THE VOYAGE OF THE JERLE SHANNARA : Morgawr (BOOK THREE)

Sen Dunsidan felt a surge of pleasure and expectation at the news. He allowed himself to believe that the unthinkable might actually be within reach, that the Morgawr’s word might be better than he had dared to hope. Prime Minister Dunsidan, he whispered to himself, deep inside, where his darkest secrets lay hidden.

He arrived at the Coalition Council chambers before he learned that Jaren Arken was dead, as well. The Minister of the Treasury, responding to the news of the Prime Minister’s sudden passing, had rushed from his home in response, the prospect of filling the leadership void no doubt foremost in his thoughts, and had fallen on the steps leading down to the street. He had struck his head on the stone carvings at the bottom. By the time his servants had reached him, he was gone.

Sen Dunsidan took the news in stride, no longer surprised, only pleased and excited. He put on his mourner’s face, and he offered his politician’s responses to all those who approached—and there were many now, because he was the one the Council members were already turning to. He spent the day arranging funerals and tributes, speaking to one and all of his own sorrow and disappointment, all the while consolidating his power. Two such important and effective leaders dead at a single stroke; a strong man must be found to fill the void left by their passing. He offered himself and promised to do the best job he could on behalf of those who supported him.

By nightfall, the talk was no longer of the dead men; the talk was all of him.

He sat waiting in his chambers for a long time after sunset, speculating on what would happen when the Morgawr returned. That he would, to claim his end of the bargain, was a given. What exactly he would ask was less certain. He would not threaten, but the threat was there nevertheless: if he could so easily dispose of a Prime Minister and a Minister of the Treasury, how much harder could it be to dispose of a recalcitrant Minister of Defense? Sen Dunsidan was in this business now all the way up to his neck. There could be no talk of backing away. The best he could hope for was to mitigate the payment the Morgawr would seek to exact.

It was almost midnight before the other appeared, slipping soundlessly through the doorway of the bedchamber, all black robes and menace. By then, Sen Dunsidan had consumed several glasses of ale and was regretting it.

“Impatient, Minister?” the Morgawr asked softly, moving at once into the shadows. “Did you think I wasn’t coming?”

“I knew you would come. What do you want?”

“So abrupt? Not even time for a thank you? I’ve made you Prime Minister. All that is required is a vote by the Coalition Council, a matter of procedure only. When will that occur?”

“A day or two. All right, you’ve kept your end of the bargain. What is mine to be?”

“Ships of the line, Minister. Ships that can withstand a long journey and a battle at its end. Ships that can transport men and equipment to secure what is needed. Ships that can carry back the treasures I expect to find.”

Sen Dunsidan shook his head doubtfully. “Such ships are hard to come by. All we have are committed to the Prekkendorran. If I were to pull out, say, a dozen—”

“Two dozen would be closer to what I had in mind,” the other interrupted smoothly.

Two dozen? The Minister of Defense exhaled slowly. “Two dozen, then. But that many ships missing from the line would be noticed and questioned. How will I explain it?”

“You are about to become Prime Minister. You don’t have to explain.” There was a hint of impatience in the rough voice. “Take them from the Rovers, if your own are in short supply.”

Dunsidan took a quick sip of the ale he shouldn’t be drinking. “The Rovers are neutral in this struggle. Mercenaries, but neutral. If I confiscate their ships, they will refuse to build more.”

“I said nothing of confiscation. Steal them, then lay the blame elsewhere.”

“And the men to crew them? What sort of men do you require? Must I steal them, as well?”

“Take them from the prisons. Men who have sailed and fought aboard airships. Elves, Bordermen, Rovers, whatever. Give me enough of these to make my crews. But do not expect me to give them back again. When I have used them up, I intend to throw them away. They will not be fit for anything else.”

The hair stood on the back of Sen Dunsidan’s neck. Two hundred men, tossed away like old shoes. Damaged, ruined, unfit for wear. What did that mean? He had a sudden urge to flee the room, to run and keep running until he was so far away he couldn’t remember where he had come from.

“I’ll need time to arrange this, a week perhaps.” He tried to keep his voice steady. “Two dozen ships missing from anywhere will be talked about. Men from the prisons will be missed. I have to think about how this can be done. Must you have so many of each to undertake your pursuit?”

The Morgawr went still. “You seem incapable of doing anything I ask of you without questioning it. Why is that? Did I ask you how to go about removing those men who would keep you from being Prime Minister?”

Sen Dunsidan realized suddenly that he had gone too far. “No, no, of course not. It was just that I—”

“Give me the men tonight,” the other interrupted.