The High Druid of Shannara Trilogy

Pen had almost reached the bow when the other end of his safety harness whipped past him like a snake, shooting out through the railing and over the side. It took him a moment to realize what had happened, that it had somehow come free, and his hesitation cost him his footing as the snap of the line jerked him off his feet. He went down on his back, his hands grasping for something to hold on to as he began to slide toward the open railing, skidding on rain-slick decking, unable to stop himself. He had only a moment to wonder how the line had come loose before he was tumbling over the side.

He would have fallen to his death if he had not caught hold of one of the stanchions, and even so, the effort of stopping himself nearly dislocated his arms. He hung helplessly over the side, legs dangling and arms stretched to the breaking point. For a second, he thought he would not be able to hold on. The airship was lurching and heaving as the wind whipped at it, and it felt as if everything was about to let go.

“Penderrin!” he heard Gar Hatch scream.

He looked across the decking through the rain to where the Rover Captain stood braced in the pilot box with a coiled line gripped in both hands. Catching the boy’s eye, he gave the line a heave that sent it flying all the way forward and across the railing, not six feet from where Pen hung suspended. Working the line with both hands, Gar Hatch whipsawed it back and forth across the railing until it fell over Pen’s shoulder. “Grab on!” the big man shouted.

The boy hesitated. There was no reason for his safety line to have come loose unless someone had released the locking pin. The man best in position to do that was the one offering to help him now. If he wanted Pen dead, all he had to do was wait for him to grab the line, then release it. Pen would be over the side and gone. Was that what Gar Hatch intended for him? Was he incensed enough about Cinnaminson to kill Pen?

The airship shuddered violently, and Gar Hatch was thrown to one side in the box. “Hurry, lad!” he cried out.

Pen released his grip on the stanchion, one hand at a time, and transferred his weight to the rope the big man had thrown him. As he hung from it, the line the only thing keeping him from tumbling away, he experienced a terrible certainty that he had made a mistake and was going to pay for it with his life.

Then Gar Hatch began to haul on the rope, and Pen felt himself being lifted back over the side of the vessel and onto the deck. In seconds, he was back aboard and flat on his stomach as he crawled toward the pilot box, his heart still in his throat.

Gar Hatch extended his hand over the side of the box and pulled him in effortlessly, dark eyes glittering. “There, now! Safe again! That was close, Penderrin! What happened to your line? Did you check to see that it was secure at the masthead before buckling in?”

Pen had to admit he had not. “No. I didn’t think there was any need.”

“Haste is a dangerous enemy aboard an airship,” the Rover Captain declared, tucking his chin into his beard. “You want to be careful how you go, especially in weather like this. Good thing I was watching out for you, lad.” His eyes narrowed. “Good thing, too, I decided you were worth the trouble of saving. Another man with another daughter might have thought otherwise. You want to remember that.” He gave Pen a none-too-gentle shove. “Down you go with the others till this is over. Better think on what I just said while you’re there.”

Pen made his way out of the pilot box and across the decking to the hatchway, a cold place opening in the pit of his stomach. Behind him, he heard the Rover Captain laugh.





EIGHTEEN


“Safety lines don’t come loose for no reason at all,” Khyber Elessedil whispered, poking him in the chest to emphasize her point. “They don’t get put away with one end left unattached, either.”

Outside, the wind hammered and the rain beat against the wooden hull of the Skatelow as if to collapse it to kindling.

“I thought that, too,” Pen answered, shaking his head. The cold feeling wouldn’t leave him. It had found a home, deep inside, and even being down in the companionway and out of the weather didn’t ease its chill. “But I couldn’t argue about it with him, because he was right—I hadn’t checked it.”

They were huddled together in his tiny cabin, talking in low voices and casting cautious looks at the closed door as they did so. Creaks and groans filled the silences, reminders of the precariousness of their situation. Overhead, they heard the heavy boots of the Rover crewmen as they moved about the decking, making sure the airship didn’t break free of her moorings. They had landed only minutes ago in the lee of an oak grove at the edge of Paranor’s forests, anchored about five feet off the ground while they rode out the storm. Gar Hatch had come below immediately and taken Cinnaminson to his cabin. Ahren and Tagwen were in the Druid’s quarters already by then, the Dwarf sicker than Pen had seen a man in some time.