Терри Брукс - Jarka Ruus

She leaned in to meet him, their foreheads almost touching. Her Elven features sharpened with surprise. «What sort of magic? The wishsong? But you said not.»

«No. Something else. Something different.» He fiddled with one of the pieces, then took his hand away. «I can sense what living things are thinking, what they are going to do and why. Not people. Birds and animals and plants. When they make sounds, noises or cries or whatever, I can understand what they are saying. Sometimes, I can make the sounds back, answer them.»

She cocked one eyebrow. «That seems to me like it could be pretty important. I don't know how exactly, but I think it could be. Have you told Uncle Ahren?»

He shook his head. «Not yet.»

«Well, you should. He ought to know, Pen. He's a Druid. He might know something about it that you don't, maybe a way you can use it that will help us.» She paused, studying his face. «Are you afraid to tell him? You can trust him, you know.»

«I know.» His eyes locked on hers. «I just don't talk about it much. I never have.»

They went back to playing, the sound of the rain beating against the window increasing in intensity. All around them, voices and laughter fought to hold their ground. The flames of the lamps on the walls and the candles on the tables fluttered like tiny flags as the wind slipped through cracks and crevices in the wood boarding and gusted through the open door every time someone entered or left.

«I'll tell him when he comes back," Pen said finally. He moved his assault piece to confront her control. «Stand down. You lose, Khyber.»

They played another game and were in the middle of a third when the door opened to admit a drenched Ahren Elessedil and Tagwen. Shedding water from their all–weather cloaks like ducks come ashore, they hurried over to the boy and girl. «Get your things together," Ahren told them quietly, bending down so that rainwater dripped on the tabletop. «We've found a ship.»

* * *

They gathered up their gear, strapped their packs over their shoulders, and departed the inn for the ship that the Druid had engaged. Better that they settle in at once so they could be ready to leave when the storm abated, the Druid advised. They had to walk from the side street on which the inn was situated back to the main roadway and down to the docks, then along the waterfront to where the ship was tied up at the pier. As they slogged through the downpour, Ahren Elessedil provided the details.

«The ship is the Skatelow. Appropriate name for its uses, I'd guess. Low and sleek in her hull, raked mast, lots of rigging on the decks. She can't carry much in the way of passengers or freight with all the sail she stores, but she can probably outrun almost anything flying.»

«Made for our uses," Tagwen grunted, his words nearly drowned out by a sudden gust of wind.

«Not much in the way of comforts, but adequate for our needs," the Druid continued. «Her Captain is a Rover named Gar Hatch. I don't know anything about him other than what I've learned from talking with him and what a few on the waterfront tell me. He's got a reputation for being willing to try anything, and they all say he can go places no one else would even think of trying. If I read him correctly, he's done a lot of what we're after—carrying passengers who want to keep it quiet. He's charming, but there's some snake in him, as well, so watch what you say. He knows we want to go east to the Lazareen, but that's all I've given him to work with. What he cares about most is the money he will get, and I've satisfied him on that count.»

«The Lazareen?» Khyber asked.

«An inland lake at the foot of the Charnals, the first step of our journey. That's all the Rover knows of our plans just yet.»

They walked on for a while, not speaking, heads bent against the wind and rain. Pen was not only wet, he was cold. He had been out in the weather a lot aboard airships and knew how to dress for it, but in his haste to leave the inn this afternoon, he hadn't given much thought to his personal comfort. He was regretting that oversight now.

«Penderrin.»

Ahren Elessedil had dropped back to walk beside him, letting Khyber and Tagwen go on ahead. Pen hitched up his pack and moved closer so that he could hear. The rain obscured the Druid's face and ran off his shoulders in sheets.

«I took the liberty of telling Captain Hatch that you had extensive airship experience," he said. «I'm afraid I put you on the spot rather deliberately.» The hood shifted, and Pen caught a glimpse of his Elven features, somber and intense. «I don't trust this fellow entirely; he's a mercenary, and mercenaries always look out for themselves first. But he was the best I could do, and I didn't want to delay our departure. The longer we wait, the better the chance that those hunting us will get wind of where we are.»

Pen nodded. «I understand.»

The Druid leaned closer. «The reason I told Hatch about your experience is so that he knows at least one of us can determine if he's doing what he's supposed to. I don't want him telling us one thing and doing something else. I don't want him thinking he can put one over on us. I don't say that would happen, but I want to guard against it. I don't know that much about airships; I never did. Your father was the pilot and your mother the navigator when it was needed. I was always just a passenger. That's never changed. Khyber and Tagwen know even less than I do. In fact, I think it's something of a miracle that Tagwen managed to reach you on his own.»

«I thought that, too, after he told me what he'd done.» Pen blinked away the rain that swept into his eyes.

«Stay alert on our journey, Pen," Ahren said. «Don't make it obvious, but keep an eye on what's happening with the navigation of the ship. If anything looks wrong, tell me. I'll deal with it. Can you do that?»

«I can do it.»

«Gar Hatch doesn't know who we are, but that doesn't mean he won't find out. If he does, he might be tempted to make use of that information. The Druids are already looking for you. They've put it about that because of what happened to your aunt, you might be in danger, as well, and should be protected. If you're seen, word is to be sent to them immediately.»

He hunched his shoulders against the wind. «I gave him only first names, thinking it safe enough at the time, but now I wish I hadn't given him even that. News of the Druid search didn't reached Syioned until this morning, but now that it has, Hatch may hear of it. He isn't a stupid man. Be very careful, Pen.»

He moved away again into the rain, his cloaked form dark and shadowy in the gloom. Pen stared after him, slowing.

Be very careful. Easily said, he thought; not so easily done.

Aware suddenly that he was falling behind, he hurried to catch up with the others.

The storm raged on through the rest of the day and all that night, but by daybreak it had begun to diminish. By the time the general population of Syioned was stirring awake, the Skatelow had cast off her moorings and was under way.

Pen and his companions had been huddled belowdecks since boarding, trying their best to sleep through the storm's fury, and they had not had more than a rain–drenched glimpse of their vessel. Now, with the skies clearing and the sun a bright wash in the east, they came on deck to look around.

Their transport was a sloop, a new design for airships, although a very old one for sailing ships. Ahren Elessedil had described it accurately. It was low and flat and clearly built for speed. A single mast and spars were rigged to fly a mainsail, foresail, and flying jib. In his travels, Pen hadn't seen much of the latter, another sailing ship feature that had been converted for airship usage. A broad, billowing sail that traditionally captured the wind off the bow and gave the vessel extra thrust, the jib was used by airships to absorb a wider swath of ambient light that could be converted to energy by the diapson crystals that powered the ship. The Skatelow lacked the pontoons that serviced most of the older airships of the catamaran design, relying instead on its pilot's sailing skills and the flatness of its hull to keep it steady in the air.

Pen liked the Skatelow right away. It had been modified from its original design considerably to eliminate anything that might slow its flight. Except for the mast and rigging, everything else was tucked away belowdecks or in storage bins. Even the pilot box was recessed into the hull to cut back on drag. Everything was sleek and smooth, the ship a great swift bird that could hunt or run as needed. It was powered by eight diapson crystals, the most in use for a ship of only seventy–odd feet. Anything more and the thrust might have torn her apart. Even with eight, the Captain had to know what he was doing.

Gar Hatch did, and he let Pen know it right from the first. Pen had been abovedecks less than five minutes when the Captain of the Skatelow hailed him over.

«Penderrin!» he called out from the pilot box. «Stand to, lad! Give an old sailor an ear to bend!»

Obediently, Pen walked down the deck to the box and climbed in beside Gar Hatch. The Rover was a big man, heavy and square through his midsection with huge arms and legs—a tree trunk of a man. Bushy hair sprouted from his face and head, even from his sizeable ears, giving him the appearance of a great woolly bear. When he spoke he had a tendency to rear back, his stomach thrust out and his chin tucked so far into his beard that his mouth disappeared entirely. What remained visible were his sharp, hawkish eyes, bright and dangerous.

«You're a sailor yourself, I'm told," he said, his deep, rough voice rising from somewhere inside his beard. His breath smelled of fish and sea salt. «Been so since you were a small lad, an early old salt. Spent years sailing airships big and small about Rainbow Lake and the rivers that feed her. Good for you!»

«My parents are the real sailors," Pen said. «I learned what I know from them. They take customers on expeditions into the Eastland.» He stopped himself quickly. Remembering Ahren Elessedil's admonishment, he was aware that he had already said more than he should have. «I just fly with them once in a while and look after the ships in dock," he finished carefully.

Gar Hatch didn't seem to notice. «Grew up that way myself," he said. «Learned what I know from my father and uncles, sailors all. On the coast, off the Blue Divide, whichever way the wind blew. We flew the big ships mostly, but I had my own skiff when I was your age. Got one of those yourself, your uncle tells me.»

My uncle? «Yes, that's right," Pen answered quickly. «A cat–28. I built it myself.»

«Did you now? Good for you, Penderrin!» The Rover laughed, his belly shaking with the effort. «Best way to learn about airships is to build one. Haven't got the skills for that myself, but I've helped those who do. I learned keel from mast quick enough that way, so when I flew I understood if the lady didn't like the way she was being treated.»

Pen grinned. «I like this ship. I've never flown one, but I've seen them and I know how they're made. This one is made to fly fast. Have you run out the string on her?»

Hatch roared. «That's the lad! Ask what matters, and no beating around the main mast! Sure, I've had her thrusters all the way open, and let me tell you, Penderrin, she can fly faster than fast! Nothing alive can catch her, save for the big birds off the coast, and they might have to work some to do it. She's a glutton for speed, this one. You're right, though. I gave her all her curves, all her smooth limbs and soft lines. She's my lady, she is.»