The High Druid's Blade: The Defenders of Shannara by Terry Brooks Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Terry Brooks
Tags: The High Druid's Blade
Arcannen couldn’t do. This sort of magic hadn’t revealed itself in the Southland since the time of Edinja Orle, and she had been dead for more than a century. No magic of this magnitude was even suspected to exist anywhere within Federation rule. Magic much smaller and less dangerous would have been swept up and locked away in a heartbeat. How Arcannen had avoided that was troubling.
But there was no time to think about it now. The wolves were advancing on him. Big, shaggy beasts, they were more than twice the size of normal wolves, slavering and growling, long tongues lolling from mouths filled with razor-sharp fangs, and hunger in their eyes. Paxon ran from them. Sword or no sword, he didn’t care to stand and fight so many. If even one broke through his defenses, it would rip him apart.
He searched for a way to escape them, for any refuge at all that would put him beyond their reach. But it was well past midnight with dawn still hours away, and no one was on the streets and no lights shone in the windows of the houses. He thought momentarily to climb a tree, a few of which were in evidence, but doing that would put him at the mercy of the sorcerer if he were tracking him, and Paxon felt pretty certain he was.
Finally, he turned, his back against a stone building wall, and used the magic of the sword once more. Sheets of fire cut him off from the wolves, which slowed and backed away, snapping and tearing at the flames with their huge fangs, searching for a way to break through his defenses. Using magic was new to Paxon, and he was uncertain of its limits. He could feel his grip on it slipping away, suggesting it was neither unlimited nor certain. If he didn’t break free of the wolves quickly, he would have to start running again.
But this time, they would be right on his heels.
How, he kept wondering, could a sorcerer conjure something of substance out of thin air? That shouldn’t be possible.
So maybe it wasn’t.
He dropped his broad defense against the pack and turned the sword on the closest wolf. Fire sheeted into the beast, and it vaporized instantly. Nothing but an image, he realized. He went after the others, disintegrating them one by one, until they were all gone.
Then he began to run again.
Behind him, the streets were quiet. No pursuit showed itself; Arcannen remained a threat that did not materialize.
He ran for what seemed like hours before he reached the airfield. To his relief, both Jayet and Chrys were already there, waiting by the Sprint. Grehling, as good as his word, had the vessel powered up and ready for liftoff.
“I owe you for your help,” Paxon told the boy.
Grehling shrugged. “You already paid me. Remember? And if anyone asks—Arcannen, especially—I never saw you.”
Paxon and the girls climbed aboard and buckled on their safety harnesses. In seconds they were airborne and flying north toward the Highlands and home.
F IVE
O NCE THEY WERE BACK IN THE H IGHLANDS AGAIN , Paxon Leah did his best to put the entire incident behind him. From his point of view, the less said about it, the better. He was no hero, and he didn’t want anyone in Leah or anywhere else trying to make him one.
Mostly, he didn’t want any word getting out about the Sword of Leah and its magic. Even though neither Jayet nor his sister had been present to witness the events surrounding his use of the blade, he had warned them not to talk to anyone about anything that had happened. He could assume that neither girl knew anything that might give away the sword’s secret, but there was no point in taking chances. As an added precaution, he started carrying the weapon with him, keeping it close at all times. Hanging it back over the fireplace was out of the question.
The girls, of course, were already proclaiming him a hero and were quick to insist that even if they couldn’t talk about it to anyone but each other, their opinion of him was not about to change. He could live with this, even though he
But there was no time to think about it now. The wolves were advancing on him. Big, shaggy beasts, they were more than twice the size of normal wolves, slavering and growling, long tongues lolling from mouths filled with razor-sharp fangs, and hunger in their eyes. Paxon ran from them. Sword or no sword, he didn’t care to stand and fight so many. If even one broke through his defenses, it would rip him apart.
He searched for a way to escape them, for any refuge at all that would put him beyond their reach. But it was well past midnight with dawn still hours away, and no one was on the streets and no lights shone in the windows of the houses. He thought momentarily to climb a tree, a few of which were in evidence, but doing that would put him at the mercy of the sorcerer if he were tracking him, and Paxon felt pretty certain he was.
Finally, he turned, his back against a stone building wall, and used the magic of the sword once more. Sheets of fire cut him off from the wolves, which slowed and backed away, snapping and tearing at the flames with their huge fangs, searching for a way to break through his defenses. Using magic was new to Paxon, and he was uncertain of its limits. He could feel his grip on it slipping away, suggesting it was neither unlimited nor certain. If he didn’t break free of the wolves quickly, he would have to start running again.
But this time, they would be right on his heels.
How, he kept wondering, could a sorcerer conjure something of substance out of thin air? That shouldn’t be possible.
So maybe it wasn’t.
He dropped his broad defense against the pack and turned the sword on the closest wolf. Fire sheeted into the beast, and it vaporized instantly. Nothing but an image, he realized. He went after the others, disintegrating them one by one, until they were all gone.
Then he began to run again.
Behind him, the streets were quiet. No pursuit showed itself; Arcannen remained a threat that did not materialize.
He ran for what seemed like hours before he reached the airfield. To his relief, both Jayet and Chrys were already there, waiting by the Sprint. Grehling, as good as his word, had the vessel powered up and ready for liftoff.
“I owe you for your help,” Paxon told the boy.
Grehling shrugged. “You already paid me. Remember? And if anyone asks—Arcannen, especially—I never saw you.”
Paxon and the girls climbed aboard and buckled on their safety harnesses. In seconds they were airborne and flying north toward the Highlands and home.
F IVE
O NCE THEY WERE BACK IN THE H IGHLANDS AGAIN , Paxon Leah did his best to put the entire incident behind him. From his point of view, the less said about it, the better. He was no hero, and he didn’t want anyone in Leah or anywhere else trying to make him one.
Mostly, he didn’t want any word getting out about the Sword of Leah and its magic. Even though neither Jayet nor his sister had been present to witness the events surrounding his use of the blade, he had warned them not to talk to anyone about anything that had happened. He could assume that neither girl knew anything that might give away the sword’s secret, but there was no point in taking chances. As an added precaution, he started carrying the weapon with him, keeping it close at all times. Hanging it back over the fireplace was out of the question.
The girls, of course, were already proclaiming him a hero and were quick to insist that even if they couldn’t talk about it to anyone but each other, their opinion of him was not about to change. He could live with this, even though he