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

“Why not? What difference does it make, if it gets you out of here? If I wanted to do you harm, it would be easy enough, wouldn’t it? What I want are sailors willing to make a voyage. What you want is your freedom. A trade seems a good compromise for both of us.”


“We could take you prisoner and trade you for our freedom and not have to agree to anything!” the man snapped ominously.

Sen Dunsidan nodded. “You could. But what would be the consequences of that? Besides, do you think I would come down here and expose myself to harm without any protection?”

There was a quick exchange of whispers. Sen Dunsidan held his ground and kept his strong face composed. He had exposed himself to greater risks than this one, and he was not afraid of these men. The results of failure to do what the Morgawr had asked frightened him a good deal more.

“You want all of us?” Darish Venn asked.

“All who choose to come. If you refuse, then you stay where you are. The choice is yours.” He paused a moment, as if considering. His leonine profile lifted into the light, and a reflective look settled over his craggy features. “I will make a bargain with you, Captain. If you like, I will show you a map of the place we are going. If you approve of what you see, then you sign on then and there. If not, you can return and tell the others.”

The Borderman nodded. Perhaps he was too worn down and too slowed by his imprisonment to think it through clearly. Perhaps he was just anxious for a way out. “All right, I’ll come.”

Sen Dunsidan rapped on the door, and the turnkey opened it for him. He beckoned Captain Venn to go first, then left the room. The turnkey locked the door, and Dunsidan could hear the scuffling of feet as those still locked within pressed up against the doorway to listen.

“Just down the hallway, Captain,” he advised loudly for their benefit. “I’ll arrange for a glass of ale, as well.”

They walked down the passageways to the room where the Morgawr waited, their footsteps echoing in the silence. No one spoke. Sen Dunsidan glanced at the Borderman. He was a big man, tall and broad shouldered, though stooped and thin from his imprisonment, his face skeletal and his skin pale and crusted with dirt and sores. The Free-born had tried to trade for him many times, but the Federation knew the value of airship Captains and preferred to keep him locked away and off the battlefield.

When they reached the room where the Morgawr waited, Sen Dunsidan opened the door for Venn, motioned for the turnkey to wait outside, and closed the door behind him as he followed the Borderman in. Venn glanced around at the implements of torture and chains, then looked at Dunsidan.

“What is this?”

The Minister of Defense shrugged and smiled disarmingly. “It was the best I could do.” He indicated one of the three-legged stools tucked under the table. “Sit down and let’s talk.”

There was no sign of the Morgawr. Had he left? Had he decided all this was a waste of time and he would be better off handling matters himself? For a moment, Sen Dunsidan panicked. But then he felt something move in the shadows—felt, rather than saw.

He moved to the other side of the table from Darish Venn, drawing the Captain’s attention away from the swirling darkness behind him. “The voyage will take us quite a distance from the Four Lands, Captain,” he said, his face taking on a serious cast. Behind Venn, the Morgawr began to materialize. “A good deal of preparation will be necessary. Someone with your experience will have no trouble provisioning the ships we intend to take. A dozen or more will be needed, I think.”

The Morgawr, huge and black, slid out of the shadows without a sound and came up behind Venn. The Borderman neither heard nor sensed him, just stared straight at Sen Dunsidan.

“Naturally, you will be in charge of your men, of choosing which ones will undertake which tasks . . .”

A hand slid out of the Morgawr’s black robes, gnarled and covered with scales. It clamped on the back of Darish Venn’s neck, and the airship Captain gave a sharp gasp. Twisting and thrashing, he tried to break free, but the Morgawr held him firmly in place. Sen Dunsidan stepped back a pace, his words dying in his throat as he watched the struggle. Darish Venn’s eyes were fixed on him, maddened but helpless. The Morgawr’s other hand emerged, shimmering with a wicked green light. Slowly the pulsating hand moved toward the back of the Borderman’s head. Sen Dunsidan caught his breath. Clawed fingers stretched, touching the hair, then the skin.

Darish Venn screamed.