The High Druid's Blade: The Defenders of Shannara by Terry Brooks

her Druid Sleep, Oriantha was old and worn out, and she left the order shortly after. She was never seen again. The entire order was new, and Aphenglow found much that was different from when she had gone into the Druid Sleep. This was eight years ago. I came to her in her first year after waking, sent by a friend of one of the other Druids. She interviewed me, and I was accepted into the order. I already knew a little magic, so that helped. Two weeks later, she made me her personal assistant. She says she likes the way I think. She says I am more organized than she is, and I am younger and have greater energy. That helps to prevent her from wearing herself too far down.”
    He smiled ruefully, running his fingers through the dark curls of his hair and shrugging. “She’s coming to the end of her life. I can’t imagine the world without her. I have been her assistant for seven years now, and I would gladly serve her for fifty. It has been my great privilege. She is the kindest person I have ever known.”
    He was lost in reverie for a few seconds, and then he straightened abruptly and started ahead once more. “We’ll have a quick look at the study rooms and lecture halls and then go down to lunch. Afterward, you can start your training with Oost.”

E IGHT
    A S HE HAD PROMISED , FOLLOWING L UNCH S EBEC DE livered Paxon to Oost Mondara, who was waiting for him in the courtyard of the Keep reserved specifically for weapons practice and training. The yard was dusty and sunlit, and there were no other Druids or trainees about. Oost was standing by a rack of weapons, arranging them in a manner that suggested the paternal love of a father for his children.
    “From now on,” the Gnome said without turning around, “I will expect you to be here promptly at noon. This area is reserved for your training each day for three hours exactly, and I know you don’t want to waste a minute of it.”
    “Good luck,” Sebec whispered to Paxon, and hurried away.
    Paxon, determined to do whatever it took to prove he belonged, stepped forward and bowed. “I apologize.”
    The Gnome turned slowly to face him. In the daylight, he was even more gnarled and bent. “Apologies are not necessary between a teacher and a student. Nor is bowing required. Now, let’s have a look at you.”
    He made a slow circle of Paxon, saying nothing until he had completed his study of the Highlander and was facing him anew. “You have a solid build and good posture. You might not think that’s important, but how you carry yourself defines how you will perform with a blade. Is that your sword you have strapped to your back?”
    “It is,” Paxon said. “I thought—”
    “Take it off.” The command was brusque, perfunctory, as if perhaps it shouldn’t have even been necessary. “You won’t be needing it today. Or for quite a while yet. Tell me of your training. Formal or informal?”
    “Informal,” Paxon admitted. “But I drilled with members of the Border Legion and the Red Guard while they were on leave and visiting Leah. A few were stationed in the Highlands and offered to teach me.”
    The Gnome’s face crinkled in distaste. “How wonderful for you. But your education here will take a slightly different direction. I am sure you know how to use your sword in at least a rudimentary way. I am sure you could defend yourself, if need be. I am equally sure that once you discovered your sword possessed magic, you began thinking you might never again need to worry again about fighting an average sort of battle. You could just use magic if things got too rough.”
    Paxon almost said no, just to be perverse. But instead, he nodded. “It crossed my mind. But obviously you don’t approve.”
    “Obviously I don’t. That sort of thinking can get you killed. Magic is a wonderful thing, but it is unpredictable and treacherous. It cannot be relied upon one hundred percent of the time. And it only needs to fail you once to put an end to your life. An