High druid of Shannara_ Jarka Ruus - Terry Brooks [42]
He found himself wondering suddenly if its occupants would even bother coming after him. After all, they couldn’t know who he was or what he was about. They were likely just to land and walk up to the house in the mistaken belief that the presence of Steady Right indicated that his family was still in residence. By the time they found out differently, he would be far away.
But what if Tagwen was wrong? What if the Druids were actually there to help in some way? Maybe those aboard the approaching ship were not among his aunt’s enemies, but her friends. They might have come for the same reason Tagwen had come — to seek help from his father in tracking down the Ard Rhys. This could all be a big mistake.
He glanced at the Dwarf. Tagwen was staring out at the lake, his eyes wide. “We’re too late, Pen,” he whispered.
Pen wheeled around. The big airship was right on top of them, sliding through the entry to the cove to hover over the water in front of the docks. It had advanced much more quickly than Pen would have believed possible, which indicated all too clearly how powerful and fast it really was. It might even be a match for Swift Sure, although he didn’t think the airship existed this side of the Blue Divide that was that fast.
He saw her name carved into her great, curved rams, bold and etched in gold. Galaphile.
“That’s her airship!” Tagwen exclaimed in dismay. “Your aunt’s! They’re using her own ship!”
“Get down!” Pen hissed at Tagwen. “Hide!”
The Dwarf ducked below the gunwales of the pontoon, and Pen threw a canvas over him, concealing him from view. He had no idea what he was going to do, but whatever it was, there was no point in taking chances until he found out if the Dwarf was right about who these visitors were.
There was also no point in pretending that he didn’t see them, so he turned to watch the Galaphile’s dark hull settle heavily into the waters of the cove. The skies over Rainbow Lake were darkening steadily with thunderheads and rainsqualls. It was going to be a bad storm when it hit. If he was going to make a run for it, he was going to have to do so soon.
He watched as a long boat was lowered over the starboard pontoon. Half a dozen passengers sat hooded and cloaked within, dark figures in the late afternoon gloom. Several took up oars and began to row, pointing the boat toward the docks. Pen caught a glimpse of their lifted faces as they strained against the oars. Gnomes, swarthy and sharp-featured, yellow eyes glittering and cold.
Something about the Gnomes convinced him instantly that Tagwen was right. He couldn’t say exactly why, because he had encountered Gnomes before at Patch Run and on his travels about the lake. He stepped into the pilot box, unhooded the parse tubes stacked on both sides of the cat, and pushed the controls to the port and starboard thrusters forward just far enough to nudge the diapson crystals awake.
“Whatever happens,” he whispered to Tagwen, his head lowered to hide his words, “don’t let them know you’re there.”
“You’d better worry about yourself,” came the muffled reply.
The long boat had landed, and its occupants were climbing onto the dock and walking toward the compound, spreading out in all directions right away, a maneuver clearly intended to cut off anyone trying to get around behind them. Pen was terrified by then, standing alone on the deck of the cat-28, the brace of long knives strapped about his waist and the bow and arrows at his feet pathetically inadequate for mounting any kind of a defense. He couldn’t begin to fight off men like those. Funny, he thought, how quickly he had given up on the possibility that they might be friendly.
One of them separated from the others and came toward him. This man wasn’t a Gnome, and he wasn’t wrapped in their mottled green and brown cloaks. This man