High druid of Shannara_ Jarka Ruus - Terry Brooks [141]
“What is it?” Khyber whispered, brushing back her mop of dark hair, twisting loose strands of it in her fingers.
“Magic,” her uncle answered softly. “Terek Molt is sheathing the Galaphile in magic to protect her from an attack. He is wary of what we did to him last time, of another storm, of the elements I can summon to disrupt his efforts.”
The Druid exhaled slowly. “He has made a mistake. He has given us a chance.”
A rope ladder was lowered over the side of the airship, one end dropping through a railing gap and into the water. A solitary figure began to descend. Even from a distance and through the heavy gloom, there was no doubt about who it was.
Pen glanced up again at the cloaked figures lining the Galaphile’s railing. All their weapons were pointed at himself and his companions.
“Khyber,” Ahren Elessedil called softly.
When she looked over, he passed her something, a quick exchange that was barely noticeable. Pen caught a glimpse of the small pouch as her hand opened just far enough to permit her to see that it was the Elfstones she had been given. Her quick intake of breath was audible.
“Listen carefully,” her uncle said without looking at her, his eyes fixed on Terek Molt, who was almost to the water now. “When I tell you, use the Elfstones against the Galaphile. Do as you have been taught. Open your mind, summon their power, and direct it at the airship.”
Khyber was already shaking her head, her Elven features taut with dismay. “It won’t work, Uncle Ahren! The magic is only good against other magic — magic that threatens the holder of the stones! You taught me that yourself! The Galaphile is an airship, wood and iron only!”
“She is,” the Druid agreed. “But thanks to Terek Molt, the magic that sheathes her is not. It is his magic, Druid magic. Trust me, Khyber. It is our only chance. I am skilled, but Terek Molt was trained as a warrior Druid and is more powerful than I am. Do as I say. Watch for my signal. Do not reveal that you have the Elfstones before then. Do nothing to demonstrate that you are a danger to him. If you do, if you give yourself away too early, even to help me, we are finished.”
Pen glanced at Khyber. The Elven girl’s eyes glittered with fear. “I’ve never even tried to use the Elfstones,” she said. “I don’t know what it takes to summon the magic. What if I can’t do so now?”
Ahren Elessedil smiled. “You can and you will, Khyber. You have the training and the resolve. Do not doubt yourself. Be brave. Trust the magic and your instincts. That will be enough.”
Terek Molt stepped down off the ladder and into the shallow water, turning to face them. His black robes billowed out behind him as he approached, his blocky form squared toward Ahren Elessedil. He radiated confidence and disdain, the set of his dark form signaling his intent in a way that was unmistakable.
“Move to one side, Khyber,” Ahren said quietly, his voice taking on an edge. “Remember what I said. Watch for my signal. Pen, Tagwen, back out of the way.”
The boy and the Dwarf retreated at once, happy to put as much distance as possible between themselves and Terek Molt. The warrior Druid’s chiseled face glanced in their direction, a slight lifting of his chin the only indication that he noticed them at all. But even that small movement was enough to let Pen see the rage that was reflected in the flat, cold eyes.
When he was twenty feet from the Elf, he stopped. “Give up the boy. He belongs to us now. You can keep the old man and the girl as compensation for your trouble. Take them and go.”
Ahren Elessedil shook his head. “I don’t think I care to take you up on your offer. I think we will all stay together.”
Terek Molt nodded. “Then you will all come with me. Either way, it makes no difference.”
“Ultimatums are the last resort of desperate men.”
“Don’t play games with me, outcast.”
“What has happened to you, Terek