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

“But I need time.”


“You have them in your prisons, here in the city. Arrange for their release now.”

“There are rules about releasing prisoners.”

“Break them.”

Sen Dunsidan felt as if he were standing in quicksand and sinking fast. But he couldn’t seem to find a way to save himself.

“Give me my crews tonight, Minister,” the other hissed softly. “You, personally. A show of trust to persuade me that my efforts at removing the men who stood in your path were justified. Let’s be certain your commitment to our new partnership is more than just words.”

“But I—”

The other man moved swiftly out of the shadows and snatched hold of the front of the Minister’s shirt. “I think you require a demonstration. An example of what happens to those who question me.” The fingers tightened in the fabric, iron rods that lifted Sen Dunsidan to the tips of his boots. “You’re shaking, Minister. Can it be that I have your full attention at last?”

Sen Dunsidan nodded wordlessly, so frightened he did not trust himself to speak.

“Good. Now come with me.”

Sen Dunsidan exhaled sharply as the other released his grip and stepped away. “Where?”

The Morgawr moved past him, opened the bedchamber door, and looked back out of the shadows of his hood. “To the prisons, Minister, to get my men.”





Two


Together, the Morgawr and Sen Dunsidan passed down the halls of the Minister’s house, through the gates of the compound, and outside into the night. None of the guards or servants they passed spoke to them. No one seemed even to see them. Magic, Sen Dunsidan thought helplessly. He stifled the urge to cry out for help, knowing there was none.

Insanity.

But he had made his choice.

As they walked the dark, empty streets of the city, the Minister of Defense gathered the shards of his shattered composure, one jagged piece at a time. If he was to survive this night, he must do better than he was doing now. The Morgawr already thought him weak and foolish; if he thought him useless, as well, he would discard him in an instant. Walking steadily, taking strong strides, deep breaths, Sen Dunsidan mustered his courage and his resolve. Remember who you are, he told himself. Remember what is at stake.

Beside him, the Morgawr walked on, never looking at him, never speaking to him, never evidencing even once that he had any interest in him at all.

The prisons were situated at the west edge of the Federation Army barracks, close by the swift flowing waters of the Rappahalladran. They formed a dark and formidable collection of pitted stone towers and walls. Narrow slits served as windows, and iron spikes ringed the parapets. Sen Dunsidan, as Minister of Defense, visited the prisons regularly, and he had heard the stories. No one ever escaped. Now and then those incarcerated would find their way into the river, thinking to swim to the far side and flee into the forests. No one ever made it. The currents were treacherous and strong. Sooner or later, the bodies washed ashore and were hung from the walls where others in the prisons could see them.

As they drew close, Sen Dunsidan mustered sufficient resolve to draw close again to the Morgawr.

“What do you intend to do when we get inside?” he asked, keeping his voice strong and steady. “I need to know what to say if you want to avoid having to hypnotize the entire garrison.”

The Morgawr laughed softly. “Feeling a bit more like your old self, Minister? Very well. I want a room in which to speak with prospective members of my crew. I want them brought to me one by one, starting with a Captain or someone in authority. I want you to be there to watch what happens.”

Dunsidan nodded, trying not to think what that meant.

“Next time, Minister, think twice before you make a promise you do not intend to keep,” the other hissed, his voice rough and hard-edged. “I have no patience with liars and fools. You do not strike me as either, but then you are good at becoming what you must in your dealings with others, aren’t you?”