Jarka Ruus

FIFTEEN

With the decision made to go in search of the tanequil, Ahren Elessedil arranged for horses to transport the party on the first leg of their journey, and within an hour they were mounted and riding out of Emberen. Seemingly unconcerned about its contents, the Druid didn't even bother to close up his cottage, leaving everything pretty much the way it was. Pen had the feeling that the Druid wasn't much attached to possessions and, in the tradition of Druids who did service in the field, thought them mostly superfluous. The boy didn't pretend to understand this, having worked hard for everything he had, but he supposed that his own attachments were mostly the result of habit and not because he valued his belongings all that much. Still, he had to fight a strong urge to go back and lock up.

They rode south along the main roadway, stopping frequently to say good–bye to the villagers, Ahren making a point of telling everyone he spoke to that they would be gone for several weeks. Pen thought it odd that he would make the information public and was further confused when they departed in the wrong direction and a dozen miles outside the village turned not east toward the Charnals, but west.

When he finally gathered up courage enough to ask what they were doing, Ahren Elessedil smiled. «Confusing the enemy, I hope. If they come to Emberen, which I expect they will, the villagers will tell them we left heading south. If they track us that way, they will find that we have turned west. But they will lose our trail when we reach the Rill Song because we will leave the horses there and catch a barge downriver to the Innisbore and the inland port of Syioned. At Syioned, we will find an airship to take us where we really want to go.»

«An airship?» Pen asked.

«An airship offers speed on a direct line and doesn't leave tracks. If I'd had one at my disposal in Emberen, we would have taken it from there. But horses will have to do for now.» He laughed. «You should see your face, young Pen!»

They rode all that day and most of the next through the Westland forests before reaching the Rill Song and a way station that offered the use of barge transport downriver. The weather stayed warm and bright, the storm that was lashing Paranor and the Druid's Keep having passed north a day earlier. They rode steadily, stopping only to eat and sleep, and in that time Pen managed to find discomfort in ways he hadn't dreamed possible. Horses were not a regular part of his life, so riding for such long stretches left him aching from neck to ankles. Having done little riding himself, Tagwen didn't fare much better. Both Elves seemed untroubled by the effort, but on the first evening Khyber took time to give the Dwarf and the boy a liniment she carried in her pack to ease their pain.

Leaving the horses behind at the way station, they boarded the barge late in the afternoon of the second day and set out anew. The Rill Song was deep and wide at that time of the year, and they had no trouble making headway on its turgid waters. When darkness set in, they navigated by moonlight so bright it might have been the middle of the day. Ahren could have tied up on the river–bank and let them all sleep, but he seemed anxious to continue on while light permitted and so they did. Pen was just as happy. He did not care to chance another run–in with Terek Molt.

The following day, they passed below Arborlon, its treetop spires just visible over the lip of the Carolan. The storied Elfitch, the heavily fortified ramp that gave access to traffic coming in from the west, rose like a coiled snake from the eastern bank of the river to the bluff. Elves worked their way through the switchbacks and gates, a steady stream of commerce coming from and going to the Sarandanon. Pen found himself thinking about the battle fought between the Elves and their allies and the demons from the Forbidding almost five hundred years earlier. He stared at the Elfitch as they sailed past, trying to imagine the strength of its iron being tested against the frenzy of the demons. Thousands had died in that struggle. The legendary Border Legion had been decimated. The Elves had lost one out of every three able men. Their King, Eventine Elessedil, had been killed.

Pen wondered if another battle of the same sort was waiting down the road—if in spite of what Khyber said, the Ellcrys was failing again and the demons had found another doorway out of their prison.

They passed other boats on the river, and now and again they saw airships sailing overhead, a mix of warships on their way to the Prekkendorran and freighters on their way to less angry places. The weather stayed sunny and warm. There was no sign of the Galaphile. There was no sign of trouble of any sort. Pen began to think that maybe things weren't so bad.

Three days later, they reached the Innisbore, a body of water so vast that even if sun had broken through the clouds long enough to burn away the mists that lay in ragged strips across her choppy surface, the far shores would still have been out of view. It was late in the day when they maneuvered their barge into the landing area just beyond the mouth of the river, arranged for its docking and transport back upriver, and began the two–mile walk up the lake's eastern bank to the city of Syioned. Thunderheads were forming up again to the west, another storm beginning to build in that midseason time of storms. That they were commonplace at this time of the year didn't make them any less inconvenient, Pen thought. If one struck while they were grounded, they would not be able to fly out until it passed. That could take up to several days. Impulsively, Pen asked Ahren if they might be able to leave yet that day, but the Druid told him they didn't even have a ship arranged as yet and probably wouldn't before week's end.

Pen settled into a funk that matched the approaching weather. He didn't like delays, especially where flying was concerned. He was already itching to get back in the air. That was his life at Patch Run, and although he understood he had left that life behind, he couldn't pretend he didn't want it back. Traveling by horse and barge and on foot was all well and good, but flying was what he craved. The sooner he got back in the air, the better he would feel about himself.

But just then, patience was needed. Deep twilight had settled in by the time they reached the outskirts of the city, and his stomach was rumbling. They found an inn on a side street not far off the road leading in that served food and offered rooms. It was sufficiently far off the beaten track that Ahren Elessedil felt comfortable with staying there for the night. They ate at a table in the back of the common room, and by the time they were finished, Pen's eyes were heavy with sleep.

He didn't remember going up to his room afterwards. He didn't remember stripping off his clothes and tumbling into the bed. All he remembered, thinking back on it, was the sound of the rain beating on the shingled roof as the storm arrived.

* * *

«It doesn't look like it's ever going to stop," Pen observed glumly, staring out the window of the inn.

The rain fell in sheets as it had been doing all night, flooding the roadways and turning low–lying stretches of waterfront into small inlets. The glass of the window he looked through was sufficiently obscured that he couldn't see more than a dozen yards. Not much of anyone was moving about outside. Nothing was flying. Pen was not happy.

Khyber studied the gaming board in front of her, nodding absently at his comment. «Give it time, Pen. Storms out here are worse than they are inland. But they pass.» She moved a piece to confront one of his. «If you're worried about pursuit, just remember that if we can't fly, neither can they.»

«I don't like being grounded like this," he growled. «I feel trapped.» He took her piece with one of his own. He thought about Ahren Elessedil and Tagwen. «How long have they been gone now?»

She shrugged, eyes on the board. The Druid and the Dwarf had gone out early that morning in search of passage. With no one flying, the airship Captains would be gathered at their favorite inns and ale houses, passing the time while they waited to get back in the air. A few among them might be looking for business, and out of those there had to be at least one that the Druid would consider hiring. In their situation, discretion was as important as speed, and he wasn't going to sign on with anyone with whom he didn't feel comfortable. He wanted one of the Rovers, accomplished mercenaries who knew how to keep their mouths shut. Syioned was a regular stop for transport from the coast and continuing farther inland to the landlocked cities. Rover Captains made the run all the time, and more than a few of them would be here now.

Pen and Khyber had been told to stay at the inn, out of sight and trouble. The Druid was worried that someone would notice them and remember later, when those who hunted them found their way to the port. The less they were seen, the better. Especially Pen, with his distinctive long red hair. The inn was crowded, but those gathered were clustered in private groups and engaged in their own conversations. Not much attention was being paid to anyone else.

«When did you start flying airships?» Khyber asked. She looked up at him. «You must have been doing it a long time.»

He nodded. «Since I can remember. My mother always flew and my father, as well, after he met her. They took me with them everywhere after I was born, even when I was a baby. I remember learning to steer when I was barely old enough to stand on an upended crate and look over the pilot box railing.»

«I wanted to fly," she said, «but my father, when he was alive, and after he died, my brother, insisted that someone always go with me. In a big warship with lots of the Home Guard for protection, I might add. Even after I began traveling out on my own, old enough to know how to take care of myself, I wasn't allowed to go by airship.»

He shrugged. «You haven't missed that much.»

She laughed. «What a terrible liar you are, Penderrin! You can't possibly believe that! You're the one who can't wait to get back up in the skies! Admit it!»

«Okay, I admit it.» He was laughing, too. «But you can make up for what you've missed. I could show you.»

He moved another piece, and she responded. She was good at the game, but not nearly as good as he was. He had an innate sense of what she was going to do even before she did. She studied the board intently, aware that she was being backed into a corner.

«Have you thought about the fact that your father and my uncle Ahren were about the same age we are now when they sailed on the Jerle Shannara?» she said.

«More than once.»

«Do your parents ever talk about what it was like?»

«Once in a while, A lot of their friends died on that voyage, and I don't think they like to remember it.» He looked at her. «How about your uncle? Does he ever say anything?»

She shook her head, her brow creasing. «He doesn't like to talk about it, either. Because of the seer, I think. He was in love with her, though he won't say so now. It's too painful for him.» She cocked her head. «Are you afraid of what we're doing, Pen?»

He leaned back, thinking about it. Was he afraid? What did he feel? He hadn't really stopped to think about it. Or maybe hadn't allowed himself, afraid of what he might discover.

«No," he answered, then immediately grimaced. «All right, yes, but only in a general sort of way. I don't know enough to be afraid of anything specific yet. Except for that Druid, that Dwarf. He was pretty scary. I'm afraid of him.»

She brushed back strands of dark hair that had fallen forward over her face as she bent to the board. «I'm not afraid. I know some magic, so I can protect us if I have to. Uncle Ahren knows a lot of magic, though he doesn't show it. I think he's probably a match for anyone. We'll be all right.»

«Glad you think so.»

«Don't you have some of your father's magic? He had the magic of the wishsong, like your aunt Grianne, didn't he?»

Pen nodded. «True. But he didn't pass it on to me. I think the bloodline has grown thin after all these years. He's probably the last. Just as well, he'd tell you. He doesn't trust it. He uses it now and then, but not much. He's just as happy I don't have any.»

«It might help if you did.»

Pen paused, considering whether or not he should tell her about the talent he did have.

«Maybe.»

«You could protect yourself a little better. From those renegade Druids and their magic. From what you might come upon inside the Forbidding. Don't you think so?»

He didn't reply. They went back to the game, moving pieces until only eight remained on the board. Pen knew by then that he would win, but he let the game continue anyway. Playing it helped pass the time.

«Do you remember what Tagwen said about the tanequil giving me the darkwand if I could find it?» he asked her finally. He leaned forward over the board as if concentrating, deliberately lowering his voice. «It's because I do have magic.»

She leaned in to meet him, their foreheads almost touching. Her Elven features sharpened with surprise. «What sort of magic? The wishsong? But you said not.»

«No. Something else. Something different.» He fiddled with one of the pieces, then took his hand away. «I can sense what living things are thinking, what they are going to do and why. Not people. Birds and animals and plants. When they make sounds, noises or cries or whatever, I can understand what they are saying. Sometimes, I can make the sounds back, answer them.»

She cocked one eyebrow. «That seems to me like it could be pretty important. I don't know how exactly, but I think it could be. Have you told Uncle Ahren?»

He shook his head. «Not yet.»

«Well, you should. He ought to know, Pen. He's a Druid. He might know something about it that you don't, maybe a way you can use it that will help us.» She paused, studying his face. «Are you afraid to tell him? You can trust him, you know.»

«I know.» His eyes locked on hers. «I just don't talk about it much. I never have.»

They went back to playing, the sound of the rain beating against the window increasing in intensity. All around them, voices and laughter fought to hold their ground. The flames of the lamps on the walls and the candles on the tables fluttered like tiny flags as the wind slipped through cracks and crevices in the wood boarding and gusted through the open door every time someone entered or left.

«I'll tell him when he comes back," Pen said finally. He moved his assault piece to confront her control. «Stand down. You lose, Khyber.»

They played another game and were in the middle of a third when the door opened to admit a drenched Ahren Elessedil and Tagwen. Shedding water from their all–weather cloaks like ducks come ashore, they hurried over to the boy and girl. «Get your things together," Ahren told them quietly, bending down so that rainwater dripped on the tabletop. «We've found a ship.»

* * *

They gathered up their gear, strapped their packs over their shoulders, and departed the inn for the ship that the Druid had engaged. Better that they settle in at once so they could be ready to leave when the storm abated, the Druid advised. They had to walk from the side street on which the inn was situated back to the main roadway and down to the docks, then along the waterfront to where the ship was tied up at the pier. As they slogged through the downpour, Ahren Elessedil provided the details.

«The ship is the Skatelow. Appropriate name for its uses, I'd guess. Low and sleek in her hull, raked mast, lots of rigging on the decks. She can't carry much in the way of passengers or freight with all the sail she stores, but she can probably outrun almost anything flying.»

«Made for our uses," Tagwen grunted, his words nearly drowned out by a sudden gust of wind.

«Not much in the way of comforts, but adequate for our needs," the Druid continued. «Her Captain is a Rover named Gar Hatch. I don't know anything about him other than what I've learned from talking with him and what a few on the waterfront tell me. He's got a reputation for being willing to try anything, and they all say he can go places no one else would even think of trying. If I read him correctly, he's done a lot of what we're after—carrying passengers who want to keep it quiet. He's charming, but there's some snake in him, as well, so watch what you say. He knows we want to go east to the Lazareen, but that's all I've given him to work with. What he cares about most is the money he will get, and I've satisfied him on that count.»

«The Lazareen?» Khyber asked.

«An inland lake at the foot of the Charnals, the first step of our journey. That's all the Rover knows of our plans just yet.»

They walked on for a while, not speaking, heads bent against the wind and rain. Pen was not only wet, he was cold. He had been out in the weather a lot aboard airships and knew how to dress for it, but in his haste to leave the inn this afternoon, he hadn't given much thought to his personal comfort. He was regretting that oversight now.

«Penderrin.»

Ahren Elessedil had dropped back to walk beside him, letting Khyber and Tagwen go on ahead. Pen hitched up his pack and moved closer so that he could hear. The rain obscured the Druid's face and ran off his shoulders in sheets.

«I took the liberty of telling Captain Hatch that you had extensive airship experience," he said. «I'm afraid I put you on the spot rather deliberately.» The hood shifted, and Pen caught a glimpse of his Elven features, somber and intense. «I don't trust this fellow entirely; he's a mercenary, and mercenaries always look out for themselves first. But he was the best I could do, and I didn't want to delay our departure. The longer we wait, the better the chance that those hunting us will get wind of where we are.»

Pen nodded. «I understand.»

The Druid leaned closer. «The reason I told Hatch about your experience is so that he knows at least one of us can determine if he's doing what he's supposed to. I don't want him telling us one thing and doing something else. I don't want him thinking he can put one over on us. I don't say that would happen, but I want to guard against it. I don't know that much about airships; I never did. Your father was the pilot and your mother the navigator when it was needed. I was always just a passenger. That's never changed. Khyber and Tagwen know even less than I do. In fact, I think it's something of a miracle that Tagwen managed to reach you on his own.»

«I thought that, too, after he told me what he'd done.» Pen blinked away the rain that swept into his eyes.

«Stay alert on our journey, Pen," Ahren said. «Don't make it obvious, but keep an eye on what's happening with the navigation of the ship. If anything looks wrong, tell me. I'll deal with it. Can you do that?»

«I can do it.»

«Gar Hatch doesn't know who we are, but that doesn't mean he won't find out. If he does, he might be tempted to make use of that information. The Druids are already looking for you. They've put it about that because of what happened to your aunt, you might be in danger, as well, and should be protected. If you're seen, word is to be sent to them immediately.»

He hunched his shoulders against the wind. «I gave him only first names, thinking it safe enough at the time, but now I wish I hadn't given him even that. News of the Druid search didn't reached Syioned until this morning, but now that it has, Hatch may hear of it. He isn't a stupid man. Be very careful, Pen.»

He moved away again into the rain, his cloaked form dark and shadowy in the gloom. Pen stared after him, slowing.

Be very careful. Easily said, he thought; not so easily done.

Aware suddenly that he was falling behind, he hurried to catch up with the others.