Терри Брукс - Jarka Ruus

Since then, there had been only one other woman—a sorceress, who had loved him desperately. Khyber had seen them together only once, and it was frightening how determined the other woman was that Ahren Elessedil should be hers. But he had decided otherwise and never spoke of her now. Apparently, she was as exiled from his life as he was from Arborlon's.

«Have you ever thought about returning to Paranor?» she asked impulsively, pausing on her way into the house with the dishes.

He looked at her. «Now and then. But I think I belong here, in the Westland. Paranor is a place for study and Druid politics. Neither is for me. What are you really asking, Khyber?»

She made a face. «Nothing. I just wondered if you ever missed the company of other Druids, the ones who still remain at Paranor.»

«You mean her," he said, his smile sad and ironic. He was too quick, she thought. He could read her mind. «No," he said. «That's done.»

«I just think it would help if you had someone living here with you. Someone to help you. So you wouldn't be lonely.»

It sounded stupid, even to her. He laughed. «Well, it wouldn't be her, in any case. She isn't the kind to help others when she has herself to worry about. Why are you so eager to see me partnered? I don't see you looking around for someone to marry.»

She stalked into the house without replying, thinking that her good intentions were wasted on her uncle. He was right about her, of course, but that was beside the point. She was too young to marry, and he would soon be too old and too set in his ways. In fact, he already was, she decided. There was no room in his life for anything but his work. She didn't know why she thought that it might be otherwise. He would live alone until he died, and she might as well accept it. She would just have to do the best she could for him on her visits and hope he got by the rest of the time.

She had just returned for the rest of the dishes when she heard a shout from the other end of the village, and Elves came running out of their houses and workshops and down the street, looking skyward.

«An airship," Ahren said, getting to his feet at once.

No airships ever came to Emberen. It was too small and too isolated. There was only one road, and much of the year it was sodden and rutted and virtually impassable by wagon or cart. Khyber always came on horseback, knowing that she could be assured of getting in and out again that way. Flying vessels in that part of the world were rare. Some of the Elves who lived in the village had never even seen one.

She followed Ahren down the road and through the village toward the sound of the shouting, joining the flow of the crowd and trying to make out the ship through the heavy canopy of limbs. She had no idea where it might find a place to land in woods as heavy as those surrounding Emberen, but she supposed there must be a large–enough clearing somewhere nearby. Ahren was striding ahead, gray Druid robes whipping about his ankles, and she thought from the purposeful nature of his walk that he was concerned that whoever had taken the trouble to fly an airship to Emberen might not have their best interests at heart. A rush of excitement flooded through her at the prospect of whom it might be.

Maybe the routine of her studies was about to take an unexpected, but rather more interesting turn.

The crowd reached the end of the road and turned down a pathway that led into the trees. Overhead, she caught a glimpse of movement. The airship appeared momentarily and was gone again, circling the trees. It wasn't very big—a skiff at best.

She broke into a narrow clearing just as the airship started down, a slow looping motion that brought it in line with a narrow opening in the forest canopy. She could see it clearly by then, a small skiff of the sort favored by Southlanders who did their flying across the inland lakes. Even though it was coming down at a precipitous decline, she didn't think that its power had failed. Nevertheless, given the tightness of the space, the pilot was taking a dangerous risk. Whoever was flying had better be pretty good or the airship would end up in pieces in the trees.

«They're landing!» someone belatedly cried out in surprise.

As the pilot continued to maneuver toward the slot, the Elves scattered back into the trees, pointing and shouting. Khyber stood her ground, not wanting to miss the details of the landing. She had flown on airships, but never seen one landed in a space so small. She wanted to see how it was done. She wanted to see if the pilot could do it.

She got more than she bargained for. It appeared the craft would touch down before it reached her, but at the last minute it lurched drunkenly, skipped across the forest floor, and came right at her. If Ahren hadn't yanked her out of the way and thrown her down, she might have been struck by the pieces of metal that broke loose and flew wildly in all directions. The little skiff slammed into the ground, tore open huge ruts with its pontoons, and came to a halt not twenty feet from where she crouched.

Ahren released his grip on her arm and stood her back up. «You need to pay better attention, Khyber," he said quietly.

She rubbed her arm and shrugged carelessly. «Sorry, Uncle Ahren. I just wanted to watch.»

The Elves began to filter out of the trees for a look at the airship and its occupants, one of whom had appeared from the pilot box. A boy who was younger than she was stood on the skiff's deck, surveying the damage and shaking his head. She stared. Was he the one who had been flying the skiff? This boy? Then a second head popped up from one of the storage holds in the starboard pontoon, a Dwarf who looked as if he didn't know whether to strangle the boy or embrace him.

«Is that Tagwen?» Ahren whispered in disbelief. «Shades, I think it is. What is he doing here?»

With Khyber right beside him, he hurried forward to find out.

Penderrin Ohmsford hauled himself out of the pilot box, brushed off his rumpled clothes, and surveyed the little skiff with no small sense of satisfaction. Another vessel would have broken apart on impact, coming in as fast and as hard as she had. That they were down safely at all was a miracle, but he had survived tougher landings and had never really been in doubt about the outcome.

Tagwen did not share that reaction. The Dwarf was incensed as he climbed out of the storage bin into which he had fallen, and pointed a shaking finger at the boy.

«What's the matter with you? Are you trying to kill us? I thought you said you could fly this thing! Didn't you tell me you could? Why your aunt thinks you are so good at flying escapes me! I could have done a better job myself!»

His beard was matted with leaves and twigs and dirt clots, and a rather large leaf stuck out of his hair like a feather, but he failed to notice, the full weight of his attention given over to Pen.

Pen shrugged. «We're down and we're safe, and we're walking away," he pointed out. «I think that ought to be good enough.»

«Well, it isn't good enough!» Tagwen snapped.

«Well, why not?»

«Because we should be dead! This time we were lucky! What about next time? What about the time after that? I'm supposed to be able to depend on you! I said I would come with you in search of the Ard Rhys, but I didn't say I would commit suicide!»

«I don't see why you're so angry!» Pen snapped, made angry himself by the other's irascible behavior.

«Tagwen, is that you? As I live and breathe, it is! Well met!»

The shout came from one side, drawing their attention and putting an end to their arguing. The speaker was an Elf about the same age as Pen's father, but with a face that was more careworn and with an even slighter build. A girl walked beside him, darker complected and more intense. Her eyes were riveted on Pen, and he had the feeling that she was making up her mind about him before she even knew who he was. Then she smiled when she saw him looking back at her, a disarming, warm grin that made him regret his hasty conclusion.

«Tagwen!» the speaker exclaimed again, reaching up to take the Dwarf's hand. «What are you doing out here? And on an airship?»

«Desperate times require desperate acts," Tagwen advised philosophically. He extended his own hand, and they shook. «I must say, flying with this boy is as desperate as I care to get.» He paused, glancing over at Pen ruefully. «Although I will admit, in all fairness, that he has saved my life several times on our journey.»

He reached out a hand and guided Pen to the forefront. «Penderrin Ohmsford, this is Ahren Elessedil. You might have heard your father speak of him.»

«Ah, young Pen!» the Elf greeted enthusiastically, shaking his hand, as well. «I haven't seen you since you were too tiny to walk. You probably don't remember me.»

«My father does indeed speak of you all the time," Pen agreed. «My mother, as well.»

«They were good friends to me on our voyage west, Pen. If not for your father's help, I would not have returned.» He gestured toward the girl. «This is my niece, Khyber, my brother's daughter. She visits from Arborlon.»

«Hello again, Khyber.» Tagwen nodded to her. «You have grown up.»

«Not all that far," she replied, her eyes staying on Pen. «That was a spectacular landing," she said. «I didn't think you were going to make it down.»

Tagwen went crimson again, the disapproving frown returning to his bluff features, so Pen jumped down from the decking with a mumbled thanks and quickly added, «Tagwen's right. I was lucky.»

«I think it was more than that," she said. «How long have you been flying airships?»

«Enough about airships!» the Dwarf huffed, noticing for the first time the debris in his beard and brushing it clean with furious strokes. «We have other things to talk about.» He lowered his voice. «Prince Ahren, can we go somewhere more private?»

Elves were gathered all around by then, come out of the trees to take a closer look at the airship and its occupants. Children were already scurrying around the pontoons and under the decking, making small excited noises amid squeals of delight. A few of the braver ones were even trying to climb aboard while their parents pulled them back.

«My cottage is just up the road, Tagwen," Ahren Elessedil said. «We can clean you up and give you something to eat and drink. Khyber makes the best mango black tea in the Westland, a secret she won't share even with me.» He gave the girl a wink. «Leave the skiff. She'll be all right where she is. She's an object of curiosity, but the villagers won't harm her.»

«I don't care whether they harm her or not!» Tagwen groused. «I've had more than enough of her for one day, thanks very much!»

They walked back through the village, Ahren Elessedil leading with Tagwen at his side, Pen following with Khyber. No one said very much, respecting the Dwarf's wishes that they wait until they were in private to talk. Pen was thinking that even though Tagwen had insisted the Elven Prince–turned–Druid could help them in their search for the Ard Rhys, Ahren didn't look up to it. If anything, he looked too soft and frail for the physical demands of such an endeavor. A strong wind might blow him away, the boy thought. But looks were misleading. Ahren Elessedil had survived the voyage of the Jerk Shannara when more than twenty others had not, and he wasn't a Druid then. Tagwen had warned Pen not to judge Ahren too quickly, that what was visible on the surface was not necessarily representative of the man inside. Pen hoped he was right.

«Your father is Bek Ohmsford?» Khyber Elessedil asked him.