The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(62)

He was still daydreaming when a flicker of motion from across the street caught his eye, and Arcannen reappeared. Grehling, sitting quietly behind the refuse heap, watched as the sorcerer reached the opening of the alleyway and turned toward Dark House. The boy could see his face clearly, but could not read anything into his expression. He waited until the other was out of sight before rising and moving to where he could see the black-cloaked form disappearing from view.

He wondered what he should do. But there really wasn’t anything more he could do at that point, and he had almost made up his mind to return to the airfield when he heard a door slam from across the way and backed quickly out of view once more. Seconds later Mischa appeared, pausing at the head of the alley to look about, just as Arcannen had done moments earlier, before turning the opposite way the sorcerer had gone and shuffling quickly up the street. Grehling edged out from his hiding place so he could see where she went, watching as she continued on up the street until she was out of view.

The boy hesitated. Here was his chance to have a look inside the building. It was risky, but maybe the risk was worth it. Who knew what he might find? What if the sword was in there? Paxon’s black blade? What if Arcannen had stolen it and was keeping it hidden there?

He crossed the street quickly, dashed up the alley, and stopped when he reached the door. The only lock was on the latch plate, and he could tell at a glance it would not keep him out. He used the pick set he had been carrying with him since he was ten, and he had the door open in seconds. If the witch had used magic to secure the entry, he would have been in trouble. But there didn’t seem to be any present. Not that he could know for certain, of course. Still, when he tried to enter, there was no problem. Good enough. If they found out later someone had broken their wards, he wouldn’t be there anyway.

Inside, he looked about. The entire ground floor seemed abandoned. He followed the hallway to the back of the building and the stairs that led to the second floor. He remembered the location of the window where he had seen the light the previous night when he had caught the witch slipping out. He would look there first.

It occurred to him suddenly that if she was only going out for a few minutes and intended to come right back, she might not think it necessary to use magic to secure the premises. He thought he might be wise to hurry his investigation. The only way down from the second floor was by using the stairway or going out a window. Whatever happened, he didn’t want to be caught up here when Mischa came back.

He went up the stairs to the second floor and turned down the hallway to where the witch’s rooms were located. He stood before the door and put his ear against it, listening. No sounds were audible. He tried the handle. Locked. Again, he produced the picks, working the locks cautiously until he heard each release.

Pushing down on the handle once again, he opened the door and stepped inside. He was standing in a space with a couch and two chairs, a small dining table, and a stove. A hallway farther back led to several closed doors. He glanced around, assuring himself there was nothing lurking in the room’s deep shadows before he started down the hall. He stopped at a pair of closed doors, one on either side of the corridor. From beneath the door on the left, flashes of wicked greenish light were visible.

Now he was afraid. Really afraid. There was magic at use inside that room; he was certain of it. But he had no idea what sort of magic; he could not know what he would find if he opened the door to see. He was carrying no weapons, and he wasn’t big enough to stop much of anything that might come after him. He wondered suddenly if he had overstepped himself by coming in here in the first place. Maybe he should have let well enough alone until Paxon reappeared—if he was coming at all—and tell him what was happening and let him decide what needed doing.

But then he got angry with himself. He was not a coward, and he was acting like one. He could risk a quick look, couldn’t he? He had gotten this far. He was fast enough that he could slam the door shut again and flee down the hall and out of the building before anything in that room could get to him. Flashes of green light didn’t mean anything. Since when could that hurt you?

Since the Federation had found a way to reshape rough-cut sets of diapson crystals to create flash rips, he answered himself.

But what would something like diapson crystals be doing here? This was a witch’s lair, and magic was what would be waiting inside.

He took a deep breath, tightening his resolve. He would crack the door, he told himself. Just a bit. He would peek inside and see if anything threatened. If it did, he would run out of there immediately.

He could do this.

Even so, he almost didn’t. He almost listened to his worst fears and turned around and left. He almost gave it up then and there because he couldn’t think of any real justification for taking the sort of risk that opening that door would likely yield.

But then, almost on impulse, angry and impatient with himself, he pushed down on the handle and cracked open the door.

What he saw was confusing and scary. Bands of light crisscrossed the room, running everywhere in irregular patterns before converging on a bed near the back of the room where they wrapped about someone who was lying there. He could tell it was a person, even in the indistinct greenish glow. A thin covering outlined a body that jerked and shuddered and writhed in response to whatever the light was doing to it.

It was a surreal moment, and Grehling almost closed the door and fled. This was beyond anything he understood, and he needed to tell someone about it right away. But who would he tell? Who was going to come back here and go up against the witch? And likely face Arcannen, as well?