Locked away as he was, he had not been witness to most of what had happened during the past few days. But he could tell from the slow and steady pace of the airship that they were still searching. Mostly, he could tell from the unchanging routine of his captors that they had found nothing.
He thought ceaselessly about escape. He imagined it over and over, thinking through the ways in which it could happen, the events that would precipitate it, the ways in which he would react, and the results that would follow. He pictured himself going through the motions—slipping through the door and down the passageway beyond, climbing the stairs to the decks above, crouching low against the mast, and waiting for a chance to gain the railing and go over the side. But in the end the mechanics always failed him and his chances never materialized.
One day, shortly after a storm had grounded them for almost twenty-four hours, he was on deck with Cree Bega when he caught sight of Ryer Ord Star standing at the bow. He was surprised to see her again, and for a moment he forgot himself and stared at her with undisguised longing and hope.
Cree Bega saw that look and recognized it. Touching Ahren lightly on his shoulder, he said, “Sspeakss to her, little Elvess. Tellss her of your feelingss.”
The words were an open invitation for him to do something foolish. The Mwellret was suspicious of the seer, as much so as Ahren was. Cree Bega had never been persuaded that her alliance with the Morgawr was genuine. He showed it in his attitude toward her, ignoring her for the most part, making no effort to consult her, even while the Morgawr did so. He was waiting, Ahren judged, for her to reveal her treachery.
“Nothing to ssay, Prince of Elvess?” Cree Bega mocked, his face bent close, the rank smell of him strong in Ahren’s nostrils. “Wassn’t sshe your friend? Issn’t sshe sstill?”
Ahren understood the nature of the questions. He hated himself for his uncertainty, but he stayed silent, bearing the weight of the Mwellret’s taunts and his own doubts. Anything he did would reveal truths that would hurt either Ryer or himself. If she responded to him, it would suggest a hidden alliance. If she did not, he would be made even more painfully aware of how things between them had changed. He was too vulnerable for anything so raw just now. It would be smarter to wait.
He turned away. “You talk to her,” he muttered.
Another opportunity arose a day later, when he was summoned to the Morgawr’s quarters and, on entering, found the seer standing beside him. She had that distant look again, her face empty of expression, as if she was somewhere else entirely in spirit and only her body was present. The Morgawr asked him again about the members of the company of the Jerle Shannara—how many had set out, whom they were, where he had last seen them, what their relationship had been to the Druid. He asked again for a head count—how many were still alive. He had asked the questions before, and Ahren gave him the same answers. It was not hard to do so. Dissembling was not necessary. For the most part, he knew less than the Morgawr. Even about Bek, the Morgawr seemed to know as much as Ahren did. He had read the traces of magic left floating on the air in the catacombs of Castledown and knew that Bek had come and gone. He knew that Ahren’s friend was still out there, running from the warlock, hiding his sister.
What little the Morgawr hadn’t divined, Ryer Ord Star had told him. She had told him everything.
At times while the Morgawr interrogated Ahren, she seemed to come back from wherever she had gone. Her eyes would shift focus, and her hands twitched at her sides. She would become aware of her surroundings, but only momentarily and then she was gone again. The Morgawr did not seem bothered by this, although it caused Ahren no small amount of discomfort. Why wasn’t the warlock irritated by her inattention to what he was saying? Why didn’t he suspect that she was deliberately isolating herself?
It took Ahren a long time to realize what was really happening. She wasn’t distancing herself at all. She was very much a part of the conversation, but in a way the Elven Prince hadn’t recognized. She was hearing his words and using them to feed her talent. She was turning those words into images of his friends, trying to project visions of them. She was using him in an attempt to track them down.
He was so stunned by the revelation that for a moment he just stopped talking in midsentence and stared at her. The silence distracted her where his words had not. For a moment, she came back from where her visions had taken her, and she stared back at him.
“Don’t do this,” he told her softly, unable to conceal his disappointment.
She did not reply, but he could read the anguish in her eyes. The Morgawr immediately ordered him taken back to his cell, an angry and impatient dismissal. He saw his real use then—not as a hostage for negotiation or as a puppet King. Those were uses that could wait. The warlock’s needs were more immediate. Ahren would serve him better as a catalyst for Ryer Ord Star’s visions, as a trigger that would allow her to help find the Ilse Witch and the others who eluded him. Unsuspecting, naive, the boy would help without even realizing he was doing so.
Except he had realized.
Ahren was locked away once more, closed off in the storeroom and left to celebrate in fierce solitude his small victory. He had foiled the Morgawr’s attempt to use him. He sat with his back against the wall of the airship and smiled into his prison.
Yet his elation faded quickly. His victory was a hollow one. Reality surfaced and crowded out wishful thinking. He was still a prisoner with no hope. His friends were still scattered or dead. He was still stranded in a dangerous, faraway land.
Worst of all, Ryer Ord Star had revealed herself to be his enemy.
In the Commander’s quarters, the Morgawr paced with the restless intensity of a caged animal. Ryer Ord Star felt the tension radiating from him in dark waves of displeasure. It was unusual for him to display such emotion openly, but his patience with the situation was growing dangerously thin.
“He knows what we are trying to do. Clever boy.”
She did not respond. Her thoughts were of Ahren’s words and the way he had looked at her. She still heard the anguish in his voice and saw the disappointment in his eyes. Understandably confused and misguided, he had judged her wrongly, and she could do nothing to explain herself. If the situation had been bad before, it was spiraling out of control now.
The Morgawr stopped in front of the door, his back to her. “He has become useless to me.”
She stiffened, her mind racing. “I don’t need his cooperation.”
“He will lie. He will dissemble. He will throw in enough waste that it will color anything good. I can’t trust him anymore.” He turned around slowly. “Nor am I sure about you, little seer.”
She met his gaze and held it, letting him look into her eyes. If he believed she hid something, the game was over and he would kill her now.
“I’ve given you nothing but the truth,” she said.
His dark, reptilian face showed nothing of what he was thinking, but his eyes were dangerous. “Then tell me what you have learned just now.”
She knew he was testing her, offering her a chance to demonstrate that she was still useful. Ahren had been right about the game they were playing. She was feeding off his words and emotions in response to the Morgawr’s questions in an effort to trigger a vision that would reveal something about the missing members of the company of the Jerle Shannara. He had been wrong about her intentions, but there was no way she could tell him that. The Morgawr must believe she could help him find the Ilse Witch. He must not begin to doubt that she was his willing ally in his search, or all of her plans to help Walker would fall apart.