Ilse Witch - Terry Brooks [164]
“You, Misstress,” he answered coldly.
“Then why would you take it upon yourself to give orders without consulting me first? Why would you assume you had authority to rescind an order I had already given? Do you think, perhaps, you are better able than me to make the decisions that are needed on this voyage?”
He turned slowly to face her, and she could see that he was considering the advisability of a confrontation. Five of his fellows stood directly behind him, and she was alone. Separately, none of them was her equal. Together, they might be. He hated her and wanted her dead. He undoubtedly felt he could accomplish what was needed without her. If she were to disappear on this voyage, the Morgawr would never know what had happened to her.
But that knife cut both ways, of course.
“Sshe sspeakss to uss like children!” the Mwellret to Cree Bega’s right snarled, hunching down like a snake.
The Ilse Witch did not hesitate. She stepped to one side, just out of reach of the others, and used her magic on the speaker. Her voice lashed at him with a sound that was bone-chilling and ferocious. Every ounce of power she could muster, she brought to bear. The force of her attack lifted the shocked Mwellret off its feet, twisted it into a shattered and broken mess, so ravaged it was virtually unidentifiable, and dropped the remains over the side. It took only seconds.
The Mwellret was gone almost before his fellows understood what had happened.
She faced the remaining Mwellrets calmly. She had needed to make an example of someone to keep the others under control. Better an unknown than Cree Bega, whose leadership was established and effective. Better to keep the enemy she knew than to install one she did not. Changes in command necessitated adjustments that could give rise to new problems. This was enough for now. She looked into his eyes and found what she was looking for. His hatred of her was still apparent, but there was a hint of fear and doubt present, as well. He was no longer seeing her as a slender, vulnerable girl. More to the point, he was no longer measuring her for a coffin.
“Misstress,” he hissed, bowing in submission.
“Do not challenge me again, Cree Bega,” she warned. “Do not presume to question or alter my orders in any way. Obey me, ret, or I’ll find someone who will.”
She held his gaze a moment longer, then wheeled away. She did not look back at him, did not act as if she feared him. Let him think she saw herself as invulnerable and he might come to believe she was. Let him see she gave no thought to her safety because there was no need and he would think twice before confronting her again.
As she moved back toward her cabin, her senses searching carefully for any further signs of trouble, she caught a hint of something that was out of place. She stopped at once, motionless within her gray robes. By now, she knew everything that belonged on Black Modips, every member of her company, every stash of supplies and weapons, every timber and metal plate that held her together. She had infused herself with the feel of the airship, so that she was at one with it and always in control, and she could sense if anything changed. She sensed it now, a subtle alteration, so small she’d almost missed it. Carefully, she began to probe for something more.
There had been movement and presence, a suggestion of a living creature that didn’t belong.
She was still searching when Aden Kett appeared in front of her. “Mistress, we are fully operational and ready to sail on your orders. For now, we are standing down to wait out the fog. Is there anything else?”
His face was pale and drawn, — he had witnessed the death of the Mwellret. But he was a ship’s Captain and committed enough to being one that he would carry out his duties regardless of his personal feelings. She was angry at the interruption, but knew enough to keep it to herself.
“Thank you, Commander,” she acknowledged, and