Quentin hadn’t noticed it before, but Panax was right. The air was growing steadily colder, even as the sun rose. There was a brittle snap to it that whispered of winter.
“Obat and his people are going over the mountains and into Parkasia’s interior,” the Dwarf continued. “Better weather over there. Safer country. If we don’t find another way out of here pretty quick, I think we’d better go with them.”
Suddenly Quentin remembered the airship. “I just saw the Jerle Shannara, Panax,” he said quickly, directing the other’s attention toward the front. “It was visible for a moment, right over there. I saw it while I was standing where you found me, and then I lost it in those clouds.”
They stared into the darkness together for a several moments without seeing anything. Then Panax cleared his throat. “Not that I doubt you on this, but are you sure it wasn’t Black Moclips?”
The possibility hadn’t occurred to Quentin. He was so eager for it to be the Jerle Shannara, he supposed, that he had never stopped to consider that it might be the enemy airship. He had forgotten about their nemesis.
He shook his head slowly. “No, I guess I’m not sure at all.”
The Dwarf nodded. “No harm done. But we have to be careful. The witch and her Mwellrets are still out there.”
“What about Bek and the others?”
Panax looked uncomfortable. “Still no sign. I don’t know if we can find them, Highlander. Obat’s people still won’t go into the ruins. They say it’s a place of death even with Antrax gone and the creepers and fire threads down. They say it’s cursed. Nothing has changed. I tried to get them to come with me this morning, but after they saw what had happened, they went right back up into the hills to wait.” He shook his head. “I guess I don’t blame them, but it doesn’t help us much.”
Quentin faced him. “I’m not leaving Bek, Panax. I’m all done with running away, with watching people die and not doing anything about it.”
The Dwarf nodded. “We’ll keep looking, Highlander. For as long as we can, we’ll keep searching. But don’t get your hopes up.”
“He’s alive,” Quentin insisted.
The Dwarf did not reply, his weathered, bluff face masking his thoughts. His gaze shifted skyward to the north, and Quentin turned to look, as well. A line of black specks had appeared on the horizon, coming down parallel to the storm front, strung out across the morning sky.
“Airships,” Panax announced softly, a new edge to his rough voice.
They watched the specks grow larger and begin to take shape. Quentin could not understand where so many airships had come from, seemingly out of nowhere, all at once. Whose were they? He glanced at Panax, but the Dwarf seemed as confused as he did.
“Look,” Panax said, pointing.
The airship Quentin had seen earlier had reappeared out of the darkness, moving swiftly across the sky east toward the mountains. There was no mistaking it this time; it was Black Moclips. A cry for help died on the Highlander’s lips, and he froze in place as it passed overhead and receded into the distance. They could see now that it was attempting to cut off another ship, one further ahead. The distinctive rake of the three masts marked it instantly as the Jerle Shannara. The witch and her Mwellrets were in pursuit of the Rovers, and these new airships were chasing both.
“What’s going on?” Quentin asked, as much of himself as of Panax.
A moment later, the pursuing fleet split into two groups, one going after Black Moclips and the Jerle Shannara, the other breaking off toward the ruins of Castledown. This second group was the smaller of the two, but was commanded by the largest of the airships. In a line, the vessels swung over the ruins, where they prepared to set down.
“I don’t think we should stand out in the open like this,” Panax offered after a moment.
Quickly, they moved into the cover of the trees, then retreated back up into the hills until they found a vantage point from which they could look down on what was taking place. It didn’t take them long to decide that they had made the right decision. Rope ladders had been lowered from the airships, which hovered a dozen feet off the ground, and knots of Mwellrets were climbing down and spreading out. On board the airships, the crews kept their stations. But there was something odd about their stance. They stood frozen in place like statues, not moving about, not even talking with one another. Quentin stared at them for a long time, waiting for any sort of reaction at all. There was none.
“I don’t think they’re friends,” Panax declared softly. He paused. “Look at that.”
Something new had been added to the mix—a handful of creatures that lacked any recognizable identity. They were being placed in slings and lowered by winches from the largest airship, one after the other. They looked a little like humans grown all out of proportion, with massive shoulders and arms, thick legs, and hairy torsos. They hunched forward as they walked, using all four limbs like the apes of the Old World. But their heads had a wolfish look to them, with narrow, sharp snouts, pointed ears, and gimlet eyes. Even at a distance, their features were unmistakable.
“What are those?” Quentin breathed.
The search parties fanned out through the ruins, dozens of Mwellrets in each, armed and armored, a decidedly hostile invader. Secured on lengths of chain and ordered to track, the odd hunched creatures were being used like dogs. Noses to the ground, they began making their way through the rubble in different directions, the Mwellrets trailing. Within the ruins, there was no response from Antrax. No creepers appeared and no fire threads lanced forth. It appeared the Rindge were right about what had happened. But it only made Quentin wonder all the more about Bek.
Burly, dark-skinned Kian appeared suddenly out the trees, moving over to join them. He nodded a greeting to Quentin as he came up, but didn’t speak.
“We’ve got a problem, Highlander,” Panax said without looking at him.
Quentin nodded. “They’re searching for us. Eventually, they’ll find us.”
“All too quickly, I expect.” The Dwarf straightened. “We can’t stay. We have to get away.”
Quentin Leah stared down at the searchers as they trickled into the city, tiny figures still, like toys. Quentin understood what Panax was saying, but he didn’t want to speak the words aloud. Panax was saying that they had to give up the search for Bek. They had to put as much distance as possible between themselves and whoever was down there hunting them.
He felt something shrivel up and die inside at the prospect of abandoning Bek yet again, but he knew that if he stayed, he would be found. That would accomplish nothing useful and might result in his death. He tried to think it through. Maybe Bek stood a better chance than Quentin thought. Bek had the use of magic; Tamis had told them so. She had seen him use it, a power that could shred creepers. His cousin wasn’t entirely helpless. In truth, he might be better off than they were. Maybe he had even found Walker, so that the two of them were together. They might have already fled the ruins and gone into the mountains themselves.
He stopped himself angrily. He was rationalizing. He was trying to make himself feel better about abandoning Bek, about breaking his promise once more. But he didn’t really believe what he was telling himself. His heart wouldn’t let him.
“What do we do?” he asked finally, resigned to doing the one thing he had sworn he wouldn’t.
Panax rubbed his bearded chin. “We go into the Aleuthra Ark—those mountains behind us—with Obat and his people. We go deeper into Parkasia. The airships were flying that way. Maybe we can catch up to one of them. Maybe we can signal it.” He shrugged wearily. “Maybe we can manage to stay alive.”