The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(34)

The belief among the Southlanders, Sebec said, had never changed. A strong military, dominant weapons, and aggressive tactics were what would keep them safe. History suggested this mind-set might never change, even after all the catastrophes and defeats endured, even after all the hard lessons administered. The Southland had its own particular worldview, and as the largest and most heavily populated of the Four Lands, the heartland of the Old World and its storied survivors, it viewed itself as dominant and entitled. It was this attitude as much as anything else that had led it astray repeatedly over the centuries, but that nevertheless continued to prove pervasive among its people.

Discussions on topics such as these filled gaps in the actual training efforts that Paxon underwent over the next few weeks. Sebec used the time between attempts at focusing the magic as opportunities to discuss related matters, providing Paxon with a broader perspective of the world. The Highlander did not discourage or disdain this instruction; rather, he looked forward to and appreciated it. Sebec, in spite of being so close in age, was far more knowledgeable about history and current events, and he had traveled extensively on behalf of the Druids during the time he had been at Paranor and so knew the whole of the Four Lands. Paxon was grateful for the chance to share in what the other had learned.

But it was mastering the skills needed to unlock his sword’s potential that provided him with his most exciting and compelling moments. Because he could not wield the power of the Sword of Leah personally, Sebec was restricted to offering explanations on the nuances of a variation over and over. He was always patient and encouraging, every time, until Paxon would finally begin to comprehend what was needed and see his efforts rewarded. It was a slow, sometimes torturous process, but he wouldn’t have traded it for anything.

So his training progressed, and the three weeks passed swiftly.

He was still in the middle of his education at the beginning of the fourth week when he was summoned once again before the Ard Rhys.


Climbing the stairs to the upper levels of the Keep and the offices of the Ard Rhys, he paused when he reached the closed door behind which she waited, taking a deep breath. He remembered the last time he had come at her summons, brought to her by Sebec to be sent on his first assignment as a protector away from Paranor.

Was this to be his second?

He knocked, heard her bid him enter, and opened the door. Aphenglow Elessedil was bent over her writing desk once more, fussing with several stacks of paper, her ink-stained fingers clutching a quill pen. He bowed in greeting, and she waved him toward a chair to one side. “Sit down,” she ordered. “Pour yourself a glass of ale.”

He found a pitcher and two glasses on a small table beside his chair and did as she had instructed. Sipping the ale, he glanced at the other glass, a possible indicator that someone else was expected.

Five minutes later, the knock came again. “Come,” the Ard Rhys called out, and the door opened to admit Starks. The Druid was dressed in his black robes, and his sleepy expression suggested the summons might have caught him napping. With Starks, it was hard to tell. He smiled and nodded at Paxon.

“I have something new for the two of you to look into,” Aphenglow announced, rising from her desk to face them. She motioned Starks into a second chair, and he sat down at once. “This one involves traveling into the deep Southland below Arishaig to a small farming community called Eusta. Five killings have taken place in a little over a month, all of them by what the community elders are describing as a wild animal. But this animal has been seen and walks upright on two legs. It also seems able to disappear into thin air. It may be a shape-shifter or a changeling or something else entirely, but it is not a normal creature. What we know from reading the scrye waters is that it has the use of magic.”

“Why have we waited so long to respond to this?” Starks asked her.

“Deep Southland, Starks,” she pointed out. “They hate us worse than they hate whatever’s killing them. If the killings hadn’t come so close together, they might have continued to ignore us.” She shook her head. “Such fools. We offered help when we took the first reading, weeks ago. They turned us down. Now they’ve changed their minds.”

“So the magic might come from this thing changing appearances?” Paxon asked. “Or do you think it comes from something else?”

Aphenglow smiled. “I don’t think anything. It’s up to you and Starks to find out the truth. But see that whatever it is, it gets dealt with. Don’t leave it alive. Bad enough that we are shunned when we could help; imagine the reaction if we can’t help once we’ve been asked. The protocol is the same as before. Starks commands, Paxon protects. Don’t get it mixed up.” She sighed heavily. “Be careful with this one; I don’t like things that hide behind false faces. Watch your backs.”

“This doesn’t have anything to do with Arcannen, does it?” Paxon said.

The Ard Rhys cocked an eyebrow. “You can tell me that when you return. Leave in the morning. Travel safe.”

It was a long night for Paxon, who had trouble falling asleep. The idea of another assignment so soon was troubling. He didn’t think he had done all that well the time before, and he had wanted to complete his training before having to go out again. But Starks told him they had no one else to act as protector for the Druids save other Druids, and he believed the Ard Rhys thought additional practical experience would be good for him.