“What’s the matter, boy?” someone whispered in his ear. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
It was Truls Rohk. Bek started so violently at the guttural sound of the other’s voice that he nearly choked. The shape-shifter materialized beside him out of the darkness, his cloaked and hooded form blocking out the moonlight. In seconds he cut apart the ropes that bound the boy’s wrists. Then, using a slender length of metal bar, he snapped apart the link that fastened the leg iron clasp in place, and Bek was free.
Truls Rohk hauled him to his feet. “No talking,” he whispered. “Not until we’re off this ship.”
They went out into the darkened passageway, the shape-shifter leading the way. Despite stiffness and cramped muscles, still not quite believing his good fortune, Bek stayed close enough to touch him. They were barely a dozen paces beyond the storeroom when a raspy, broken cry went up from within. Bek at his heels, the shape-shifter continued down the corridor without looking back. The boy expected him to make for one of the stairways leading up and was surprised when he did exactly the opposite. Instead of ascending to the main deck, Truls Rohk turned down a dead-end corridor that led to the rear of the craft. Overhead, the sound of booted feet echoed through the decking, mingling with shouts and cries. The ship’s company was fully awake and, if not hunting for them yet, well on the way to doing so.
The corridor Truls Rohk had turned down ended after only a few steps at a heavy wooden door. The shape-shifter opened it without hesitating and pulled Bek inside. The room was dark, but moonlight poured through two sets of open windows to reveal a fully furnished chamber. A man came awake in a bed to one side, springing out of the covers hurriedly, but a single blow from Truls Rohk knocked him into a wall where he collapsed in an unconscious heap.
“Out the window,” the shape-shifter hissed at Bek, shoving him toward the open portals.
He turned back toward the door to the chamber, but it was already flying open, and half a dozen dark forms were charging through. Truls Rohk slammed into them with such fury that he sent all six careening backwards into the passageway, stumbling and cursing as they tried to keep their feet. Knives and short swords glittered in the moonlight, but the shape-shifter dodged through the slashing blades like a ghost, snatched hold of the open door, and slammed it shut, throwing the heavy latch in place.
“Get out!” he snarled over his shoulder at Bek.
Bodies hurtled against the door from without, and heavy blades pried at the metal latch and bit into the wood. Bek climbed onto the empty bed and lifted one leg over the sill. Almost at once, a darkened form dropped in front of him, suspended from a rope. Bek caught the gleam of a Federation insignia, kicked at the man’s head, and sent him spinning away.
Behind him, the door splintered and sagged. Bek hesitated anew.
“Get out!” Truls Rohk repeated.
Bek went through the window just as another form dropped on a rope over the ship’s railing, snatching for him. Bek evaded the savage lunge of his attacker and went headfirst into the water. Submerged in the concealing darkness, he swam away from the airship until his lungs were begging for air. When he resurfaced, there was no one else in sight. Aboard Black Moclips, the sounds of battle continued, sharp and desperate. Bek waited a moment for Truls Rohk to follow him into the water, but when he saw boats filled with Mwellrets being lowered over the side, he began to swim again. He was a good swimmer, and he carried no weapons or baggage to encumber him. He swam toward the darkened shoreline in smooth, easy strokes and was there before the first of his pursuers had cut loose from the ship to row after him.
Creeping as quietly as he could from the shallows, he ducked into the concealing trees, then looked back. Spread out across the waterline, their squat, bulky shapes frozen in the moonlight, the boats were coming toward him. He scanned the dark outline of Black Moclips for some sign of Truls Rohk, but found nothing. Aboard the airship, the clamor had died to a dull murmur of voices that carried easily across the open waters of the bay. Undecided about what he should do, Bek waited as the rowboats drew nearer. He was free, but he had nowhere to go. He had lost his magic and his weapons, so it was pointless to stand and fight. But if he ran, his captors would just track him down again. He needed the shape-shifter to help him. He needed Truls badly.
Finally he could wait no longer. The rowboats were almost on top of him. He melted into the trees as soundlessly as he could manage. His pursuers would not be able to pick up his tracks in the darkness, so he would have the better part of the night to put some distance between them. By morning, he could be far away.
But where was he going to go?
The hopelessness of his situation overwhelmed him, and for a moment he simply stopped where he was, staring out into the darkness. He was free, but what was he supposed to do about it? Should he go in search of the others from the ship’s company, hoping that one or two might still be alive? Should he find Walker and warn the Druid about Grianne? Was there time enough to do anything at this point besides try to stay alive?
“What are you doing?” Truls Rohk hissed, materializing out of the darkness beside him. Water ran from his sodden cloak into the dirt. “If you stand around long enough, they’ll find you for sure!”
He took an astonished Bek by the arm and propelled him forward into the trees. “Did you think I wasn’t coming? Have some faith, boy. Cats aren’t the only ones with nine lives.” His cloak was torn, and blood was smeared on it. Within the concealment of his cowl, his eyes glittered. “Enough of this. Let’s go after your sister. Family reunions are always interesting, but this one should be better than most.” His sudden laughter was rough and unpleasant. “You try to save her and I’ll try to kill her. Fair enough?”
His grip was like iron as he pulled Bek Ohmsford after him into the night.
23
Rue Meridian was still watching Black Moclips from the shoreline shadows with Hunter Predd, trying to decide what she should do, when the shipboard silence erupted in a cacophony of shouts and the clash of metal blades. It happened so suddenly that at first it was disorienting, and she was not even sure where the sounds were coming from. Exchanging a hurried glance with the Wing Rider, she moved farther along the shoreline, as if by doing so she might somehow better determine the source of the disruption.
To complicate her efforts, the moon slid behind a broad bank of clouds, plunging the bay and the airship into blackness.
“What’s going on?” she hissed helplessly.
She paused in her advance as she heard wood splintering and metal hinges tearing loose. She couldn’t mistake those sounds, she decided, glancing again at Hunter Predd. Then a splash sounded as something or someone went overboard. A second splash sounded immediately after, and she heard thrashing in the waters of the bay. Her first thought, instant and unconditional, was that someone was trying to escape. That someone would have to be a member of the company of the Jerle Shannara.
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.