The High Druid's Blade: The Defenders of Shannara (26 page)

She was afraid that the rescue attempt would come too late.

But she had done what she could, and there were other matters she must deal with.

She’d spent the morning with the Druid Healers being poked and prodded, listening to advice—don’t try to do too much right away, get lots of sleep, drink liquids, if you feel weak sit down and wait for it to pass. All of it was well meant but unnecessary. She was sore, but getting stronger by the minute, ready to resume her duties as Ard Rhys of the order.

So after she had eaten lunch—her first meal since waking—she returned to her office to examine documents that had now been awaiting her attention for days. Much of it was busywork, the sort of paper shuffling she deliberately put aside and ignored for as long as possible. But with her limited strength and mobility, this seemed an excellent time to catch up.

She was still in the midst of her efforts when Sebec knocked on her door and entered. She could tell at once from his expression that something was seriously wrong. But she forced herself to sit back and wait for him to get up enough nerve to tell her.

“Mistress, we have visitors,” he announced. “A Federation warship has arrived. It carries a full complement of Federation soldiers and the Prime Minister himself. He wishes to speak with you at once.”

She gave him a measured look. “What does he want to speak to me about?”

“He wouldn’t say. He said it was strictly between the two of you. He is waiting just outside the north gates.”

She took a moment to digest this news. The current Prime Minister of the Federation was a welcome change from Drust Chazhul and Edinja Orle and a few others she had been forced to deal with over the years. By all accounts, he was a decent and honorable man whose service to his people and conduct toward the other Races of the Four Lands had proven exemplary. Hard-nosed and fiercely loyal, he was nevertheless neither venal nor treacherous. She believed she could trust him.

She rose. “Arrange for a contingent of the Druid Guard to accompany me. No one is to act precipitously. No one is to do anything unless I am attacked. Am I clear about this, Sebec?”

The young Druid nodded hastily and backed out of the room. She gathered up her black robes and followed him into the hallway beyond and along its length to the stairs leading down. Once outside the building, she crossed the open courtyard to the north gates, squinting against the bright sunlight. By then, the contingent of Druid Guards she had requested had caught up to her, flanking her protectively, a silent presence. She ordered the gates opened and walked outside the Keep into a broad splash of sunshine.

The Federation warship was moored right in front of her, its huge dark hull casting its black shadow over her as she walked forward, leaving the Druid Guards behind. A small gathering of Federation officials and soldiers stood off to one side of the warship.

The Prime Minister separated himself from the others and came toward her. He was a spare, elderly man, white-haired and bearded, his blue eyes still sharp and knowing.

“Well met, Mistress Elessedil,” he greeted her. “Thank you for agreeing to meet me like this. It is important that everything be done out in the open. An appearance of trust is crucial in this situation.”

She wondered what he was talking about, but let him steer her aside, well away from the others, choosing a spot where they were out of hearing. “What’s happened?” she asked, facing him squarely.

He met her gaze and held it. “Yesterday morning, a Druid entered the chambers of Fashton Caeil, our Minister of Security Against Magic, and murdered both him and his assistant. The Druid who did this was seen and recognized by Federation soldiers stationed at the entry to the Minister’s chambers. He was positively identified. It was Isaturin.”

Aphenglow pursed her lips. “So have you come to Paranor to ask me to turn him over to you?”

The Prime Minister shook his head. “Not exactly. The identification is suspect. I have reason to suspect it is false even though the soldiers were quite clear about seeing him and hearing his name spoken. Or perhaps it is exactly because of both. It seems odd to me that a killer would allow these things to happen if he had any intention at all of hiding his identity. Then there’s this.”

He reached into his robes and pulled out a long black knife. “It is the murder weapon. It was found lying on the floor next to the body of Minister Caeil. Do you recognize it?”

She nodded. “It is a called a Stiehl. It is a Druid artifact that was stolen from our archives some weeks ago. May I see it?”

The Prime Minister handed it to her. “That blade is very sharp.”

“That blade,” she said, giving the weapon a careful examination to be certain of what she was holding, “will cut through anything. There is no defense against it except for certain forms of magic.” She looked up at him. “It was left behind by the killer?”

The other nodded. “And so it proves a further cause for my suspicion. Who would be so foolish or careless enough to leave behind clear evidence that they were in some way affiliated with the Druid order? Was it simply forgotten in the heat of things? Was it dropped by accident? All of these seem unlikely to me.”

“The Stiehl was last seen in the hands of a sorcerer called Arcannen several days ago in Wayford. It was used to kill one of my Druids—a man who had gone to find him and bring him back to for punishment.”

The Prime Minister’s smile was chilly. “I thought as much. Arcannen’s name has surfaced repeatedly during our investigation of this killing. He was listed on Minister Caeil’s register as visiting him at least six times in the last four months. He was clearly a man known to the Minister who came and went regularly.” He paused. “Rumor has it that he has significant use of magic, including the ability to change his appearance.”

Aphenglow nodded. “I expect that is true. So you don’t think Isaturin is responsible for any of this?”

“I would be surprised if he was. Fashton Caeil was an ambitious man with plans for improving his situation in the Coalition Council. I have heard he covets my own position. It seems likely that he overstepped himself with this sorcerer and paid the price for doing so.”

He paused. “My only confusion comes from not understanding why the killer believed I would be convinced it was Isaturin. Given what we know, his efforts seem amateurish.”

“I agree. Whatever else he might be, Arcannen is no fool. There is something else at work here.” She considered. “I wonder if his intent in all this was not to fool us, but simply to delay us in our efforts to come after him. He knows we hunt him for his killing of our Druid brother. Perhaps, this additional killing was meant to cause enough confusion to allow him time to escape. And to make certain at the same time that the exact details of what was going on between the two never came to light.”

“Perhaps he hoped I would act precipitously and simply assume the worst about you,” the Prime Minister added ruefully. “It would not be the first time such a thing happened in the history of Druids and the Federation. And, in point of fact, it is happening to some extent now, as well. Others are already making judgments about these killings, which is why I came to you myself so we could have this talk. Can you be certain Isaturin was here yesterday when the killing was done?”

“I can find out immediately,” she answered.

She called back to her guards and asked for Sebec to be sent to her. When the young scribe appeared, she asked him about Isaturin. “I want to know if he was here all day yesterday and the day before. I want to know if he left the Keep to go anywhere at all in that time. Will you check the logs and speak with the airfield watch?”

Sebec set off at a run. She turned back to the Prime Minister. “So the rumor of a Druid murderer is already being given credence?”

“He was seen and identified.” The Prime Minister shrugged. “On the surface, it seems unquestionable that he is guilty. But you and I know better than to rely on what appears on the surface.”

She nodded. “I am grateful to you for coming to settle this matter yourself.”

“I fear we do less than we should to cooperate. Our inbred suspicions and long history of conflict drives us apart more often than not. This seemed a good opportunity to try to change this rather unfortunate habit.”

She offered the blade back to him, a gesture she felt appropriate, but he quickly held up his hands, indicating he did not want it. “It belongs here, locked safely away. Do you think you might have better luck doing that this time?

She didn’t miss the irony in his voice. “When we lock it up this time, it will not be taken from us again,” she replied.

“I am pleased to hear that.”

So they stood together in silence for what seemed to Aphen an endless amount of time, waiting on Sebec. When he finally returned, he was flushed and out of breath. Before saying anything, he looked questioningly at the Ard Rhys.

“Just give your report, Sebec,” she told him.

“Isaturin returned from Arishaig five days ago. He has not left here since. The logs and the guards all confirm it.”

She sent him away and turned back to the Prime Minister.

“Well, Mistress, we have our answer,” he said. “I am satisfied. But let me ask a favor of you. Would the Druid order be willing to undertake a hunt for the real killer? Would you be willing to assume responsibility for finding him?”

She nodded slowly. “I had already decided on this. If I can bring him back in one piece, he will be brought before you and made to answer directly for his actions.”

The Prime Minister held out his hands. “I offer peace to you, Mistress. Now and in the future.”

“I offer friendship, Prime Minister,” she replied. She took his hands in her own and squeezed gently. “Safe journey home.”

She watched him return to his companions and board the warship. She continued to watch as the vessel released its moorings and lifted away. She kept watching until it was out of sight.

A crisis averted, a promise of peace offered, and an affirmation of friendship given in return
—
all in a matter of minutes,
she thought.
What other surprises does this day have in store?

T
WENTY
-
SIX

T
HE
CITY
STREETS
W
ERE
TEEMING
WITH
PEO
PLE
AND
clogged with carriages and animals by the time Paxon and Leofur exited Mischa’s building and began walking toward Dark House. To all appearances, they were just another couple passing through the city, but that was only because Leofur had slung her flash rip over one shoulder and closed it away beneath her cloak. While one or two pairs of eyes might have strayed to the black sword strapped across Paxon’s back, it didn’t draw nearly the attention the flash rip would.

In any event, no one stopped them. Midday was approaching, and the smell of foods cooking and the laughter and voices of men and women enjoying their noon meal rose on all sides. The Highlander was acutely aware of how hungry he was; he hadn’t eaten anything since the previous night. He glanced at the girl and took note of her pinched face.

Impulsively, he pulled her over to a cart serving hot beef sandwiches and bought two. Standing in front of a makeshift counter with tankards of ale added to the purchase, they gulped their food and drink down like starving wolves. Once finished, they exchanged a look at each other’s grease-and-ale-smeared faces and laughed in spite of themselves. Offering thanks to the vendor, who barely acknowledged them, they set out anew.

It took them only a short while to reach their destination. Paxon slowed when they came in sight, hanging back against the wall of a building across the street and down a bit from Dark House, gathering his thoughts. It wasn’t so much about what he was going to do as how he was going to do it. It would probably be better to wait until nightfall and then go in. The traffic would have abated and the darkness would help conceal them. But waiting wasn’t an option. There was no guarantee that Arcannen was even there; waiting until it got dark didn’t improve the odds.

Still, going in now meant doing so in broad daylight with eyes everywhere. Even attempts at sneaking through places where Paxon had gone before with help from Grehling would leave them dangerously exposed. The other choice, of course, was to walk up to the front door and use the flash rip to force their way inside and try to catch the sorcerer by surprise. If there were guards and if he was anywhere but on the first floor, they would likely fail in their efforts.

He turned to Leofur finally, perplexed. “I don’t know how to go about this. We need to get inside, but we have to do it without causing a disturbance that will alert Arcannen. We have to be able to get to him before he has a chance to flee again.”

Leofur nodded. “One of the reasons I came with you,” she said, “was to show you how that can be done.”

He stared at her. “You can get us inside Dark House?”

She nodded. “Right through the front door. Want to give it a try?”

“But how can you do this?”

“I just can. Do you want me to try or not?”

He hesitated, unsure of what he was letting himself in for. But to persist in asking her how she could manage it seemed wrong, too. If she was saying she could do this, she probably could. And he didn’t have a better idea to offer up, as he had already admitted.

“It’s in your hands,” he said.

They left their place by the wall and walked into the thick of the crowds passing by and crossed the roadway. When they reached the far side, Leofur went straight for Dark House, stopping when she reached the bottom of the steps leading up to the front door.

“You wait here,” she told him. “No arguments, no questions,” she added quickly.

He was surprised, but he did as she asked nevertheless. If she could get them inside, he wasn’t about to interfere. He watched her climb the short flight to the door and knock once. When the door opened, she spoke with someone briefly, and the door closed again. Without looking at him, she made a gesture behind her back for him to remain where he was. He did so, still wondering what was going on.

When the door opened once more, a different guard was standing there, burly and scarred, filling the doorway with his bulk. He spoke to Leofur softly, nodded a few times, and finally glanced down the steps at Paxon. After a moment, he nodded to her and stepped back to let her pass. She glanced down at Paxon this time and beckoned him to come with her.

They walked through the front door together, the burly man in the lead, passing any number of guards as they traversed the length of the hall ahead to a set of stairs and started up. Paxon had no idea at all what to expect. Leofur hadn’t said anything about what was going on, and he couldn’t see any way of asking now. He had to trust her; he had to believe she was doing the right thing. Even if it was becoming increasingly hard to do so.

On the second floor, the burly man took them into a small room with a desk and a guard sitting at it and directed them to chairs set to one side. When they had seated themselves, he left without a word.

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 had they 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 awhile. 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 it 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 burly 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?”

The sorcerer’s eyes shifted to Paxon and back to the young woman. Paxon could see the anger and desperation reflected there. “I don’t think I want to have this conversation just now,” he said.

“Paxon thinks you should have a talk with the Druid order,” she snapped. “Maybe you can explain to them why you killed one of their members.”

“Please let me go!” Fentrick gasped sharply.

“I don’t think they would like my explanation, Leofur.” Arcannen was dragging the guard deeper into the room, toward the back wall. “Why are you doing this to me, anyway? What’s in it for you?”

“Nothing you would ever be able to give me!”

Paxon was hearing this conversation, but not quite understanding what it was about. Or maybe he understood all too well. Whatever the case, he didn’t care to listen to any more of it. He was standing within five feet of the sorcerer by now, close enough to act if Arcannen resisted. “Either you come out from behind your guard or I’m coming right through him!”

Arcannen was looking at him now, a direct, challenging gaze. “You are, are you?” The black eyes glittered. “But do you intend to go through those men behind you, as well?”

It was an old trick, but both Paxon and Leofur instinctively shifted their gazes, casting a quick look over their shoulders. It was enough. Arcannen shoved the hapless Fentrick into Paxon and brought both hands up just an instant before Leofur could level her flash rip. A flash of light caught the young girl squarely in the chest and knocked her backward into the wall, where her head slammed into the wooden boards. She collapsed instantly, the flash rip falling to the floor beside her.

Paxon kept his feet, if only barely, shoving Fentrick out of the way and charging at Arcannen as the burly guard righted himself and staggered out the door. The sorcerer crouched against the wall, hands held out in what appeared to be a defensive posture, but was not. A flaring of white fire burst from his fingers into Paxon, the fire hot and crackling.

The Sword of Leah scattered it in shards.

Arcannen tried again, this time with a flame that was even hotter and separated in three parts so that it came at Paxon from different directions. But the Highlander stood his ground and did not panic, wielding the sword as Oost had taught him, choosing his targets and blunting their force with responses that were as swift and accurate as the movement of his eyes from one to the next. The fiery strikes burst apart, pieces of flame flying all over the room, leaving scorch marks everywhere.

Arcannen roared in anger and shifted his stance once more, hands weaving, words pouring from his mouth in a rush of hissing and growls. Light flashed between them, and suddenly the sorcerer was holding a sword encased in fire. It had substance and a clearly defined shape, and the flames burned bright green.

Paxon took a step back, uncertain about this new wrinkle, waiting to see what would happen. Arcannen feinted casually, the strange weapon flaring each time he did so. “Did you think you were the only one who knew how to use a sword?”

He rushed at Paxon with a flurry of blows that the latter only barely managed to block as he sidestepped the worst of it and tried to get at Arcannen from the side. But the other was agile and his movements smooth, and it was instantly clear that he had real skill and experience with his weapon. He blocked Paxon’s counterattack easily, turning it aside with little effort. They separated and then met in a clash of blades, sparks and flames exploding from Arcannen’s sword as it collided with Paxon’s. Back and forth they surged, each one fighting to overpower the other, to cause him to slip, to lose his footing, to grow weary and fail.

Finally, Paxon thrust the other away from him, seeking space in which to maneuver. Arcannen laughed cheerfully as they began to circle each other. Then, abruptly, the sorcerer turned and fled the room. Paxon raced to catch him, but Arcannen was waiting just outside. As Paxon charged through the doorway, he only barely managed to block the other’s sword as it swept past his head. Even so, the impact of the fiery sword against his own blade knocked him sideways into the wall. Arcannen was on him instantly, hammering at him, trying to break through his defenses. For an instant Paxon faltered, sensing he was overmatched. But his training and his determination saved him again. He blocked the sorcerer’s blows and regained his momentum, first stopping the attack and then forcing the other man to give ground.