THE VOYAGE OF THE JERLE SHANNARA : Morgawr (BOOK THREE)

He thought about looking in on Quentin, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. He didn’t want to see his cousin while he was feeling like this. Quentin was smart enough to read his face, and he didn’t think that would be such a good thing this morning. If Quentin knew what was happening, he would want to get out of bed and stand with them. He wasn’t strong enough for that, and there would be time enough for the Highlander to engage in futile heroics if everything else failed. Best just to let him sleep for now.

Rue Meridian reappeared through the hatchway, buckling on her weapons belt with its brace of throwing knives, tucking a third into her boot as she came up to him. “Ready to go?” she asked.

He stared at her. “Ready to go where?”

“After your sister,” she said. “You don’t think we’re going to stand around here doing nothing, do you?”

Not when she put it that way, he didn’t. Without another word, they slipped over the side of the airship and disappeared into the ruins after Grianne.





Redden Alt Mer had been thinking about the company’s situation all night. Unable to sleep, he had been reduced to pacing the decks to calm himself. He hated being grounded, all the more so for knowing that he couldn’t get airborne again easily and was, essentially, trapped. He was infuriated by his sense of helplessness, a condition with which he was not familiar. Even though it had been his plan to hide in the ruins and hope the Morgawr didn’t find them, he found it incomprehensible that he would actually sit there and do nothing while waiting to see if it worked.

When Bek’s sister awoke, brought out of her catatonia after all these weeks, he knew at once that everything was about to change. It wasn’t a change he could put a name to, but one he could definitely feel. The Ilse Witch awake, whether friend or enemy or something else altogether, was a presence that would shift the balance of things in some measurable way. To Alt Mer, that she had chosen to go after the Morgawr rather than to wait for the warlock to come to her seemed completely in character. It was what he would have done if he hadn’t locked himself in the untenable position of hiding and waiting. The longer he stayed grounded, the more convinced he became that he was making a mistake. This wasn’t the way to save either his airship or her passengers. It wasn’t the way to stay alive. The Morgawr was too smart to be fooled. Alt Mer would have been better off staying aloft and fighting it out in the air.

Not that he would have stood a chance with that approach either, he conceded glumly. Best to keep things in perspective while castigating oneself for perceived failures.

He left the airship and climbed the tower into which he had sent Little Red and Bek to keep watch, but they weren’t there. Confused by their absence, he looked down into the courtyard where the Jerle Shannara sat concealed, thinking he might spy them. Nothing. He looked off toward the surrounding courtyards and passageways, peering through breaks in the crumbling castle walls.

He found them then, several hundred yards away, sliding through the shadows, heading toward the front of the keep and the Morgawr.

For a second, he was stunned by what he was seeing, realizing that not only had his sister disobeyed him, but she was risking her life for the witch. Or for Bek, but it amounted to the same thing. He wanted to shout to them to get back to the ship, to do what they had been told, but he knew it was a waste of time. Rue had been doing as she pleased for as long as he could remember, and trying to make her do otherwise was a complete waste of time. Besides, she was only doing what he had been thinking he should do just moments earlier.

He walked to the outer wall of the tower and looked out across the grasslands. The Morgawr and his rets were already inside the castle, and the plains were empty save for Black Moclips, which sat anchored inland perhaps a quarter of a mile away. Beyond, clearly visible against the deep blue of the morning sky, the Morgawr’s fleet hovered at anchor offshore.

He stared at the airships for a moment, at the way they were clustered to protect against a surprise attack, and an idea came to him. It was so wild, so implausible, that he almost dismissed it out of hand. But he couldn’t quite let it go, and the longer he held on, the more attractive it seemed. Like a brightly colored snake that would turn on you once it had you hypnotized. Like fire, waiting to burn you to ash if you reached out to touch it.

Shades, he thought, he was going to do it.

He was aghast, but excited, as well, his blood pumping through him in a hot flush as he raced down the tower stairs for the airship. He would have to be quick to make a difference, and even that might not be enough. What he was thinking was insane. But there was all sorts of madness in the world, and at least this one involved something more than just standing around.

He burst out of the tower, leapt aboard the Jerle Shannara, and headed directly for Spanner Frew. The shipwright looked up from his work, doubt clouding his dark features as he saw the look on the other’s face. “What is it?” he asked.

“You’re not doing anything important, are you?” Alt Mer replied, reaching for his sword and buckling it on.

Spanner Frew stared at him. “Everything I do is important. What do you want?”