The Darkling Child - Terry Brooks Page 0,1

lives of those around her.

So far, that moment had not arrived. To this day, Chrysallin remembered nothing, and no sign of the magic had reappeared. Now, as the Ard Rhys prepared for the end of her life, the task of watching over his sister would fall to Paxon. He was ready to accept this, he believed. More ready than he was for what waited just ahead.

As they neared the entry to Aphenglow Elessedil’s room, the door opened and Isaturin appeared. Tall, gaunt, strong-featured, and steady in his gaze, he seemed lessened in all aspects as he approached Paxon. Undoubtedly, he was coming to terms with what the Ard Rhys’s passing would mean for him. He was her designated successor, the next Ard Rhys, and the new High Druid of what would continue as the Fourth Druid Order. He had known of his future for many years; she had made certain of it. But it was one thing to know what lay ahead of you and another altogether to have it standing there at your doorstep.

“She is waiting for you, Paxon,” Isaturin said, slowing to meet him. “She doesn’t have much time, and the journey ahead of us is a long one.”

Paxon stared. “Journey? Do you mean her dying?”

Isaturin shook his head. “No, not that. She will explain. Hurry now. No lingering.”

He moved away, leaving the Highlander looking after him in confusion.

Keratrix touched his arm. “Go in, Paxon. I’ll wait out here.”

Paxon went to the door, knocked softly, and heard her voice in response. Though he could not understand her words, he took a deep breath and entered anyway.

“Paxon,” she greeted him.

That single word almost undid him. Everything she meant to him, everything she had done for him, all they had shared together seemed caught up in the moment. Memories flooded through him, some sad, some happy, all incredibly vivid—a jumble of connections realized in seconds. He stood where he was, weathering the onslaught, frozen in place.

Then he looked up from the spot on the floor to which his gaze had fastened and saw her. Whatever he had expected to find, it wasn’t this. She was sitting up in her favorite chair, a blanket spread across her knees and her hands in her lap, clasped together. She looked old, but not sick; worn, but not broken. Her face radiated strength and certainty, and she had about her an aura of invincibility that caused him to blink in disbelief.

“You thought perhaps to find me abed and failing?” she asked. “You thought I might be breathing my last?”

He nodded, unable to speak.

“It doesn’t work that way. High Druids go to their end with some measure of dignity and strength so that they can face what awaits. Sit with me.”

He took the chair across from her. “You don’t look as if you are dying,” he admitted. “You look very well, Mistress.”

Her face was lined by her years and the stresses and struggles she had endured and survived. She was very thin, and her skin had the look of parchment wrapped about bones. He had seen pictures of her when she was young—portraits and sketches executed by Druids who possessed such skills as would allow them to capture her image accurately. It was said she had been beautiful—tall and strong, a warrior Elf and the descendant of Elven Kings and Queens. He could see traces of that in her even now—small indicators of what she had been years ago.

“Kind words, Paxon. But in spite of what you think you see, my passing is at hand. I must go to my rest in the way of all leaders of the order—and for that, I require your company. I wish you to make the journey with me to the Valley of Shale and the Hadeshorn, where I will be met and taken home. I would like to leave at once. Though I may look strong, I can feel myself failing. It is a scary thing to be strong one moment and know that in the next your life will be over. Will you accompany me?”

“Of course,” he said at once. “Should I arrange transport?” He paused. “What happens once we get there?”

She gave him that old, familiar smile. “Best wait and see for yourself. I am not as certain of it as I would like to be. And don’t give any further thought to arranging for an airship. Isaturin is taking care of that now. Just sit with me. Keep me company.”

Paxon sat back. “Do the others