High druid of Shannara_ Jarka Ruus - Terry Brooks [154]
What had happened to it?
It would be comforting to think that it had died aboard the Galaphile, consumed in the inferno that had claimed the ship, the Gnome Hunters, and Terek Molt. But Pen didn’t think that had happened. It didn’t feel right to him. The thing that had chased him through the streets wouldn’t have been caught off guard like that. If it was still with Terek Molt at the time the Galaphile had found them, it would have been off the ship and stalking him anew. It would have survived.
It could be out there now.
In spite of the fact that he was virtually certain it wasn’t, he looked around cautiously, peering into the darkness as if something might reveal itself. He even took time to read his magic’s response to the sounds of the night creatures surrounding him, to the insects and birds and beasts that inhabited the swamp gloom, searching for anything that would warn him of danger. When he had satisfied himself that he was not threatened, that the hunter he feared might be lurking out there, invisible and deadly, was not, he took a deep breath and exhaled softly, feeling comforted for the moment, at least, that he was safe.
He sat listening, nevertheless, through the rest of his watch.
When his watch was finished, he took a long time falling asleep.
On waking the following morning, Pen said nothing to Khyber and Tagwen of his concerns. There was nothing to be gained by doing so. Everyone was already on edge, and adding to the tension could not help the situation. Besides, the hunter of Anatcherae’s dark streets might have been a denizen of the port city rather than a tool of Terek Molt’s. If the hunter had been the Druid’s creature, then it stood to reason that it would have been used in tracking them down and disposing of them long since. The Druid wouldn’t have confronted them himself when he had his creature to do the job for him.
It was solid reasoning, but it didn’t make Pen feel any better and in the end it didn’t convince him that his problems with his mysterious enemy were finished. Just because he couldn’t account for its whereabouts didn’t mean he was rid of it. But he kept that unsettling thought to himself, knowing that what mattered just then was getting clear of the Slags.
They worked all day at doing so, picking their way through a quagmire of tangled roots, choking reeds, quicksand, sinkholes, and mud flats thick with biting insects and gnats. They still hadn’t had anything to eat or drink since they had lost their raft in the attack of those vines, and the lack of nourishment was beginning to tell. Tagwen was experiencing stomach cramps, Khyber was fighting off dizzy spells, and Pen felt feverish. All three were weaker, and progress had slowed noticeably. If they didn’t find food and drink soon, they were going to be in serious trouble.
It was midafternoon when they entered a sprawling wilderness of scrub-choked trees that stretched in both directions until it could no longer be seen. Threaded by tendrils of mist and layered with shadows, the woods were so vast that there wasn’t any hope of finding a way around. In any case, they were too exhausted to do anything but go forward, and so they did. Pushing into the tangle, they soon found themselves forced to proceed in single file, the trees grown so close together and the spaces between so clogged with brambles and scrub that any other formation was impossible. Weaving between the trunks and stalks, they slogged through pools of swamp water and sucking mud, using roots and limbs for handholds. Overhead, flying squirrels and birds darted through the dank foliage, and on the uncertain ground snakes slithered