The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(81)

They nodded in response and started off together, and quickly they were out of sight. Paxon picked up Chrysallin and carried her over to a doorway where they were partially hidden from anyone coming down the street. Not that it was likely anyone would; it was still an hour or two until sunrise. But it didn’t hurt to be careful. Not when he didn’t know where Arcannen had gone.

He found himself regretting that he had let Starks go off on his own. Paxon was supposed to be the Druid’s protector. That was what he had been trained to do, and in this case he had abandoned his duty to go after his sister. He didn’t like it that Starks had been gone so long. He should have returned by now, Arcannen in tow or not.

He knew it was silly to worry. Starks was more than able to take care of himself. He was better trained and more experienced than Paxon, and during the times they had spent together it had been more a case of the Druid protecting Paxon than the other way around.

Time passed slowly as he sat in the doorway shadows cradling Chrysallin in his arms. She never changed expression, but eventually she fell asleep, her head falling onto his chest, her body sagging down against his. He kept still afterward, hoping that sleep would do what his words and comforting had not. When she awoke, perhaps she would be herself again, the nightmare behind her and the absence of any recognition of what was going on around her a thing of the past.

Dawn arrived in a dull brightening of the eastern sky, chasing back the reluctant shadows inch by inch. A handful of people came out of doors and down the streets, some passing by without seeing them, others slowing for a quick look. No one spoke to them. No one asked if they needed help.

Then Grehling reappeared, coming out of nowhere to kneel down beside them, his young face intense.

“Anything?” Paxon whispered, not wanting to wake his sister, who was still asleep.

The boy nodded. “A little. Arcannen arrived at the airfield not long before we got there. My father saw him. He was alone. He crossed the field to his vessel, woke his crew, and they released the mooring lines and took off. He didn’t say anything to my father about where he was going.”

“Starks?”

“Leofur’s gone hunting for him. He didn’t show up at the airfield. I waited until just a little while ago to make sure. She’ll let us know when she finds him.”

“She doesn’t even know where to look,” Paxon muttered absently, more worried now than ever.

“She doesn’t have to know,” Grehling said quickly. “Other people will, and she knows everyone. She will ask around, and someone will tell her where he is.”

The boy settled back against the wall across from him, watching Chrysallin. Neither said anything for a long time. The morning began to brighten and the shadows to fade. More people filled the street beyond their alcove, moving in groups, beginning their day’s work. Tucked away in their shelter, they occupied an island of calm among the steady movement and sounds only yards away. But their uneasiness was palpable.

“She looks better now that she’s sleeping,” Grehling offered finally. “I think she will be all right when she wakes.”

Paxon wasn’t so sure, but he knew the boy was just trying to be helpful. So he nodded in agreement. “You were very brave to rescue her,” he said.

Grehling shrugged. “I didn’t know what I was getting into. I just thought something felt wrong. Then, when I saw her, I knew it was Arcannen’s work, trying to get at you again. He wants your sword, doesn’t he?”

Paxon nodded. “How did you know?”

“Everybody wants something like that. Especially someone like him. A sorcerer’s tool, he probably thinks. He spends all his time collecting such things. Mostly, he steals them. But whatever it takes to get hold of them, he will do. He told me that once. He said that’s how you got by in this world—that if you wanted something, you found a way to get it, no matter what.”

“But you don’t agree?”

Grehling managed to look insulted. “Of course not. Do you?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.”

They were quiet again after that, still waiting on Leofur. Chrysallin awoke and began staring into space once more. Both Paxon and Grehling tried talking to her, asking her questions, offering her further assurances that she was safe and that no one would hurt her again. But still she did not respond.

It was approaching midmorning when Leofur finally reappeared. She returned from a different direction than the one she had taken earlier with Grehling, catching them both by surprise. She approached at a brisk walk, her eyes fixed on them, her posture ramrod-straight.

She stopped in front of Paxon and took a deep breath.

“I have news of your friend. It’s very bad.”

He knew at once what it was. He knew it as much from her tone of voice and the look on her face as from the words themselves. When she spoke them aloud, he already knew what she was going to say. He held up his hand in a belated gesture to forestall hearing them. But it was too late. She was speaking, and the words were cutting at him like knives.





[page]TWENTY-THREE




ARCANNEN’S NERVES SHOWED NO SIGN OF GIVING WAY IN THE face of what he had done until he had reached his airship, woken the crew, and lifted off. Then all at once his hands were shaking and he was damp with sweat. He had killed a Druid. He had committed the one act he had warned himself against, the one act he had known would bring him the worst kind of trouble. Now the Druids would hunt him until he was found and killed. He could argue all he wanted about why that wouldn’t happen—the passage of time would take the edge off the urgency of finding him, changes in the order would result in an agenda where punishing him was a lesser concern, whatever. But the truth was inescapable: Sooner or later, he was going to have to answer for what he had done.