But he said nothing, letting the matter be, anxious to get back into Chrysallin’s room to see how she was. He asked Sebec if he might do this, but the young Druid told him he would have to wait, that the Healers had sedated his sister and would be working on her again as soon as she woke.
So instead, the Highlander went back down to the dining hall to look for Grehling and Leofur. He didn’t find them there, but he was told they were walking in the gardens just outside. When he left the building to have a look around he found them almost immediately, and while the three of them strolled through the flower beds and hedgerows he revealed what had happened.
“She came right to Chrysallin’s room?” Grehling asked when he had finished. “That’s strange.”
Paxon looked at him. “What do you mean?”
“This morning I told her I thought the gray-haired Elven woman looked just like her. She asked all about it, wanted to know everything. She knew exactly how Chrys felt about her.”
Paxon started to reply, but then stopped himself. He needed to think this through before he said anything more. Something about this whole business troubled him, but he couldn’t be sure yet what it was.
So he changed the subject, talking instead about his plans for Chrysallin should the Druids be unable to help her. If that happened, he told them, he would take her to the renowned Gnome Healers of Storlock in the Eastland. If anyone could help his sister, they could.
Then he asked of their plans for returning to Wayford. After a hesitant exchange of glances, Grehling said they were just waiting for someone to offer them a way back. Unless Paxon needed them to stay, of course, which they would be happy to do. The Highlander told them they had both done more than enough, and he would look into helping them find a way home.
Then abruptly he decided, almost before he realized what he was doing, that he had a much better idea.
In point of fact, he was feeling useless sitting around Paranor doing nothing while Arcannen was still out there somewhere. He knew if he asked he would not be allowed to go looking for the sorcerer. But the loss of Starks burned like a hot iron inside him, and he was not going to let his killing go unpunished. He knew the Druids would be content to wait until the right opportunity presented itself, but that was not enough to satisfy him. This was personal; he continued to view Starks’s death as his fault. He could not shake the feeling that he had failed his friend, letting him down when he was needed most. All the arguments as to why this wasn’t so didn’t make a whit’s worth of difference. His own truth was what mattered, and he felt strongly that he had to do something about it.
Then again, the matter of Arcannen notwithstanding, he felt a compelling urge to do something more to help Chrysallin. Dark worries about the deep withdrawal she had embraced rode his shoulders like vultures. She seemed safe enough under the care of the Druid Healers, yet he could not make himself sit around waiting for a recovery that he knew might not happen. He believed he could serve his sister better by returning to Wayford, and Grehling and Leofur had provided him with the excuse and opportunity he needed to act.
It was late in the afternoon when he found Sebec again, and even then it was only by chance. He was scouring the halls looking for the Druid scribe, hoping he would be allowed to visit Chrys, when the other appeared right in front of him.
“How are you?” he asked Paxon, then immediately shook his head, as if dismissing the answer. “A stupid question for me to be asking. I need to apologize for what I said earlier. I was frightened for my mistress and I took it out on you. Please forgive me.”
Paxon shrugged. “There’s nothing to forgive. I should have asked who was out there before I opened the door. How is the Ard Rhys?”
“She seems better. She suffered no broken bones, only cuts and bruises. She’s sleeping now.” He shook his head. “But she’s frail at best and not so strong as once. These sorts of injuries are worrisome.”
“I was wondering. Could I see my sister now?”
“You can look in on her, but she’s still sleeping. They want her to rest for as long as possible. They think she suffered quite a shock seeing the Ard Rhys appear unexpectedly like that.” He paused. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell you this, but they gave her a very strong dose of a sleeping potion. They are hoping she sleeps for several more days. They think she might have a better chance of recovery if she does.”
A better chance of recovery. The words felt cold and taunting. It reaffirmed his certainty about what he had decided to do.
“I want to take Grehling and Leofur back to Wayford,” he said abruptly. “They’ve been here long enough. They need to go home.”
Sebec pursed his lips. “I can have Troll guards take them. You don’t need to go.”
“I know I don’t. But I want something to do, something to take my mind off Chrysallin. If she’s to sleep another day or two, this gives me time. I promised them I would see them safely back.”
Sebec studied him carefully. “You don’t intend to go looking for Arcannen, do you?”
“Not unless he’s in Wayford. But after killing Starks, I don’t think we can expect him to come back there anytime soon.”
Sebec clearly didn’t know what to think, so he gave the Highlander a noncommittal nod. “Do what you need to do, Paxon. I’ll tell the Ard Rhys when she wakes.”
Paxon left him there, took time to look in on Chrys and sit with her a short while, watching her sleep, and then found Grehling and Leofur and abruptly announced that he was taking them to Wayford. Neither said anything right away, both leaving wordlessly to gather up their few possessions. Soon they met him back at the airfield by the skiff he had chosen for the journey.
But Leofur, on returning—carrying her flash rip cradled in her arms—said, “Why are you the one doing this? You, personally? Why not someone else? Shouldn’t you be staying here with your sister?”
“I said I would help you find a way back.” Even to himself, he sounded defensive. “Besides, Chrys was given a sleeping potion. They don’t want her awake again for a few days. I might as well do something useful.”
She stepped close. “I don’t know you all that well personally, but I know enough about men in general to know when they aren’t telling me the truth. Suppose you tell me why I have that feeling about you.”
Grehling had moved closer, too. “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking from one to the other.
Paxon weighed his choices, and then he made his decision. “I want to have a look inside Mischa’s quarters. Maybe there is something that can help Chrys get better. A potion, an elixir, something written down about what was done and how to undo it. I don’t know. I just want to look around.”
She gave him a long, steady look. “Then you ought to just say as much. Let’s get going.”
They flew through the remainder of the day and all through the night, switching off regularly on the controls in the pilot box, each one taking turns at steering the airship. They were all experienced fliers, even Leofur, and they knew how to navigate by the stars and a steady scanning of the moonlit terrain, staying not far off the ground as they proceeded south across the Dragon’s Teeth and down the length of the Runne River to Rainbow Lake and then on toward Leah and the deep Southland.
Paxon managed to sleep a few hours during their flight, but spent most of his time awake, much of it musing on the direction his life had taken. Only months earlier, his world had revolved around the airfreight business and his mother and sister. Now the business was gone, he was miles from his mother and his Highland home, and his sister was even further away in another sense and in danger of never coming back. He had made a life among the Druids of Paranor, but he wasn’t one of them and they might blame him—as he blamed himself—for the death of one of their order.
He was adrift in a world he didn’t fully understand and wasn’t even sure he believed in, struggling to keep his feet and maintain his determination, trying his best to balance the vicissitudes of a much-changed life. Everything he had done
was buttressed as much on faith as on knowledge, and that wasn’t about to change with this current endeavor. His world was a confusing and treacherously shifting ground, and he did not see that he had any better way to deal with it than simply to keep marching on.
It was nearing morning when they arrived in Wayford, the sun a golden haze on the eastern horizon, the sky clear and promising as the night fled west. They landed at the airfield amid receding shadows and splashes of sunrise light, setting down close to the manager’s office so they could arrange to moor the airship. Grehling jumped down and went on ahead to speak to his father, whom he had already spotted inside the office, while Paxon and Leofur tied off the mooring lines, drew down the light sheaths, and coiled the radian draws.
The Highlander and the young woman were just finishing up when the boy hurried back over, clearly excited as he scrambled up the rope ladder and jumped over the railing and onto the decking beside them. “Father just told me,” he whispered, as if caution were advised. “Arcannen flew in late last night.”
Paxon straightened at once. “What time?”
“An hour or so after midnight. He moored his ship, left his crew aboard, and went alone into the city. He hasn’t come back. He told Father he might be gone as long as tonight and not to tell anyone he was here.”
“But your father told you anyway?” Paxon asked, one eyebrow arched.
Grehling gave him a sheepish grin. “He tells me everything.”
Paxon was already buckling on his sword. “I’m going after him.”
“I’m coming with you!” Grehling declared.
Paxon held out both hands to stop him where he was. “No, you’re not. You’re staying here.”
“But you might need help! You can’t face the sorcerer by yourself.”
Paxon only just kept himself from saying, So I should face him with a fourteen-year-old boy? “It’s too dangerous. I won’t let you risk your life for me. You stay right here and keep watch for his return.”
“But I want to—”
“No, Grehling.” Leofur cut him short before he could finish. “Paxon is right. You have to stay behind this time. It is too dangerous.”
“Thank you.” Paxon gave her an appreciative nod.
“Which is why I’ll be going instead,” she finished, hefting the flash rip in the cradle of her arms to emphasize why. She faced down Paxon defiantly. “Don’t say anything stupid. You need someone to watch your back. I can do that for you.”
He saw the determination in her eyes and nodded. “Let’s get going.”
TWENTY-FIVE
SIDE BY SIDE, PAXON AND LEOFUR WALKED FROM THE AIRFIELD down the roadway leading into the city of Wayford. The road was mostly empty, the lamps in the residences either still off or just being lit. There were a few people abroad—those who began their workday early—but they passed without doing more than nodding or waving. Ahead, the larger buildings of the city were vague shadows in the gloom of the fading night.
“Why are you doing this?” Paxon asked her finally, unable to let the matter rest any longer. “You barely know me. You have no reason to risk yourself like this. Not after what you’ve already done.”
“I didn’t know there was a limit on how much help you could offer people,” she replied, deadpan.
“I just mean it’s unexpected.”
“It would be odd if you were expecting me to come with you, wouldn’t it? Like you say, we don’t know each other that well.”
“But why are you coming?”
She looked away a moment and then back again. “Several reasons. I think what you are doing is important. Not so much where Arcannen is concerned; more for helping Chrysallin. What was done to her is terrible. I’ve experienced something like that. I want to see her get better. This seems to me to be one way she could.” She shrugged. “I thought I might help you with that part, but try to talk you out of the other.”
They reached the outermost buildings of the business district of the city and she pointed him down a different street than the one he was intending on taking. “No point in doing the expected. Better if we go the back way.”
“You’ve had something done to you like what was done to Chrys?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes. But I don’t want to talk about it.”
“You just want to talk to me about leaving Arcannen alone. Even knowing how I feel about what happened to Starks?”
She looked over again. “I like you, Paxon. Even knowing as little about you as I do, I like what I do know. You care about your sister and you would do anything to help her. You are willing to sacrifice yourself for your friends. You aren’t afraid of things that would scare the pants off most people.”
He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m plenty scared.”
“Maybe. But it hasn’t stopped you from doing the right thing.”
“But going after Arcannen isn’t the right thing.”
“Going after medicine or information that will help Chrysallin is the better right thing. That’s what you need to realize.”
She turned him down a side street, and by now he was completely lost. “All right,” he said. “I’ll think about it. I will. But I’m not making any promises.”
“Just weigh the two. Take their measure. Think about what needs doing the most.”
They walked in silence for a time, turning down one small street, alleyway, and pass-through after another, the shadows deepening around them in spite of the sunrise.
I like you, too, he said to himself.
All at once they were in front of an entry that led into a small residence sandwiched between larger buildings. The door to the house had been smashed in, and all that remained were pieces of wood and iron hinges.
He looked at her in confusion. “My house,” she said, heading through the open entry. “Mischa’s creature found your sister here and tried to get at her. This is where we escaped into the tunnels.”
They walked inside, and she looked around distractedly. “Some small damage, but nothing that can’t be put right. Everything valuable is tucked safely away. Like the charges I need for the flash rip. Wait here.”
She disappeared in back. He stood looking around. It was odd that she had been gone for days and no one appeared to have looted the place. In almost every scenario he could imagine, that would have happened. He wondered again about who she really was.
When she rejoined him, she was dressed in different clothing—shirt, pants, boots, and gloves, all in black. She was checking the flash rip’s diapson crystal chamber as she came up to him. “All charged up,” she announced, snapping the cover closed. “If we run into the sorcerer or any other sort of trouble, I don’t want to find myself one load short.”
“You still don’t have to come,” he told her.
She smiled, tossing back her silver-streaked hair from her face. “Yes, I do. I want to.”
They left the building and went back out into the street, turning in the opposite direction from the one in which they had come. Leofur was doing the leading again, and Paxon—because he was lost anyway—had to be content with letting her. Some of what he was viewing appeared familiar, but it was difficult to be certain.
Dozens of people were in the streets by now, the sun fully up and their day begun. Carts and wagons rolled through, horses trotted by, and the silence had given way to the sounds of people and their activities.
“Where now?” he asked her finally, trying to be heard over the din.
She grabbed his arm and pulled him close to her, lifting her head to his ear. “Mischa’s quarters. All right?”
He nodded, and she released him. “Good choice,” she might have said, but he wasn’t sure.
Before long they were standing at the head of an alleyway running between two buildings. Paxon believed they were close to where he had done battle with the black creature a few days earlier.
Leofur gestured to the building on the right. “Mischa’s rooms are on the second floor,” she whispered. “We have to
be really careful from here on. I’ll lead until we get inside, then you take over.”
He already had his black sword free of its sheath and grasped firmly in his right hand. “Go ahead.”
They entered through a wooden gate overgrown with vines and greenery that made it barely visible beneath a shadowy overhang. The alley was empty, and the windows of Mischa’s building were dark. There was no sign of life. The sounds of the city that had surrounded them earlier had become faint and distant. When they reached the door leading off the alley, Leofur paused to test the locks. But they were not secure, so she opened the door without trouble and led them inside.
She paused there a moment so they could listen to the silence. Then she led Paxon down a hallway to a set of stairs and up to the second floor. Again, she paused. Satisfied, she took him to rooms about halfway down to the other end of the hall, opened the door cautiously, and led him inside.
The rooms appeared empty. Paxon, sword held guardedly in front of him, moved from room to room to make sure. When he reached the bedroom in which Chrysallin had been tortured and saw the bed on which she had been tied down and the detritus from the broken threads of magic lying in lines of ash and cinders across the floor, he had to back out again right away.
“I’ll search in here,” Leofur offered. “You take the rest of the rooms.”
So they hunted through the witch’s chambers for the better part of two hours, carefully searching for hidden panels and stashes, for books and papers on which conjuring and magic might be written. They tested floorboards for looseness, searched walls for hollow places, and turned the furniture upside down. In the end, Paxon even went into the adjoining rooms, which were all vacant and mostly empty of furniture, and searched them, as well.
They found nothing.
“This can’t be right,” Paxon said as they stared at each other in frustration. “There has to be something. She would keep her important supplies and writings for her magic close.”