They went up the stairs and emerged behind the helmsman, flattening themselves against the decking, scooting along the shadow of the aft rise and across to the rail. Wordlessly, she slipped over the side and crossed down the narrow gangway to the starboard pontoon, sliding swiftly to the furthest aft fighting port, a six-foot-deep compartment stacked with pieces of sail and sections of cross beam.
Cloaked in deep shadows, she moved to where the pontoon curved upward to form the aft starboard battering ram. She felt along the inside of the structure and released a wooden latch hidden in the surface of the hull. Instantly, a panel dropped down on concealed hinges. She reached inside and drew out a framework of flexible poles to which sections of lightweight canvas had been attached.
She passed the framework and canvas forward to Ahren, where he crouched at the front of the fighting port, then moved up beside him.
“This is called a single wing,” she whispered, her head bent close to his, her long silvery hair brushing the side of his face. “It is a sort of kite, built to fly one man off a failing airship. Redden Alt Mer had it hidden in the hull for emergencies.” She reached up impulsively and touched his cheek.
“You never intended to help him, did you?” the Elven Prince whispered back, relief and happiness reflected in his voice.
“I had to save your life and mine, as well. That meant giving your identity away. He would have killed you otherwise.” She took a deep breath. “He intends to kill you now. He thinks you’re of no further use. I can’t protect you anymore. You have to get off the ship tonight.”
He shook his head at once, gripping her arm. “Not without you. I won’t go without you.”
He said it with such vehemence, with such desperate insistence, that it made her want to cry. He had doubted her and was trying to make up for it in the only way he knew. If it was called for, he would give up his life for hers.
“It isn’t time for me to go yet,” she said. “I made a promise to Walker to lead the Morgawr astray in his hunt. He thinks I intend to help, but I give him only just enough to keep him believing so. I’ll come later.”
She saw the uncertainty in his eyes and gestured sharply toward the single wing. “Quit arguing with me! Take this and go. Now! Unfold it, tie the harness in place, and lean out from the side with the wings extended. Use the bar and straps at the ends to steer. It isn’t hard. Here, I’ll help.”
He shook his head, his eyes wondering. “How did you know about this?”
“Walker told me.” She began undoing the straps that secured the framework, shaking it loose. “He learned about it from Big Red. The rets don’t know of it. There, it’s ready. Climb up on the edge of the pontoon and strap yourself in!”
He did as she instructed, still clearly dazed by what was happening, not yet able to think it through completely enough to see its flaws. She just had to get him off the ship and into the air, and then it would be too late. Things would be decided, insofar as she was able to make it so. That was as much as she could manage.
“You should come now,” he argued, still trying to find a way to take her with him.
She shook her head. “No. Later. Fly inland from the coast when you get further north. Look for a rain forest in the heart of the mountains. That’s where the others are, on a cliff overlooking it. My visions showed them to me.”
He shrugged into the shoulder harness, and she cinched it tight across his back. She opened the wing frame so that it would catch the wind and showed him the steering bar and control straps. She glanced over her shoulder every few seconds toward the deck above, but the Mwellrets were not yet looking her way.
“Ryer,” he began, turning toward her once more.
“Here,” she said, reaching into her thin robes and extracting a pouch. She shoved it into his tunic, deep down inside so that it was snugged away. “The Elfstones,” she whispered.
He stared at her in disbelief. “But how could you have—”
“Go!” she hissed, shoving him off the side of the pontoon and into space.
She watched the wind catch the canvas and draw the framework taut. She watched the single wing soar out into the darkness. She caught a quick glimpse of the Elven Prince’s wondering face, saw the man he had become eclipse the boy she had begun her journey with, and then he was gone.
“Good-bye, Ahren Elessedil,” she whispered into the night.
The words floated on the air feather-light and fading even as she turned away, alone now for good.
21
A hand shook his shoulder gently, and Bek Ohmsford stirred awake.
“If you sleep any longer, people will think you’re dead,” a familiar voice said.
He opened his eyes and blinked against the sunlight pouring out of the midday sky. Rue Meridian moved into the light, blocking it away, and stared down at him, a hint of irony in the faint twist of her pursed lips. Just seeing her warmed him in a way the sun never could and made him smile in turn.
“I feel like I’m dead,” he said. He lay stretched out on the deck of the Jerle Shannara, cocooned in blankets. He took in the railings of the airship and the mast jutting skyward overhead as he gathered his thoughts. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Since this time yesterday. How do you feel?”
His memories of the past week flooded back as he considered the question. His flight out of Castledown with Grianne and Truls Rohk. Their struggle to escape the pursuit of the Morgawr and his creatures. The battle with the caull. Truls, dying. Their encounter with the shape-shifters and the lifesaving transformation of his friend. Climbing with Grianne into the mountains, trusting that they would somehow find their way. Finding Quentin after so long, a miracle made possible because of a promise made to a dead man.
And then, when it seemed the mountains would swallow them whole, another miracle, as Hunter Predd, searching for the Jerle Shannara’s lost children, plucked them off the precipice and carried them away.
“I feel better than I did when I was brought here,” Bek said. He took a deep, satisfying breath. “I feel better than I have in a long time.” He took a good look at her, noting the raw marks on her face and the splint on her left arm. “What happened to you? Been wrestling with moor cats again?”
She cocked her head. “Maybe.”
“You’re hurt.”
“Cuts and bruises. A broken arm and a few broken ribs. Nothing that won’t heal.” She punched him lightly. “I could have used your help.”
“I could have used yours.”
“Missed me, did you?”
She tossed the question out casually, as if his answer didn’t mean anything. But he knew it did. For just an instant he was convinced it meant everything, that she wanted him to tell her she was important to him in a way that went beyond friendship. It was an improbable and foolish notion, but he couldn’t shake it. Anyway, he liked the idea and didn’t question it.
“Okay, I missed you,” he said.
“Good.” She bent down suddenly and kissed his lips. It was just a quick brush followed by a touching of his cheek with her fingers, and then she lifted away again. “I missed you, too. Know why?”
He stared at her. “No.”
“I didn’t think so. I only just figured it out for myself. Maybe with enough time, you will, too. You’re pretty good at figuring things out, even for a boy.” She gave him an ironic, mocking smile, but it wasn’t meant to hurt and it didn’t. “I hear you can do magic. I hear you’re not who you thought you were. Life is full of surprises.”
“Do you want me to explain?”
“If you want to.”
“I do. But first I want you to tell me how you got all beat up. I want to hear what happened.”