The hopelessness of his situation overwhelmed him, and for a moment he simply stopped where he was, staring out into the darkness. He was free, but what was he supposed to do about it? Should he go in search of the others from the ship's company, hoping that one or two might still be alive? Should he find Walker and warn the Druid about Grianne? Was there time enough to do anything at this point besides try to stay alive?
"What are you doing?" Truls Rohk hissed, materializing out of the darkness beside him. Water ran from his sodden cloak into the dirt. "If you stand around long enough, they'll find you for sure!"
He took an astonished Bek by the arm and propelled him forward into the trees. "Did you think I wasn't coming? Have some faith, boy. Cats aren't the only ones with nine lives." His cloak was torn, and blood was smeared on it. Within the concealment of his cowl, his eyes glittered. "Enough of this. Let's go after your sister. Family reunions are always interesting, but this one should be better than most." His sudden laughter was rough and unpleasant. "You try to save her and I'll try to kill her. Fair enough?"
His grip was like iron as he pulled Bek Ohmsford after him into the night.
TWENTY-THREE
Rue Meridian was still watching Black Moclips from the shoreline shadows with Hunter Predd, trying to decide what she should do, when the shipboard silence erupted in a cacophony of shouts and the clash of metal blades. It happened so suddenly that at first it was disorienting, and she was not even sure where the sounds were coming from. Exchanging a hurried glance with the Wing Rider, she moved farther along the shoreline, as if by doing so she might somehow better determine the source of the disruption.
To complicate her efforts, the moon slid behind a broad bank of clouds, plunging the bay and the airship into blackness.
"What's going on?" she hissed helplessly.
She paused in her advance as she heard wood splintering and metal hinges tearing loose. She couldn't mistake those sounds, she decided, glancing again at Hunter Predd. Then a splash sounded as something or someone went overboard. A second splash sounded immediately after, and she heard thrashing in the waters of the bay. Her first thought, instant and unconditional, was that someone was trying to escape. That someone would have to be a member of the company of the Jerle Shannara.
She ran down the shoreline, trying to track the sounds that carried from the airship as she did so. But the struggle aboard ship continued unabated, and the clang of metal blades and the cries of the injured or dying drowned out everything else.
Finally, she stopped, knelt by the shore in the lee of a rocky overhang, and listened once more. She could hear movement in the water, as if someone was swimming, but she still couldn't tell from where it was coming. The fighting aboard Black Moclips had ended, replaced by angry grunts and the thud of heavy boots. The moon reappeared momentarily, giving her a glimpse of the airship's decks, bulky, cloaked forms rushing everywhere at once. In moments, they had lowered rafts into the water and were piling into them.
Mwellrets, off in pursuit of someone, she thought. But who?
The moon disappeared behind the clouds again, and the rafts slid away into the fresh darkness, making for shore behind the labored efforts of determined rowers. When the rets reached shore, they clambered from the rafts and disappeared into the jungle. Aboard Black Moclips, the sounds died away to isolated mutters and soft moans. Soon, even those faded.
Hunter Predd leaned close. "Someone got away from them."
She nodded, still listening, watching and thinking about what it meant. An opportunity, she believed. But how was she to take advantage of it?
"How many did you count in the rafts?" she asked.
"More than a dozen. Fifteen, probably. Mwellrets."
"All of them, I'll bet. All that's left." She thought of the dead ones aboard the Jerle Shannara, strewn across the decking in company with Hawk amid the wreckage of the rigging from the storm. She blinked the image away and made a quick calculation. Black Moclips would carry a crew and fighting complement of thirty-five. Subtracting the Mwellrets and the two Federation soldiers dead aboard the Jerle Shannara, that left a crew of perhaps eleven or twelve.
Hunter Predd nudged her arm. "What are you thinking?"
She looked right at him. "I need to get aboard."
He shook his head at once. "Too dangerous."
"I know that. But we have to find out if any others from the company are held prisoner. We won't get a better chance."
His leathery features creased with doubt. "You're still injured, Little Red. If you have to make a fight of it, you'll be in trouble."