The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(26)

Paxon soon discovered that three hours of attacking Big Oost had left every part of his body aching. His sword arm, in particular, hurt so badly that even lifting it was a problem. He took the bath as suggested, lying about in the water until it was cold, and then dressed and wandered down to the dinner table. He found Sebec sitting with Avelene at one end of a long table, both of them grinning.

“How’s the sword arm?” Sebec wanted to know.

“Need me to help feed you?” Avelene asked.

He laughed along with them, but even laughing hurt. “Did you have to go through this?” he asked them. “Does everyone have to train with Oost?”

“Druids don’t train with weapons unless they are warrior Druids, and we have very few of those,” Avelene said. Her lean face bent close to her food, as if she was afraid it might get away from her. “There hasn’t been a single one since I came to the order five years ago. Training is reserved mostly for those in the Druid Guard and when Oost decides it is needed for men and women like yourself who are asked to serve as protectors and paladins for the order.”

“Well, how many of those are there?” Paxon demanded.

Sebec cocked an eyebrow. “None, right now. The last was several years ago. He didn’t complete the training. It’s rigorous, I hear.”

Then he and Avelene began laughing anew, trying to muffle it but failing miserably. “Look on the bright side, Paxon,” Avelene declared. “You’ve got no competition! You’ve got the field to yourself.”

Paxon nodded along agreeably and finished his meal quickly so he could go off to bed and suffer alone.


The following morning, Sebec took him up to the cold room and let him have a look at the scrye. Paxon was still sore, but feeling better after his night’s sleep, ready enough for the afternoon weapons practice and confident that he wouldn’t have to limp through it.

They climbed to one of the highest floors in the main building and down a long hallway past many closed doors to one that looked the same as the others, but wasn’t. Inside, a huge stone basin resting on a circular riser housed the scrye’s magic-infused waters. A single Druid sat next to the basin, keeping close watch, monitoring its responses. Or in this instance, its lack thereof, because nothing was happening.

Nodding a greeting to the other Druid, Sebec offered a brief explanation of how it all worked. The basin bottom was inscribed with an intricately drawn map of the Four Lands and surrounding bodies of water and scattered islands. If magic was used anywhere within the Four Lands, it would register within the waters—sometimes as ripples on their surface and sometimes as a boiling deeper down. Now and then, there would even be changes of color.

“This is how we first learned about your sword,” Sebec said. “When you ignited its magic in your confrontation with Arcannen, it revealed its presence in the scrye waters. We followed up from there.”

“So the response of the waters varies according to the strength of the magic expended?” Paxon asked. “The amount of turbulence is directly proportional to the nature of the magic used? And you can read the nuances?”

“Pretty much. A weak usage might not even register, but we aren’t really looking at those incidents, in any case. We are mostly interested in the stronger ones because they indicate a more powerful form of magic and the possibility of greater danger to anyone close.”

“The reaction to my fight with Arcannen must have been fairly dramatic.”

Sebec cocked an eyebrow. “Enough so that the Ard Rhys was summoned immediately. The search to uncover the source of the magic was begun that very night. We found Arcannen quickly enough. It took a little longer to find you.”

“How did you find me?” Paxon pressed. “How did you even know I had been to Dark House?”

“Oh, that wasn’t so hard. At the direction of the Ard Rhys, I flew to Wayford and asked around. We have people living there—friends of the Druids—who keep us informed. Once we knew of Arcannen’s involvement, one of those friends advised me that the sorcerer had just that day flown in from Leah with a new girl for one of his pleasure houses. When I spoke with the airfield manager, he pointed me toward the boy Grehling. He told me about you.”

Paxon pursed his lips doubtfully. “He didn’t seem the type to tell much of anything to anyone.”

Sebec shrugged. “He isn’t. But I can make almost anyone tell me what they know, if I wish it. That’s part of what I can do with my magic.”

Paxon wasn’t all that happy to hear that magic had been used against Grehling, but he supposed it was in a good cause if the end result had led the Druids to him and in turn brought him to Paranor. He didn’t think Sebec would do anything to hurt the boy. Still …

“Sebec!” the other Druid called out, pointing at the basin waters, which were shimmering and giving off tiny ripples just above the outline of the rebuilt Southland city of Arishaig.

Sebec and Paxon moved over for a look. “A medium disturbance, nothing too overt, but heavily concentrated on one area. Or person.” He caught the Highlander’s quizzical look and smiled. “Once you learn to read the waters—something all Druids have to learn how to do—you can pretty much tell what is happening when magic is used.” He nodded to the other Druid. “I will let the Ard Rhys know of this.”