The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(61)

But not this time. Grehling wondered why.

He waited until Arcannen was safely past and out of sight before lifting his head to look in the direction the other had gone, wondering again what he was up to. Because leaving as he had, alone and on foot, suggested he was up to something that he wanted to keep private.

He glanced over at the sorcerer’s airship, where the crew was dropping light sheaths and pulling down radian draws, securing the vessel in place. The guards Arcannen kept for protection milled about, looking bored and disinterested. Curiosity nudged the boy’s thinking, prodding at him like the poke of a finger against his arm. What was going on?

Almost immediately he found himself thinking back to the previous day and his sighting of the witch Mischa creeping about as she left for Dark House from her rooms in that all-but-empty building she occupied. He couldn’t have said why he connected the two—besides knowing that the witch was in Arcannen’s service and he had seen the two with heads bent close on more than one visit to the pleasure house—but he sensed he might be guessing right.

With the airfield safely under his father’s watch and no work that demanded his immediate attention, there was nothing to keep him from finding out if he was right. So he abandoned his task of repairing the skiff engine, told his father he was walking into town to look for spare parts, and set out. It was an obvious indulgence, a way of satisfying his curiosity and maybe seeing something he shouldn’t—an attraction for any fourteen-year-old boy—but he gave in to it readily with a boy’s excitement at embarking on an adventure. He didn’t do so with foolish disregard for the danger he was risking, because he understood that well enough, but he didn’t shy away from brushing up against it, either.

Down through the city he went, and he had only gone a short distance when he caught up to the sorcerer. Hard to mistake that tall, black-cloaked form, and he began following at a safe distance, staying out of the center of the roadway and up against the buildings. Arcannen didn’t slow, didn’t turn aside, and didn’t glance around. Apparently, he was unconcerned about the people around him, and after a while Grehling began to think he had been mistaken.

But as they neared Dark House, Arcannen paused at the corner of a side street, the one that Grehling knew led to Mischa’s building, and took a long, slow look around. The boy was already pressed back in the shadows by then, out of view of the sorcerer, little more than a part of a building wall. He stayed there for a long time, not bothering to try to peek out until he was certain Arcannen had moved on.

A quick glimpse confirmed that he was right about where the sorcerer was heading, and he began following him once again, more cautiously now, aware of the other’s heightened watchfulness. But Arcannen must have been satisfied he was alone; he had already moved down the side street and was out of sight. Grehling hurried after him and by the time he caught up to him again, close enough to see what he was doing, Arcannen had moved all the way down the alley to the exterior door of Mischa’s building, released the locks and latches, and was disappearing inside.

Standing on the side street across from the alleyway, Grehling considered his options. He had satisfied himself that his hunch about Arcannen was accurate, but he still didn’t know anything about the reason for the visit. He couldn’t shake the feeling that it had something to do with Paxon Leah, even if the Highlander wasn’t here. Of course, he hadn’t been here the last time Arcannen had told the boy to keep an eye out for him, had he?

But Paxon’s sister had, a prisoner in Dark House.

It was too far-fetched to believe she was a prisoner again, but Arcannen might have found another way to lure the Highlander to Wayford. Whatever the case, it was worth waiting around a bit to see what might happen next. All he had to do was be careful not to be seen.

So he moved down the street a short way and ducked into a second alley in which boxes had been stacked near a refuse bin. From there, he could see the entrance to the alley Arcannen had taken without being seen from across the street in turn. He hunkered down, put his rear end on the ground and his back against the building wall, and waited.

Grehling was slender, almost bony, not very tall or muscular—sort of your average fourteen-year-old. If he had to get away quickly, he could run very fast. He was good at following without being seen, at getting into places that were locked up, and at thinking things through in a thorough and logical way. He was something of a wizard himself when it came to airships, able to take them apart and put them back together almost mindlessly. He could fly them, too. He was a better pilot than his father; his father had said so. But if it came to a fight, he was in trouble.

He was afraid of both Mischa and Arcannen, and he did not want to be found by either of them. So he made sure the alleyway in which he was hiding opened at both ends—which the one leading to Mischa’s door did not—so that he had an escape route if he needed one. He would have loved to go up to the door of Mischa’s building, pick the lock, and have a look at what was inside, but he knew such an intrusion was far too risky to attempt. For now, at least, he would have to make do with watching and waiting.

The minutes slipped away, and Arcannen did not reappear. The boy grew impatient, but stayed where he was. He occupied his time with thinking about Paxon and his sword. Grehling really admired that sword, and he wished he could have it for his own. But he imagined it was a family heirloom, passed down from father to son, and Paxon would never part with it. He wondered if he could find a sword like that for himself. Was such a thing possible? He couldn’t imagine there were too many weapons of that sort lying around waiting to be found.