The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(44)

They talked about it at length as they rode back to the village. Finally, Starks said they would offer a version of the truth. They would say they found out the miller and his daughter were the creature’s next victims and tried to save them, but failed. Both died, but the creature was distracted long enough for the Druids to kill it. The creature was a changeling that assumed the shape of a wolf, as the witnesses had described. But it was dead now, and there was no further danger to anyone.

So they rode back into Eusta and returned the horses to Joffre Struen, giving him the details of the agreed-upon explanation and leaving it to him to tell the rest of the townspeople. Starks made it a point to remind him they were always available to come help should the need arise, and to tell the others not to be afraid or suspicious of the Druids. They were friends, and they would help if they could.

“About two out of five will believe that,” Starks commented as they walked back to the spot where they had left the airship. “But that number’s up from what it was before, and at the end of the day the problem is the same. We have to win the doubters, the disbelievers, and the antagonistic over one at a time.”

They found the airship with no problem and boarded for home. Starks went back to his station in front of the pilot box and to his reading. After moving aimlessly about the decking for a time, Paxon settled down by the bowsprit to mull over what had happened. He kept thinking he should have realized the truth sooner; he could not shake the feeling he must have missed something he should have seen. Mostly, he thought of Iantha’s young face and her eagerness to be liked—nothing you wouldn’t find in any ordinary young girl. She hadn’t been much older than Chrysallin, and it haunted him that a young girl’s life could be cut short so easily and without any fault on her part. He realized anew how lucky he was to have gotten his sister free of Arcannen before something evil had happened to her.

He wished he could have done the same for Iantha.

He found himself wondering what the Ard Rhys would do with the deadly stone that had cost the girl and her father their lives. He hoped she would smash it into a thousand fragments and throw them into the sea.

Below him, the countryside passed away in a rolling carpet of plains and forests and fields with rivers angling through it all. The rain, which had started much earlier and continued to fall throughout the day, abated finally, but the gloom and a misty haze remained. Long before it became dark, they were enveloped in low-slung banks of clouds. Far away, distant from where they flew, lights began to appear in the towns and villages, fireflies against the closing darkness.

They spent that night in the Tirfing aboard ship. Paxon was unable to sleep, and he took the watch, sitting forward by the bowsprit once more, looking out over a countryside moonlit and calm beneath a clear sky, still troubled.

He was there only a short time when Starks came over to join him.

“Not happy with things, are you?” the Druid asked.

Paxon shook his head. “I should feel better about this than I do.”

“You were sent to protect me, and you did. You were sent to help me find and destroy the creature that was killing the people of Eusta, and you did. You were sent to bring back whatever magic was at work, and you have.” Starks nodded to himself. “That’s as much as you can expect, Paxon. You might wish it made you feel better, but that isn’t always how it is afterward. You have to accept that.”

“I know. But I can’t forget how she looked when she was dying. She was a victim of what that gemstone had done to her. She wasn’t a bad person. She was a victim. She shouldn’t have had that happen to her.”

“No one should. But life isn’t fair, and the right thing doesn’t always happen. You know that.”

Paxon didn’t respond. He did know. But he didn’t like it, and he wasn’t happy about how it left him hollowed out and dissatisfied.

“It just doesn’t feel like we did as much as we could.”

Starks gave him a nod. “This is how it is. Sometimes, it isn’t so satisfying. Sometimes, people die. We do what we can, Paxon. You have to be at peace with that. If you think you need more, you shouldn’t be doing this.” He paused. “Maybe you should give that some thought.”

He rose. “But I think you are doing exactly what you should be doing. You did well back there. You showed courage and intelligence. You have my approval even if you don’t have your own. I’m going to bed. You should do the same.”

He disappeared below, leaving Paxon to consider how much of what he had just heard he believed.


They reached Paranor by midafternoon of the following day. Starks told Paxon to go clean up while he gave his report and the sack containing the dangerous gemstone to the Ard Rhys. She would want to see him later, but he might as well look and smell a little better before that happened.

So Paxon washed and dressed in fresh clothes, then walked down to the dining hall to find something to eat. He was midway through an especially wonderful potato leek soup when Starks reappeared.

“She would like to see you right away,” he said. He did not look happy.

Paxon didn’t miss it. “What’s wrong?”

“It would be better if she explained. Go to her working chambers. She’s waiting for you there.”

Paxon left the table and his half-eaten meal and went down the hallways and up the stairs of the Keep until he reached the door that opened to her chambers. He paused, a premonition already telling him that this was bad.