The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(28)

Even his taciturn, acerbic trainer began nodding and voicing approval, and Paxon was starting to feel he might really belong at Paranor with the Druids.

By then, he was studying magic with Sebec in the mornings—classes that were informal and mostly a sharing of the young Druid’s information on how magic worked rather than actual practice.

“Before you can learn magic, you have to understand it,” he told Paxon. “Not just in the raw, instinctual way that you came to discover the magic in your sword, but in an intellectual fashion. You have to appreciate the ways in which it can both help and hurt you. Because it can, sometimes without your meaning it to do so, sometimes without warning or reason, and mostly because you are too reckless and unthinking in your use of it.”

“I didn’t feel any of that when I fought against Arcannen,” Paxon pointed out. They were sitting in one of the classrooms, just the two of them. “If anything, it felt exhilarating.”

“Yes, and there’s danger in that, too. Magic can become addictive. Magic is addictive. You need to be aware of that and not let it become so much a part of your life that it comes to dominate it. All Druids run this risk. Every time they use magic, they chance crossing a line that they can’t cross back over. Brona, in the time of Allanon, was one such Druid—a man who delved too deeply into the arts and was consumed as a result. I’m not saying this would happen to you. But you need to know that magic is never safe and never predictable. It responds to you—to who and what you are inside. It adapts, and sometimes it wants to change you.”

“How am I supposed to protect myself against that?” Paxon wanted to know. “How do I measure the amount of magic expended so that it doesn’t do me some sort of damage?”

“Practice, mostly. But understanding the danger and being aware of it beforehand helps, too. You are less at risk than the Druids who use magic all the time and in varying forms. Your sword is a limited, recognizable sort of magic. There aren’t that many parameters to its use. Eventually, you will come to know them all. Unless you overengage in use of that magic, your exposure and the resultant danger isn’t so great.”

So it went. They discussed how a nuanced use of magic could be mastered, how emotional control could help create the necessary balance between what was intended and unexpected consequences. Sebec explained how, over time, Paxon would come to understand uses of his sword’s magic that he could not even imagine now. The magic’s well was deep and cold, but its taste was sweet and life giving. Paxon’s choice to embrace it would give him strength and purpose; he need only be aware of its limitations and vicissitudes.

Mostly, Paxon agreed with Sebec in his analysis and explanation of magic’s workings, though he longed to experiment and discover its limits. But the young Druid was adamant: He must be patient and he must wait. His concentration now must be on his weapons training. Oost Mondara would not stand for distractions that using magic at this point—even if it was only testing the limits of his sword—would cause.

So more time passed, and more lessons were learned, and better results were achieved on the practice field, but Paxon’s patience was slowly, steadily eroding.

Then, just over two months into his time at Paranor, he was summoned to the chambers of the Ard Rhys.





[page]NINE




IT WAS SEBEC WHO BROUGHT PAXON THE MESSAGE AND WHO delivered him to the door of the room where Aphenglow Elessedil waited. But then the young Druid told him he was to enter alone and left him there. Paxon watched the other’s back recede down the hallway, not quite believing he was being left alone for this meeting. But then he took a deep breath and knocked.

“Come in, Paxon,” the Ard Rhys called out from inside.

He entered and found her waiting in the company of another Druid, a man of ordinary size and appearance, a Southlander by the look of him, one possessed of eyes that were of two different colors—one deep blue and the other lavender. The Druid nodded to him but said nothing.

“Close the door, please,” the Ard Rhys ordered.

He did so and stepped up to where she sat at her writing desk, its small surface cluttered with papers of all sizes, shapes, and colors. “This is Starks,” she said. “I’ve asked him to travel to the Westland to Grimpen Ward where there is evidence of a magic in use. I want you to go with him.”

Paxon didn’t know what to say. “As his protector?”

“That, but mostly as a student assigned to learn from a more seasoned member of the Order. I have spoken to Oost and he tells me you are well along in your training with weapons. He thinks you are ready for some practical experience. This particular journey should suffice. The magic the scrye has discovered is not large and is being applied in a haphazard manner. Whoever has it likely found it by accident and has no real idea how to use it. Or, perhaps, even of the danger it poses. To the finder, this is mostly an interesting toy. Starks will show you how to find such magic and how to retrieve it without calling attention to yourselves or causing harm to anyone else.”

“Will I be allowed to take my sword with me?” he asked.

She nodded. “But you are not to use it unless Starks tells you to or either of you is threatened in a way that absolutely requires it. Absolutely, Paxon. Do you understand why?”

“Because I am still learning about magic? Because I don’t have enough practice with it?”