She nodded. "We'll have to look sharp, in any case, to find them. They won't just be standing around waiting."
"We'll have Obsidian to help with that." The Wing Rider gestured to where the bird roosted in the dark on a broad outcropping of rocks. "That's what he's been trained to do, to look for things we can't see, to hunt for what's lost and needs finding. He's good at it. Better than you and me."
She eased her injured leg into a new position. It ached from being locked about the Roc during their flight, even for only the two hours they had traveled. How much worse would it be by tomorrow night? She sighed wearily as she rubbed it back to life, careful to avoid the knife wound. It was no worse, she supposed, than she had imagined it would be. She'd already checked the bandage, and there was no evidence of bleeding. The stitches were holding her together so far.
"We'll rest pretty regularly tomorrow," Hunter Predd declared, watching her. Her eyes lifted in sharp reproof. "Not just for you," he added. "For the bird, too. Obsidian travels better with frequent stops."
"As long as you're not doing me any special favors." His laugh was dry and mirthless. "We wouldn't want that, would we?"
She passed him the aleskin and leaned back on her elbows. "You can laugh all you want. You didn't grow up a girl among men the way I did. If you asked for special favors from my brother or my cousins, they laughed at you. Worse, they made things so difficult you wished you'd never opened your mouth. Rover women have a tradition of endurance and toughness born out of constant travel, responsibility for family, and a mostly hard life. In the old days, we had no cities, no place in the world outside of our wagons and our camps. We were nomads, adrift much of the time, at sea or in flight the rest. No one helped us just because they wanted to. We taught them to depend on us, on our skills and our goods, so they had no choice. We have always been a self-sufficient people, even now, as sailors and shipbuilders and mercenaries, and whatever else we can do better than others-"
"Hold on!" he interrupted in protest. "I'm not laughing at you. Do you think I don't know about your kind of life? We're not so different, you and me. Wing Riders and Rovers, they've always lived apart, always been self-sufficient, always depended on no one. That's been true since as far back as anyone can remember."
He leaned forward. "But that doesn't mean we can't extend a helping hand when it's needed. Friendship doesn't have anything to do with shoring up weakness. It has to do with respect and consideration for those you care about. It has to do with wanting to give something back to those you admire. You might keep that in mind."
She smiled in spite of herself, charmed by his bluntness. "I've been living with soldiers too long on the Prekkendorran," she offered. "I've forgotten how to be grateful."
He shook his head. "You haven't forgotten much, I expect. You just get a little too close to your feelings sometimes, Little Red. Better that than getting too far away."
They slept undisturbed, taking shifts at watch, and woke refreshed and ready to go on. They set out at sunrise, its pale golden light cresting the horizon like a fanfare to give chase to the night.
The features of the land below gradually emerged from the shadows, a slow etching out of detail and color. The air warmed as the sun lifted, and the sky was bright and cloudless. Rue Meridian lifted her face to the light, thinking that perhaps the world could be kinder, after all, than she had supposed.
They flew on through the entire day, stopping to rest and water Obsidian and to eat their lunch and stretch cramped limbs. Other than small birds and an occasional forest animal, they saw no sign of life. After midday, the terrain began to change, turning more rugged and less open. Ahead, bald-topped mountains reared against the skyline, a ragged spine down the length of the land, bisecting its mass. Foothills cradled deep lakes formed by streams and runoff from the higher elevations. Clouds began to mass along the peaks. The sky north turned gray and murky with rainsqualls. South, where the cliffs and ice fields lay clustered, the horizon was black with thunderstorms and streaked with bolts of lightning that flashed like explosions of white fire.
It was twilight when they came in sight of the bay where the Jerle Shannara had left the shore party more than ten days ago. They circled around to fly out of the descending gloom so they would not be seen, keeping low above the treetops, hidden against the dark mass of the mountains. They could just identify the faint outline of Black Moclips where she hung tethered at anchor above the waterline. No lights burned from her masts or through her windows, and no movement could be seen on her decks. Hunter Predd took Obsidian down to an open stretch of rock fronting a barren ridge. They dismounted and walked to a place where they could look down on the airship and the bay.
West, the sun had dropped below the horizon and the last of the day's fading light was disappearing into shadow.