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

He paused in his thinking. To do what?

In point of fact, what were those bands? He really didn’t know. But he would find out, once he got somewhere safe and could talk to Chrysallin about it.

“Keep moving,” he said. “You’re all right now. You’re doing fine.”

She murmured something unintelligible, but gripped him more tightly with the arm she had slung across his shoulders. She was tall, taller than he was, and it was awkward trying to steer her. She was keeping upright, but it was taking everything she had to do so.

“Don’t look at me,” she said at one point, and he thought she must be embarrassed by her lack of clothes and wished he could find a robe or shawl with which to cover her.

But there was no time for that or anything else. He had to get out of the witch’s rooms and her building and safely away. Time was something he didn’t have to waste.

He reached the door and flung it open and abruptly found himself face-to-face with the witch. There was no time to think, no chance to do anything but react. He slammed his fist into Mischa’s snarling face, catching her flush between her eyes. He was small and not much of a fighter, but desperation and fear lent him unexpected strength and the blow packed real force. Her head snapped back, her eyes rolled up, and down she went.

Leaning Chrysallin against the wall, he bent over the witch, made sure she was unconscious, then pulled off her boots and put them on the girl. In less than a minute, he had his arm around Chrysallin once more, steering her down the hall to the stairs, down the stairs to the first floor, then down the passageway there and out the door to the alleyway.

Whatever he was going to do now, he thought worriedly, he had better do it fast.

E

IGHTEEN

EMERGING FROM MISCHA’S BUILDING INTO THE ALLEYWAYwith Chrysallin clinging to him, Grehling was surprised to find that dusk was setting in. He’d paid no attention to the time of day while tracking Arcannen and then freeing the girl, and he was vaguely disturbed to find he no longer had much daylight left. He supposed this was an automatic reaction to a change he hadn’t anticipated, but he also knew it was a response to not wanting to be caught out in his present circumstances after dark.

He slowed at the alley entrance and peered both ways down the street beyond. A solitary cart was ambling along from his right, pulled by a donkey and driven by an old man. No one was in view to his left, in the direction of Dark House. It was as much as he could have hoped for; one old man did not suggest problems. But he was still dizzy from punching Mischa in the face and having to half carry Chrysallin out of the house, and feeling less than able to deal with much of anything more.

Especially Mischa.

If she caught up to him now …

He wondered suddenly if she knew who he was. He didn’t think so, but he couldn’t afford to take the chance. That meant he couldn’t haul Chrysallin back to the airfield and try to hide her there. If the witch had recognized him, she would bring Arcannen right to his front door. He had to get Chrysallin out of the city altogether if he wanted to be sure she was safe. He had to return her to her brother.

But first he had to get them both off the streets of the city and out of sight.

The cart with the old man and the donkey rolled past, and he turned to Chrysallin. “Can you walk yet?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

At least, she seemed a bit more lucid. She was no longer muttering to herself and sounding as if she were drunk, even if she still looked it. He eased her out of the alley and turned her down the street. She was doing better with supporting herself, not entirely able to let go of him and still staggering slightly, but making an effort at walking alone. Fortunately, this was a part of the city where a boy walking with an intoxicated girl wouldn’t attract much attention.

But it was a long way to the airfield, if he intended to go there, and now he was thinking maybe he should, in spite of the danger. If Mischa had recognized him, she would come after him. But whether she did or not, Chrysallin Leah was not safe in Wayford and had to be taken somewhere else. To do that, he would need an airship to fly her there.

Which meant going to the airfield.

But afoot it would take forever.

He was sweating heavily now, and the fear that had been temporarily submerged by his earlier excitement was resurfacing. What had he done? He still couldn’t believe it. He was risking his life for a girl he didn’t even know for reasons he couldn’t quite define. He knew it was the right thing to do, but it was so foolish it bordered on insanity. He had heard the stories of what Arcannen did to his enemies. He knew what was likely to happen to him if he were caught out at this point. And Mischa’s reputation was no less terrifying, and her response unlikely to be much different than Arcannen’s.

“We have to walk faster,” he muttered.

But Chrysallin was moving as fast as she could, and even after long minutes they had only gotten a few blocks away and were still on the main road. He was beginning to panic now, in danger of losing what little confidence he had left. He had to find a new plan, change what he was doing to something that made sense, and get off the street!

Then he remembered Leofur Rai.

She lived not two blocks away, just off this roadway, tucked back down a narrow pass-through. He didn’t see much of her anymore, but she might be willing to help him. Of the alternatives he could manage to conjure, this was the best one.

Chrysallin had begun muttering to herself again, slipping in and out of lucidity, head drooping, body starting to sag. She wasn’t strong enough for this yet, and it further convinced him that getting her to a place where she could rest was essential. He moved her forward, speaking to her softly as he did, urging her to keep going, to be strong, to remember she was free and would soon reach her brother.

They were just words and maybe even wishful thinking, but they kept her going. He could tell she heard him and was responding, but her focus was limited and her strength barely equal to what was required of her.

Nevertheless, he got her to the side street and into the pass-through, and in moments they were standing at Leofur’s door. He tried to imagine for a moment what his reception would be like, but failed to manage an image that could do it justice. So in the end, he simply knocked, stepped back from the entry, and waited, doing his best to keep Chrysallin steady as she swayed drunkenly, trying to put together in his head the words he would need to persuade Leofur to help.

When the door finally opened, there she was, exactly as he remembered her. Brilliant green eyes, honey-colored hair artificially streaked with silver, perfect features, not very big, sort of on the short side, but immediately unforgettable. He’d fallen in love with her the moment his father hired her to care for him—she only fifteen, he still a child and not yet even aware of what real love was, but spellbound even so. His mother was dead by then, and his father didn’t want him to grow up without a woman’s hand. So Leofur had been brought in to care for him in those years before his father remarried, and even at eight years of age he was smitten from day one.

A hopeless infatuation, of course, but it was one he still remembered as if it had happened yesterday. When she left, he had thought he might follow her. But by then he was realizing how hopeless it all was, and so he had chosen not only to quit thinking about her but also to not see her again.