The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(101)

But when he opened his eyes, he was staring at Chrysallin.

“Chrys,” he whispered.

She nodded, tears in her eyes. “Where have you been?”

“I came as quickly as I could. I’m sorry it took so long.”

“I was afraid, Paxon.”

“I know.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “But I can’t remember why. I can’t remember any of it.”

He smiled. “It doesn’t matter now. It’s all over. You’re where you belong.”

And she hugged him to her.


He waited for the Druid Healers to arrive and then went straight to bed. He should have gone to the Ard Rhys, but he couldn’t make himself do anything more. He was so exhausted he didn’t think he could put words together to tell her what had happened. It didn’t matter now, anyway. Chrys was well. The struggle to save her was over. Everything else could wait.

He slept then and did not come awake again until it was almost midday. It took him a long time even then to make himself climb out of bed, wash, dress, and go off to give his report to the Ard Rhys. He took a few minutes to stop at the healing center and let the Druid Healers treat the injuries he had incurred battling Arcannen and Mischa’s creature before continuing on to find the Ard Rhys.

He was almost to her chambers when he passed Oost Mondara in the hallway.

“You are a whole lot of trouble, Paxon Leah,” the Gnome declared abruptly, coming to a stop. “Why is it you aren’t ever where you’re supposed to be?”

Then he glowered at the speechless Highlander enigmatically before continuing on.

Aphenglow Elessedil was still in her office when he knocked. She rose to greet him and embraced him warmly. “We were very worried about you, Paxon. Sit down and tell me everything that happened.”

He did so, omitting only the part about Leofur’s relationship with Arcannen. It took him a while to go through it all, but the Ard Rhys sat quietly and did not interrupt. He took special pains to describe the difficulty he experienced in letting Arcannen escape after he had brought him to bay, choosing to help Chrys rather than capturing the sorcerer.

“I think you made the right choice. I spoke to her earlier today.” She smiled at the look on his face. “The Healers told me she was fully recovered. But I had to see for myself. I had to know how she would react to me. It was all done carefully and with an eye toward her safety. She did not attack me. She didn’t even know who I was.”

“So Arcannen was telling the truth after all?”

“It seems so. She remembers almost nothing of what happened to her. Certainly nothing of her torture and her suffering. Not even much about Mischa—just a vague memory of an old woman.”

“She doesn’t remember any of it? Not the black creature or the gray-haired woman? Not the escape with Grehling?”

“She remembers the boy helping her. She just doesn’t remember any of the things related to the nightmares and the pain. I didn’t want to ask her too much all at once. There will be time for that later. There is one thing, though. And I wanted to ask you before pursuing it. She doesn’t remember anything about using the wishsong.”

“I wasn’t there when it happened,” he said, “but I guessed that was what it was from the description Grehling gave. Chrys had never used it before then; there was never anything to indicate she had inherited it. I don’t think she knew.”

Aphenglow nodded, her brow wrinkling, her face thoughtful. “There is a history of it surfacing in various members of the Ohmsford family after they have reached a certain age. It doesn’t always manifest itself right away. In Chrysallin’s case, I would guess the shock of what she experienced at the hands of Mischa and the threat of having to go through it again brought it out. Chrys just reacted to her fears by voicing them, and the magic came alive.”

“But she doesn’t remember it now?”

“Not a bit of it. My dilemma is what to do about that. She harbors a powerful magic. She’s locked it away inside, but it could surface again at any point. What do we do? Do we let it be or do we find a way to reveal it to her and teach her to master its use?”

“If she doesn’t remember now, maybe she won’t remember at all. I don’t think she should be reminded of anything that happened.” His voice tightened. “I don’t want her put through anything else right away, Mistress.”

“Nor do I,” she said. “I think we should let her be. But I wanted to hear you say it. For the time being, at least, while she is still healing, we should keep it to ourselves. Maybe she will remember at some point, and when she does we will have to be ready to tell her the truth. Now, tell me how you are.”

He said he was fine, a bit battered and bruised, some scrapes and burns, but no broken bones. He had been to the healing center before coming to her and was treated for his injuries. Mostly, it was feeling good about Chrys that strengthened him.

“She’ll remain with us for as long as she wishes—certainly until we know there are no aftereffects from what she went through.” She paused. “One thing more. Are you well enough to undertake a short journey?”

The way she said it told him she was expecting him to say yes. It also told him this was important, and she wanted him to be a part of whatever was going to happen.