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

“He’s kidnapped Chrys twice. The time before he was trying to make a trade for the sword. This time, I don’t know what he was doing. Except that he knew I would come after her, so maybe it was the same thing again—a trade for my sister. But he tortured her, didn’t he? Or the witch did. I don’t understand the purpose of that.”

“Maybe there wasn’t any purpose. Maybe it was just to teach her a lesson. Arcannen has done it before. He tortures his girls at Dark House when they disobey.”

Paxon shook his head. “But he knew I would find out.”

“Maybe he just didn’t care.” She ran her fingers through her streaked hair. “And he didn’t do it himself. Chrysallin told Grehling that her torturer was a gray-haired Elven woman who stood by and watched the whole thing. She kept asking Chrysallin to tell her something—I don’t know what. Chrysallin apparently didn’t know, either. When Grehling brought her to me, she was barely coherent. It’s hard to know what happened to her.”

Paxon leaned back. “The Healers will help her. Once she’s better, maybe she’ll be able to tell us more. Whatever the case, I intend to go after Arcannen myself.”

Leofur pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking about something. Did you know the Ard Rhys spoke to me about all this earlier, while you were still sleeping? She asked me to tell her everything I could about what happened.”

“Sebec told me.”

She paused. “Well, maybe this doesn’t mean anything, but I couldn’t help noticing that the Ard Rhys could be the woman Chrysallin described.”

Paxon almost laughed aloud. The idea of the Ard Rhys being responsible for Chrysallin’s torture was ridiculous. But then he caught himself, wondering suddenly if there might be a connection he wasn’t quite seeing.

“Tell me what Chrys said about this Elven woman,” he demanded.

By the time Arcannen landed his cruiser in Arishaig’s main port, he was already firmly settled on his plans. He had used the entire trip to mull them over, and he was satisfied that he had thought them through carefully and should proceed to execute them. Execute—a good word for what was needed. The ramifications of what he would do here would be extensive, but they would diminish considerably the chances that the Druids would be coming in search of him anytime soon. He just needed to hide himself for a sufficient length of time for events to proceed to a logical conclusion. How that would all play out, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. His goals, his needs, and his plans would not be changed by what happened after today.

He disembarked the airship with orders to be ready to lift off at a moment’s notice and for no one else to leave, even for a moment. He was wearing the black robe he kept in the onboard locker for situations of the sort he was confronted with today. He spent much of his time disguised as someone else, and the black robe—which was, in fact, one belonging to the Fourth Druid Order—would provide him with the look he required for today’s work.

It was the first of two pieces to the disguise he would assume.

The second was the change he had made to his facial features. Temporary, not permanent, and good for at least several hours, so that whomever he encountered or who happened to get a look at him would be able to describe him accurately to those who would come looking for him later.

He summoned one of the carriages that were always waiting at the edge of the field by the manager’s office and ordered the driver to take him to the Assembly and the chambers of the Coalition Council. He rode inside the closed passenger’s compartment with the curtains drawn and did not bother looking out. He was wrapped in his black robes and had his hood pulled up over his head, leaving only his face and hands visible. He was already deep in character, assuming the behavioral traits of the man he was impersonating. For the next two hours, or however long it took, he would become that man, and those who saw him would have no reason to doubt what they were seeing.

He experienced a brief moment of regret that things had failed to turn out the way he had wanted, but that was the nature of attempting to manipulate others. You had to be fluid in your thinking and in your decision making. Matters had a tendency to go awry no matter how well laid your plans. Arcannen knew this. Never so much so as in this case, but what was required to right the situation was the same as always. He must adapt and he must do so quickly.

And no one was better at it than he was.

When he arrived at the imposing edifice that was now called the Assembly, he paid the driver with Federation credits and ascended the steps leading to the building’s primary entrance. He knew his way and did not have to ask for directions. His robes and the emblem they bore identified him well enough that he was barely slowed at the checkpoints. A few of the guards gave him a look of recognition, and one even saluted him. Good enough. His disguise had not been uncovered. When his business was over, his identity would be confirmed. Eventually, the truth might surface, but by then his plans for the Druid order would have come to fruition as intended.

He wound his way through the Assembly hallways, keeping to himself, doing nothing to suggest that he desired conversation with anyone. In short order, he was standing at the entrance to the offices of the Minister of Security. Here, he was stopped briefly, his identity apparently not so well known. Eventually Crepice emerged to confront him.

“Isaturin,” the aide greeted him, bowing slightly. “We welcome you to this ministry.”

He bowed in return. “I am appreciative of your hospitality. I hope to speak with Minister Caeil. Is he available for a brief conversation?”

Crepice hesitated, his eyes shifting away momentarily and then back again—assessing the situation. Arcannen recognized the look. He was deciding what he should tell Isaturin—a man who was clearly antagonistic toward this office and its avowed purpose.

“Come into the waiting room and let me find out if he can see you.” Crepice had decided favorably. “I am sure something can be arranged.”

He guided Arcannen from the outer office to the reception area beyond and motioned for him to take a seat in one of the chairs set against the far wall. Then he disappeared through the familiar double doors that led to Fashton Caeil’s chambers. Arcannen sat down and waited, thinking through how he would handle what must happen next. Crepice would be right outside the chamber doors, so he would have to be careful.

He had only a few minutes to wait before the doors opened anew and out walked Caeil, his corpulent frame garbed in scarlet robes, his face flushed, his arms outstretched in greeting.

“What a surprise!” he enthused, grasping both of Arcannen’s hands in his own. “This visit is long overdue and much welcomed!” He paused, as if remembering something. “Although I have heard it said in certain quarters that your feelings for this office are not of the warmest sort.”

Arcannen nodded and managed a regretful look. “Times change. Attitudes evolve. I think a meeting between us is long overdue. I am hopeful that a reconciliation between the Federation and Paranor might begin at this very meeting.”

“Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” Caeil released his hands and stepped back. “Come in, then. Let’s sit down and discover what sort of agreement we can achieve.”

Leaving Crepice to close the doors behind them, they entered Caeil’s chambers and sat, Caeil behind his desk, Arcannen in front of it. The minister bent forward to lessen the distance between them and smiled. “So, Ambassador Isaturin, what is it I can do for the Fourth Druid Order and its esteemed Ard Rhys?”