Terry Brooks - Antrax

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 panicking 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.”