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

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 closely.
    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, into making cargo hauls, into 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