarter than whoever has her.”

He stood then and faced her. “Don’t worry. I’ll remember. But whatever it takes, I will get her back.”

Then he went out the door to find Starks.

Mischa sat down again, eyes still fixed on Chrysallin. “Drink your tea, get some liquid in your body. Then you should sleep. You’ll be safe enough here.”

“They’ll be … looking for me,” Chrysallin said.

“Arcannen’s away. His minions will look once they find you gone, but that won’t happen right away. Even when it does, they won’t know where to start. They won’t know how you got free or where you might have gone once you did. They’ll look, but mostly they’ll wait for his return.”

“But I … should go before … that happens. While … I still have … a chance to do so.”

“Not in your condition. You aren’t strong enough. Drink, now,” she repeated. “All of it. You leave after you’ve rested a bit, gotten stronger, clearheaded enough to know what you’re about. I can’t go with you. If they find me gone, they’ll know. I have to stay here, keep working, and not let them know I was the one who helped you. No choice in this, girl. I’m at risk now, too.”

Chrysallin nodded quickly. “I know.”

All the while, the pain that had racked her body for the time of her captivity continued to throb and pulse, a constant reminder of her weakened and debilitated condition. She tried to pretend it was getting better, but she could tell it wasn’t. Even without knowing how bad it was, she could be certain it wasn’t good. How many bones had been broken? How many ligaments torn? How many organs irreparably damaged by the torture she had suffered? She wanted to get a look at herself in a mirror, but she didn’t see one anywhere and didn’t want to ask the old woman to give her one.

She could only imagine how she looked. She was grateful to Mischa for not saying anything about it, for letting the matter be.

She set down her tea. “Is there … somewhere I can rest? Just for a little while?”

Mischa led her to one of the two bedrooms in the back of her home. It contained a single bed, a nightstand, and a chest of drawers. She guided Chrysallin to the bed and sat her down. “Sleep here. As long as you want. I’ll be close by. I don’t go back to work until tomorrow. By then, you can be on your way.”

“Where should I go?” Her voice was getting stronger now, clearer.

“Go to your brother. Go to Paranor to find him, if you must. But be aware of the danger you face if you do. She will be there. Home is Leah, but Leah is not safe, either. Arcannen will just come for you again. Best if you get to your brother. Just remember the Ard Rhys is not what she seems. Stay away from her.”