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

Though he was willing to wait and see before writing off its chances altogether.

And with the Druid dead and a full-scale hunt to find and punish him inevitable, his plans for gaining control over the Druid order were evolving anew. The opportunity was still there. His path to the Druid archives and their collection of talismans and magic was still open to him. All he needed to do was to widen it a little, to smooth things over sufficiently that access was assured.

He thought he knew now how to make that happen. Not as he had planned in the beginning, but as he now determined was necessary.

A fresh plan, a fresh start.

It would begin in the Federation city of Arishaig.

• • •

In another part of the skies, some hours later, Paxon Leah was winging west toward Paranor. He was aboard the Druid airship he had flown to Wayford, bearing his still-catatonic sister and the body of his friend and companion Starks back to the Fourth Druid Order. He had intended to fly back alone, thinking to sail the airship singlehanded.

But flying an airship the size of a Druid clipper was risky in any case, and more so here, where he was distracted by what had happened to him and by his sister’s need for constant attention. It was Leofur Rai who pointed this out and Grehling who was quick to back her up. He should not be flying solo; she and the boy would accompany him, offering assistance where it was needed, either in sailing the airship or in providing care and companionship for Chrysallin. Once she was safely returned to Paranor, they would find a way home again. In the end, he saw the wisdom in what they were suggesting and reluctantly agreed.

It was his reluctance to permit anyone to be around him just now that had caused him to resist the offer in the first place. He was still in shock over what had happened to Starks, and he did not think himself fit company. The loss of his friend was something from which he did not think he would ever recover. The guilt he was feeling was enormous. In part, he blamed himself for not going with the Druid in pursuit of Arcannen. In part, it was his sense of having failed again—a pattern of lapses that seemed to mark his entire brief career as a Druid protector. Only this time it had cost a life.

He brooded about it on the flight north, whether standing at the controls or sitting with his sister. The other two did not try to engage him in conversation, clearly aware that if he wanted someone to talk to he would let them know. Neither made any attempt to distract him from his dark mood. They were simply there to help him where they could, doing what was needed to keep him on track to complete his return to Paranor and to those who might better be able to address what had happened.

They flew through the remainder of the day and into the night, lighting the ship’s guidance lamps, tracking their way across the darkened terrain under a cloudless sky brightened by an almost full moon and millions of stars. They encountered no other vessel or any form of disruptive weather, and it was still several hours before dawn when they reached their destination.

Trolls from the Druid Guard met them on the landing platform that connected to the north tower and swiftly bore Starks away. Because of the hour, Paxon was sent to his quarters while Chrysallin was taken to the healing center and Grehling and Leofur to rooms on the visitor level. There would be plenty of time to give reports after they had rested. The Ard Rhys would be informed. For now, sleep was what was needed. Matters were handled in the usual efficient manner, and all four were dispatched to their beds.

Paxon slept until noon. His sleep was deep and dreamless, and when he woke Sebec was waiting to receive him, lingering just outside his room.

“Come with me,” he said. “The Ard Rhys is anxious to see you. At present, she is speaking with the boy and has just finished interviewing the young woman. Leofur, isn’t it? I’ll take you to sit with her until it is your turn to report to the Mistress.”

He paused as they walked toward the dining hall. “I am very sorry about Starks. I know you will miss him greatly.”

Paxon said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Then he stopped suddenly. “I should see about Chrysallin.”

Sebec slowed, but shook his head. “Please wait on that, Paxon. The Healers are working with her just now, trying to find a way to bring her out of her catatonia. She is deeply under the influence of her self-induced withdrawal, and so far nothing anyone has said or done has been strong enough to bring her back. It might be best not to interrupt their efforts.”

Although he didn’t like the idea of not going immediately to see Chrys, he understood Sebec’s reasoning and let the matter slide. But he made the young Druid promise to inform him the moment the Healers were done working with his sister—even if it was for just a short time—so that he could go to her. She might not know him yet, but he still thought his presence might be enough to help her recover.

Minutes later, he found himself sitting with Leofur Rai in the dining hall. Sebec had returned to the Ard Rhys, and the two of them were off in a corner by themselves.

“Did you sleep?” he asked her, knowing she would wait for him to speak first.

She nodded, her silver-streaked hair rippling in the sunlight. “Better than I thought I would after what happened.”

“Your wounds are better?”

“Fine. Healing.”

He looked down for a minute. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did. Taking Chrys into your home, sheltering her when you knew how dangerous it was, making a stand against that black thing, facing down the witch—I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”

“Sure you can,” she said. “You did pretty much the same. You ended up saving us from Mischa’s creature, and Chrysallin saved us from the witch. We came through it because we each made a stand when it mattered.”

“Still, I owe you for that.”

She shook her head. “You don’t owe me a thing. No one does.”

The way she said it puzzled him. “So you knew Grehling when he was much younger?”

“I helped his father raise him for a little more than four years. Do you want to eat something? I’m pretty hungry.”

He found he was hungry, too, and they went into the kitchen to see if there was any food to be had and emerged with full plates. They ate in silence, and when they were finished Paxon said, “What sort of weapon did you use on Mischa’s creature? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Her nose wrinkled in something that suggested distaste. “A handheld flash rip. They’re new. A fresh invention from the Federation that relies on a set of specially faceted diapson crystals for its power. Word is, they’re working on other things, too. Weapons development is high on their list of priorities. They intend to rebuild their army.”

From what it once was before the demons broke free of the Forbidding and destroyed the old city of Arishaig and most of its army . He hesitated. “How did you come by one?”

She shrugged. “Payment for a favor. A foolish, impulsive gesture on the part of the original owner, in my opinion. But he’s not likely to complain. Tell me about your sword.”

She was clearly uncomfortable talking about the flash rip, but he didn’t want to say too much about his talisman, either. “An ancient weapon. It’s been in the family for many generations. It was infused with magic by the Druid Allanon for one of my more famous relatives, Rone Leah.”

“And Arcannen knew about this sword? And that was why he took Chrysallin—he was trying to get to you?”

“Grehling’s been talking to you about this?”

“Some of it. Some I figured out on my own. Am I right?”