Терри Брукс - Jarka Ruus

«Pen!» someone yelled.

Khyber had surfaced next to the raft and was hanging on one end, trying to balance the uneven platform so that her uncle could defend them. The swamp waters had turned choppy and rough, and it was all the Druid could do to keep from being tossed overboard. Pen swam to their aid, seizing the end of the raft opposite the Elven girl, the vines whipping all about him.

An instant later, Tagwen dropped out of the canopy, his bearded face a mask of confusion and terror as he plunged into the murky waters and then surfaced next to Pen.

«Push us out into the bay!» Ahren Elessedil shouted, dropping to one knee as his tiny platform tilted precariously.

Kicking strongly, Pen and Khyber propelled the raft toward open water, fighting to get clear of the deadly trap. Tagwen hung on tenaciously, and Ahren continued to send shards of fire into the clutching vines, which were still trying to get at him but were unable to break past his defenses. Smoke billowed and roiled in heavy clouds, mingling with swamp mist to form an impenetrable curtain. From somewhere distant, the frightened cries of water birds rose.

When at last they were far enough from the vines to pause in their efforts, Pen and Khyber crawled onto the raft beside Ahren Elessedil, pulled Tagwen up after them, and collapsed, gasping for breath. For several long seconds, no one said anything, their eyes fixed on the smoky mass of tree vines now some distance off.

«We were lucky," Pen said finally.

«Don't be stupid!» Khyber snapped in reply. «Look what we've done! We've given ourselves away!»

Pen stared at her, recognition setting in. She was right. He had forgotten what Ahren Elessedil had said about how using magic would reveal their presence to those who hunted them. Ahren had saved them, but he had betrayed them, as well. Terek Molt would know exactly where they were. The Galaphile would track them to the bay.

«What can we do?» he asked in dismay.

Khyber turned to her uncle. «How much time do we have, Uncle Ahren?»

The Druid shook his head. «Not much. They will come for us quickly.» He climbed to his knees and looked around. Everything was clouded with smoke. «If they are close, we won't even have time to get off this bay.»

«We can hide!» Pen suggested hurriedly, glancing skyward for movement, for any sign of their pursuers. «Perhaps on one of the islands. We can sink the raft …»

Ahren shook his head. «No, Penderrin. We need to go ashore and find a place to make a stand. We need space in which to move and solid ground on which to do it.» He handed the boy one of the two remaining poles. «Try to get us ashore, Pen. Choose a direction. Do the best you can, but do it quickly.»

With Ahren working on the opposite side, Pen began poling toward shore once more, farther down from where the vines still thrashed and burned, farther along in the direction they had been heading. They made good time, borne on the crest of a tide stirred by their battle with the vines, a tide that swept them east. But Pen sensed that however swiftly they moved, it wasn't going to be swift enough.

This is all my fault, he kept thinking. Again.

The haze continued thick and unbroken, layering the surface of the water in a roiling blanket that stank of burning wood and leaves. Slowly, the bay went quiet again, the waters turning slate black and oily once more, a dark reflection of the shadows creeping in from the shoreline. Pen poled furiously, thinking that if they could just reach a safe place to land, they might lose themselves in the trees. It would not be easy to find them in this jungle, this swamp, this morass, not even for Terek Molt. All they needed to do was gain the shore.

They did so, finally. They beached on a mud bank fronting a thick stand of cypress, tangled all about with vines and banked with heavy grasses. They pulled their raft ashore, hauled it back into the trees, and set out walking. The silence of the Slags closed about them, deep and pervasive, an intrusive and brooding companion. Pen could hear the sound of his breathing. He could feel the pumping of his heart.

Still there was no sign of their pursuit.

We're going to escape them after all, he thought in sudden relief.

They walked for several hours, well past midday and deep into the afternoon. The shoreline snaked in and out of the trees, and they stayed at its edge, keeping a sharp eye out for more of the deadly vines and any sign of movement on the bay waters. They did not talk, their efforts concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, Ahren Elessedil setting a pace that even Pen, who was accustomed to long treks, found difficult to match.

It was late in the afternoon, the shadows of twilight beginning to lengthen out of the west, when they found the eastern end of the lake. It swung south in a broad curve, the ground lifting to a wall of old growth through which dozens of waterways opened. Pen searched the gloom ahead without finding anything reassuring, then took a moment to read his compass, affirming what Ahren, with his Druidic senses, had already determined. They were on course, but not yet clear of the swamp.

Then sudden brightness flared behind them, dispersing the mist and brightening the gloom as if dawn had broken. They wheeled back as one, shielding their eyes. It looked as if the swamp were boiling from a volcanic eruption, its waters churning, steaming with an intense heat. The dark prow of an airship nosed through the fading haze like a great lumbering bear, slowly settling toward the waters of the bay, black nose sniffing the air. Pen fought to keep from shaking with the chill that swept through him.

The Galaphile had found them.

TWENTY–SIX

The huge curved horns of the Galaphile's bow swung slowly about to point like a compass needle toward the four who stood frozen on the muddy shoreline. There was no mistaking that she had found what she was searching for. Through the fading screen of mist and twilight's deepening shadows, the vessel settled onto the reed–choked surface of the bay, not fifty yards away, and slowly began to advance. Her sails were furled and her masts and spars as bare and black as charred bones. She had the stark, blasted look of a specter.

«What do we do?» Khyber hissed.

«We can run," Pen answered at once, already poised to do so. «There's still time to gain the trees, get deep into the woods, split up if we have to …»

He trailed off hopelessly. It was pointless to talk about running away. Ahren had already said that it was too late to hide, so running would not help, either. The Galaphile had already found them once; even if they ran, it would have no trouble doing so again. Terek Molt would track them down like rabbits. They were going to have to make a stand, even without an airship in which to maneuver or weapons with which to fight. Ahren Elessedil's Druid magic and whatever resources the rest of them could muster were going to have to be enough.

What other choice do we have? Pen thought in despair.

The Galaphile had come to a stop at the edge of the shoreline, advanced as close to the mud bank as her draft would allow. Atop her decks, dark figures moved, taking up positions along the railing. Gnome Hunters. Pen saw the glittering surfaces of their blades. Perhaps the Gnome Hunters simply meant to kill them, having no need to do otherwise.

«Do you see how she shimmers?» Ahren Elessedil asked them suddenly. His voice was eerily calm. «The ship, about her hull and rigging? Do you see?»

Pen looked with the others. At first, he couldn't make it out, but then slowly his eyes adjusted to the heavy twilight and he saw a sort of glow that pulsed all about the warship, an aura of glistening dampness.

«What is it?» Khyber whispered, brushing back her mop of dark hair, twisting loose strands of it in her fingers.

«Magic," her uncle answered softly. «Terek Molt is sheathing the Galaphile in magic to protect her from an attack. He is wary of what we did to him last time, of another storm, of the elements I can summon to disrupt his efforts.»

The Druid exhaled slowly. «He has made a mistake. He has given us a chance.»

A rope ladder was lowered over the side of the airship, one end dropping through a railing gap and into the water. A solitary figure began to descend. Even from a distance and through the heavy gloom, there was no doubt about who it was.

Pen glanced up again at the cloaked figures lining the Galaphile's railing. All their weapons were pointed at himself and his companions.

«Khyber," Ahren Elessedil called softly.

When she looked over, he passed her something, a quick exchange that was barely noticeable. Pen caught a glimpse of the small pouch as her hand opened just far enough to permit her to see that it was the Elfstones she had been given. Her quick intake of breath was audible.

«Listen carefully," her uncle said without looking at her, his eyes fixed on Terek Molt, who was almost to the water now. «When I tell you, use the Elfstones against the Galaphile. Do as you have been taught. Open your mind, summon their power, and direct it at the airship.»

Khyber was already shaking her head, her Elven features taut with dismay. «It won't work, Uncle Ahren! The magic is only good against other magic—magic that threatens the holder of the stones! You taught me that yourself! The Galaphile is an airship, wood and iron only!»

«She is," the Druid agreed. «But thanks to Terek Molt, the magic that sheathes her is not. It is his magic, Druid magic. Trust me, Khyber. It is our only chance. I am skilled, but Terek Molt was trained as a warrior Druid and is more powerful than I am. Do as I say. Watch for my signal. Do not reveal that you have the Elfstones before then. Do nothing to demonstrate that you are a danger to him. If you do, if you give yourself away too early, even to help me, we are finished.»

Pen glanced at Khyber. The Elven girl's eyes glittered with fear. «I've never even tried to use the Elfstones," she said. «I don't know what it takes to summon the magic. What if I can't do so now?»

Ahren Elessedil smiled. «You can and you will, Khyber. You have the training and the resolve.

Do not doubt yourself. Be brave. Trust the magic and your instincts. That will be enough.»

Terek Molt stepped down off the ladder and into the shallow water, turning to face them. His black robes billowed out behind him as he approached, his blocky form squared toward Ahren Elessedil. He radiated confidence and disdain, the set of his dark form signaling his intent in a way that was unmistakable.

«Move to one side, Khyber," Ahren said quietly, his voice taking on an edge. «Remember what I said. Watch for my signal. Pen, Tagwen, back out of the way.»

The boy and the Dwarf retreated at once, happy to put as much distance as possible between themselves and Terek Molt. The warrior Druid's chiseled face glanced in their direction, a slight lifting of his chin the only indication that he noticed them at all. But even that small movement was enough to let Pen see the rage that was reflected in the flat, cold eyes.

When he was twenty feet from the Elf, he stopped. «Give up the boy. He belongs to us now. You can keep the old man and the girl as compensation for your trouble. Take them and go.»

Ahren Elessedil shook his head. «I don't think I care to take you up on your offer. I think we will all stay together.»

Terek Molt nodded. «Then you will all come with me. Either way, it makes no difference.»

«Ultimatums are the last resort of desperate men.»