The Talismans of Shannara

Chapter Eleven

Morgan Leah explained his plan to rescue Padishar Creel to Damson Rhee and Chandos during dinner. He pulled them aside where they would not be overheard, huddling on the open bluff about their food and drink, listening to the night sounds and watching the stars brighten in the darkening sky while they talked. He first had Damson relate again the particulars of her own escape from the city, letting her tell the story as she chose, glancing back and forth between the girl and the fierce-looking free-born. When she had finished, he set his empty plate aside—he had consumed everything while she talked—and leaned forward intently.

“They will expect a rescue attempt,” he advised softly, glancing at each in turn. “They know we won’t just give up on him. They know how important he is to us. But they will not expect us to come at them the same way. They will expect a different approach this time—a major effort involving a large number of men maybe, a diversion of some sort perhaps leading to an all-out assault. They will expect us to try to catch them off guard. So we have to give them something other than what they’re looking for before they realize what it is they’re seeing.”

Chandos snorted. “Are you making any sense, Highlander?”

Morgan permitted himself a quick grin. “Above all else, we have to get in and out again quick. The longer this takes, the more dangerous it becomes. Bear with me, Chandos. I just want you to understand the reasoning behind what I’m about to suggest. We have to think the way they do in order to anticipate their plan to trap us and find a way to avoid it.”

“You’re sure there will be a trap, then?” the big man asked, rubbing his bearded chin. “Why won’t they just dispose of Padishar and be done with it? Or why not do to him what they did to Hirehone?” He glanced quickly at Damson, who was tight-lipped.

Morgan clasped a hand on the other’s broad shoulder. “I can’t be sure of anything. But think about it for a moment. If they dispose of Padishar, they lose any chance of getting their hands on the rest of us. And they want us all, Chandos. They want the free-born wiped out.” He faced Damson. “Eventually, they will use Padishar the same way they used Hirehone. But they won’t do that right away. First of all, they know we will be looking for it. If Padishar comes back, what’s the first thing we’ll ask ourselves? Is it really Padishar—or is it another of the Shadowen? Second, they know we found a way to discover the truth about Teel. And they know we might do it again with Padishar. Third, and most important, we have the use of magic and they want it. Rimmer Dall has been chasing Par Ohmsford from the beginning and it must have something to do with his magic. Same with Walker Boh. And the same with me.”

He leaned forward. “They’ll try to use Padishar to bring us to them because they know we won’t attempt a rescue without bringing the magic along, that we won’t challenge theirs without being able to call on ours. They want that magic—just like they want all the magic—and this is their best chance to get it.”

Chandos frowned. “So you figure it’s the Shadowen that we’ll really be up against?”

Morgan nodded. “It’s been the Shadowen right from the beginning. Teel, Hirehone, the Creepers, Rimmer Dall, the Gnawl, that little girl Par encountered on Toffer Ridge—everywhere we’ve gone, the Shadowen have been there waiting. They control the Federation and the Coalition Council as well; they have to. Of course it’s the Shadowen we’ll be up against.”

“Tell us your plan,” Damson urged quietly.

Morgan leaned back again, folding his arms comfortably. “We go back into Tyrsis through the tunnels—the same way Damson escaped. We dress ourselves in Federation uniforms, just as Padishar did at the Pit. We go up into the city, to the watchtower or prisons or wherever they have Padishar. We enter in broad daylight and set him free. We go in one way and out another. We do it all in a matter of a few minutes.”

Chandos and Damson both stared at him. “That’s it? That’s the whole plan?” Chandos demanded.

“Wait a minute,” Damson interrupted. “Morgan, how do we get back into the tunnels? I can’t remember the way.”

“No, you can’t,” Morgan agreed. “But the Mole can.” He took a deep breath. “This plan depends mostly on him. And you persuading him to help.” He paused, studying her green eyes. “You will have to go back into the city and find him, then come down through the catacombs to lead us in. You will have to find out where Padishar is being held so that we can go right to him. The Mole knows all the secret passageways, all the tunnels that lie beneath the city of Tyrsis. He can find a way for us to go. If we just appear at their door, they won’t have time to stop us. It’s the best chance we have—do what they expect us to do, but not in the way they’re anticipating.”

Chandos shook his head. “I don’t know, Highlander. They know about Damson; they’ll be looking for her.”

Morgan nodded. “But she’s the only one the Mole will trust. She has to go in first, through the gates. I’ll go with her.” He looked at her. “What do you think, Damson Rhee?”

“I think I can do it,” she declared quietly. “And the Mole will help—if they haven’t caught up with him yet.” She frowned doubtfully. “They have to be hunting for him down in those same tunnels we’ll be coming through.”

“But he knows them better than the soldiers do,” Morgan said. “They’ve been trying to catch him for weeks now and haven’t been able to do so. We just need another few days.” He looked at the girl and the big man in turn. “It is the best chance we’re going to get. We have to try.”

Chandos shook his head once more. “How many of us will this take?”

“Two dozen, no more.”

Chandos stared at him, wide-eyed. “Two dozen! Highlander, there’s five thousand Federation soldiers quartered in Tyrsis, and who knows how many Shadowen! Two dozen men won’t stand a chance!”

“We’ll stand a better chance than two hundred—or two thousand, if we had that many to muster, which we don’t, do we?” The big man’s jaw tightened defensively. “Chandos, the smaller the company, the better the chance of hiding it. They’ll be looking for something larger; they’ll expect it. But two dozen men? We can be on top of them before they know who we are. We can disguise two dozen among five thousand a lot more easily than two hundred. Two dozen is all we need if we get close enough.”

“He’s right,” Damson said suddenly. “A large force would be heard in the tunnels. There would be nowhere for them to hide in the city. We can slip two dozen in and hide them until the attempt.” She looked directly at Morgan. “What I don’t know is whether two dozen will be enough to free Padishar when the time comes.”

Morgan met her gaze. “Because of the Shadowen?”

“Yes, because of the Shadowen. We don’t have Par with us this time to keep them at bay.”

“No,” Morgan agreed, “you have me instead.” He reached back over his shoulder, drew out the Sword of Leah, brought it around in front of him, and jammed it dramatically into the earth. It rested there, quivering slightly, polished surface smooth and silver in the starlight. He looked at them. “And I have this.”

“Your talisman,” Chandos muttered in surprise. “I thought it was broken.”

“It was healed when I went north,” Morgan replied softly, seeing Quickening’s face appear and then fade in his mind. “I have the magic back again. It will be enough to withstand the Shadowen.”

Damson glanced from one face to the other, confused. Perhaps Par hadn’t told her about the Sword of Leah. Perhaps he hadn’t had time in the struggle to escape Tyrsis and reach the free-born. And no one knew about Quickening save for Walker Boh.

Morgan did not care to explain, and he did not try. “Can you find the men?” he asked Chandos instead.

The black eyes fixed him. “I can, Highlander. Twenty times that for Padishar Creel.” He paused. “But you’re asking them to place a lot of faith in you.”

Morgan jerked his sword free of the earth and slid it back into its sheath. In the distance, along the bluff edge, free-born patrolled in the darkness. Behind, back against the trees, cooking fires burned low, and the clank and rattle of cookware was beginning to diminish as the meal ended and thoughts turned to sleep. Pipes were lit, small bits of light against the black, fireflies that wavered in the concealment of the trees. The sound of voices was low and easy.

Morgan looked at the big man. “If there were a better choice, Chandos, I would take it gladly.” He held the other’s dark gaze. “What’s it to be, yes or no?”

Chandos looked at Damson, his gold earring a small glitter as his head turned. “What do you say?”

The girl brushed back her fiery hair, the look in her eyes a determined one, edged with flashes of anger and hope. “I say we have to try something or Padishar is lost.” Her face tightened. “If it was us instead of him, wouldn’t he come?”

Chandos rubbed at the scarred remains of his ear. “In your case, he already did, didn’t he?” He shook his head. “Fools to the end, we are,” he muttered to no one in particular. “All of us.” He looked back at Morgan. “All right, Highlander. Two dozen men, myself included. I’ll pick them tonight.”

He rose abruptly. “You’ll want to leave right away, I expect. First light, or as soon thereafter as we can put together supplies for the trip.” He gave Morgan a wry look. “We don’t have to live off the land by any chance, do we, Highlander?”

Morgan and Damson stood up with him. Morgan extended his hand to the free-born. “Thank you, Chandos.”

The big man laughed. “For what? For agreeing to a madman’s scheme?” He clasped Morgan’s hand nevertheless. “Tell you what. If this works, it’ll be me thanking you a dozen times over.”

Muttering, he trudged off toward the cooking fires, carrying his empty plate, shaggy head lowered into his barrel chest. Morgan watched him go, thinking momentarily of times gone by and of places and companions left behind. The thoughts were haunting and filled with regrets for what might have been, and they left him feeling empty and alone.

He felt Damson’s shoulder brush up against his arm and turned to face her. The emerald eyes were thoughtful. “He may be right about you,” she observed quietly. “You may be a madman.”

He shrugged. “You backed me up.”

“I want Padishar free. You seem to be the only one with a plan.” She arched one eyebrow. “Tell me the truth—is there any more to this scheme than what you’ve revealed?”

He smiled. “Not much. I hope to be able to improvise as I go along.”

She didn’t say anything, just studied him a moment, then took his arm and steered him out along the bluff face. They walked without saying anything for a long time, crossing from the edge of the trees to the cliffs and back again, breathing the scent of wildflowers and grasses on the wind that skipped down off the ridges of the peaks beyond. The wind was warm and soothing, like silk against Morgan’s skin. He lifted his face to it. It made him want to close his eyes and disappear into it.

“Tell me about your sword,” she said suddenly, her voice very quiet. Her gaze was steady despite the sudden shifting of his eyes away from her. “Tell me how it was healed—and why you hurt so much, Morgan. Because you do in some way, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes. Tell me. I want to hear.”

He believed her, and he discovered all at once that he did want to talk about it after all. He let himself be pulled down onto a flat-surfaced rock. Sitting next to her in the darkness, both of them facing out toward the cliffs, he began to speak.

“There was a girl named Quickening,” he said, the words thick and unwieldy sounding as he spoke them. He paused and took a deep, steadying breath. “I loved her very much.”

He hoped she didn’t see the tears that came to his eyes.

He spent the night rolled into a blanket at the edge of the trees, body wedged within the roots of an ancient elm, head cradled by his rolled-up travel cloak. The makeshift bedding proved less than satisfactory, and he woke stiff and sore. As he shook the leaves and dust out of the cloak he realized that he had not seen Matty Roh since the night before, that he hadn’t actually seen her even at dinner, although he had been pretty preoccupied with his plan for rescuing Padishar—his great and wonderful plan that on reflection in the pale first light of dawn appeared pretty makeshift and decidedly lacking in common sense. Last night it had seemed pretty good. This morning it just looked desperate.

But he was committed to it now. Chandos would have already begun preparations for the journey back to Tyrsis. There was nothing to be gained by second-guessing.

He stretched and headed for the little stream that ran down out of the rocks behind him some distance back in the trees. The cold water would help to unclog his brain, chase the sleep from his eyes. He had talked with Damson Rhee until well after midnight. He had told her everything about Quickening and the journey north to Eldwist. She had listened without saying much, and somehow it had brought them closer together. He found himself liking her more, found himself trusting her. The suspicions that had been there earlier had faded. He began to understand why Par Ohmsford and Padishar Creel had gone back for her after the Federation had taken her prisoner. He thought that he would have done the same.

Nevertheless, there was something she wasn’t telling him about her relationship with the Valeman and the leader of the free-born. It was neither a deception nor a lie; it was simply an omission. She had been quick enough to acknowledge that she was in love with Par, but there was something else, something that predated her feelings for the Valeman, that formed the backbone for everything that had led to her own involvement in trying to recover the Sword of Shannara from the Pit. Morgan wasn’t sure what it was, but it was there in the fabric of her tale, in the way she spoke of the two men, in the strength of her conviction that she must help them. Once or twice Morgan had almost been able to put his finger on what it was that she was keeping to herself, but each time the truth skittered just out of reach.

In any case, he felt better for having told someone about Quickening, for having given some release to the feelings he had kept bottled up inside since his return. He’d slept well after that, a dreamless rest cradled in the crook of that old tree, able to let go a little of the pain that had dogged him for so many weeks.

He heard the sound of the stream ahead, a small rippling against the silence. He crossed a clearing, pushed through a screen of brush, and found himself staring at Matty Roh.

She sat across from him at the edge of the stream, her pants rolled up and her bare feet dangling in the water. The moment he appeared she jerked away, reaching for her boots. Her feet came out of the water in a flash of white skin, disappearing into the shadow of her body almost immediately. But for just an instant he had a clear view of them, hideously scarred, the toes missing or so badly deformed that they were almost unrecognizable. Her black hair shivered in the light with the urgency of her movements as she turned her face away from him.

“Don’t look at me,” she whispered harshly.

Embarrassed, he turned away at once. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t know you were here.”

He hesitated, then started away, following the stream toward the rocks, the picture of her feet uncomfortably clear in his mind.

“You don’t have to leave,” she called after him, and he stopped. “I... I just need a minute.”

He waited, looking out into the trees, hearing voices now from just beyond where he stood, a snatch of laughter here, a quick murmur there.

“All right,” she said, and he turned back again. She was standing by the stream with her pants rolled down and her boots on. “I’m sorry I snapped at you like that.”

He shrugged and walked over to her. “Well, I didn’t mean to surprise you. I’m still a little bit asleep, I guess.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” She looked embarrassed as well.

He knelt by the stream and splashed water on his face and hands, used soap to wash himself, and rubbed himself dry again on a soft cloth. He could have used a bath, but didn’t want to take the time. He was conscious of the girl watching him as he worked, a silent shadow at his side.

He finished and rocked back on his heels, breathing deeply the morning air. He could smell wildflowers and grasses.

“You’re leaving for Tyrsis to rescue Padishar,” she said suddenly. “I want to go with you.”

He looked up at her in surprise. “How did you know about the rescue?”

She shrugged. “Doing what I’ve trained myself to do—keeping my eyes and ears open. Can I come?”

He stood up and faced her. Her eyes were level with his. He was surprised all over again at how tall she was. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because I’m tired of standing about, of doing nothing more than listening in on other people’s conversations.” Her gaze was steady and determined. “Remember our conversation on the trail? I said I was waiting for something to happen? Well, it has. I want to go with you.”

He wasn’t sure he understood and didn’t know what to say in any case. It was bad enough that Damson Rhee had to go back with them. But Matty Roh as well? On a journey as dangerous as this one would undoubtedly be?

She stepped back a pace, measuring him. “I would hate to think that you were stupid enough to be worried about me,” she said bluntly. “The fact of the matter is I can take care of myself a lot better than you can. I’ve been doing it for a much longer time. You might remember how things went back at the Whistledown when you tried to grab me.”

“That doesn’t count!” he snapped defensively. “I wasn’t ready—”

“No, you weren’t,” she cut him short. “And that is the difference between us, Highlander. You aren’t trained to be ready, and I am.” She stepped close again. “I’ll tell you something else. I’m a better swordsman than anyone this side of Padishar Creel—and maybe as good as he is. If you don’t believe me, ask Chandos.”

He stared at her, at the piercing cobalt eyes, at the thin line of her lips, at the slender shoulders squared and set, everything thrust forward combatively, daring him to challenge her.

“I believe you,” he said, and meant it.

“Besides,” she said, not relaxing herself an inch, “you need me to make your plan work.”

“How do you know about—”

“You’re the wrong one to go into Tyrsis with Damson,” she interrupted, ignoring his unfinished question. “It should be me.”

“... the plan?” he finished, trailing off. He put his hands on his hips, frustrated. “Why should it be you?”

“Because I won’t be noticed and you will. You’re too obvious, Highlander. You look exactly like what you are! Anyway, your face is known to the Federation and mine isn’t. And if anything goes wrong, you don’t know your way around Tyrsis, and I do. I’ve been there many times. Most important of all, they won’t be looking for two women. We’ll walk right past them, and they won’t give us a second glance.”

She squared up to him again. “Tell me I’m wrong,” she challenged.

He smiled in spite of himself. “I guess I can’t do that.” He looked away into the trees, hoping the answer to her demand lay there. It didn’t. He looked back again. “Why don’t you ask Chandos? He’s in charge, not me.”

Her expression did not change. “I don’t think so. At least not in this case.” She paused, waiting. “Well? Can I go?”

He sighed, suddenly weary. Maybe she was right. Maybe having her along would be a good idea. She certainly gave a convincing argument. Besides, hadn’t he just finished telling himself that his plan needed help? Perhaps Matty Roh was a little of what was needed.

“All right,” he agreed. “You can come.”

“Thanks.” She turned away and started back toward the camp, her cloak slung over one shoulder.

“But Chandos has to agree, too!” he called after her, still looking for a way out.

“He already has!” she shouted back in reply. “He said to ask you.”

She gave him a quick smile over her shoulder as she disappeared into the trees.

Chandos was terse and withdrawn at breakfast, and Morgan left him alone, choosing to sit instead with Damson Rhee. The long table they occupied was crowded and the men were boisterous, so the Highlander and the girl didn’t say much to each other, concentrating on their food and the conversation around them. Matty Roh appeared briefly, passing next to Morgan without looking at him, on her way to someplace else. She paused long enough to say something to Chandos, which caused him to scowl deeply. Morgan didn’t hear what she said but had no trouble imagining what it might be.

When the meal was concluded Chandos pushed to his feet, bellowed at everyone still seated to get to work, and called Damson and Morgan aside. He took them out of the trees and onto the open bluff once more, waiting until they were out of earshot to speak. Dark-visaged and gruff, he announced that during the night word had arrived through the free-born network that the Elves had returned to the Westland. This news was several days old and not entirely reliable, and he wanted to know what Morgan and the girl thought.

“I think it’s possible,” Morgan said at once. “Returning the Elves to the Westland was one of the charges given to the Ohmsfords.”

“If Paranor is back, the Elves could be back as well,” agreed Damson.

“And that would mean that all the charges have been fulfilled,” Morgan added, growing excited now. “Chandos, we have to know if it’s true.”

The big man’s scowl returned. “You’ll want another expedition, I suppose—as if one wasn’t enough!” He sighed wearily. “All right, I’ll send someone to check it out, a messenger to let them know they have friends in Callahorn. If they’re there, we’ll find them.”

He went on to add that he had chosen the men for the journey to Tyrsis and that supplies and weapons were being assembled as they spoke. Everything should be in place by mid-morning, and as soon as it was they would depart.

As he turned to leave, Morgan asked impulsively, “Chandos, what’s your opinion of Matty Roh?”

“My opinion?” The big man laughed. “I think she gets pretty much anything she wants.” He started away again, then called back, “I also think you’d better watch your step with her, Highlander.”

He went on, disappearing into the trees, yelling orders as he went.

Damson looked at Morgan. “What was that all about?”

Morgan told her about his meeting with Matty at Varfleet and their journey to Firerim Reach. He told her about the girl’s insistence that she be included in their effort to rescue Padishar. He asked Damson if she knew anything about Matty Roh. Damson did not. She had never met her before.

“But Matty’s right about two women attracting less attention,” she declared. “And if she was able to persuade both you and Chandos that she should go on this journey, I’d say you’d both better watch out for her.”

Morgan left to put together his pack for the trek south, strapped on his weapons, and went back out on the bluff. Within an hour the company that Chandos had chosen was assembled and ready to leave. It was a hard and capable-looking bunch, some of them men who had fought side by side with Padishar against the Creeper at the Jut. A few recognized Morgan and nodded companionably. Sending one man on ahead to scout for any trouble, Chandos led the rest, Morgan and Damson and Matty Roh with them, down off Firerim Reach toward the plains beyond.

They walked all day, descending out of the Dragon’s Teeth to the Rabb, then turning south to cross the river and continue on toward Varfleet. They traveled quickly, steadily through the heat, the sky clear and cloudless, the sun burning down in a steady glare, causing the air above the dusty grasslands to shimmer like water. They rested at midday and ate, rested again at midafternoon, and by nightfall had reached the flats that led up into the Valley of Shale. A watch was set, dinner was eaten, and the company retired to sleep. Morgan had walked with Damson during the day, and bedded down close to her that night. While she probably neither needed nor wanted it, he had assumed a protective attitude toward her, determined that if he could not do anything for Par or Coll just at the moment, at least he could look after her.

Matty Roh had kept to herself most of the day, walking apart from everyone, eating alone when they rested, choosing to keep her own company. No one seemed all that surprised that she was along; no one seemed to question why she was there. Several times Morgan thought to speak with her, but each time he saw the set of her face and the deliberate distance she created between herself and others, and decided not to.

At midnight, restless from dreams and the anticipation of what lay ahead, he awoke and walked down to the edge of the grove of trees in which they had sheltered to look up at the sky and out across the plains. She appeared suddenly at his elbow. Silent as a ghost, she stood next to him as if she might have been expected all along. Together, they stared out across the empty stretch of the Rabb, studying the outline of the land in the pale starlight, breathing the lingering swelter of the day in the cooling night.

“The country I was born in looked like this,” she said after a time, her voice distant. “Flat, empty grasslands. A little water, a lot of heat. Seasons that could be harsh and beautiful at the same time.” She shook her head. “Not like the Highlands, I expect.”

He didn’t say anything, just nodded. A stray bit of wind ruffled her black hair. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled, its cry fading unanswered into silence.

“You don’t know what to make of me, do you?”

He shrugged. “I suppose I don’t. You’re a pretty confusing person.”

Her smile in response was there and gone in an instant. Her delicate features were shadowed and gave her a gaunt look in the dim light. She seemed to be working something through.

“When I was five years old,” she said after a moment, “just before I reached my sixth birthday, not long after my sister died, I was out playing in a field near the house with my older brother. It was a pasture, left fallow that year. There were milk cows in it, grazing. I remember seeing one of the cows lying on its side down in a depression. It had a funny look about it, and I walked down to see what was wrong. The cow was looking at me, its eyes wide and staring, very frightened. It didn’t seem to be able to cry out. It was dying, half in and half out of some sort of muddy sinkhole that I had never seen there before. Its body was being eaten away.”

She folded her arms across her chest as if she was cold. “I don’t know why, but I wanted a closer look. I walked right up to it, didn’t stop until I was no more than several yards away. I should have called for my brother, but I was little and I didn’t think to do so. I looked at the cow, wondering what had happened. And suddenly I felt this burning on the soles of my feet. I looked down and saw that I was standing in some of the same mud that the cow had gotten into. The mud was streaked with greenish lines and bubbling. It had eaten right through my shoes. I turned and ran, crying now, calling out for help. I ran as fast as I could, but the pain was faster. It went all through my feet. I remember looking down and seeing that some of my toes were gone.”

She shivered at the memory. “My mother washed me as best she could, but it was too late. Half my toes were gone, and my feet were scarred and burned as if they had been set on fire. I developed a fever. I was in bed for two weeks. They thought I was going to die. But I didn’t; I lived. They died instead. All of them.”

Her smile was bitter and ironic. “I just thought you should know after this morning. I don’t like people to see what happened to me.” She looked at him briefly, then turned away again. “But I wanted you to understand.”

She stood with him a moment longer, then said good-night and disappeared back into the trees. He stared after her for a long time, thinking about what she had said. When he returned to the campsite and rolled himself back into his blanket, he could not sleep. He could not stop thinking about Matty Roh.

They set out again at dawn, shadows in the faint gray light that seeped out of the east. The day was overcast, and by midday it had begun to rain. The company trudged on through the forested hill country north of Varfleet and the Mermidon, following the line of the Dragon’s Teeth west. Twice the scout came back to warn of Federation patrols and they were forced to take cover until the patrols had passed. The land was gray and shone damply through the rain, and they encountered no one else. Morgan walked with Matty Roh, moving up next to her unbidden, staying with her through the day. She said nothing to discourage him and did not move away. She spoke little, but she seemed comfortable with his presence. When they stopped to eat lunch, she shared with him the small bit of fruit she was carrying.

By nightfall, they had crossed the Mermidon and come in sight of Tyrsis. The city glowed bleakly from the bluff heights as they stared up at it from across the approaching plains. Rain continued to fall, steady and unrelenting, turning the dusty earth to mud. Damson and Matty Roh would not attempt to enter the city until morning, when they could mingle with the usual tradesmen come up for the day from the surrounding villages. Chandos sent the scout on ahead to see if he could learn anything useful from travelers departing the city. The rest of the company bedded down in a grove of old maples, finding to their displeasure that dry spaces were few and far between.

It was nearing midnight when the scout returned. Morgan was still awake, huddled with Chandos and Matty Roh, all of them listening as Damson described what she knew of the tunnels beneath Tyrsis and the Federation prisons. The scout bent to whisper something to Chandos, furtive and quick. Chandos turned ashen. He dismissed the scout and turned to the Highlander and the girls.

The Federation had announced its intention to execute Padishar Creel. The execution would be public. It would take place at noon on the day after tomorrow.

Chandos got up and walked away, shaking his head. Morgan sat with Damson and Matty Roh in stunned silence. He had guessed wrong. The Federation had decided to rid itself of Padishar once and for all. The leader of the free-born had less than two days to live.

Morgan’s eyes met Damson’s, then Matty’s. They were all thinking the same thing. Whatever rescue plan they tried, they had better get it right the first time.