She ran down the shoreline, trying to track the sounds that carried from the airship as she did so. But the struggle aboard ship continued unabated, and the clang of metal blades and the cries of the injured or dying drowned out everything else.
Finally, she stopped, knelt by the shore in the lee of a rocky overhang, and listened once more. She could hear movement in the water, as if someone was swimming, but she still couldn’t tell from where it was coming. The fighting aboard Black Moclips had ended, replaced by angry grunts and the thud of heavy boots. The moon reappeared momentarily, giving her a glimpse of the airship’s decks, bulky, cloaked forms rushing everywhere at once. In moments, they had lowered rafts into the water and were piling into them.
Mwellrets, off in pursuit of someone, she thought. But who?
The moon disappeared behind the clouds again, and the rafts slid away into the fresh darkness, making for shore behind the labored efforts of determined rowers. When the rets reached shore, they clambered from the rafts and disappeared into the jungle. Aboard Black Moclips, the sounds died away to isolated mutters and soft moans. Soon, even those faded.
Hunter Predd leaned close. “Someone got away from them.”
She nodded, still listening, watching and thinking about what it meant. An opportunity, she believed. But how was she to take advantage of it?
“How many did you count in the rafts?” she asked.
“More than a dozen. Fifteen, probably. Mwellrets.”
“All of them, I’ll bet. All that’s left.” She thought of the dead ones aboard the Jerle Shannara, strewn across the decking in company with Hawk amid the wreckage of the rigging from the storm. She blinked the image away and made a quick calculation. Black Moclips would carry a crew and fighting complement of thirty-five. Subtracting the Mwellrets and the two Federation soldiers dead aboard the Jerle Shannara, that left a crew of perhaps eleven or twelve.
Hunter Predd nudged her arm. “What are you thinking?”
She looked right at him. “I need to get aboard.”
He shook his head at once. “Too dangerous.”
“I know that. But we have to find out if any others from the company are held prisoner. We won’t get a better chance.”
His leathery features creased with doubt. “You’re still injured, Little Red. If you have to make a fight of it, you’ll be in trouble.”
“Trouble of the sort I don’t need to hear about later, I know.” She looked off toward the airship, a dark shape suspended over the water. “All I want is a look around.”
The Wing Rider followed her gaze, but didn’t say anything. He hunched his shoulders and studied the darkness with an intensity that surprised her.
“How do you plan to get out there?” he asked finally.
“Swim.”
He nodded. “I thought as much. Of course, now that someone has escaped by jumping overboard and the rets have shoved off on the rafts in pursuit, I don’t suppose those men left aboard will waste their time keeping an eye on the bay.” He looked back at her. “Will they?”
He kept the sarcasm from his voice, but his point was well taken. A watch of some sort would be keeping a close eye on the surrounding waters for anything suspicious. She could approach by swimming underwater, but it was a long way and she was not as strong as she needed to be to try that. Nor could she count on the moon staying hidden behind the cloudbank. If it emerged at the wrong time, she would be silhouetted in the water as clearly as if by daylight.
“On the other hand,” he continued quietly, “they won’t be expecting anyone to fly in.”
She stared at him. “On Obsidian? Can you do that? Can you drop me into the rigging?”
He shrugged. “It’s still too dangerous. What do you think you can accomplish?”
“Have a look around, see if anyone else aboard is one of us.” He held her gaze in an owlish, accusing look, and she grinned in spite of herself. “You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you’re telling me what you think I want to hear. But I read faces better than most, and I see something more in yours than what you’re saying.” He cocked his head. “Anyway, I’m going aboard with you.”
“No.”
He laughed softly. “No? I admire your spirit, but not your good sense. You can’t get from here to there without me, and I won’t take you unless I go, as well. So let’s not debate the matter any further, Little Red. You need someone to watch your back, and if this matter turns sour, I need to be able to tell your brother that I did everything I could to protect you.”
She gave him a rueful look. “I don’t like it that you can see so clearly what I’m thinking.”
He nodded. “Well, it might be that it will help me save your life somewhere down the road. You never know.”
“Just get me on and off that ship in one piece,” she said. “That’s enough for me.”
They waited a long time, giving the ship and crew time to quiet and settle back into a routine, keeping watch over the shoreline for the return of the Mwellrets. Rue Meridian believed they would be gone all night, trying to track whoever they were chasing, unable to see clearly enough in the darkness, forced to wait for daybreak. She was wondering about the Ilse Witch. There had been no sign of her, no indication of her presence. If she was not aboard ship, she was probably somewhere inland hunting for the magic that had brought them all to Castledown. Who had possession of that magic now? Had Walker found and claimed it yet? Was it what he had been expecting to find? There was no way of knowing without making contact with a member of the shore party, another good reason for finding out if any of them had been made prisoner by the witch and her rets.
“We should go, if we’re going,” Hunter Predd said finally.
Shedding his cloak and checking his weapons and clothing, he explained to her that Obsidian had been trained, as all Rocs were trained, to lower their Wing Riders to aid in a rescue. Using a harness and pickup rope, they would ride the Roc out to the airship and lower themselves into the rigging. When they were ready to leave, Obsidian would pick them up again.
“This is the key,” Hunter Predd advised, producing a small silver implement. “A whistle, but only Rocs can hear it, not humans. Stealth and silence are the rest of it, Little Red.” He grunted. “And luck, of course. That, most of all.”
When they were ready, he used the whistle to summon the Roc. Obsidian appeared from the bluff, sweeping down over the bay to perch on the overhang they had passed on the way down the shoreline. It was dark by then, the moon having disappeared with most of the stars behind the cloudbank. They would have to hurry if they were to gain Black Moclips before their cover broke.
On setting out that morning, Rue Meridian had braided her long red hair and tied it back with a length of brightly colored cord. She tightened the cord now, checked the daggers in her belt and boot, and swung aboard Obsidian. Hunter Predd took a seat in front of her, spoke softly to the Roc, and they lifted off. Gliding skyward into the black, they rose until the dark silhouette of the airship melted into the surface of the bay so completely that Rue Meridian could no longer see it. She was still trying to make it out, when Hunter Predd signaled to her over his shoulder that they were there.
Hand over hand, they slid from their seats down the pickup rope, a thick, knotted stretch of rough hemp that fell away into blackness. From high above everything, the entire world looked like a black hole save where the horizon could be glimpsed. Little Red felt her heart stop and her stomach clench as she went down the rope. She was unable to see anything, even Hunter Predd, who was descending below her. She felt herself swaying, and she couldn’t tell if Obsidian was moving or not. Could Rocs hover? She would have given anything for a glimpse of something solid, but there was nothing to see.
Below, all was silent, even the Wing Rider in his descent. She listened carefully for her own sounds, working to muffle everything, but the silence only added to her sense of isolation and helplessness.
She had to fight to keep from panicki
ng when the rope ran out and Hunter Predd wasn’t there. Then a gloved hand gripped her boot and pulled her into the rigging of Black Moclips. She seized the cluster of draws and stays, pulling herself in tightly, and released the pickup rope. In an instant, it was gone, and Obsidian with it.
Clinging to the rigging of the airship, Hunter Predd so close she could hear him breathing, she took a moment to orient herself. After her eyes adjusted, she concluded that they were hanging from high on the rear mast, rocking gently with the slow sway of the airship. They could not stay there because the moment the clouds broke and the moon reappeared, they would be silhouetted clearly against the night sky to the watch below.
Drawing Hunter Predd close, she gestured downward, indicating what they must do. Slowly, but steadily, pressing herself close to the mast to stay hidden, she found the first of the iron rungs that formed hand- and footholds, then began her descent. The climb down took an enormous amount of time and energy, more of the latter than it would have taken had she been whole. Her wounds ached, irritated by the strain of physical exertion and mental concentration alike. She looked up and saw Hunter Predd directly above her, following her down. His descent was noiseless and smooth. He was better equipped for it than she.
When she got close enough to the deck to see who was set at watch, she paused. She found a pair of guards fore and aft—by their build and carriage, Federation soldiers. There was no one in the pilot box, but a third man paced the decks, moving back and forth between the pontoons and the masts, a restless, uneasy shadow. She caught a momentary glimpse of his whipcord frame and gaunt face as he passed through a sliver of starlight, and she started in surprise. Did she know him? She thought so. She glanced upward to where Hunter Predd clung to the iron rungs and motioned for him to stay put.
Then she descended another few feet and dropped softly to the decking, sliding into the shadow of a weapons rack. The guards never even looked her way. She watched the pacer a few moments longer, waiting for him to pass close, for his back to be turned; then she straightened and walked directly toward him. She was almost on top of him before he sensed her presence and turned.
By then she had a dagger at his throat and was standing close enough to see who he was.
“Well met, Donell Brae,” she said quietly, her free hand taking a firm grip on his arm. “No loud noises, please. No sudden moves.”
His seamed, weathered face broke into an ironic grin. “I told them it was a bad idea to leave you on your own ship, captive or no.”
“Someone should have listened to you. So now you listen to me. The Jerle Shannara’s mine again, Big Red’s and mine. But we lost Hawk, and I’m looking to pay someone back for that. Is she here?”
He blinked. “The witch? She’s ashore, looking for the Druid.” The washed-out blue eyes, so familiar, gave her a considering look. “Stay away from her, Little Red. She’s poison.”
Rue Meridian gave his throat a nudge with the dagger’s tip, and he grunted. “She hasn’t discovered what real poison is yet. Who else is here? Does Aden Kett command?”
Donell Brae nodded.
“Stupid choice for both of you.”
“Not always a matter of choice, Little Red.”
“Fair enough. But you have one now. Do what I tell you, and you can stay alive.” She nudged him again with the dagger, forcing his head all the way back. “I always liked you, Donell. I wouldn’t want our friendship to end badly.”
He swallowed against the dagger tip. “What do you want?”
“Who’s aboard besides you?”
“If you don’t move that dagger away, I’ll cut my own throat trying to answer.”
She moved the blade down to his sternum. “Keep your hands at your sides. Any weapons on you?”
He lowered his head again and shook it. “Never liked them much. I’m a pilot, not a bladesman. That’s for others.”
One of the best Federation pilots she had met. They’d flown missions together over the Prekkendorran. He had come into the service with Aden Kett, a couple of young Federation soldiers when they had started out. Now he was a pilot and Kett an airship Commander. Their crew had been assigned to Flying Mourn when Rue Meridian fled west to the coast with her brother. The Federation Command must have given them Black Moclips as a reward for their service. It was a good choice. Aden Kett’s crew was the best Federation outfit in the skies.
She walked Donell Brae over to the mast, where Hunter Predd waited. The Wing Rider had come down from his mast perch to find better concealment and to watch her back. The sentries at either end of the airship took no visible notice as she marched Donell up to him.
“Again, now—who’s aboard?” she pressed the pilot softly.
He looked straight ahead. “The Commander, me, and eleven crew. Thirteen altogether. We started at fifteen, but two were left on the Jerle Shannara to man her. Dead, I suppose?”
She ignored him. “No Mwellrets lurking about?”
He shook his head. “All ashore, chasing that boy and whoever freed him.”
A chill ran through her. She glanced at the dark form of Hunter Predd, who was close enough to hear. “Let’s have a word with Aden Kett, Donell. Same rules until we’re finished. Behave yourself and don’t test me.”
The seamed face glanced over. “I’m no fool, Little Red. I’ve seen you with those knives.”
“Good. Hold on to that image. Now, where’s the Commander?”
They went down the stairway that led through the rear decking to the lower passageways and holds. The Commander’s chamber was aft, situated on the vessel’s port side in the shelter of the pontoons. They moved silently down the short passageway to the cabin door and stopped. She nodded for Donell to speak.
“Commander?” he called through the door.
“Come,” was the immediate response.
The pilot released the latch, and they moved inside in a rush. She kicked the door shut behind her, one hand on Donell Brae’s arm, the other holding the dagger flat against her palm and low and tight against her side in a throwing position.
A pair of candles lit the darkness. Aden Kett was alone, propped up in his berth, writing in a journal, a cluster of maps spread out before him. When he glanced up, she saw his strong, handsome face was bruised and his head swathed in bandages. He seemed unsurprised to see her.
He put down the quill and ink and pushed the maps away. “Little Red.” He looked at Donell Brae. “Things go from bad to worse for us these days, don’t they?”
“Trying to decide exactly where in the scheme of things you are?” she asked, indicating the maps.
He shook his head. “Trying to plot a course home, one I hope to put to use very soon.” He shrugged. “I can dream.”
“Can I trust you not to call out for help while we talk?” she asked, balancing the dagger where he could see it.
He nodded wearily. “Who would I call out for? Why would I bother? The rets and the witch are ashore, and my crew and I are left in the dark once more. We’re all of us sick of this business.”
“Not going well, is it?” She moved Donell forward, still keeping her free hand on his arm and the door at her back where she could get to it if she must. “You must long for the old days, bad as they were.”
He smiled, a bit of life returning to his battered features. “Things were less complicated.”
“For you, anyway. What happened to your face?”
“Someone got aboard and rescued the boy we were holding. They broke into my cabin. I came out of my berth just in time to get knocked back into it. You don’t look so good yourself.”
She returned his smile. “I’m healing. Slow and steady. But don’t mistake that for a weakness you can take advantage of, Aden. You’re no better with blades than Donell.” She let the warning sink in. “Tell me about this boy.”
Aden Kett shrugged. “I don’t know anything about him. He was a boy. The Ilse Witch brought him here and told us to keep him locked away until she came back for him. The rets wer
e given responsibility for that, so it’s their problem that he got away.”
“Describe him. Smallish? Dark hair? Unusual blue eyes? Not an Elf, is he? Did you get a name?”
The other shook his head. “He doesn’t talk. Can’t, I gather. But that’s him, the way you describe. Who is he?”
She didn’t answer. It must be Bek. But why couldn’t he speak? And who had managed to get aboard before her and spirit him away?
“No other prisoners?”
“None that I know of. Or care about.” The Federation Commander pushed the maps off his lap and swung his legs over the side of the berth, making sure he did nothing to startle her. Then he stood and stretched his back and arms, taking his time. “No sleep for me this night, I can see. What do you want, Little Red?”
She decided to take a chance. “Your ship. On loan.”
He straightened his tall frame, gingerly smoothed back his dark hair, and folded his arms across his chest. He gave her a considering look. “On loan?”
“We took back the Jerle Shannara, Aden. Big Red and me. But we lost Hawk in the process, and someone is going to pay for that. I already told this to Donell. The witch marooned us. Now I intend to do the same to her. If I could, I would kill her. But leaving her trapped here with her rets works just as well.”
He nodded slowly. “You want me to help you?”
“I want you to stay out of the way.” She paused, reconsidering. “All right. I want you to help me. It might not be a bad idea, given what this voyage is likely to end up costing you otherwise. But even if you don’t, I want your word that you will stay out from underfoot. I already have control of Black Moclips anyway.”
Aden Kett glanced at Donell Brae, who shrugged. “I only saw one other man.”