The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(96)

The guard at the desk was bent over a chart of some sort, his attention focused on whatever was written on it. Paxon glanced at Leofur, who nodded back. He mouthed the word Arcannen, and she looked at the ceiling. He took that to mean the sorcerer was still here, upstairs somewhere. But he still wondered how they had gotten into Dark House so easily. If Arcannen was really here, surely he would have given warning against allowing anyone to come in like this.

After a few moments, Leofur got up and walked over to the guard at the desk. She bent close and when he looked up she put a cloth concealed in her hand over his nose and mouth; he collapsed immediately. She wiped her hand off on his shirt, threw the cloth away, and turned to Paxon.

“He’s upstairs in his office, getting ready to flee the city. We have to hurry.”

They went out the door and found the hallway beyond empty. “What did you just do to that guard?” he asked her.

She glanced over and grinned. “Just a little trick I learned growing up.”

“What sort of trick?” They were out in the hallway now, heading for the stairs leading up.

“Something that puts you to sleep for a while. Why do you care?”

He shook his head. “I just want to know what’s happening here. I feel like I don’t know anything. How did you get us through the front door?”

“Easy,” she answered. “I know these people.”

“How do you know them?” He could not keep the tone of incredulity from his voice.

“I used to work here.” She turned on him, a hint of anger reflected in her eyes as she ran her hand through her silver-streaked hair. “How much more do you need to know? Any more questions you need answers to?”

Only one, he thought, but he realized he already knew the answer. She was young and pretty—what kind of work did he think she was doing here? Maid service? Scullery labor? Scribe? He bit back the rest of what was on the tip of his tongue and simply tracked her up the stairs to his impending confrontation with Arcannen, angry and disappointed.


Arcannen had just finished gathering up the record books for his various businesses when the knock on the door sounded. “Come,” he said, barely looking up as Fentrick entered and stood there as if he had no idea why he had come. “Is there a problem?”

“I just need to tell you something.”

“All right. Tell me.”

“Leofur is here.”

He looked up at once. “What does she want?”

“To see you before you leave, she said.”

“And you let her in?”

The burly guard shrugged. “You said that if she ever came around, I was to—”

“Yes, yes, I know. You were to let her in.” Arcannen made a dismissive motion. “But now is not a particularly convenient time for her to be here. I should have told you as much, I suppose. But I keep hoping you can figure these things out by yourself.” He heaved a deep sigh and accepted the inevitable. “Where is she?”

“Waiting in the guard room with her friend.”

His response was much quicker this time. “What friend?”

“A young man. Tall, dressed in woodsman’s clothes. Wears this black sword strapped across his back.” Fentrick sensed immediately that he had made a mistake. “She said it was all right! She said you wouldn’t mind, that you knew who it was.”

“Matter of fact, I do,” he said quietly, straightening up, realizing what was about to happen. “One flight down, you say?”

“In the guard room. She did say the visit was something of a surprise, so I shouldn’t tell you they were here. She made it sound like it would spoil something if I did. But I just wasn’t sure …”

He trailed off. Arcannen sighed. Saying he wasn’t sure about this or anything else, for that matter, was the understatement of the year. Fentrick was steady and mostly reliable, but he wasn’t quick-witted or astute enough to realize when he was being used.

And what was Leofur doing with Paxon Leah? How had they even managed to meet? It was impossible! He experienced an abrupt sensation of things slipping away from him, as if he could no longer control even the smallest events in his life, as if all his efforts at building something were being torn down around his ears.

He glanced at the boxes of records. There was no time to salvage them now. He would have to abandon them. He would have to run. “I’m leaving,” he said to the other man, coming out from behind his desk in something of a rush. “After I’m gone, make sure you gather up these records and boxes—”

He didn’t finish. The door exploded inward, torn off its hinges, pieces of wood and metal flying everywhere.


Paxon and Leofur rushed through the opening, the former with his black sword drawn, the latter with her flash rip held ready to fire a second charge. Through a haze of smoke and ash, they could see Arcannen seize the guard who had admitted them into Dark House, using him as a shield as he backed around the desk.

Paxon raised his sword in readiness, easing forward. “Let him go,” he ordered the sorcerer.

Arcannen ignored him, his eyes fixed on Leofur instead. “You could have just knocked,” he hissed at her. “My door has always been open to you.”

“Ever wonder why I never take you up on that?” she snapped. “Why don’t you stop hiding behind other people?”