The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(55)

“Of course. But he might not want to do this. It isn’t his problem.”

“I’ve already spoken with him about it. He has agreed to go with you and offer what help he can.” She paused. “He likes you, Paxon. He respects your determination and courage.”

“I would be grateful to have Starks come with me,” Paxon said at once.

“Then take today to talk about it with him. Think it through. Consider your options. Leave tomorrow, after you have done so. Remember that you won’t be helping your sister if you act out of haste. You can only help her if you are better prepared and smarter than whoever has her.”

He stood then and faced her. “Don’t worry. I’ll remember. But whatever it takes, I will get her back.”

Then he went out the door to find Starks.

Mischa sat down again, eyes still fixed on Chrysallin. “Drink your tea, get some liquid in your body. Then you should sleep. You’ll be safe enough here.”

“They’ll be … looking for me,” Chrysallin said.

“Arcannen’s away. His minions will look once they find you gone, but that won’t happen right away. Even when it does, they won’t know where to start. They won’t know how you got free or where you might have gone once you did. They’ll look, but mostly they’ll wait for his return.”

“But I … should go before … that happens. While … I still have … a chance to do so.”

“Not in your condition. You aren’t strong enough. Drink, now,” she repeated. “All of it. You leave after you’ve rested a bit, gotten stronger, clearheaded enough to know what you’re about. I can’t go with you. If they find me gone, they’ll know. I have to stay here, keep working, and not let them know I was the one who helped you. No choice in this, girl. I’m at risk now, too.”

Chrysallin nodded quickly. “I know.”

All the while, the pain that had racked her body for the time of her captivity continued to throb and pulse, a constant reminder of her weakened and debilitated condition. She tried to pretend it was getting better, but she could tell it wasn’t. Even without knowing how bad it was, she could be certain it wasn’t good. How many bones had been broken? How many ligaments torn? How many organs irreparably damaged by the torture she had suffered? She wanted to get a look at herself in a mirror, but she didn’t see one anywhere and didn’t want to ask the old woman to give her one.

She could only imagine how she looked. She was grateful to Mischa for not saying anything about it, for letting the matter be.

She set down her tea. “Is there … somewhere I can rest? Just for a little while?”

Mischa led her to one of the two bedrooms in the back of her home. It contained a single bed, a nightstand, and a chest of drawers. She guided Chrysallin to the bed and sat her down. “Sleep here. As long as you want. I’ll be close by. I don’t go back to work until tomorrow. By then, you can be on your way.”

“Where should I go?” Her voice was getting stronger now, clearer.

“Go to your brother. Go to Paranor to find him, if you must. But be aware of the danger you face if you do. She will be there. Home is Leah, but Leah is not safe, either. Arcannen will just come for you again. Best if you get to your brother. Just remember the Ard Rhys is not what she seems. Stay away from her.”

“But it’s Paranor. How can I avoid her?”

Mischa shook her head. “I don’t know. I just know you don’t want to fall into her hands again. Into Arcannen’s hands. If you do …”

She trailed off, looked away, and stood up. “Wait here.”

She left the room, was gone for a few minutes, and then returned. She sat next to Chrysallin on the bed. “Here,” she said. She handed the girl a long, slim object. It was wrapped in a soft cloth, but was hard underneath.

It felt like a knife.

Chrysallin looked at the old woman. “If you are threatened by Arcannen—in any form—use this,” the old woman said. “It’s what you think it is. But very special. Use it without hesitating, without thinking. There will be no time for either. Can you do that?”

Chrysallin nodded slowly, thinking of the pain and anguish, remembering what had been done to her. “Yes.”

Mischa stood. “I’ll leave it with you. It belongs to you now. Keep it safe.” She started away. “Keep it for when you are threatened. Especially by the Elven witch. Remember what she has done to you. Remember she will try to do it again.”

She stopped at the door and turned back, her face haggard, her eyes intense. “I will keep watch while you sleep. As long as I am able. At least until I have to return to Dark House to work on the morrow. But I will be back for you. Rest well, girl.”

Then she went out the door and closed it softly behind her.


It was nearing nightfall when Grehling made his way toward Dark House from the airfield with his delivery. A small box had come in during the afternoon, shipped from Arishaig for Arcannen. Normally, he would have brought it over at once. But Arcannen was not in Wayford now in any case, and he saw no need to rush. He waited until his shift at the airfield was finished—his father had given him the night off—before making the delivery.

He had no idea what was in the box and didn’t care to know. All that mattered was getting it where it was supposed to be and ending his involvement. His attitude toward the sorcerer had not improved since the incident with Paxon Leah and his sister, and he doubted that would change anytime soon.