The High Druid's Blade: The Defenders of Shannara (3 page)

And he had Chrys in his possession. He was flying her back to Wayford to something called Dark House. Paxon could only imagine what that might turn out to be.

Come find out,
Arcannen had challenged. Believing Paxon would never dare to do so, that he had found out the hard way what would happen if he did. The beating was a warning.
Stay away. Don’t come after me. Let your sister go. She belongs to me, and I can do with her what I like. You can’t prevent it, and you shouldn’t try. You are a Highlander of no importance living in a place of low regard, and you can never hope to be the equal of me. Stay where you are and stay healthy.

He left the airfield and trudged through the city toward home, picturing Arcannen’s face and hearing his smooth voice in his mind.

So certain that Paxon had been put in his place.

Well, he was in for a surprise.

T
HREE

B
Y
THE
TIME
HE
R
EACHED
HIS
HOME
AND
WALKED
into the kitchen to wash off the dirt and blood and put cold compresses on the worst of the bruises, Paxon had made up his mind. He was going after his sister, no matter what Arcannen threatened or what sort of obstacles he might encounter. Any further consideration of the matter was beyond discussion. But he would not be so reckless as he was before. He would not let himself be caught in a situation where he clearly had no hope of accomplishing anything. The outcome would be different this time around.

After he finished washing and applying cold cloths, he retired to the front porch to sit and think. He could not afford to take much time doing this because Chrys was already at risk, and he didn’t believe for a minute that her captor would sit around deciding what to do with her. If he was to get to his sister before she was subjected to a whole raft of unpleasantness that could easily result in both physical and emotional damage, he needed to do so sooner rather than later. It was helpful knowing who it was he was looking for and where to find him. Arcannen had told him pointedly enough that he would be at Dark House in the city of Wayford, so all Paxon needed to do was to power up the Sprint he had built for himself some years back and fly down there. Someone would be able to give him directions once he arrived, and then he could start looking for Chrys in earnest.

Simple enough, if you didn’t dwell too long on the lack of details—like how he was supposed to get her out of Arcannen’s establishment and safely out of the city without anyone stopping him.

He imagined there would guards—and probably large numbers of them. He expected there would be wards set in place, as well. On further consideration, it seemed to him that if Arcannen could make him put down that iron bar simply by asking him to do so, he probably possessed magic. Even though it was outlawed in the Southland and any use of it would be dealt with swiftly no matter what sort of immunity he enjoyed, Arcannen did not seem the type to worry much about authority and acts of law. If he had a way to do so, he would have magic in place to defend his home and business, whether they were separate or not—something he needed to consider when he went in search of Chrys.

And he would need one thing more.

He would need a weapon.

Arcannen had told him so, and even if it was simply an embellishment to the dare he had thrown up, it was good advice. After what had happened today, Paxon certainly didn’t intend to face the man again without protection.

He thought about taking someone with him, but that meant calling on friends for a favor they didn’t owe and shouldn’t be asked to give, considering the danger. Better he go alone than risk somebody else’s life as well as his own. A large armed party would attract more attention, anyway. One man, keeping to the shadows, would have a better chance.

Sure he would.

He grimaced at his own facile analysis of the situation. But it was best to stay positive. Pushing aside his doubts, he walked back into the house, dumped the bloodied cloths and cold packs, and changed his clothes. He was in the midst of packing a bag with a few essentials when Jayet appeared in the doorway, calling out to him.

He walked out to face her.

“You look like you got the worst of whatever happened,” she said quietly. “You didn’t get her back, did you?”

“No,” he admitted, “but the matter isn’t finished. I know who he is now and where I can find him. I’m going after him.”

She nodded. “I thought you would. Have you anyone to help you?”

“I think it’s better if I do this alone. Other people might get underfoot. I would have to worry about protecting them as well as myself. If something happened to them, I’d be responsible.”

“There are those who would come with you if you asked,” she said. “You might need someone to watch your back.”

He smiled. “Perhaps you could come,” he joked.

She cocked her head, squaring up to him. “Funny you should say that. I’m exactly who I had in mind.”

He stared at her, then quickly shook his head. “Oh, no. Out of the question, Jayet. You don’t know what this man is like! Arcannen, he calls himself. He’s very dangerous. Ruthless. I’m not letting your risk yourself for me.”

“I wouldn’t be risking myself for you. I’d be risking myself for Chrys. I should have stopped her the moment I saw her getting into that game, begging for a chair, making wild promises and talking like she was something special. I saw all the signs, and I didn’t do a thing to stop it from happening. I just went about my business.”

She ran a hand through her mop of white-blond hair. “Besides, I don’t have anything else to do. I’m out of a job.”

“Raffe let you go?”

“I quit. I’ve had enough of working for Raffe and putting up with his constant badgering and groping and talking about how great he is. Believe me, Paxon, I’ve given this some thought. Anyway, that has nothing to do with why I’m here. You were seen coming back through the city and up the road past the Two Roosters. I knew then you hadn’t gotten Chrys back. And I knew you wouldn’t give up on her. So I thought maybe I could find a way to help.”

“Jayet …”

“Please don’t say that if you needed help, you would ask a man. If you did that, I would have to hurt you. Just listen a moment. For one thing, I can get into places where a man can’t. For another, I can fly an airship. You might need me to do that if you get hurt. You might need another pair of hands to back you up. I can provide all that. I’m tough enough; you know that. Let me help.”

He thought about it a moment. There were enough reasons against agreeing to her suggestion to fill a good-size shed. But there were reasons in favor of it, too.

Her blunt features tightened. She was waiting for him to say no. “All right,” he said, less certain about it than he wished. “But you have to promise to do what I say, no matter what.”

Her nod of agreement was brisk, sharp. “Whatever you say.”

Not entirely to his surprise, she had already packed a bag. It was sitting on the front porch where she had left it, and she shouldered it as they went out the door together. He had written a note to his mother just in case she came back early, telling her that Chrys had gone with him on a transfer—a short run over to the east end of the Rainbow Lake—and he would be back in a couple of days. She was supposed to be gone for a week, and for once he hoped she would not hurry back.

He was on his way out the door when he caught sight of the sword hanging over the fireplace and stopped. He needed a weapon, and he didn’t have anything better. The sword was a relic from the past, but he released it from its fastenings and took it down. He studied it for a moment, taking note of the emblem stamped on its leather sheath—a seal he assumed once identified the royal house of the Leahs. He pulled the blade free and balanced it in his hand. He ran his finger carefully along its edge. It was still razor-sharp, and unblemished.

The Sword of Leah.

He sheathed the blade anew and strapped it across his back. It was better than nothing. Maybe it would provide him with a little magic of his own.

With Jayet in tow, he walked back down to the north end of the airfield where he kept his vessels moored. He had several—or, he amended quickly, the family had several. The transport—a big, looming carrier with four masts and multiple light sheaths that required a crew of four, the balance of which he usually found from a pool of airship fliers who worked as independent contractors—an elderly skiff that wasn’t good for much, and his Sprint. He would take the Sprint, of course; it was small, fast, maneuverable, and very dependable.

He walked over to where it was docked inside its locked hangar—a building that was more shed than hangar, constructed specifically to shelter the vessel from weather and tampering. He checked the lock, then released it and opened the door. With Jayet’s help, he pulled the Sprint clear, put up its raked single mast, and fastened down the radian draws. Then he closed the door to the shed and locked it anew.

“Ready?” he asked her.

She nodded. “Let’s fly.”

Moments later they were airborne, winging their way south. Paxon had traveled to Wayford on cargo hauls a few times, and he could find his way without maps or compass. But he didn’t know anything much about the city proper, having flown in and out again without leaving the airfield. Once they got to Wayford, he would need help.

He wasn’t taking anything about this mission for granted. He knew he was going to need all kinds of help from one source or another. Maybe Jayet would provide some of it. Maybe strangers would provide the rest. But he would need luck, too. Probably a lot of it.

Even so, his conviction that he could find his sister and bring her home again remained undiminished. Nothing would prevent that from happening.

They flew south through the rest of the day and into the night. By the time the lights of the city came in sight, it was well after midnight. Jayet was sleeping, curled up in her seat behind him, her spiky hair flattened against the cushions, her face relaxed and bathed in starlight. He found her suddenly pretty—an attribute he’d somehow overlooked before. He smiled in spite of himself. She didn’t look so tough now.

Wayford’s airfield was three times the size of Leah’s, and the sea of ships that filled her acres of open grassland and landing pads seemed to stretch away for thousands of yards. He maneuvered the Sprint onto a pad that was vacant, close to the field manager’s office, and shut her down. Jayet was awake, looking around sleepily.

Paxon climbed out of the pilot box and stretched. “Wait here.”

He reached inside the pilot box, pulled out the Sword of Leah—which he had taken off while they were flying—and strapped it across his back once more. Then he walked over to the field manager’s office and stepped through the door. The boy sitting in the field manager’s desk might have been thirteen or fourteen, but no older. “Kind of young to be an airfield manager, aren’t you?” Paxon asked him.

The boy shrugged. “I’m old enough.” He was looking at Paxon’s sword, its black length poking up over the latter’s shoulder.

“Can you give me that pad for one night? Maybe for two?”

“Yours as long as you want it. Just sign the register.”

He shoved a book across the desk, and Paxon filled in the requisite space. “How much?”

“Pay when you leave.” He gestured. “Nice-looking blade. Old, but it has clean lines. Bet you know how to use it, too.”

“Want to take a look?”

The boy rocked forward and stood up. Paxon unsheathed his sword and offered it to him. The boy examined it carefully, handed it back, and once it was sheathed again extended his hand. “I’m Grehling Cara. My dad’s the airfield manager. Hei’s off for the night, but I fill in for him. He’s teaching me the business.”

“Paxon Leah. Your father must have some confidence in you.”

The boy pointed out the window at the Sprint. “I like your ship, too. Did you build her yourself?”

Paxon nodded. “From the ground up. Can I ask you something? Do you know a man called Arcannen?”

The boy gave him a look. “Why do you want to know?”

“I need to find him. I need directions.”

“Are you friends with him?”

Paxon shook his head. “Why do you ask?”

Grehling sat down again. “Oh, just because. He flew in earlier today and told me he had a friend coming in from the Highlands who might ask how to find him.” His eyes fixed on Paxon. “I thought you might be that friend.”

So Arcannen had expected him to follow, after all. Paxon felt a surge of anger at the other’s arrogance, but quickly tamped it down. “Well, you should know he is not my friend.”

Grehling nodded. “I thought that might be. Arcannen doesn’t have many friends, just lots of people who do business with him. He owns Dark House, a place where they do things my father won’t talk about. But I know anyway. He’s a magic wielder, a sorcerer. He’s very powerful and very dangerous. People disappear around him all the time. Maybe you should opthink twice about trying to find him.”

“I should, but I can’t. He’s taken something that isn’t his, and I intend to get it back.”

“A girl?”

“My sister, Chrysallin. You saw her?”

He nodded. “Coming off his airship earlier. I keep my eyes open. Look, I can give you directions if you want, but they might be a little different from the ones Arcannen would give you. Mine might help keep you safe. I don’t like Arcannen, and I don’t like doing anything that helps him. So maybe I’ll help you, instead. But if I do, I’ll need some extra coins for making sure your Sprint is kept safe and ready to lift off the minute you’ve finished your business.”

Paxon sat on the edge of the desk. “You seem awfully eager to help someone you barely know, Grehling. Why is that?”

He shrugged. “I knew someone Arcannen took to Dark House, someone like your sister. Someone I liked.” His lips tightened. “She never came out again. Do you want my help or not?”

“I’m listening.”

When the boy was done explaining, Paxon thanked him for his help and paid him the coins he wanted. “You’ll find your sister on the top floor,” Grehling said in parting. “That’s where he keeps all the new ones, at first.”

He offered his hand, and Paxon shook it. “Better keep that sword of yours handy.”

Paxon went back out to the Sprint and Jayet. She was still in the pilot box, eyes half closed. “Time to go,” he said.

“Was that a boy you were talking to in there?” she asked. She rumpled her hair and yawned.

“A boy who is a lot older than he has a right to be,” he answered. “Watch out for that one.”

Jayet nodded sleepily. “I watch out for all of them. Can we please eat something? I’m starved.”

They walked from the airfield into the city, following the directions Grehling had provided, and quickly found a tavern that was open all night. They took a seat at a table at the back of the room, ordered ale and soup and bread, finished it off, and quickly left. No one paid any attention to them.