Neither girl argued with what he was telling them–both grateful just to be home again and away from Arcannen and Dark House–but he knew Chrysallin suspected he wasn’t telling them everything. She was particularly suspicious about the sword, even after he tried to explain it away by telling her that the sword served as protection against any further attacks. The way she looked at him as he offered this explanation let him know she thought there was something more to it.
But Paxon refused to talk about it, repeating at every opportunity that she should do as he had instructed and keep this whole business to herself. Especially from their mother, who fortunately hadn’t returned in time to discover any of what had happened. She might hear of the confrontation at the Two Roosters, but she was not to hear of the kidnapping or the events that took place in Wayford.
For the time being, they all needed to be very careful of where they went and what they did. Given Arcannen’s reputation, this might not be finished. Even though Paxon could not believe the sorcerer would risk a return visit to Leah and the Highlands anytime soon, it would be a mistake to take that for granted. So they all needed to keep alert, and if they went anywhere they were not to go alone. Chrys, particularly, had to do better about watching out for herself. She had to stop putting herself at risk.
His sister was quick to shrug off his warning, but he had seen the look in her eyes when she was in Arcannen’s hands. She was lucky she hadn’t been hurt or molested in any way, and she knew it. Staying close to home and out of trouble would appeal to her for a while at least, and Paxon hoped that would be long enough.
Meanwhile, he asked about in the city, speaking of a rumor he had heard–that there was a sorcerer in Wayford named Arcannen who owned a business called Dark House and not only commanded magic but was using it in defiance of Federation law. He communicated with those he knew who served on the Highlands Council, the official governing body of the country, and again with a select group of men and women who had family and friends living in Wayford, but his inquiries always ended in cautions. If anyone knew of this man and this place, it might be a good idea to speak with someone in the Federation government about what might be happening and see if something couldn’t be done about it.
And he asked everyone to be sure to let him know if they found out anything useful.
But no one had heard or knew anything about Arcannen and Dark House. After a day or two of asking, he quit. He could only do so much without engaging in a full–on confrontation with the sorcerer.
Even so, he asked the airfield manager and his mechanics to keep watch for any vessel bearing an attacking raven as its emblem or flying a pennant designating it as a ship registered out of Wayford.
Life went back to the way it had been. He continued making shipping runs into other regions of the Four Lands, but he took Chrys with him when he did, teaching her what he knew about airships and flying, doing what he could to distract her from what had happened and from thoughts of Arcannen’s possible return. Jayet had found another job with another tavern, working once again as a serving girl, but with better people around her. She had grown much closer to Chrys since the Two Roosters incident, and they had started to talk about forming a business making jewelry and baskets. It gave Paxon considerable peace of mind to know that his sister was spending most of her time with someone who would have at least a reasonable chance of keeping her out of trouble.
He couldn’t have said why Chrys was the way she was. They had grown up in the same household with the same mother, and they had both suffered to some extent from the death of their father. But nothing dramatic or life changing had happened to his sister to turn her into such a wild creature. Nothing had happened to her that hadn’t happened to him–nothing that would explain why she was so reckless and unsettled.
He watched her while they made their airship runs, working the lines of the trader, tying off radian draws onto the parse tube connectors and hoisting light sheaths and spars. Tall, rangy, already beginning to grow out of her midteen awkwardness, she had all the makings of a first–class airman. She learned quickly, she worked hard, and she listened.
But in spite of her skills and her potential, she spent her free time down in the taverns anyway–usually with Jayet–drinking with the men, throwing dice, being rowdy and wild. She didn’t get in fights anymore, but she remained confrontational and fiercely independent, and there was nothing he could think to do to change that. Even though his mother asked him now and then if there wasn’t something he could say to her, or a means of persuasion he could employ to help change her, he knew it was a waste of time.
Chrysallin Leah was who she was, and she was the only one who could ever change that.
Paxon was aware that he wasn’t all that settled, either. Hero status notwithstanding, he was always looking for something better to do with his life. Much of the time he felt he was drifting, following through with his mother’s expectations and the family’s needs and ignoring his own. Money for food and clothing was a life requirement, and it had to come from somewhere. In this case, it had to come from running the family business. The trouble was that, as a prospect for his life’s work, it was far from satisfying. But he had never found anything else–or at least anything that excited him sufficiently to justify moving away from cargo hauling and into what might turn out to be a reasonable alternative.
Yet he found himself wondering in the days following his encounter with Arcannen and uncovering of the Sword of Leah’s strange power if perhaps he wasn’t on the verge of doing so. His discovery was exciting and seemed indicative of better things to come. That he had managed to unlock the sword’s power and wield it, that he could use it as a weapon against even the darkest sorcery, was both awe inspiring and thrilling. It was an important responsibility, laden with possibilities, and he wanted to take advantage of them.
It made him remember some of his ancestors, the ones who had carried the sword on remarkable quests and accomplished great feats–Rone, Morgan, and Quentin‑Leahs one and all.
It also made him think more carefully on Arcannen’s involvement with the sword. The sorcerer, he now believed, had known what the weapon could do when he first saw it. That he would try to come after it at some point seemed almost certain. But how would the sorcerer go about it? And what could Paxon do to prevent it from happening? Certainly, he had managed to escape once. But he had to admit that Arcannen was far more skilled and experienced with using magic than he was, and a second encounter might not turn out as well for him as the first one had.
Yet his options were limited by his circumstances. He was locked into fulfilling his family’s needs, making cargo hauls, and staying in Leah, and into living with one eye open while sleeping and looking over his shoulder at every sound and shadow while awake.
He thought about moving away. Maybe it was time. Another man, someone with flying and business skills, could be brought in to run their airfreight service. He could find another city with another kind of work that would better suit him and help keep his family safe by removing himself and the sword from the picture. Maybe Arcannen would lose interest in the talisman if it wasn’t around, and the danger would fade after a year or so and he could come home again.
He spent much of his time mulling this over, considering the risks and benefits and looking for a sign that would indicate which way he should turn.