High druid of Shannara_ Jarka Ruus - Terry Brooks [133]
The corridor was empty as he hurried down its short length to the ladder leading up and climbed swiftly toward the light, straining to hear something more. When he pushed open the hatch, he found the dawn had arrived with a deep, heavy fog that crawled through the trees and over the decks of the Skatelow. At first he didn’t see anyone, then found Gar Hatch, the two Rover crewmen, Ahren Elessedil and Khyber standing at the bow, peering everywhere at once, and he hurried over to join them.
“One of the crewmen caught a glimpse of the Galaphile just moments ago, right overhead, flying north,” the Druid whispered. “He called out a warning, which might have given us away. We’re waiting to see if she comes back around.”
They stood in a knot, scanning the misty gray, watching for movement. Long minutes passed, and nothing appeared.
“There’s a channel just ahead that tunnels through these trees,” Gar Hatch said quietly. “It goes on for several miles through heavy foliage. Once we get in there, we can’t be seen from the sky. It’s our best chance to lose them.”
They pulled up the fore and aft anchors and set out. Breakfast was forgotten. All that mattered was getting the ship under cover. Everyone but Cinnaminson was on deck now. Pen thought to go look for her, but decided it would be wrong to leave in the midst of the crisis. He might be needed; Hatch might require help piloting the craft. He stayed close, watching as the Rover Captain took the Skatelow through a series of connecting lakes spiked with grasses and studded with dead tree trunks, easing her carefully along, all the while with one eye on the brume-thickened sky. The Rover crewmen moved forward, taking readings with weighted lines, hand-signaling warnings when shallows or submerged logs appeared in front of them. No one said a word.
The channel appeared without warning, a black hole through an interwoven network of limbs and gnarled trunks. It had the look of a giant’s hungry maw as they sailed into it, and the temperature dropped immediately once they were inside. Pen shivered.
Overhead, he caught small glimpses of sky, but mostly the dark canopy of limbs was all that was visible. The channel was wide enough to allow passage, though the Skatelow wouldn’t have been able to get through if her mast had been up. As it was, the Rover crewmen had to use poles to push her away from the tangle of tree roots that grew on either side and keep her centered in the deeper water. It was too dark for Pen to see exactly what they were doing, but he was certain they could not have done it without Hatch. He seemed to know what was needed at every turn, and kept them moving ahead smoothly.
Still Cinnaminson didn’t appear. Pen glanced over his shoulder repeatedly, but there was no sign of her. He began to worry anew.
Ahead, the tunnel opened back into the light.
Gar Hatch called him into the pilot box. “Take the helm, young Penderrin. I need to be at the bow for this.”
Pen did as he was told. Hatch went forward to stand with his men, the three of them using poles to ease the Skatelow along the channel, pointing her toward the opening. Now and again, he would signal the boy to swing the rudder to starboard or port.
They were almost through when there was a scraping sound and a violent lurch. Pen was thrown backwards into the railing, and for an instant he thought that whatever had happened, he had done something wrong. But as he stood up and hurried forward, he realized he hadn