The High Druid's Blade (The Defenders of Shannara, #1)(98)

What Arcannen was thinking was unreadable. But his eyes said it was dark and dangerous.

They were alone now, the hallway empty save for them. The guards who remained upright had either fled or gone into hiding. No one was coming to Arcannen’s aid. Paxon felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. The sorcerer’s guards had abandoned him, his strength was fading, and his hopes for escape were disappearing.

He rushed Arcannen anew, sword lifted, yelling out once more—Leah! Leah!—intent on finishing this. Arcannen snarled something in reply and held his ground. When they collided, the impact staggered both. Weapons flashed and clanged, and the blows the men exchanged were fierce and unrelenting. They surged back and forth across the hallway, fighting from one wall to the other and back again. The minutes dragged on; the struggle continued.

Finally, as they backed away from each other yet again, muscles screaming with fatigue, mouths open and gulping for breath, Arcannen held out one hand in a warding motion. “You can’t win this,” he gasped.

The Highlander laughed, drawing in huge breaths. “I am winning it. Hadn’t you noticed? Why don’t you just give it up and come with me?”

“Back to Paranor? Back to your Druids? You know what would happen to me.”

“You shouldn’t have killed Starks!”

Now Arcannen laughed. “You think I didn’t know that even before it happened? You think I wasn’t trying to avoid it? But he tracked me and would not quit! I just reacted; it was instinctive.”

“It doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t answer for it.”

Arcannen sighed. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you? How simple the world must seem to you—all black and white.” He paused, shaking his head in dismay. “How did you find out I was here in the first place? How did you even know I would come back so soon?”

Paxon shook his head. “I didn’t. I came here to find something to help Chrysallin.”

The sorcerer nodded. “Mischa’s subversion. I’d forgotten about that. You took your sister to Paranor? What happened?”

“She attacked the Ard Rhys.”

“That was what I intended. Only she was supposed to use the Stiehl, and she didn’t have it with her.”

“So it would have been the Ard Rhys who died, not Starks.” He lowered his sword and leaned on it. “Well, because of what you and Mischa did, my sister is now catatonic. I came back to find something to undo the damage.”

Arcannen nodded. “Take away the bad dreams. Make her forget the gray-haired Elven woman and all the torture that never happened. Her belief that she was physically damaged when she wasn’t.” He took a deep breath and exhaled sharply. “I can give you that, Paxon.”

Paxon straightened. “What? What did you say?”

“You heard me. I can make your sister well again. I have an antidote that will do so. Do you want it? Then, I’ll make you a bargain. The antidote for my freedom.”

Paxon was incensed. “I’m not going to do that!”

“I give you a potion that will make your sister well, and you let me go free. Why not?”

“I’m not letting you go!” the Highlander screamed in rage. “You’re not getting away again.”

The sorcerer shrugged. “If you want your sister back, you should think it over. That potion is the only thing that can help her, and I’m the only one who has it now that Mischa is dead.” He smiled. “You did this to yourself, you know.”

Paxon almost attacked him anew. But he kept thinking about why he had come back in the first place and of what Leofur had kept reminding him. He had not come back to find Arcannen, but to save Chrys.

“You’re lying,” he snapped. He lifted his black blade, held it ready. “You would say anything to save yourself!”

“I have the potion you need, Paxon Leah. That is not a lie; it is the truth. Do you want your sister back or will it make you feel better to see my head spiked on Paranor’s walls? It’s your choice. But you have to decide.”

Paxon shook his head. “No. I can’t let you go.”

“Well, you don’t exactly have me pinned to the ground yet, do you?” Arcannen lifted his flaming sword anew, readying himself. “Besides, there will be another day for you and me. Another time. Even if we don’t settle it now, don’t you think we will end up settling it eventually?”

Paxon did think so. It seemed inevitable.

He hesitated.


When he returned for Leofur, she was just coming out the front door of Dark House, as battered and smoke-blackened as he was, her hair all wild and spiky. Carrying her flash rip tucked under her cloak, she stepped clear of the building’s walls with a quick look behind her and walked down the steps into the roadway to meet him.

For a moment, they just stood there. “Did you get him?” she asked.

He shook his head. “He got away.” Then he grimaced. “Actually, I let him go.”

She stared at him, her eyes surprised and wondering. “Why?”

He sighed. “Because he agreed to give me this in return.”

He reached into his pocket and brought out the tiny bottle the sorcerer had found for him when they returned to Mischa’s rooms. The witch had indeed hidden her potions and elixirs with magic, but Arcannen had known right where they were and how to reveal them.