The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(11)

Arcannen smiled. “Depends on how you value things. I value young women. I insist they keep their word when they make bets with me. This one made a bet and couldn’t pay when she lost. Bringing her here isn’t all that much trouble. Putting her to work is easy enough. Maybe she will like it well enough that she will want to stay on.”

He shrugged. “You, on the other hand, are a bit of a problem. I have no work for you. I would have preferred it if you had stayed in the Highlands, but since you have failed to do even that much I have to deal with you more harshly than I wanted to. I hoped the beating would be enough to keep you from coming here. But your sister was right. You are beyond stubborn.”

Paxon noticed the deep bruise across the far side of his sister’s face for the first time. She had been struck and struck hard. He felt his anger resurfacing, crowding out his fear. He had to get Chrys out of here, no matter what it cost him.

Arcannen seemed completely at ease. He didn’t appear to have any weapons, and none of his men seemed to be about. His confidence was troubling. It suggested that whatever magic he had was more than enough to disable or kill Paxon.

“Did you bring any money?” Arcannen asked suddenly.

Paxon shook his head. “I don’t have any money.”

“So you decided you would steal her back? That’s not very honorable of you. Didn’t your parents teach you better?”

“I don’t think you should be talking to me about honor. Why don’t you just let me have my sister back?”

Arcannen shook his head. “We are covering familiar ground. I think I’ve made my position clear on the matter. There’s no reason to talk about it any further.”

He got to his feet, still smiling. Then he stopped suddenly, as if something had just occurred to him. “I have a thought. Perhaps you would be willing to trade me something for your sister, something you don’t value as much as you value her. For instance, that sword.”

Paxon automatically glanced over his shoulder at the handle of the black blade. The Sword of Leah. “Why would you want that?”

Arcannen shrugged. “I collect old weapons, especially blades. That one seems very old and might have some real value. I could be wrong, but if I’m right I will make back what I would lose by letting you have your sister. You, on the other hand …”

He let the rest of what he was going to say hang. But it didn’t need saying. Which was more valuable to Paxon—his sister or the sword?

But he hesitated anyway. Something about this felt wrong. Instinctively, he sensed that Arcannen recognized the weapon and knew something about it he didn’t. He was awfully quick to give up on Chrys after refusing even to consider releasing her before.

“The offer is only good for the next ten seconds,” Arcannen threw in, looking suddenly bored. “I am already beginning to lose interest. After all, I can do so many more interesting things with your sister than I can with an old sword.”

Paxon was certain something wasn’t right now. Arcannen was pressing too hard. “All right, but only if you release my sister first.”

The sorcerer gave him a sharp look. “Why would I agree to that?”

“If I give you the sword, you will have both the sword and my sister—here, in your own building. I’d be a fool.”

Arcannen studied him further, then shrugged. Pulling out a knife, he severed Chrysallin’s bonds and removed the gag. She scooted off the bed and stood uncertainly, as if perhaps she hadn’t gotten her balance back. Then she moved over to stand beside her brother, ignoring Arcannen.

“Are you all right?” Paxon asked. “Are you hurt?”

His sister shook her head. She was almost as tall as he was, though still gangly and awkward in the way of very young fillies, but there was such determination in her eyes that it gave him pause.

“Now give me the sword,” Arcannen ordered, still standing next to the bed.

Paxon leaned over and kissed his sister’s cheek. “Get behind me,” he whispered, keeping his face hidden with hers. “Jayet is outside the door.”

She moved behind him obediently. “Open the door, Chrys,” he told her, facing Arcannen again. “See what’s out there.”

She did as he asked, then rushed out into Jayet’s arms.

“The sword?” Arcannen pressed. “You won’t get out of here alive otherwise.”

“Go downstairs,” Paxon called over his shoulder to the girls. “Get out of here. I’ll catch up to you in a minute.”

“You try my patience!” Arcannen snapped, starting toward him.

But Paxon quickly reached over his shoulder and unsheathed the sword. “Don’t you want to examine it first and make certain of what you are getting?” he asked, holding the blade in front of him. The black metal glittered in the dim light. “Come, have a look.”

The sorcerer smiled. “You never intended to give it up, did you? You intended to keep it all along.”

“Remember what you said about me a moment ago, about not being very honorable? It seems that, where you are concerned, it’s true.” He backed toward the doorway, eyes fixed on the sorcerer.

“Put it down!” Arcannen ordered, his face flushed, throwing back his robes. “Do it while you still have the chance, boy!”

“Stop calling me ‘boy,’ and I will consider your suggestion.”