The High Druid's Blade: The Defenders of Shannara (6 page)

He knew very well who she was. Almost everyone did. And almost everyone knew her history—or as much of it as she allowed them to know. She had been alive for more than a century and a half, kept so by the Druid Sleep. Once within the protective confines of the sleep, Druids stopped aging until they woke again. An Ard Rhys was entitled to use it as often as he or she thought it advisable, maintaining consistency in the rule of the Druid Order through longevity.

But Aphenglow Elessedil was famous from long before her time as Ard Rhys in the Fourth Druid Order. She was a member of the Elven royal family, and in her youth she had helped her sister Arling, a Chosen of the Ellcrys, pass safely through the ordeal required for her to become the successor to the Ellcrys when the old tree died. She had stood with the Ohmsford twins, Redden and Railing, against the demon hordes when they had broken free of the Forbidding. She had spearheaded the quest undertaken by the Third Druid Order when it had gone in search of the missing Elfstones of Faerie, and because of her efforts one set of the precious Stones, at least, had been recovered.

There were rumors that all of them had been found and returned to the Four Lands but that the others had been lost again. The ones that remained were said to be scarlet in color, but few had ever seen them. They were kept at Paranor in the possession of the Druids as a part of the edict regarding recovered magic and its care and usage. The Elves, he knew, had laid claim to those Elfstones, demanding their return. After all, the Elves already had the blue Stones in their care. Why shouldn’t they be given possession of the scarlet Stones, as well?

But Aphenglow had denied their demands repeatedly, insisting that the Druid edict on the collection and preservation of magic superseded any nationalistic claims. She was content to let the Elves keep the seeking-Stones, which had been in their possession for thousands of years, but not those scarlet talismans now referred to as the draining-Stones.

So the antagonism and suspicion that had plagued her throughout her life continued, and Aphenglow Elessedil was never accepted back into the Elven nation as one of their own. She had made her choice, and she would have to live with it. She had chosen the Druid way, embraced its creed and enforced its laws, and it was clear that this is how it would always be. She was a Druid first and an Elf second.

All of this was common knowledge. Or common to the Leahs and the Ohmsfords who had grown up with it or heard about it later from their parents and grandparents. So Paxon knew something of Aphenglow, but none of it lessened the wariness he felt for Druids in general.

“I’m not sure how I feel about all this,” he admitted, locking eyes with Sebec. “Even the thought of going to Paranor makes me uneasy.”

Sebec nodded. “I understand. But I can assure you that you will be in no danger if you come and will be brought back whenever you are ready. The Ard Rhys only desires a chance to talk with you, nothing more.”

Paxon thought about leaving Chrys behind, about the risk that might be involved if he did. Arcannen might discover he was gone and take advantage of it. But he didn’t want to say anything to Sebec about that particular concern because the Druids might not know about those events after all. Sebec didn’t even seem to know the truth about his sword.

He looked away. He could simply refuse to go. He probably should. But what if what Aphenglow Elessedil wanted to talk to him about was important? What if it concerned Arcannen and might give him a way to help protect Chrys? What if it did have something to do with the Sword of Leah, and he would anger her by refusing even to discuss it?

What if he were simply being foolish and cowardly by imagining all sorts of things that weren’t real? Wasn’t he better off just going and getting it over with?

“All right, I will come,” he said. “But I’ll need time to say good-bye to my mother and sister. I need to make sure they will be all right without me.”

The young Druid smiled. “Why not let me speak with them? I can reassure them that they won’t have to worry about you.” He climbed to his feet. “I shall start immediately with your mother.”

And before Paxon could collect his wits sufficiently to question the suggestion, Sebec was walking into the house, calling his mother’s name.

S
IX

P
A
XON
WAS
ASTONISHED
A
T
HOW
AMENABLE
BOTH
HIS
mother and sister were to the prospect of his traveling to Paranor. This felt entirely wrong, but the matter was settled almost immediately. Once Sebec had made the suggestion and explained how important it was to the Ard Rhys, neither said a word in opposition. Perhaps it was the young Druid’s earnest demeanor that convinced them. Perhaps he used magic. Whatever the case, his persuasive skills exceeded anything Paxon had ever seen this side of Arcannen. His mother, so reticent about the Druids beforehand, was suddenly excited at the prospects she envisioned would be generated by her son’s newfound importance. His sister, in typical fashion, seemed more interested in Sebec himself than in his news, and dismissed Paxon’s departure with a casual wave and a cryptic remark about staying out of trouble.

As if he were the one who needed to worry about that particular problem.

At least he got his mother and sister to agree to take a few days to visit his mother’s sister in the town of Agave, at the eastern edge of the Highlands. It would take them away from the capital city while he was gone, hopefully removing them from any immediate danger of another visit from Arcannen.

“Are you sure about this, Mother?” he asked her when Sebec had finished speaking with her and had gone back out onto the porch with the fresh glass of ale she had pressed on him. “You don’t mind my going? You won’t worry about me?”

“I will always worry about you, Paxon,” she said, “but I don’t think there is any risk to you here. I don’t sense any duplicity in this young man. On the contrary, I think him honorable. He intends you no harm. You will be fine, and so will we.”

So he went, walking down to the airfield with his sword strapped across his back and his travel pack slung over one shoulder, less certain of what he was doing than either his sister or his mother, but doing his best not to show it. Sebec’s vessel was a Rover-crafted double-mast with good lines and black-dyed light sheaths bearing the emblem of the Fourth Druid Order emblazoned in gold. A crew of three awaited them—Trolls serving in the Druid Guard, chosen by the Ard Rhys herself from among volunteers who all came from the same village in the Northland and whose ancestors had served in the guard before them. Big, hulking men, they spoke not a word to either Sebec or Paxon, but simply went about their business, hoisting sails, tying off lines, powering up the diapson crystals in their parse tubes, and setting out.

They flew through the remainder of the day, crossing the broad expanse of the Rainbow Lake, navigating the blunt peaks of the Runne Mountains, sliding down the jagged length of the Dragon’s Teeth to the Kennon Pass, and completing their journey to Paranor by midnight.

By then, Sebec had recounted to Paxon a great deal about the work of the current Druid order, which far exceeded anything Paxon might have imagined. Most of what he knew had to do with the order’s ongoing efforts to find and retrieve errant and lost magic throughout the Four Lands. Sebec mentioned this in passing and quickly moved on. Those who joined the order did so to learn magic and to assist with its care and protection, but they were required to complete many other duties, as well. Upkeep of Paranor was a major effort, much of it undertaken by the Trolls of the Druid Guard, but some tasks required the more skilled and talented hands of the members of the order themselves, particularly in the rooms where the records and books were stored and in such chambers as the cold room and the Tower Watch. The older members of the order offered daily instruction, and the younger were required to attend and practice what they learned. Reading the Druid Histories was a part of training, mandating a familiarity with the events that had led the order to its present state, from the inception of the First Druid Order to the present.

“Before anyone can begin to master the use of magic—even in the smallest of ways—they first have to understand the nature of its usage,” Sebec explained. “How was it created in the first place? What was its intended use? Does it always function as it should? Is it reliable? Are there ways to keep it in check that will protect not only the user but also those nearby?” He smiled. “It’s complicated, but fascinating.”

It didn’t work that way for me with the sword,
Paxon thought.

There were visits to the cities of the Four Lands to learn of their histories and cultures, including meetings with their leaders and governing councils. Avenues of communication were opened and maintained, with an emphasis on a sharing of information and ideas. The secrecy that had once shrouded the Druid order was slowly but steadily being removed as an obstacle to better relations with all of the Races, and cooperation was being fostered on all fronts.

“We don’t hide behind our walls anymore,” Sebec continued. “We work side by side with people and governments in all of the Four Lands. Even the Federation.”

But Paxon had heard that relations with the Federation and most of the lower Southland were still tense. There was a willingness to communicate, but mostly he sensed that both Druids and Federation officials wanted to keep an eye on each other. It didn’t help that the Federation had outlawed all use or possession of magic in the Southland or that its avowed goal was to do away with magic entirely and turn back the clock to the days when science was the dominant tool for stimulating progress in the world.

That view wasn’t universally shared, as the other lands remained reticent about both, but there were indications that opinion was swinging in that direction.

The hours passed and the young Druid talked on about the work of the order while Paxon listened and considered. After it started to get dark, they ate a dinner of meat and vegetables heated over a small brazier along with bread and ale, all of it shared with the Trolls. Paxon had seen enough of Trolls in his lifetime not to be taken aback by being in their midst, but he was intimidated nevertheless, by both their size and their rough look. They wore tunics with the Druid insignia woven into the fabric on the left panel with scarlet thread, and all of them carried weapons.

Sebec made no mention of Paxon’s sword. Not once. He rarely even glanced at it, seemingly caught up in discussing the work of the Druids. But Paxon still worried about what he would do if the order tried to take the sword away from him. How would he respond? He could not let them do it, but how far was he willing to go to prevent it from happening?

By midnight, when the lights of Paranor began to appear, Paxon was nodding off, his eyes heavy and his body lethargic. But his first sight of the Druid’s Keep brought him awake again in a hurry. The very size of it took his breath away. Massive walls, great towers soaring skyward, clusters of buildings sprawling over acres of ground, the whole of it made dark and shadowed by the ancient trees of the surrounding forest—the Keep was overwhelming. Sebec was at his side to point out which rooms each building housed, eager either to display his knowledge or to further intimidate a first-time visitor, Paxon wasn’t sure which. Perhaps both. Whatever the case, the Highlander couldn’t take his eyes off the complex, scanning everywhere, searching out shapes and forms through the shadows, imagining what was there that he couldn’t see, hoping he would be given a chance to find out before he was sent away again.

The sloop set down on an elevated landing platform, and Sebec led him off the vessel and down a ramp to a doorway opening into a tower connected to the main building. From there, he led him downstairs to where the guest quarters were located, choosing a door midway along a corridor of matching doors and guiding him inside. The room had a bed, a table next to it, a dresser with a washbasin and towels, and a single window that looked out on a courtyard one story below.

“This is your room,” Sebec said. “Sleep here tonight. Tomorrow you will see the Ard Rhys and visit with her. I will come for you when it is time. Sleep well.”

Then he went out the door, closing it behind him.

Paxon looked around the room, dropped his bag, pulled the drapes, stripped off his travel clothes, washed, and climbed into the bed.

He was asleep in seconds.

When he woke the following morning, the sun was just coming up over the eastern wall of the Keep, a brilliant gold light in a clear blue sky. He lay where he was for a few minutes, languishing in the bedding, enjoying the feeling of comfort and ease, then rose and walked to the window to peek through the curtains. Sunlight filled the courtyard below, and several black-robed figures were at work in the gardens. He stared down at them for a moment, but when he heard voices in the hallway he turned away to wash and dress.

He was just preparing to depart for a look around when a knock at the door and a greeting announced the arrival of Sebec. “One minute,” he answered.

Glancing over to where the Sword of Leah lay across the bed, he made a quick decision. He would take it with him. Leaving it behind was just asking for trouble. If he was going to lose it, they would have to take it from him by force and not through subterfuge or carelessness.

Strapping it across his back, he went out the door to join Sebec.

Together, they walked down to a dining room in which a handful of Druids and Trolls were eating breakfast. Sebec had them sit apart from everyone else, perhaps because he felt Paxon would be more comfortable that way. But it also gave them a chance to talk freely, and Paxon had more questions by now about the Druids. Sebec answered all but one—he declined to say anything further about what the Ard Rhys intended to talk to him about. Mostly, he claimed not to know. The Ard Rhys would speak for herself, and it was not his place to speculate about what she would say.

Paxon, though impatient with the secrecy, did not press him. Instead, he accepted the answers he was given, enjoyed his breakfast, and tried as best he could to prepare himself for what was coming.

When the meal was finished, Sebec took him from the dining room deep into the interior of the building, across a narrow bridge to a second building and onto a rooftop garden. It was small and very private, but incredibly beautiful, the bedding plants a rainbow of colors set amid stone walkways and benches, all of it screened away from the rest of Paranor by a high hedge wall.

“Find a comfortable seat, Paxon,” Sebec directed. “The Ard Rhys will be with you shortly.”

He moved off, returning the way he had come, leaving Paxon on his own. The Highlander glanced around, found a bench in the sunshine, and took a seat. As he waited, staring off into the distance where the tips of the trees in the forest surrounding the Druid’s Keep shimmered with a light breeze and birds circled in the skies overhead, he kept thinking of the sword strapped across his back. Of what use was it to him now? As protection against Arcannen and for Chrys certainly, but beyond that, what was he supposed to do with it? It was a powerful magic, one that had served various Leahs over the centuries in their support for the Druids and their numerous quests. Was there a quest in his future, one not yet made clear to him? Or was he clinging to the weapon because it was the only thing he had that made it seem as if there might be something more for him than continuing to run an airfreight service?

He could smell the scents of the flowers that surrounded him, pungent and fragrant as they wafted in the breeze. He closed his eyes and breathed in those scents, and the memories they generated of the Highlands and home and family were so strong and poignant they almost brought tears.

“Paxon?” a soft, lyrical voice asked.

He opened his eyes quickly. Aphenglow Elessedil stood before him, wrapped in her Druid robes, the Eilt Druin laced around her neck, its silver emblem flashing in the sunlight. He had never seen her before, but he knew who she was instantly. She was tall and sparely built, her gaze steady, a smile on her face. She must have been very beautiful once, when she was young. She was still beautiful in the way some older women are, made so more because of her regal carriage and the proud, calm certainty she radiated than simply because of her physical features.

He rose to greet her, flustered by the direct look she gave him and by the knowledge of what she represented. “Lady,” he responded and managed a short bow.

She extended her hand and held his briefly. “Are you well rested?” she asked him.

“Very well.” He glanced around appreciatively. “This is a beautiful place. The gardens, of course, but all of Paranor, as well.”

“You have never been here, but you must have heard stories from your family.”

“I have heard many. From my grandparents and my mother—of Mirai Leah and Railing and Redden Ohmsford. And of you.”

“May I sit with you?” she asked.

He moved over to allow her to do so. “I am surprised to be here,” he admitted. “Why did you ask me to come?”

“You never knew Mirai, did you?” she asked instead of answering him. “She was a brave and resourceful young woman. You would have liked her. I think she had as much to do as anyone with the outcome at the Valley of Rhenn when my sister became the Ellcrys and the demon hordes were sent back into the Forbidding. You carry her blood in your veins; you carry Ohmsford blood within you, as well. A very potent mix that allows for special abilities. Even, perhaps, the presence of the wishsong.”

He had thought of that possibility more than once over the years, ever since learning of the complexity of his family’s history, of Leahs linked to Ohmsfords. But there had never been even a hint of such magic in his blood—not even the smallest suggestion that it might be present.

“I don’t think I have any use of magic,” he said. “I don’t think anyone in the family has since the Ohmsford twins.”

“But you have something else of value, don’t you?” She gestured to his sword. “You have the blade that is your family’s legacy from centuries ago, the blade Allanon dipped into the black waters of the Hadeshorn and infused with his own magic. The blade he then returned to Rone Leah, naming him protector of Brin Ohmsford when she went in search of the Ildatch in order to destroy it.”