Morgawr by Terry Brooks

But there was something odd about their stance. They stood frozen in place like statues, not moving about, not even talking with one another. Quentin stared at them for a long time, waiting for any sort of reaction at all. There was none.

“I don’t think they’re friends,” Panax declared softly. He paused. “Look at that.”

Something new had been added to the mix—a handful of creatures that lacked any recognizable identity. They were being placed in slings and lowered by winches from the largest airship, one after the other. They looked a little like humans grown all out of proportion, with massive shoulders and arms, thick legs, and hairy torsos. They hunched forward as they walked, using all four limbs like the apes of the Old World. But their heads had a wolfish look to them, with narrow, sharp snouts, pointed ears, and gimlet eyes. Even at a distance, their features were unmistakable.

“What are those?” Quentin breathed.

The search parties fanned out through the ruins, dozens of Mwellrets in each, armed and armored, a decidedly hostile invader. Secured on lengths of chain and ordered to track, the odd hunched creatures were being used like dogs. Noses to the ground, they began making their way through the rubble in different directions, the Mwellrets trailing. Within the ruins, there was no response from Antrax. No creepers appeared and no fire threads lanced forth. It appeared the Rindge were right about what had happened. But it only made Quentin wonder all the more about Bek.

Burly, dark-skinned Kian appeared suddenly out the trees, moving over to join them. He nodded a greeting to Quentin as he came up, but didn’t speak.

“We’ve got a problem, Highlander,” Panax said without looking at him.

Quentin nodded. “They’re searching for us. Eventually, they’ll find us.”

“All too quickly, I expect.” The Dwarf straightened. “We can’t stay. We have to get away.”

Quentin Leah stared down at the searchers as they trickled into the city, tiny figures still, like toys. Quentin understood what Panax was saying, but he didn’t want to speak the words aloud. Panax was saying that they had to give up the search for Bek. They had to put as much distance as possible between themselves and whoever was down there hunting them.

He felt something shrivel up and die inside at the prospect of abandoning Bek yet again, but he knew that if he stayed, he would be found. That would accomplish nothing useful and might result in his death. He tried to think it through. Maybe Bek stood a better chance than Quentin thought. Bek had the use of magic,—Tamis had told them so. She had seen him use it, a power that could shred creepers. His cousin wasn’t entirely helpless. In truth, he might be better off than they were. Maybe he had even found Walker, so that the two of them were together. They might have already fled the ruins and gone into the mountains themselves.

He stopped himself angrily. He was rationalizing. He was trying to make himself feel better about abandoning Bek, about breaking his promise once more. But he didn’t really believe what he was telling himself. His heart wouldn’t let him.

“What do we do?” he asked finally, resigned to doing the one thing he had sworn he wouldn’t.

Panax rubbed his bearded chin. “We go into the Aleuthra Ark— those mountains behind us—with Obat and his people. We go deeper into Parkasia. The airships were flying that way. Maybe we can catch up to one of them. Maybe we can signal it.” He shrugged wearily. “Maybe we can manage to stay alive.”

To his credit, he didn’t say anything about coming back for Bek and the others, or resuming the search somewhere further down the line. He understood that such a thing might not happen, that they might never return to the ruins. He was not about to make a promise he knew he could not keep.

None of this helped Quentin with his feelings of betrayal, but it was better to be honest about the possibilities than to cling to false hopes.

I’m sorry, Bek, he said to himself.

“They’re coming this way,” Kian said suddenly.