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

“It wants her,” the shape-shifter answered softly. “It’s come for her. See how it looks at her?”


It was true. The hard yellow eyes were fixed not on the men, but on the sleeping girl, locked on her as she slept in the shape-shifter’s arms—focused on her with such intensity that its purpose was unmistakable.

“There’s true madness,” Truls whispered, a hint of wonder in his voice. “Captured, mutated, driven out, lost. It seeks only one thing. Revenge. For what has been done to it. For what has been stolen. A life. An identity. Who knows what it thinks and feels now? It must have tracked her through the connection of their magic, a joining of kindred. She created it, and it remains connected to her. It must be able to read her pulse or heartbeat. Or the sound of her breathing. Who knows? It sensed her and came.”

The caull cried out again, the same high-pitched wail. The skin on the back of Bek’s neck prickled and his stomach clenched. He had been afraid before on this journey, but never the way he was now. He couldn’t tell if it was the look of the caull, all crooked and bristling, or the sound of its cry, or just the fact of its existence, but he was terrified.

“What are we going to do?” he asked, barely able to get the words out.

Truls Rohk snorted derisively. “We let it have her. She made it; let her deal with the consequences.”

“We can’t do that, Truls! She’s helpless!”

The other turned on him. “This might be a good time for some rational thinking on your part, boy.” He emphasized the word. “There are so many things waiting to kill your sister that we can’t even begin to count them! Sooner or later, one of them will finish the job. All we do by interfering now is to prolong the process. You think you can save her, but you can’t. Time to let go of her. Enough is enough!”

Bek shook his head. “I don’t care what you say.”

“She is the Ilse Witch! Your sister is dead! Why are you so stubborn about it? Bah, I’ve had enough of this! You do what you wish, but I’m leaving!”

Bek took a deep, calming breath. “All right. Leave. You don’t owe me anything. It isn’t fair to ask you to do more than you have. You’ve done enough already.” He looked over at the caull as it hunched down at the edge of the stream. “I can take care of this.”

Truls Rohk snorted. “You can?”

“The wishsong was powerful enough to stop Antrax’s creepers. It can stop that thing.” He stepped close to the shape-shifter. “Give her to me.”

Without waiting for the other to respond, he reached in and took Grianne right out of his arms. Cradling her, he stepped away again. “She’s my sister, Truls. No matter what you say.”

Truls Rohk straightened and looked directly at Bek. “The wishsong is a powerful magic, Bek Ohmsford. But it isn’t enough here. You still haven’t mastered it. Your sister proved that to you already. That thing over there will be at your throat before you figure out what’s needed.”

Bek looked at the caull and went cold to the bone thinking of how it would feel to have those teeth and claws tearing into him. It would be over quickly, he guessed. The pain would be momentary. Then it would be Grianne’s turn.

“You could do something for me,” he said to the shape-shifter. “If you could draw its attention away, just for a moment, I might be able to catch it off guard.”

Truls Rohk stared at him. Bek couldn’t see the shape-shifter’s eyes within the dark confines of his cowl, but he could feel the weight of their gaze, hard and certain. For a long moment, Truls didn’t speak. He just kept looking at Bek.

“Don’t do this,” he said finally.

Bek shook his head. “I have to. You know that.”

“You won’t survive it.”

“Then you can do what you wish with my sister, Truls.” He gave the shape-shifter a defiant look. “I won’t be there to stop you.”

Another long silence stole away the seconds. Bek brushed at a stray lock of hair and felt a bead of sweat slide down his forehead. He was hot in spite of the chill in the air. He felt as if he might never be cool again.