The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(22)
“You know I will. And if you have need of me, for any reason, you will be able to contact me at Paranor.” His smile, when he unleashed it, made him feel suddenly giddy. “I can’t tell you how excited I am to be doing this!”
She snorted. “I can’t believe they want you, of all people. And all because of me. I guess you owe me for that, big brother.”
“Just promise me you won’t ever do anything like that again, and I’ll be even deeper in your debt. We have to go now. I need to sit Mother down and tell her what I’m going to do, but I wanted to tell you first. I want to be sure you will back me up. I don’t want to tell her about Dark House and Arcannen. That will only cause her to worry. So even though that is the real reason the Ard Rhys found out about me, I’m going to tell Mother it was because she knew of the Leahs and their long history with the Druids and thought I might be a good choice because of that.”
His sister’s brow crinkled with doubt. “You think she will believe that?”
He shrugged. “Let’s go find out.”
It turned out their mother never questioned it. She was so happy that her son was finally receiving the recognition and opportunity she felt he deserved that she skipped right past the part about why he was being asked and simply accepted it as his due. He did have to reassure her that he would be all right, that none of this was particularly dangerous, even though he knew in his heart it could be. He shaded all his dissembling just so, both with his mother and his sister, and the matter of the Sword of Leah never came up.
When he went to bed that night, he had mixed feelings about what he had done. He felt it was for the best that he kept certain things back, offering just enough details for reassurance but not so much that it would cause them to worry. Still, lying to them felt wrong. At some point, he would have to tell them about the sword. He wasn’t sure why he was keeping it from them now except he was afraid that knowing he would be involved with magic would cause them to feel less excited about his choice and to view his departure with more trepidation than pleasure. The less they knew—or could talk about—the safer they would be.
Whatever the case, it took a long time before he fell asleep.
Two days later, as scheduled, he flew out of Leah for Paranor and the Druid’s Keep. Sebec was waiting for him at the airfield, as promised, and welcomed Paxon warmly. Stowing the Highlander’s bags in a rear storage compartment, he took the clipper up for a final slow circling of the city that allowed Paxon to enjoy a prolonged last view of its buildings and hills, and then headed north.
In the interim since his return from speaking with Aphenglow Elessedil and pursuant to her suggestion that he set his business affairs in order, Paxon had approached several friends to see if they might be willing to take over the running of his airfreight business. But none of them had either the time or the inclination to take on the extra work, so he had been forced to talk to his larger competitors. None of them was interested, either, but three made offers to buy the business outright. Two of the offers were so ridiculously low that Paxon walked out on them. The third was reasonable, and he liked the man he was dealing with. So on impulse, and with time slipping away, he agreed to the sale. He realized he was cutting ties with the city and his life that he hadn’t planned on, but sometimes when you took a chance it was better to hold nothing back and to go all-in.
He was paid that very day and signed papers for the transfer of all airships, spare parts, and the storage shed. He kept his Sprint and arranged for the manager of the airfield to store and care for it in his absence. He told his mother and his sister what he had done, but neither complained or voiced concern. It was the right thing to do, his mother insisted. Just so long as we have money to buy food, said his sister.
Though hesitant about doing so, he went to Jayet at the Brew Tide to tell her good-bye. She was cheerful and calm until the very end, when she broke down in tears and kissed him and told him she would think of him every day and pretty much clung to him until he pried her loose. It was a little disconcerting, but he supposed she felt a little more possessive of him because of her involvement in getting Chrys back from Arcannen. Whatever the case, he promised he would take care of himself and not indulge in reckless behavior and be back to see her no matter what when he returned to visit his family.
So with farewells exchanged and the airfreight business disposed of, he departed with a sense of finality, prepared to begin anew, his future a bright uncertainty that beckoned with all the flash and elusiveness of a colorful songbird. Nothing was promised him, and what he might gain from this experience was yet to be determined, but the possibilities were out there in recognizable and tempting forms that drew him on.
He made the journey in relative silence, wrapped in thoughts of what lay ahead. Sebec let him be, perhaps sensing what he was going through. It took them all day to reach Paranor, the sun just setting as they skimmed the forests surrounding the Keep before setting down on the airship landing pad. Sebec took Paxon to his new quarters, a room higher up in the building this time, and got him settled in. Then he accompanied Paxon to dinner and introduced him to a few of his friends—Avelene, with her lavender eyes and bladed features; Zabb Ruh, come from a farming village in the deep Southland called Terran, where he had been viewed as a warlock and worse because of his talent with magic; and Oost Mondara, who would be Paxon’s instructor in the use of weapons.
This last introduction was a bit unsettling for a couple of reasons. First, Oost was a Gnome, which meant he was small and wiry and not very impressive physically. How he could instruct anyone as big as Paxon on how to use blades, where close combat was almost always necessary, was difficult to imagine. Second, Oost barely gave him a glance, providing a perfunctory greeting and going right back to eating his meal. Already, Paxon didn’t like him.