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

Almost immediately he found himself thinking back to the previous day and his sighting of the witch Mischa creeping about as she left for Dark House from her rooms in that all-but-empty building she occupied. He couldn’t have said why he connected the two—besides knowing that the witch was in Arcannen’s service and he had seen the two with heads bent close on more than one visit to the pleasure house—but he sensed he might be guessing right.

With the airfield safely under his father’s watch and no work that demanded his immediate attention, there was nothing to keep him from finding out if he was right. So he abandoned his task of repairing the skiff engine, told his father he was walking into town to look for spare parts, and set out. It was an obvious indulgence, a way of satisfying his curiosity and maybe seeing something he shouldn’t—an attraction for any fourteen-year-old boy—but he gave in to it readily with a boy’s excitement at embarking on an adventure. He didn’t do so with foolish disregard for the danger he was risking, because he understood that well enough, but he didn’t shy away from brushing up against it, either.

Down through the city he went, and he had only gone a short distance when he caught up to the sorcerer. Hard to mistake that tall, black-cloaked form, and he began following at a safe distance, staying out of the center of the roadway and up against the buildings. Arcannen didn’t slow, didn’t turn aside, and didn’t glance around. Apparently, he was unconcerned about the people around him, and after a while Grehling began to think he had been mistaken.

But as they neared Dark House, Arcannen paused at the corner of a side street, the one that Grehling knew led to Mischa’s building, and took a long, slow look around. The boy was already pressed back in the shadows by then, out of view of the sorcerer, little more than a part of a building wall. He stayed there for a long time, not bothering to try to peek out until he was certain Arcannen had moved on.

A quick glimpse confirmed that he was right about where the sorcerer was heading, and he began following him once again, more cautiously now, aware of the other’s heightened watchfulness. But Arcannen must have been satisfied he was alone; he had already moved down the side street and was out of sight. Grehling hurried after him and by the time he caught up to him again, close enough to see what he was doing, Arcannen had moved all the way down the alley to the exterior door of Mischa’s building, released the locks and latches, and was disappearing inside.

Standing on the side street across from the alleyway, Grehling considered his options. He had satisfied himself that his hunch about Arcannen was accurate, but he still didn’t know anything about the reason for the visit. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it had something to do with Paxon Leah, even if the Highlander wasn’t here. Of course, he hadn’t been here the last time Arcannen had told the boy to keep an eye out for him, had he?

But Paxon’s sister had, a prisoner in Dark House.

It was too far-fetched to believe she was a prisoner again, but Arcannen might have found another way to lure the Highlander to Wayford. Whatever the case, it was worth waiting around a bit to see what might happen next. All he had to do was be careful not to be seen.

So he moved down the street a short way and ducked into a second alley in which boxes had been stacked near a refuse bin. From there, he could see the entrance to the alley Arcannen had taken without being seen from across the street in turn. He hunkered down, put his rear end on the ground and his back against the building wall, and waited.

Grehling was slender, almost bony, not very tall or muscular—sort of your average fourteen-year-old. If he had to get away quickly, he could run very fast. He was good at following without being seen, at getting into places that were locked up, and at thinking things through in a thorough and logical way. He was something of a wizard himself when it came to airships, able to take them apart and put them back together almost mindlessly. He could fly them, too. He was a better pilot than his father; his father had said so. But if it came to a fight, he was in trouble.

He was afraid of both Mischa and Arcannen, and he did not want to be found by either of them. So he made sure the alleyway in which he was hiding opened at both ends—which the one leading to Mischa’s door did not—so that he had an escape route if he needed one. He would have loved to go up to the door of Mischa’s building, pick the lock, and have a look at what was inside, but he knew such an intrusion was far too risky to attempt. For now, at least, he would have to make do with watching and waiting.

The minutes slipped away, and Arcannen did not reappear. The boy grew impatient, but stayed where he was. He occupied his time with thinking about Paxon and his sword. Grehling really admired that sword, and he wished he could have it for his own. But he imagined it was a family heirloom, passed down from father to son, and Paxon would never part with it. He wondered if he could find a sword like that for himself. Was such a thing possible? He couldn’t imagine there were too many weapons of that sort lying around waiting to be found.

He was still daydreaming when a flicker of motion from across the street caught his eye, and Arcannen reappeared. Grehling, sitting quietly behind the refuse heap, watched as the sorcerer reached the opening of the alleyway and turned toward Dark House. The boy could see his face clearly, but could not read anything into his expression. He waited until the other was out of sight before rising and moving to where he could see the black-cloaked form disappearing from view.

He wondered what he should do. But there really wasn’t anything more he could do at that point, and he had almost made up his mind to return to the airfield when he heard a door slam from across the way and backed quickly out of view once more. Seconds later Mischa appeared, pausing at the head of the alley to look about, just as Arcannen had done moments earlier, before turning the opposite way the sorcerer had gone and shuffling quickly up the street. Grehling edged out from his hiding place so he could see where she went, watching as she continued on up the street until she was out of view.

The boy hesitated. Here was his chance to have a look inside the building. It was risky, but maybe the risk was worth it. Who knew what he might find? What if the sword was in there? Paxon’s black blade? What if Arcannen had stolen it and was keeping it hidden there?

He crossed the street quickly, dashed up the alley, and stopped when he reached the door. The only lock was on the latch plate, and he could tell at a glance it would not keep him out. He used the pick set he had been carrying with him since he was ten, and he had the door open in seconds. If the witch had used magic to secure the entry, he would have been in trouble. But there didn’t seem to be any present. Not that he could know for certain, of course. Still, when he tried to enter, there was no problem. Good enough. If they found out later someone had broken their wards, he wouldn’t be there anyway.

Inside, he looked about. The entire ground floor seemed abandoned. He followed the hallway to the back of the building and the stairs that led to the second floor. He remembered the location of the window where he had seen the light the previous night when he had caught the witch slipping out. He would look there first.

It occurred to him suddenly that if she was only going out for a few minutes and intended to come right back, she might not think it necessary to use magic to secure the premises. He thought he might be wise to hurry his investigation. The only way down from the second floor was by using the stairway or going out a window. Whatever happened, he didn’t want to be caught up here when Mischa came back.