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

As the day went on and the trio climbed out of the foothills and onto the lower slopes of the mountains, two things became increasingly clear to Bek Ohmsford.

First, they had moved into shape-shifter territory. He knew this not because there were boundary markers or signposts or anything that would designate it as such. Having come a different way, he couldn’t even be certain he recognized what he was looking at from his previous visit. He knew where he was because he could feel the shape-shifters watching him. He could feel their eyes. It was broad daylight and the sparsely wooded slopes offered few hiding places, so it didn’t appear as if anyone was there. Yet they were, he knew, and not far away. He might have questioned this feeling once, but having experienced it not much more than a week earlier—having felt it so strongly he could barely breathe because the shape-shifters had been right on top of him—he wasn’t questioning it now.

Second, Truls Rohk was failing. He had come away from his battle with the caull winded and clearly hurt, but seemingly not in any real danger. He had walked strongly for several hours, carrying Grianne and setting a quick pace for Bek to follow. But over the last two hours, with the fading of the afternoon and the approach of nightfall, he had begun to slow, then to stagger, his smooth gait turned into an uneven lurch.

“I have to rest,” Bek said finally, in an effort to find out what was going on.

The shape-shifter continued ahead for another fifty yards, then all but collapsed beside a fallen tree trunk, barely managing to set Grianne down before dropping heavily beside her. He wouldn’t have thought to sit close to her before this; now, it seemed he could not find the strength to move away.

Bek walked up next to him and reached down for the water skin. Truls handed it to him without looking up. A ragged gasping came from inside the cowl, and Bek saw the rise and fall of the shape-shifter’s shoulders as he struggled to breathe. Seating himself, he drank from the skin and watched as Truls give a deep, involuntary shudder.

They sat together without speaking for a long time, looking out over the valley below, listening to the silence.

“We can camp here,” Bek said finally.

“We have to keep moving,” Truls said, his voice raspy and weak. It didn’t even sound like Truls. “We need to get higher up on the slopes while there’s still light.”

The cowl lifted, shadowed emptiness facing the boy like a hole dropping away into the earth. “Do you know where we are?”

Bek nodded. “In the land of the shape-shifters.”

A cough racked the other’s body, and he doubled over momentarily before straightening again. “We have to get deep enough in that they’ll have no choice, that they’ll have to come to us.”

“You’ve decided to ask for their help?”

He didn’t answer. Another spasm shook his body.

“Truls, what’s wrong?” Bek asked, leaning close.

“Get away from me!” the shape-shifter snapped angrily.

Bek moved back. “What’s wrong?”

For a moment, there was no response. “I don’t know. I don’t feel right. The caull did something to me, but I don’t know what. I didn’t think those cuts and bites were much, but everything feels like it’s breaking down.” He gave a short, sharp laugh. “Wouldn’t it be a joke on me if I died because of your sister? Protecting her when I don’t even like her? The Druid would love that, if he were here!”

He laughed again, the sound weak and broken. Then he struggled back to his feet, picked up Grianne, and set off once more.

They walked on for another hour, the afternoon passing slowly into twilight, the air cooling swiftly to a chill that nipped at Bek’s face. Shadows lengthened on the mountainside, dark fingers stretching, and the moon appeared in the sky, rising out of the hazy distance, half-formed and on the wane. Bek looked back the way they had come to see if anyone was following, an impossible attempt in this light, and quickly gave it up. He glanced at their surroundings, searching for the watchers, but the effort yielded nothing. He listened to the silence and was not reassured.

They reached a shelf of ground that angled back into a deep stand of conifers, and Truls collapsed again. This time he went down without warning, dropping Grianne in a heap, rolling away from her onto his back where he lay gasping for air. Bek rushed over at once, kneeling beside him, but the shape-shifter pushed him away.

“Leave me alone!” he snapped. “See to your sister!”

Grianne lay sprawled to one side, eyes open and unseeing, body limp. She appeared unhurt as Bek helped her back to a sitting position, straightening her clothing and brushing leaves and twigs from her hair before returning to Truls.