High druid of Shannara_ Jarka Ruus - Terry Brooks [99]
They flew up the corridor leading off the Streleheim toward the Malg Swamp, a misty flat smudge across the landscape on their left, the terrain in dark counterpoint to the rolling green foothills on their right. Gar Hatch took the airship lower, trying to avoid the heavier mix of clouds and mist that layered the sky with a thick ceiling between swamp and mountains. As they neared the Malg, the water birds disappeared, replaced by swarms of insects that defied winds and airspeed to attack the ship’s passengers in angry clouds. Gar Hatch swore loudly and took his vessel up until finally the insects dropped away.
Pen spit dead gnats from his mouth and wiped them from his nostrils and eyes. Cinnaminson appeared next to him, moving over from the pilot box with unerring directional sense, never wavering in her passage, and he was reminded again of how, even blind, she seemed able to see what was going on around her.
He was about to ask her what her father had said to her in his cabin, but before he could do so, he heard something in the cry of a heron that winged past so close it felt as if he could reach out and touch the bird. He looked at it sharply, hearing in its call a warning he could not mistake. Something had frightened the bird, and that did not happen easily with herons.
He scanned the horizon, then saw the dark swarm of dots soaring out of a deep canyon cut into the rugged foothills.
Birds, he thought at once. Big ones. Rocs or Shrikes.
But they didn’t fly like birds. There was no wing movement, and their shapes were all wrong.
They were airships.
“Captain!” he shouted over to Gar Hatch and pointed.
For a long second, the big man just stared at the shapes, then he turned back with a dark look on his face. “Cinnaminson, get below and stay there. Take the other young lady with you. Penderrin, come into the pilot box. I’ll need you.”
Without bothering to wait for a reply, Gar began shouting at the Rover crewmen, both of whom jumped in response. Within moments, they were hoisting every scrap of sail they could manage, a clear indication that whatever was coming, Gar Hatch intended to run from it.
Cinnaminson was already descending through the hatchway, but Khyber was having none of it. “I’m staying,” she declared firmly. “I can help.”
“Go below,” Ahren Elessedil ordered her at once. “The Captain commands on this ship. If I need you, I’ll call. Stay ready. Pen, let’s find out what is happening.”
Be careful, Khyber mouthed silently to the boy as she disappeared from view.
Together, Pen and the Druid hurried over to the pilot box and climbed inside. Gar Hatch was setting the control levers, readying them for when the sails were all in place. He scowled at Pen and the Druid as if they might be responsible.
“Put on your safety lines,” he ordered. “Check both ends of yours, young Penderrin. We’ve no time for mistakes here.”
Pen held his tongue, doing as he was told, buckling himself into his harness and testing the links. Ahren Elessedil did the same.
“Sometimes I wonder if it’s worth it, making these runs,” Gar Hatch growled. He nodded toward the approaching dots. “Those are flits. Single-passenger airships, bothersome little gnats. Quick and highly maneuverable. Gnome raiders use them, and that’s who those boys likely are. They want to bring us down for whatever we’ve got aboard. They’ll do it, too, if they get close enough. I wouldn’t worry normally, but that storm took something out of the Skatelow. She’s faster than they are when she’s working right, but she’s down in her power about three-quarters and I haven’t the time to do the work necessary to bring her back up again until we reach the Lazareen.”
“We can’t outrun them?” Ahren asked.
Gar Hatch shook his head. “I don’t think so. If we get far enough ahead of them, they might lose interest. If they know