High druid of Shannara_ Jarka Ruus - Terry Brooks [71]
“They’re landing!” someone belatedly cried out in surprise.
As the pilot continued to maneuver toward the slot, the Elves scattered back into the trees, pointing and shouting. Khyber stood her ground, not wanting to miss the details of the landing. She had flown on airships, but never seen one landed in a space so small. She wanted to see how it was done. She wanted to see if the pilot could do it.
She got more than she bargained for. It appeared the craft would touch down before it reached her, but at the last minute it lurched drunkenly, skipped across the forest floor, and came right at her. If Ahren hadn’t yanked her out of the way and thrown her down, she might have been struck by the pieces of metal that broke loose and flew wildly in all directions. The little skiff slammed into the ground, tore open huge ruts with its pontoons, and came to a halt not twenty feet from where she crouched.
Ahren released his grip on her arm and stood her back up. “You need to pay better attention, Khyber,” he said quietly.
She rubbed her arm and shrugged carelessly. “Sorry, Uncle Ahren. I just wanted to watch.”
The Elves began to filter out of the trees for a look at the airship and its occupants, one of whom had appeared from the pilot box. A boy who was younger than she was stood on the skiff’s deck, surveying the damage and shaking his head. She stared. Was he the one who had been flying the skiff? This boy? Then a second head popped up from one of the storage holds in the starboard pontoon, a Dwarf who looked as if he didn’t know whether to strangle the boy or embrace him.
“Is that Tagwen?” Ahren whispered in disbelief. “Shades, I think it is. What is he doing here?”
With Khyber right beside him, he hurried forward to find out.
Chapter THIRTEEN
Penderrin Ohmsford hauled himself out of the pilot box, brushed off his rumpled clothes, and surveyed the little skiff with no small sense of satisfaction. Another vessel would have broken apart on impact, coming in as fast and as hard as she had. That they were down safely at all was a miracle, but he had survived tougher landings and had never really been in doubt about the outcome.
Tagwen did not share that reaction. The Dwarf was incensed as he climbed out of the storage bin into which he had fallen, and pointed a shaking finger at the boy.
“What’s the matter with you? Are you trying to kill us? I thought you said you could fly this thing! Didn’t you tell me you could? Why your aunt thinks you are so good at flying escapes me! I could have done a better job myself!”
His beard was matted with leaves and twigs and dirt clots, and a rather large leaf stuck out of his hair like a feather, but he failed to notice, the full weight of his attention given over to Pen.
Pen shrugged. “We’re down and we’re safe, and we’re walking away,” he pointed out. “I think that ought to be good enough.”
“Well, it isn’t good enough!” Tagwen snapped.
“Well, why not?”
“Because we should be dead! This time we were lucky! What about next time? What about the time after that? I’m supposed to be able to depend on you! I said I would come with you in search of the Ard Rhys, but I didn’t say I would commit suicide!”
“I don’t see why you’re so angry!” Pen snapped, made angry himself by the other’s irascible behavior.
“Tagwen, is that you? As I live and breathe, it is! Well met!”
The shout came from one side, drawing their attention and putting an end to their arguing. The speaker was an Elf about the same age as Pen’s father, but with a face that was more careworn and with an even slighter build. A girl walked beside him, darker complected and more intense. Her eyes were riveted