The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(84)

“Your wounds are better?”

“Fine. Healing.”

He looked down for a minute. “I can’t thank you enough for what you did. Taking Chrys into your home, sheltering her when you knew how dangerous it was, making a stand against that black thing, facing down the witch—I can’t imagine how hard that must have been.”

“Sure you can,” she said. “You did pretty much the same. You ended up saving us from Mischa’s creature, and Chrysallin saved us from the witch. We came through it because we each made a stand when it mattered.”

“Still, I owe you for that.”

She shook her head. “You don’t owe me a thing. No one does.”

The way she said it puzzled him. “So you knew Grehling when he was much younger?”

“I helped his father raise him for a little more than four years. Do you want to eat something? I’m pretty hungry.”

He found he was hungry, too, and they went into the kitchen to see if there was any food to be had and emerged with full plates. They ate in silence, and when they were finished Paxon said, “What sort of weapon did you use on Mischa’s creature? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Her nose wrinkled in something that suggested distaste. “A handheld flash rip. They’re new. A fresh invention from the Federation that relies on a set of specially faceted diapson crystals for its power. Word is, they’re working on other things, too. Weapons development is high on their list of priorities. They intend to rebuild their army.”

From what it once was before the demons broke free of the Forbidding and destroyed the old city of Arishaig and most of its army. He hesitated. “How did you come by one?”

She shrugged. “Payment for a favor. A foolish, impulsive gesture on the part of the original owner, in my opinion. But he’s not likely to complain. Tell me about your sword.”

She was clearly uncomfortable talking about the flash rip, but he didn’t want to say too much about his talisman, either. “An ancient weapon. It’s been in the family for many generations. It was infused with magic by the Druid Allanon for one of my more famous relatives, Rone Leah.”

“And Arcannen knew about this sword? And that was why he took Chrysallin—he was trying to get to you?”

“Grehling’s been talking to you about this?”

“Some of it. Some I figured out on my own. Am I right?”

“He’s kidnapped Chrys twice. The time before he was trying to make a trade for the sword. This time, I don’t know what he was doing. Except that he knew I would come after her, so maybe it was the same thing again—a trade for my sister. But he tortured her, didn’t he? Or the witch did. I don’t understand the purpose of that.”

“Maybe there wasn’t any purpose. Maybe it was just to teach her a lesson. Arcannen has done it before. He tortures his girls at Dark House when they disobey.”

Paxon shook his head. “But he knew I would find out.”

“Maybe he just didn’t care.” She ran her fingers through her streaked hair. “And he didn’t do it himself. Chrysallin told Grehling that her torturer was a gray-haired Elven woman who stood by and watched the whole thing. She kept asking Chrysallin to tell her something—I don’t know what. Chrysallin apparently didn’t know, either. When Grehling brought her to me, she was barely coherent. It’s hard to know what happened to her.”

Paxon leaned back. “The Healers will help her. Once she’s better, maybe she’ll be able to tell us more. Whatever the case, I intend to go after Arcannen myself.”

Leofur pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I’ve been thinking about something. Did you know the Ard Rhys spoke to me about all this earlier, while you were still sleeping? She asked me to tell her everything I could about what happened.”

“Sebec told me.”

She paused. “Well, maybe this doesn’t mean anything, but I couldn’t help noticing that the Ard Rhys could be the woman Chrysallin described.”

Paxon almost laughed aloud. The idea of the Ard Rhys being responsible for Chrysallin’s torture was ridiculous. But then he caught himself, wondering suddenly if there might be a connection he wasn’t quite seeing.

“Tell me what Chrys said about this Elven woman,” he demanded.


By the time Arcannen landed his cruiser in Arishaig’s main port, he was already firmly settled on his plans. He had used the entire trip to mull them over, and he was satisfied that he had thought them through carefully and should proceed to execute them. Execute—a good word for what was needed. The ramifications of what he would do here would be extensive, but they would diminish considerably the chances that the Druids would be coming in search of him anytime soon. He just needed to hide himself for a sufficient length of time for events to proceed to a logical conclusion. How that would all play out, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. His goals, his needs, and his plans would not be changed by what happened after today.

He disembarked the airship with orders to be ready to lift off at a moment’s notice and for no one else to leave, even for a moment. He was wearing the black robe he kept in the onboard locker for situations of the sort he was confronted with today. He spent much of his time disguised as someone else, and the black robe—which was, in fact, one belonging to the Fourth Druid Order—would provide him with the look he required for today’s work.