Brooks, Terry - The Voyage Of Jerle Shannara 3 - Morgawr

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Morgawr – (Voyage of the Jerle Shannara 3)
By Terry Brooks
(Ebook v2.0)
ONE
The figure appeared out of the shadows of the alcove so quickly that Sen Dunsidan was
almost on top of it before he realized it was there. The hallway leading to his sleeping
chamber was dark with nightfall's shadows, and the light from the wall lamps cast only
scattered halos of fuzzy brightness. The lamps gave no help in this instance, and the
Minister of Defense was given no chance either to flee or defend himself. "A word, if you
please, Minister."
The intruder was cloaked and hooded, and although Sen Dunsidan was reminded at once
of the Ilse Witch he knew without question that it was not she. This was a man, not a
woman—too much size and bulk to be anything else, and the words were rough and
masculine. The witch's small, slender form and cool, smooth voice were missing. She had
come to him only a week earlier, before departing on her voyage aboard Black Moclips,
tracking the Druid Walker and his company to an unknown destination. Now this
intruder, cloaked and hooded in the same manner, had appeared in the same way—at
night and unannounced. He wondered at once what the connection was between the two.
Masking his surprise and the hint of fear that clutched at his chest, Sen Dunsidan nodded.
"Where would you like to share this word?"
"Your sleeping chamber will do."
A big man himself, still in the prime of his life, the Minister of Defense nevertheless felt
dwarfed by the other. It was more than simply size, it was presence, as well. The intruder
exuded strength and confidence not usually encountered in ordinary men. Sen Dunsidan
did not ask how he had managed to gain entry to the closely guarded, walled compound.
He did not ask how he had moved unchallenged to the upper floor of his quarters. Such
questions were pointless. He simply accepted that the intruder was capable of this and
much more. He did as he was bidden. He walked past with a deferential bow, opened his
bedroom door, and beckoned the other inside.
The lights were lit here, as well, though no more brightly than in the hallway without, and
the intruder moved at once into the shadows.
"Sit down, Minister, and I will tell you what I want."
Sen Dunsidan sat in a high-backed chair and crossed his legs comfortably. His fear and
surprise had faded. If the other meant him harm, he would not have bothered to announce
himself. He wanted something that a Minister of Defense of the Federation's Coalition
Council could offer, so there was no particular cause for concern. Not yet, anyway. That
could change if he could not supply the answers the other sought. But Sen Dunsidan was
a master at telling others what they expected to hear.
"Some cold ale?" he asked.
"Pour some for yourself, Minister."
Sen Dunsidan hesitated, surprised by insistence in the other's voice. Then he rose and
walked to the table at his bedside that held the ice bucket, ale pitcher nestled within it,
and several glasses. He stood looking down at the ale as he poured, his long silver hair
hanging loose about his shoulders save where it was braided above the ears, as was the
current fashion. He did not like what he was feeling now, uncertainty come so swiftly on
the heels of newfound confidence. He had better be careful of this man, step lightly.
He walked back to his chair and reseated himself, sipping at the ale. His strong face
turned toward the other, a barely visible presence amid the shadows.
"I have something to ask of you," the intruder said softly.
Sen Dunsidan nodded and made an expansive gesture with one hand.
The intruder shifted slightly. "Be warned, Minister. Do not think to placate me with
promises you do not intend to keep. I am not here to waste my time on fools who think to
dismiss me with empty words. If I sense you dissemble, I will simply kill you and have
done with it. Do you understand?"
Sen Dunsidan took a deep breath to steady himself. "I understand."
The other said nothing further for a moment, then moved out from the deep shadows to
the edges of the light. "I am called the Morgawr. I am mentor to the Ilse Witch."
"Ah." The Minister of Defense nodded. He had not been wrong about the similarities of
appearance.
The cloaked form moved a little closer. "You and I are about to form a partnership,
Minister. A new partnership, one to replace that which you shared with my pupil. She no
longer has need of you. She will not come to see you again. But I will. Often."
"Does she know this?" Dunsidan asked softly.
"She knows nowhere near as much as she thinks." The other's voice was hard and low.
"She has decided to betray me, and for her infidelity she will be punished. I will
administer her punishment when I see her next. This does not concern you, save that you
should know why you will not see her again. All these years, I have been the force behind
her efforts. I have been the one who gave her the power to form alliances like the one she
shared with you. But she breaches my trust and thus forfeits my protection. She is of no
further use."
Sen Dunsidan took a long pull on his ale and set the glass aside.
"You will forgive me, sir, if I voice a note of skepticism. I don't know you, but I do know
her. I know what she can do. I know what happens to those who betray her, and I do not
intend to become one of them."
"Perhaps you would do better to be afraid of me. I am the one who stands here in front of
you."
"Perhaps. But the Dark Lady has a way of showing up when least expected. Show me her
head, and I will be more than happy to discuss a new agreement."
The cloaked figure laughed softly. "Well spoken, Minister. You offer a politician's
answer to a tough demand. But I think you must reconsider. Look at me."
He reached up for his hood and pulled it away to reveal his face. It was the face of the
Ilse Witch, youthful and smooth and filled with danger. Sen Dunsidan started in spite of
himself. Then the girl's face changed, almost as if it were a mirage, and became Sen
Dunsidan's—hard planes and edges, piercing blue eyes, silvery hair worn long, and a half
smile that seemed ready to promise anything.
"You and I are very much alike, Minister."
The face changed again. Another took its place, the face of a younger man, but it was no
one Sen Dunsidan had ever seen. It was nondescript, bland to the point of being
forgettable, devoid of interesting or memorable features.
"Is this who I really am, Minister? Do I reveal myself now?" He paused. "Or am I really
like this?"
The face shimmered and changed into something monstrous, a reptilian visage with a
blunt snout and slits for eyes. Rough, gray scales coated a weathered face, and a wide,
serrated mouth opened to reveal rows of sharply pointed teeth. Gimlet eyes, hate-filled
and poisonous, glimmered with green fire.
The intruder pulled the hood back into place, and his face disappeared into the resulting
shadows. Sen Dunsidan sat motionless in his chair. He was all too aware of what he was
being told. This man had the use of a very powerful magic. At the very least, he could
shape-shift, and it was likely he could do much more than that. He was a man who
enjoyed the excesses of power as much as the Minister of Defense did, and he would use
that power in whatever way he felt he must to get what he wanted.
"I said we were alike, Minister," the intruder whispered. "We both appear as one thing
when in truth we are another. I know you. I know you as I know myself. You would do
anything to further your power in the hierarchy of the Federation. You indulge yourself in
pleasures that are forbidden to other men. You covet what you cannot have and scheme to
secure it. You smile and feign friendship when in truth you are the very serpent your
enemies fear."
Sen Dunsidan kept his politician's smile in place. What was it this creature wanted of
him?
"I tell you all this not to anger you, Minister, but to make certain you do not mistake my
intent. I am here to help you further your ambitions in exchange for help you can in turn
supply to me. I desire to pursue the witch on her voyage. I desire to be there when she
does battle with the Druid, as I am certain she must. I desire to catch her with the magic
she pursues, because I intend to take it from her and then to take her life. But to
accomplish this, I will need a fleet of airships and the men to crew them."
Sen Dunsidan stared at him in disbelief. "What you ask is impossible."
"Nothing is impossible, Minister." The black robes shifted with a soft rustle as the
intruder crossed the room. "Is what I ask any more impossible than what you seek?"
The Minister of Defense hesitated. "Which is what?"
"To be Prime Minister. To take control of the Coalition Council once and for all. To rule
the Federation, and by doing so, the Four Lands."
A number of thoughts passed swiftly through Sen Dunsidan's mind, but all of them came
down to one. The intruder was right. Sen Dunsidan would do anything to make himself
Prime Minister and control the Coalition Council. Even the Ilse Witch had known of this
ambition, though she had never voiced it in such a way as this, a way that suggested it
might be within reach.
"Both seem impossible to me," he answered the other carefully.
"You fail to see what I am telling you," the intruder said. "I am telling you why I will
prove a better ally than the little witch. Who stands between you and your goal? The
Prime Minister, who is hardy and well? He will serve long years before he steps down.
His chosen successor, the Minister of the Treasury, Jaren Arken? He is a man younger
than you and equally powerful, equally ruthless. He aspires to be Minister of Defense,
doesn't he? He seeks your position on the council."
A cold rage swept through Sen Dunsidan on hearing those words. It was true, of course—
all of it. Arken was his worst enemy, a man slippery and elusive as a snake, cold-blooded
and reptilian through and through. He wanted the man dead, but had not yet figured out a
way to accomplish it. He had asked the Ilse Witch for help, but whatever other exchange
of favors she was willing to accept, she had always refused to kill for him.
"What is your offer, Morgawr?" he asked bluntly, tiring of this game.
"Only this. By tomorrow night, the men who stand in your way will be no more. No
blame or suspicion will attach to you. The position you covet will be yours for the taking.
No one will oppose you. No one will question your right to lead. This is what I can do for
you. In exchange, you must do what I ask—give me the ships and the men to sail them. A
Minister of Defense can do this, especially when he stands to become Prime Minister."
The other's voice became a whisper. "Accept the partnership I am offering, so that not
only may we help each other now, but we may help each other again when it becomes
necessary."
Sen Dunsidan took a long moment to consider what was being asked. He badly wanted to
be Prime Minister. He would do anything to secure the position. But he mistrusted this
creature, this Morgawr, a thing not entirely human, a wielder of magic that could undo a
man before he had time to realize what was happening. He was still unconvinced of the
advisability of doing what he was being asked to do. He was afraid of the Ilse Witch, he
could admit that to himself if to no one else. If he crossed her and she found out, he was a
dead man,—she would hunt him down and destroy him. On the other hand, if the
Morgawr was to destroy her as he said he would, then Sen Dunsidan would do well to
rethink his concerns.
A bird in the hand, it was commonly accepted, was worth two in the bush. If a path to the
position of Prime Minister of the Coalition Council could be cleared, almost any risk was
worth the taking.
"What sort of airships do you need?" he asked quietly. "How many?"
"Are we agreed on a partnership, Minister? Yes or no. Don't equivocate. Don't attach
conditions. Yes or no."
Sen Dunsidan was still uncertain, but he could not pass up the chance to advance his own
fortunes. Yet when he spoke the word that sealed his fate, he felt as if he were breathing
fire. "Yes."
The Morgawr moved like liquid night, sliding along the edges of the shadows as he eased
across the bedchamber. "So be it. I will be back after sunset tomorrow to let you know
what your end of the bargain will be."
Then he was through the doorway and gone.
Sen Dunsidan slept poorly that night, plagued by dreams and wakefulness, burdened with
the knowledge that he had sold himself at a price that had yet to be determined and might
prove too costly to pay. Yet, while lying awake between bouts of fretful sleep, he
pondered the enormity of what might take place, and he could not help but be excited.
Surely no price was too great if it meant he would become Prime Minister. A handful of
ships and a complement of men, neither of which he cared overmuch about—these were
nothing to him. In truth, to gain control of the Federation, he would have obligated
himself for much more. In truth, he would have paid any price.
Yet it still might all come to nothing. It might prove nothing more than a fantasy given to
test his willingness to abandon the witch as an ally.
But when he woke and while he was dressing to go to the Council chambers, word
reached him that the Prime Minister was dead. The man had gone to sleep and never
woken,—his heart stopped while he lay in his bed. It was odd, given his good health and
relatively young age, but life was filled with surprises.
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.
"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?"
Sen Dunsidan said nothing. There was nothing to say. He kept his thoughts focused on
what he would do once they were inside the prisons. There, he would be more in control
of things, more on familiar ground. There, he could do more to demonstrate his worth to
this dangerous creature.
Recognizing Sen Dunsidan at once, the gate watch admitted them without question.
Snapping to attention in their worn leathers, they released the locks on the gates. Inside,
the smells were of dampness and rot and human excrement, foul and rank. Sen Dunsidan
asked the Duty Officer for a specific interrogation room, one with which he was familiar,
one removed from everything else, buried deep in the bowels of the prisons. A turnkey
led them down a long corridor to the room he had requested, a large chamber with walls
that leaked moisture and a floor that had buckled. A table to which had been fastened iron
chains and clamps sat at its center. To one side, a wooden rack lined with implements of
torture was pushed against the wall. A single oil lamp lit the gloom.
"Wait here," Sen Dunsidan told the Morgawr. "Let me persuade the right men to come to
you."
"Start with one," the Morgawr ordered, moving off into the shadows.
Sen Dunsidan hesitated, then went out through the door with the turnkey. The turnkey
was a hulking, gnarled man who had served seven terms on the front, a lifetime soldier in
the Federation Army. He was scarred inside and out, having witnessed and survived
atrocities that would have destroyed the minds of other men. He never spoke, but he
knew well enough what was going on and seemed unconcerned with it. Sen Dunsidan
had used him on occasion to question recalcitrant prisoners. The man was good at
inflicting pain and ignoring pleas for mercy—perhaps even better at that than keeping his
mouth shut.
Oddly enough, the Minister had never learned his name. Down here, they called him
Turnkey, as if the title itself were name enough for a man who did what he did.
They passed down a dozen small corridors and through a handful of doors to where the
main cells were located. The larger ones held prisoners who had been taken from the
Prekkendorran. Some would be ransomed or traded for Free-born prisoners. Some would
die here. Sen Dunsidan indicated to the turnkey the one that housed those who had been
prisoners longest.
"Unlock it."
The turnkey unlocked the door without a word.
Sen Dunsidan took a torch from its rack on the wall. "Close the door behind me. Don't
open it until I tell you I am ready to come out," he ordered.
Then he stepped boldly inside.
The room was large, damp, and rank with the smells of caged men. A dozen heads turned
as one on his entry. An equal number lifted from the soiled pallets on the floor. Other
men stirred, fitfully. Most were still asleep.
"Wake up!" he snapped.
He held up the torch to show them who he was, then stuck it in a stanchion next to the
door. The men were beginning to stand now, whispers and grunts passing between them.
He waited until they were all awake, a ragged bunch with dead eyes and ravaged faces.
Some of them had been locked down here for almost three years. Most had given up hope
of ever getting out. The small sounds of their shuffling echoed in the deep, pervasive
silence, a constant reminder of how helpless they were.
"You know me," he said to them. "Many of you I have spoken with. You have been here
a long time. Too long. I am going to give all of you a chance to get out. You won't be
doing any more fighting in the war. You won't be going home—not for a while. But you
will be outside these walls and back on an airship. Are you interested?"
The man he had depended upon to speak for the others took a step forward. "What are
you after?"
His name was Darish Venn. He was a Borderman who had captained one of the first
Free-born airships brought into the war on the Prekkendorran. He had distinguished
himself in battle many times before his ship went down and he was captured. The other
men respected and trusted him. As senior officer, he had formed them into groups and
given them positions, small and insignificant to those who were free men, but of crucial
importance to those locked away down here.
"Captain." Sen Dunsidan acknowledged him with a nod. "I need men to go on a voyage
across the Blue Divide. A long voyage, from which some may not return. I won't deny
there is danger. I don't have the sailors to spare for this, or the money to hire Rover
mercenaries. But the Federation can spare you. Federation soldiers will accompany those
who agree to accept the conditions I am offering, so there will be some protection offered
and order imposed. Mostly, you will be out of here and you won't have to come back.
The voyage will take a year, maybe two. You will be your own crew, your own company,
as long as you go where you are told."
"Why would you do this now, after so long?" Darish Venn asked.
"I can't tell you that."
"Why should we trust you?" another asked boldly.
"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.
The fingers slid inside his head, pushing through hair and skin and bone as if the whole of
it were made of soft clay. Sen Dunsidan's throat tightened and his stomach lurched. The
Morgawr's hand was all the way inside the skull now, twisting slowly, as if searching.
The Captain had stopped screaming and thrashing. The light had gone out of his eyes,
and his face had gone slack. His look was dull and lifeless.
摘要：

Morgawr–(VoyageoftheJerleShannara3)ByTerryBrooks(Ebookv2.0)ONEThefigureappearedoutoftheshadowsofthealcovesoquicklythatSenDunsidanwasalmostontopofitbeforeherealizeditwasthere.Thehallwayleadingtohissleepingchamberwasdarkwithnightfall'sshadows,andthelightfromthewalllampscastonlyscatteredhalosoffuzzybri...

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