"Brooks, Terry - Jerle Shannara 02 - Antrax" - читать интересную книгу автора (Brooks Terry)

He must have seen the anger flare in her eyes. "Don't say something you'll live to regret. I didn't make this choice because it was the one I favored. I made it because it was the only one that made sense. Don't you think I want to square accounts with the witch? Don't you think I want to lock up those Mwellrets the same way they locked us up? I don't like leaving any of them running around loose any more than you do. I don't for a minute like abandoning Walker and the others. But the Jerle Shannara is in tatters. We can replace the light sheaths and radian draws, repair the parse tubes, and readjust the diapson crystals to suit our needs. We can manage to sail at maybe three-quarters power and efficiency. But we've lost spars and damaged two of the masts. We're all beaten up. We can't fight a battle, especially against Black Mo-dips. We can't even outrun her, if she should catch sight of us. Going inland now would be foolhardy. We wouldn't be of much use to anyone if we got ourselves knocked out of the sky or captured a second time, would we?"

The glare had not faded from her eyes. "So we just abandon them?" she snapped back.

"We were already abandoning them when the Druid ordered us out of that bay. Walker knew the risks when he sent us away. If we'd gotten clear of the channel before Black Moclips found us, she still would have sailed on up the river to the bay. Walker understood that. He wasn't thinking it couldn't happen."

She shook her head stubbornly. "We're their lifeline! They can't survive without us! What if anything goes wrong?"

"Don't be so quick to discount what they can or can't do without us. Something's already gone wrong, only it went wrong with us. And we survived, didn't we? Give them a little credit."

They stared at each other in silence for a moment, eyes fierce and intense. Rue backed down first. "They're not Rovers," she pointed out quietly.

Her brother smiled in spite of himself. "Granted. But they have their good points anyway and a fair chance of holding their own until we can get to them. Which I fully intend to do, Little Red, if you'll just have some faith in me." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "We're on our way to the coast to make repairs and heal wounds. If we're to outsmart and outsail the Ilse Witch and her Mwellrets and perhaps do battle with Black Moclips, we have to be at our best. Maybe it won't come to that, if we're lucky, but we can't rely on luck to see us through this mess. We should be able to map our way in and out again, just as the Druid wanted. We should be able to make contact with the Wing Riders, as well. And while the ship's being overhauled and you're healing, I'll be flying back in with Hunter Predd to have a look at what's become of our friends and to help them if I can."

Rue Meridian smiled. "That's more like the Big Red I know. No sitting around and waiting. But we'll see about who's coming back and who's staying behind to heal."

He shook his head at her. "I sometimes think you don't have the sense of a gnat. Indestructible, are you? Half-dead one minute and whole the next? Off to the rescue of those unfortunates who need you so badly? Shades! It's a wonder you've lived this long. Well, we'll talk about it."

He rose. "Enough of words for now, though. I'm off to bed and a few more hours of rest before daylight and work. Maybe you should try getting a few hours' sleep yourself. Put the past behind you and the future ahead where they belong and spend your time in the present with the rest of us." He waved dismissively as he turned away. "Sleep well, Little Red."

He went out without looking back, closing the door softly behind him. She stared after him for a long time, thinking that for all his faults, there wasn't anyone better than her brother. Whatever lay ahead, she would rather face it with him at her side than anyone else. Redden Alt Mer had the luck, they said. They were right, but he had something more than that. He had the heart. He would always find a way because he couldn't conceive of it being any other way. It was the Rover in him. It defined who he was.

She spent another few moments thinking about those trapped inland, about Walker and the rest, still worried how they would fare without the Rovers to turn to. Big Red could say what he wanted, but she didn't like the idea of abandoning them even for the time it would take to reach the coast and find the Wing Riders.

They were a tough and experienced group except for Bek and the seer and one or two others who were more talented than experienced, but even the Elven Hunters were too much at risk when afoot and cut off from the airship. Especially with the Ilse Witch and her Mwellrets hunting them.

She thought of Hawk then, one final time. Someone will pay for what happened to you, she promised him silently. One day soon, that account will be settled.

She was crying again, almost before she realized it.

"Good-bye, Hawk," she whispered into the darkness.

Then she was asleep.

SIX

When Panax gripped his shoulder in warning, Quentin Leah dropped into a crouch and froze in place, eyes searching the gloom ahead. He felt the Dwarf's harsh breathing in his ear.

"Over there." The words were a soft hiss in the silence. "By the edge of that building, in the rubble."

Quentin's hand tightened on the Sword of Leah, then just as quickly loosened. No, don't summon the magic! You'll only draw their attention if you do! His heart began to race. Around him, everything went still, not a sound, not a movement, as if the city and its deadly inhabitants were waiting with him. Dirt, sweat, and blood streaked his face and clothing, and his body ached with fatigue. He was cut and bruised almost everywhere, and the slashes on his left side cut all the way through to his ribs. Off to one side, crouched in a screen of brush that had grown up through broken slabs of stone, Kian and Wye watched with him, waiting for his signal. He was their leader now. He was their last, best hope. Without him, they would all be dead. Dead, like so many of the others.

Quentin scanned the place in which Panax had spotted movement, but saw nothing. It didn't matter; he stayed where he was and kept searching. If the Dwarf said something was there, then it was. They hadn't gotten that far by doubting each other, and getting that far was nothing short of a miracle.

Nothing had gone the way it was supposed to go, not from the moment they had entered that square with its smooth metal floor and irregular sections of wall. An odd formation to begin with, unlike anything the Highlander had ever seen, it whispered of trouble. But Quentin had taken up his position on the left wing of the search party, along with Panax and the Elven Hunters Kian, Wye, and Rusten, and watched as an unaccompanied Walker made his way cautiously ahead. Across the way, barely visible, Ard Patrinell crouched with Ahren Elessedil, the Healer Joad Rish, and three more Elven Hunters. He could just make out their figures, little more than shadows clinging to the protective walls of the outlying buildings. Between them, and well behind the Druid, Bek and the seer Ryer Ord Star waited with three more Elven Hunters. Like a tableau, they were etched in the fading light, motionless statues sealed in place by time and fate.

Quentin had listened carefully for the sound of trouble, for any indication that this place that seemed so like a trap in fact was. He had his sword out already, gripped in one hand and laid flat against the metal square on which he crouched, the ridged pommel not nearly reassuring enough against his sweating palm. Get out of here! He kept shouting the words in the silence of his mind, as if by thinking it he could somehow make it happen. Get out of here now!

Then the first fire threads speared toward the Druid, and Quentin was on his feet instantly, catapulting from his crouch and charging ahead. Rusten went with him, the two of them rushing to Walker's aid, reckless and willful and foolhardy, ignoring the shouts from Panax to come back. They should have both died. But Quentin tripped and went down, sprawling across the metal floor, and the fall saved his life. Rusten, ahead of him and still charging toward the Druid, was caught in a crossfire of deadly threads and cut apart while still on his feet, screaming as he died.