Jarka Ruus - Терри Брукс

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.»