Free Tanequil by Terry Brooks

stood next to Tagwen in the pilot box. She had thought to take down the bodies of the Rovers, then decided to leave that job for later. The night air was cool and clear, and it felt good on her face as the airship sailed the feather-soft skies.
    â€œYou should go see if he’s all right,” Tagwen said.
    She shook her head, brushing away strands of her dark hair. “I should stay right where I am.”
    â€œI don’t hear anything. Do you?”
    She shook her head a second time. “Nothing.”
    They were silent again for a moment, then Tagwen said, “Did you see what happened back there in the meadow?”
    She nodded. “I saw. I don’t understand it, though. That cat must have tracked us all the way out of the Slags. Why would it do that? Moor cats don’t like high country like this. They don’t ever come up here. But that one did. Because of Pen, I think. Because of the way he spoke to it back there, or how he connected to it, or something.”
    Tagwen snorted. “That’s not the strangest part. It’s what happened afterwards, when it attacked that creature. It gave up its life to save the boy. To save all of us. Why would it do that?”
    She touched the controls lightly, fingering without adjusting, needing to make contact with the metal. “I don’t know.” She glanced over at him. “Maybe Pen’s magic does more than he realizes. If it moved that cat the way it seems to have, it isn’t just a way of communicating or of reading behavior.”
    â€œDoesn’t seem so.”
    Again they fell silent. Ahead, stars filled the horizon with diamondlike brilliance, myriads spread across the dark firmament, numbers beyond imagining.
    â€œI don’t think we killed it,” she said finally.
    Tagwen nodded slowly. “I don’t think so, either.”
    â€œIt will come after us. It won’t give up.”
    â€œI don’t suppose it will.”
    She looked out into the night. “It’s probably already tracking us.”
    Tagwen snorted and rubbed at his beard irritably. “I hope it has a long walk ahead of it.”
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    Pen could feel Cinnaminson trembling as she told him the story. “They caught us coming back across the Slags. They were in a Druid ship, the
Galaphile,
and they snared us with grappling hooks and came aboard. One of them was a Dwarf; I could tell by his voice and movements. He wanted to know where you were, what we had done with you. Papa was terrified. I could feel it. I knew from what had happened in the swamp how frightened he was of them. He didn’t even try to lie. He told them he had abandoned you after finding out who you really were. He gave them your descriptions and identities. I couldn’t do anything about it.”
    She took a deep breath and pressed him closer. “I couldn’t do anything about any of it!” she whispered and began to cry again.
    He had freed her hands and feet, and he was sitting with her on the bed, holding her, stroking her hair, waiting for her to stop shaking. He let her cry now, knowing she needed the release, that it would help to calm her. She seemed to be all right physically, but emotionally she was close to collapse.
    â€œThey left as soon as they got directions from my father on where to find you. The other one must have come aboard while this was happening. We never saw it until they left, and then all of a sudden it was there. It didn’t say anything and we couldn’t see who it was, wrapped in that cloak and hood. It didn’t look or move like a human, but I think it is. It spoke to me a few times, a strange voice, hoarse and rough, like someone talking through heavy cloth. I don’t know its name; it never gave it.”
    He touched her face. “We dropped whoever it was over the side of the
Skatelow
as she was rising. We tricked it off, and it was trying to get back aboard, but we managed to cut the ladder