The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(4)

Still, she was better than nothing. At least she thought to voice an objection now and then, and occasionally to provide a different point of view before things got too far out of hand.

Paxon was thinking about this as they reached the Two Roosters and pushed through the doors into the main room.

Everything was quiet, as if nothing of what Jayet described had occurred. Paxon glanced around the room. There was no sign of Chrys.

Raffe was behind the bar trying hard to look like he was busy but not succeeding, his eyes shifting to find Paxon then moving quickly away again.

“Do you see the man she was with?” Paxon asked Jayet.

She shook her head. “He’s gone. So is she.”

Paxon could see that for himself. He strode over to the bar and Raffe. “Where is my sister?”

Raffe glanced up and shrugged. “She left with some man. Not too long ago. Why?”

“Where did they go?”

“How should I know?”

“Think about it.”

“Look, Paxon, it isn’t my job to look after girls who make foolish bets and then find out the hard way when they have to pay the price. Especially ones who just seem to be asking for—”

He never finished whatever it was he was going to say. By then, Paxon had seized him by his tunic front and dragged him halfway across the bar. “I’m only going to ask you once more before I break your arm. Where is my sister?”

“Let go of me, or you’ll …”

His hand was groping for the club he kept under the counter, so Paxon dragged him the rest of the way across the bar and threw him on the floor, stomping hard on his wrist for good measure. Raffe screamed as the bones crunched.

Paxon knelt with his knee on the tavern owner’s stomach and his hand around his throat. “You should answer me, Raffe. Right now.”

“Airfield!” the other gasped, grimacing in pain. “He has a ship there!”

“What’s his name?”

Raffe shook his head.

“Answer me or I’ll break your other arm.”

Raffe spit at him. “Go ahead! He’ll hurt me worse than you can even imagine if I tell you who he is!”

“Paxon!” Jayet was beside him, pulling him back. “Forget this! Go after Chrys. That’s what matters. You know where she is. Maybe you can still reach her before they leave!”

He was so enraged he almost didn’t hear her. But she yanked him backward again and he finally rose, taking a moment to look down at the man at his feet. “If I find out you’ve lied to me, Raffe, I will be back for you. If I find out you lied, I’ll kill you. She’s fifteen years old!” He stepped away. “Let me know if he does anything to you because of this, Jayet.” Then he was out the door.

Maybe he should have taken time to find out more, he thought as he raced toward the airfield. Maybe he should have beaten it out of Raffe. But there wasn’t time. There was every chance he was already too late to catch them. If the stranger, whoever he was, had an airship waiting, he was likely already on his way back to wherever he had come from.

But why he was bothering to haul along a fifteen-year-old girl, lost wager or no, was troubling. Most men wouldn’t have made the effort. Most wouldn’t have gotten into a dice game with her in the first place. But Chrys was tall and mature looking for her age, so he may have thought her much older than she really was. What really distressed him was the thought that it wasn’t the money that mattered, that it was Chrys he had been after all along. Young girls were taken by force all the time to work in the pleasure houses of the large Southland cities. Chrys wouldn’t be the first to end up that way.

Except that she wouldn’t end up that way, he reminded himself. He would find her and bring her home long before she got anywhere near that life. That was a promise.

He ran through the city, charting as direct a path as he could to the airfield, avoiding major avenues and crowds, trying not to exhaust himself before he reached his destination. If Chrys had been taken to the airfield on foot, he might still be able to catch up to her. There was no mention of horses or carriages or other travel. He had to hope. Using alleyways and cut-throughs, he shaved a few more minutes off his time. And the airship would not necessarily be prepped and ready to lift off. It would take time to attach the radian draws and power her up.

He ran faster, close now, the buildings beginning to thin out and become smaller as the edge of the city neared. He was running full-out, eating up the yards, setting a blistering pace. He would reach her, he told himself. He would find her.

And suddenly it occurred to him that he had no weapons.

After all, talk might not be enough to persuade the stranger to let his sister go. Just the fact that he had taken her in the first place—an act that amounted to the kidnapping of a fifteen-year-old girl—showed a certain disdain for authority or any interest in the moral high ground. By deliberately taking Chrys, this man had revealed his character and likely his intentions.

Paxon slowed, trying to think what to do. He should have brought that old sword. Weapons weren’t something they kept in large numbers in his home, although there were hunting knives and a solitary long knife. But the black-bladed sword was a real weapon, and he should have thought to bring it.

Too late for that now. He began to run faster again, catching his first glimpse of the airfield through gaps in the buildings at the end of the street. He would try to find a weapon on the way. Anything would do.