“Maybe we should leave,” Reyn suggested. “There are other places we could hide.”
“And other places we could be found. No, Reyn. Running away isn’t the answer. The hunting won’t stop unless we make it stop.” He was purposeful in using we rather than I. “We will make our stand here.”
The boy exchanged a look with Lariana. “How do we do that?”
Arcannen smiled reassuringly. “Well, in the first place, I’m not going to ask you to use the wishsong to help protect us. Not in a way that requires you to hurt anyone, at least. So you needn’t worry about that. Mostly, you need to keep your eyes open for the men Usurient will send. When they come, I will deal with them myself.”
“But if we are threatened,” Lariana interrupted quickly, turning now to the boy, “we may have to defend ourselves. So there is no guarantee you won’t have to use your magic that way. Does that frighten you?”
Arcannen could hear the challenge in her voice. She wasn’t leaving anything to chance. This was what made her so valuable to him. She anticipated everything so well.
“I will do what I have to,” the boy said at once. “But I would not like it if I had to hurt anyone.”
Lariana nodded. “I would not like that, either. But it seems we are fated to be hunted by these people.” She turned to Arcannen. “These are the same people who massacred the population of Arbrox, aren’t they? They will treat us the same way.”
Arcannen nodded. “And there are others we need to fear, as well. The Druids hate us, too. They fear my use of magic will somehow compromise them. They wish to stop me completely from using it. Understand. Not only do we need to protect ourselves now, but we also need to find a way to prevent this harassment–this persecution–from continuing. We need to persuade all of these people to leave us alone. Because once they find out the truth about you, Reyn, they will come after you, too. Just as they did in Portlow. You can’t allow that to continue.”
“I know.” The boy nodded slowly. He had already begun to come around to the mind–set Arcannen wished him to assume. “But how do we do that?”
“Can you tell us?” Lariana asked quickly, anticipating once again what was needed.
Arcannen stepped away from the table. “I can do better than that. I can show you. Come with me.”
Paxon Leah was exercising alone in the training yard, working his way through a series of complex defensive maneuvers, when Keratrix found him. He was stripped to the waist, sweating in the hot sun, enjoying the strain on his body as he whipped the Sword of Leah from left counter to right thrust, blocking and counterattacking, twisting and turning his shoulders and arms in a mock battle against an invisible enemy. Most of the moves he was employing had been taught to him by Oost Mondara over the past five years, skills he had studied, practiced, and finally mastered in his continuing efforts to make himself more deserving of his designation as the High Druid’s Blade. He was so deeply enmeshed in his efforts that it was some time before he noticed that the scribe was standing off to one side watching him.
When he stopped and looked over, the other shook his head and smiled ruefully. “You make it look so easy. But I know it isn’t.”
Paxon rolled his shoulders and stretched. “It helps if you do it about a million times. Besides, I’m still learning.”
“You don’t look like you need to learn anything more.” Keratrix paused. He brushed at his mop of dark hair. “Sorry to bother you, but the Ard Rhys would like to see you. When you’re finished here.”
Isaturin. Paxon walked over to the battered old scabbard that had protected his sword’s blade for so many generations and sheathed the weapon carefully. “I’m finished,” he said. “Let me wash up and I’ll come up right away.”
He went inside the building to his quarters and bathed and changed his clothing. He was wondering what Isaturin might want of him. He had not been asked to undertake anything since his return from Portlow. No further missions had been assigned, and no reports had come in on Arcannen or the boy with the wishsong. Avelene had recovered from the trauma she had suffered at the sorcerer’s hands and had gone back to her studies. Since the night she had asked Paxon to stay with her, she had barely spoken to him. He thought she might be embarrassed at what she perceived to be a display of weakness, or perhaps she simply didn’t want him to get the wrong idea. He had not pressed her about any of it, leaving her alone except to exchange pleasantries when they encountered each other, letting her work her way through her feelings, not presuming anything from what had happened and how she had reacted.
In truth, he didn’t know quite what to make of her. She had shown no interest in him before they had set out in search of the source of the magic that approximated the wishsong. Even then, her feelings had appeared mixed. And her response to him after being freed from the black cylinder appeared to have been generated mostly out of fear and desperation. He was reluctant to read anything more into it.
When he reached the Ard Rhys’s quarters, Isaturin was waiting in the doorway. “I got tired of reading documents and decided to give my eyes a rest,” he offered, leading the way back inside. “I needed to look at something besides symbols on paper. Are you well?”
Paxon nodded. “As well as ever. Is there any news?”
They sat on opposite sides of Isaturin’s desk–the one that had belonged earlier to Aphenglow Elessedil and which, to Paxon’s way of thinking, always would. But he forced himself to shove the image of her still sitting at it out of his mind.
“A rumor has reached us of Arcannen’s whereabouts,” Isaturin said. “He was spotted somewhere near the ruins of Arbrox, a coastal town that was a haven for pirates and their families until it was completely destroyed by Federation forces about six weeks ago.”
Paxon was confused. “What would he be doing there?”
Isaturin shrugged. “With Arcannen, you can never be sure about anything. Even the rumor is suspect. There is no clear reason for it. Arbrox is miles up the coast from the nearest inhabited village. All that remains are its ruins. How is it that not only has the sorcerer decided to inhabit these ruins but also foolishly allowed himself to be seen? Word got back to the Federation, so they are sending a contingent of soldiers to find out if it’s true. But the Prime Minister wants us to look into this, as well.”
“That’s odd, isn’t it? Why would he want us involved if the Federation army is already doing so?”
“I’m not sure. But the Prime Minister was fond of Aphenglow. They were friends, so I don’t want to dismiss his request out of hand. He works hard to maintain a delicate balance with the various ministerial offices within the Coalition Council, and even with Aphenglow gone he has managed to maintain a close relationship with the Druids.”
Isaturin pursed his lips. “I think he is curious about the Federation army’s reasons for undertaking this investigation. There were rumors of a massacre when the Red Slash went into Arbrox six weeks ago. In any case, I have decided to respond to his request. You are to go to Arishaig to speak with him directly and determine the real reason for our involvement.”
Paxon was caught by surprise. “You’re sending me?”
“He asked for you specifically. He has something he wants to say to you. It seems he believes your previous encounters with Arcannen might prove valuable. If what he tells you persuades you to go on to Arbrox for a closer look, then I want you to do so.”
Paxon shook his head. “I hope he’s not putting too much faith in what I know about Arcannen.”
“Don’t worry. You won’t be alone in deciding what needs doing. Avelene will be going, too. I want you to act as her escort and protector.”