The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(89)

Then abruptly he decided, almost before he realized what he was doing, that he had a much better idea.

In point of fact, he was feeling useless sitting around Paranor doing nothing while Arcannen was still out there somewhere. He knew if he asked he would not be allowed to go looking for the sorcerer. But the loss of Starks burned like a hot iron inside him, and he was not going to let his killing go unpunished. He knew the Druids would be content to wait until the right opportunity presented itself, but that was not enough to satisfy him. This was personal; he continued to view Starks’s death as his fault. He could not shake the feeling that he had failed his friend, letting him down when he was needed most. All the arguments as to why this wasn’t so didn’t make a whit’s worth of difference. His own truth was what mattered, and he felt strongly that he had to do something about it.

Then again, the matter of Arcannen notwithstanding, he felt a compelling urge to do something more to help Chrysallin. Dark worries about the deep withdrawal she had embraced rode his shoulders like vultures. She seemed safe enough under the care of the Druid Healers, yet he could not make himself sit around waiting for a recovery that he knew might not happen. He believed he could serve his sister better by returning to Wayford, and Grehling and Leofur had provided him with the excuse and opportunity he needed to act.

It was late in the afternoon when he found Sebec again, and even then it was only by chance. He was scouring the halls looking for the Druid scribe, hoping he would be allowed to visit Chrys, when the other appeared right in front of him.

“How are you?” he asked Paxon, then immediately shook his head, as if dismissing the answer. “A stupid question for me to be asking. I need to apologize for what I said earlier. I was frightened for my mistress and I took it out on you. Please forgive me.”

Paxon shrugged. “There’s nothing to forgive. I should have asked who was out there before I opened the door. How is the Ard Rhys?”

“She seems better. She suffered no broken bones, only cuts and bruises. She’s sleeping now.” He shook his head. “But she’s frail at best and not so strong as once. These sorts of injuries are worrisome.”

“I was wondering. Could I see my sister now?”

“You can look in on her, but she’s still sleeping. They want her to rest for as long as possible. They think she suffered quite a shock seeing the Ard Rhys appear unexpectedly like that.” He paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but they gave her a very strong dose of a sleeping potion. They are hoping she sleeps for several more days. They think she might have a better chance of recovery if she does.”

A better chance of recovery. The words felt cold and taunting. It reaffirmed his certainty about what he had decided to do.

“I want to take Grehling and Leofur back to Wayford,” he said abruptly. “They’ve been here long enough. They need to go home.”

Sebec pursed his lips. “I can have Troll guards take them. You don’t need to go.”

“I know I don’t. But I want something to do, something to take my mind off Chrysallin. If she’s to sleep another day or two, this gives me time. I promised them I would see them safely back.”

Sebec studied him carefully. “You don’t intend to go looking for Arcannen, do you?”

“Not unless he’s in Wayford. But after killing Starks, I don’t think we can expect him to come back there anytime soon.”

Sebec clearly didn’t know what to think, so he gave the Highlander a noncommittal nod. “Do what you need to do, Paxon. I’ll tell the Ard Rhys when she wakes.”

Paxon left him there, took time to look in on Chrys and sit with her a short while, watching her sleep, and then found Grehling and Leofur and abruptly announced that he was taking them to Wayford. Neither said anything right away, both leaving wordlessly to gather up their few possessions. Soon they met him back at the airfield by the skiff he had chosen for the journey.

But Leofur, on returning—carrying her flash rip cradled in her arms—said, “Why are you the one doing this? You, personally? Why not someone else? Shouldn’t you be staying here with your sister?”

“I said I would help you find a way back.” Even to himself, he sounded defensive. “Besides, Chrys was given a sleeping potion. They don’t want her awake again for a few days. I might as well do something useful.”

She stepped close. “I don’t know you all that well personally, but I know enough about men in general to know when they aren’t telling me the truth. Suppose you tell me why I have that feeling about you.”

Grehling had moved closer, too. “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking from one to the other.

Paxon weighed his choices, and then he made his decision. “I want to have a look inside Mischa’s quarters. Maybe there is something that can help Chrys get better. A potion, an elixir, something written down about what was done and how to undo it. I don’t know. I just want to look around.”

She gave him a long, steady look. “Then you ought to just say as much. Let’s get going.”


They flew through the remainder of the day and all through the night, switching off regularly on the controls in the pilot box, each one taking turns at steering the airship. They were all experienced fliers, even Leofur, and they knew how to navigate by the stars and a steady scanning of the moonlit terrain, staying not far off the ground as they proceeded south across the Dragon’s Teeth and down the length of the Runne River to Rainbow Lake and then on toward Leah and the deep Southland.