Within the Hollow Crown (23 page)

Chapter 62: Descendants

Jareld, Thor, and Corthos were taken deeper into the tunnels. They changed direction and altitude so many times that they lost track of everything. They were now lost in terms of already having been lost. They had been relieved of their possessions, but they were not bound. It would do them little good to run with no supplies, lost in the dark caves.

“What be the plan?” Corthos whispered.

“Was I supposed to be thinking of the plan?” Jareld asked.

“Aye, you be the brains of this operation.”

“Any thoughts Thor?”

“Yes,” Thor said, “But actually none about our current predicament. I had assumed you were devising a plan.”

“Oh.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, trying not to trip on anything in the dark. The group that had captured them did not use many torches, and the ones they did use were very dim. Jareld guessed, rightly, that their eyes were adapted to the dark.

There was something else about this company of rogues that had captured them. Something Jareld couldn’t place in his mind. Something he had learned, a long time ago.

Clearly none of these people had gotten lost in these caves. They had been down here from birth. Jareld surmised as much from their abnormal pupil dilation and the fact that none of them seemed to care very much for cosmetic appearance. They were not used to using vision for communication. And they were all barefoot, even in the unfriendly floor of the Caves of Drentar. Their feet had developed intense calluses.

And yet, they had certain tendencies that suggested they knew what surface civilization was like. They wore clothes, for starters. Not just a cloak or a blanket wrapped around them, but tunics and britches. The clothes had been re-stitched many times, and some were supplemented with animal furs and hides. But still reminiscent of a certain style.

It wasn’t until they stopped for a moment that Jareld found the missing clue. Having time to look around, he realized that Eye Patch was missing his left pinky. He checked each of their captors. None of the men had a left pinky.

It was then that Jareld realized he was a prisoner of the descendants of Scratchy, the Nine-Fingered Pirate.

Eventually, they were led past a guard, and into a makeshift, subterranean village. Small alcoves had been carved out of the walls, forming housing or even supply rooms. Some passages were draped off, like a nomad’s tent. One room even had a tavern of sorts, serving ale out of barrels and sitting around tables (which were just empty crates.)

The Pirates of Scratchy, as they now called themselves, had developed a little society, deep within the Caves. Jareld saw that there were children roaming around, and even women, though they had ten fingers. From the tattered remnants of clothing that they draped over themselves to present some concept of modesty, Jareld guessed that they were descended from the prostitutes that the original crew had imported many years ago.

Jareld, Thor, and Corthos were tied up and placed against a wall under guard. They were given water and left under the guard of Eye-Patch. It was then that Jareld had the opportunity to explain to the others who had captured them.

“You’re kidding,” Thor said.

“I don’t think I am.”

“Aye, ya sure they be pirates, matey? They dunnot sound like pirates.”

“Well, they’re foreign. But look, even our guard has an eye-patch.”

“It take more than an eye-patch,” Corthos said, “It be a way of thinking.”

“Well, I’m still a little sloppy at the language, but they definitely liked the map.”

“Aye, that’s a fact?” Corthos said. “A true pirate will go fer the map, in any language.”

“Well,” Jareld said, “You’re a pirate. Can’t you tell them to be nice to us?”

“Nay, it dunnot work like that. First off, a pirate of another crew is nary a welcome sight. Second, water-faring pirates look down upon subterranean pirates and land-locked pirates.”

“What about airborne pirates?” Thor asked.

“Argh, those stuffy shirt pansies, I dunnot like to talk about them.”

“Well,” Jareld said, “Surely you know some universal rule of pirating that we can use to barter our way out of this.”

“If they thought we would fetch a good ransom of gold, jewels, or women.”

“My family has some gold, but not much,” Thor said.

“My uncle is a jeweler, but he’s in Aceley at the moment,” Jareld said.

“And neither of us has had a lot of success with women,” Thor added.

“Well,” Corthos said, “That be a problem for another day. Me, I was on my way to making me fortune, but I ‘ave nothin’ to offer.”

A guard entered the alcove and whispered to Eye-Patch. Eye-Patch chuckled and turned to his prisoners.

“Aye, maties, which one o’ ya could speak our language again?” he said.

“I can,” Jareld said.

“The Captain wants to speak to you,” Eye-Patch said.

The guard undid Jareld’s chains and lifted him to his feet. Jareld looked back at his friends apprehensively.

“What about them?” Jareld said, in his best Kahlerian, nodding his head towards his friends.

“They’ll be here when you get back,” Eye-Patch said, “Unless you do or say something stupid.”

“What did he say?” Thor called after Jareld.

“That I should keep my mouth shut,” Jareld answered over his shoulder before being whisked away by Eye-Patch.

Chapter 63: Practice

Michael and his company were disarmed and marched across the field. It would be almost a half hour of walking up to the Castle Anuen, but it was a brisk day, and the patrol didn’t want to wait for a carriage.

Michael, Timothy, and Emily walked ahead of the mounted escorts. In the middle, Flopson went prancing along, seemingly happy with his current predicament. Further back in the procession, Halmir and Vye walked side-by-side.

“I feel like I haven’t slept in a week,” Vye said.

“The Gate spell is exhausting,” Halmir said. “You will get used to it, the more you practice.”

“I wish I could practice right now,” Vye said, looking sideways at the mounted guards. Her first thoughts were, as they almost always were, about her escape. She understood this was all part of Michael’s plan, and that they were on a mission of peace. But Vye’s brain was just hardwired that way. Show her a scenario, she’ll tell you how to escape it.

A month ago, she would have talked about grabbing the nearest guard’s extra sword, dismounting the rear guard, wheeling his horse in a circle by the reigns while flanking the entire left file. She would have talked about it in terms of swords, horses, and shields.

But now there was a whole new set of possibilities growing in her mind. Could she just throw one of the guards from his horse by thinking it? Could she make the sword fly, handle first, into her hand? Could she just open another Gate and get her allies to safety?

“You could practice,” Halmir suggested.

“Yeah, I’m sure they’d be thrilled.”

“Not the Gate spell, but the Farsight. You could scan places with your mind. See what you can lock onto.”

“I’d have to close my eyes,” Vye said. “If I trip, I’m going to look like a dunce.”

“I’ll make sure your feet stay true,” Halmir said, slipping his arm over her shoulder. Vye felt the shudder of discomfort. Her ingrained response to arrogant men making bold moves towards her. The sort of thing that had sent her fleeing the continent when she wanted to train.

But Halmir was so confident and stern in his movement, and so focused on their mission, she found she couldn’t complain. In fact, though she might never admit it, she found it kind of comforting.

“Close your eyes. Forget where we are now,” Halmir said. “Your feet know how to carry you. Let your mind search for a faraway place.”

“Where should I go?” Vye asked.

“Try a place you know intimately well,” Halmir suggested. “Perhaps a place from your youth.”

Vye knew just the place. A canopy of trees outside the House of Vye, where she and her brothers used to practice for sport. It was always by the tree with the rope ladder, though the rope ladder had long since frayed and torn. She thought of this place, concentrated...

“I have it,” Vye said.

“Good,” Halmir said. “Move about in your mind, as you did before.”

It was a surreal experience, being at her childhood home, moving around it, seeing the familiar knots on the tree trunk, the tangle of roots that she and her brothers had used as a marker for all manner of contests, from racing to throwing.

“OK,” Halmir said, “Now I want you to find a different location. Another place you’re familiar with. The trick is to release this anchor without having to actually make a Gate and travel there.”

It sounded easy, but Vye found that her brain was now locked in its remote location. Her physical body was in Anuen, and her mind was near the House of Vye. She didn’t have a third part of herself to put somewhere else.

Halmir talked her through it, easing her mind out of one place, and focusing on another: The Audience Chamber in Hartstone. It was the one room in the Castle she went to almost every day.

She immediately knew something was wrong. The pedestal was empty. It was mid-morning. Somebody should have been there. Landos, Sarah, Gabriel, or even Calvin, in a pinch, would usually be taking an audience on behalf of Michael. But instead, there were two peasants in the room...

And they were mopping the floor.

Vye was still seeing things through a veil of fog, and the colors were muted, but the red cut through the haziness. The cold, stone, gray floor was bathed in the red of blood. A lot of blood.

Vye stumbled, her knees giving out from under her. Halmir caught her and kept her moving, before Michael noticed or the guards thought twice.

“You’re crying,” Halmir said, seeing her tears, “What is the matter?”

Chapter 64: Twenty-Seven

Jareld was led at sword point down many corridors within the Pirates’ corner of the Caves, until at last he reached a tall and expansive room. A few candles shed some sparse light over the area, not so much illuminating the room as giving it a sense of dimension.

At the end of the cavernous room was what Jareld would call, for lack of a better word, a throne. It was on a small dais of stone that had been cut directly out of the wall of the Caves, and it had clearly seen better days. The wood had been repaired with spare parts of a steering wheel, and the felt had been covered over with the leather skin of some creature, possibly Insectus Jareld.

Eye-Patch led Jareld up to the dais, then told him to kneel. A man came out of a chamber room behind the dais and blew a penny-whistle.

“All hail, His Majesty, Captain Scratchy, the Nine-Fingered Pirate, the Twenty-Seventh, Sovereign Ruler of the Kingdom of Scratchy!”

He stepped aside, snapping his heels, as a man emerged from the recessed chamber. The new man did not make eye contact with anyone as he flowed up the dais and sat at the throne.

“All may rise,” he said.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” Eye-Patch said.

“What’s so good about it? Is this the daylight walker that you found last night?”

“It is, your majesty,” Eye-Patch reported, “He is the only of the three that can understand our language.”

“Is that right?” Scratchy, the Twenty-Seventh, said. “You can understand what I’m saying?”

“Mostly, Your Majesty.”

“Do you mean that I don’t speak with a commanding and resonating voice?”

“Not at all, Your Majesty,” Jareld said. “It is merely that I no speak good Kahlerian.”

Scratchy, the Twenty-Seventh, gave a hearty laugh.

“I see,” the King said, with a sigh, “Now, tell me about this treasure map.”

“Why should I?” Jareld said, swallowing.

“Excuse me?” the Twenty-Seventh said. “You should because I said so. You should, because if you don’t, I’ll have you torn into seventeen pieces.”

“If I tell you, how do I know you won’t anyway?”

“Oh, I probably will anyway. But if you don’t cooperate, you’ll probably be alive while we do it.”

“Fair point.”

“So, the map…”

“What is it you want to know?”

“What’s buried at the end of it?”

“A sword.”

“That’s it? Just a sword?”

“I think so.”

The Twenty-Seventh reclined in his throne, sighing. It had been a while since the Kingdom of Scratchy had been on a good treasure hunt, and he had hoped that this new map would give them a worthy chase. However, pirates aren’t generally into historical artifacts, nor ancient weapons, nor treasures that consisted of only one item.

“It is just a sword?” the King asked again.

“Well,” Jareld said, thinking quickly, “I mean, the sword is buried under all the rubies, of course.”

“Rubies?”

“Well, of course, I mean, all the ancient swords were buried under rubies. I thought everyone knew that.”

“Buried in rubies, you say? Anything else we should know about the sword.”

“Wait, did you say, ‘sword?’ I’m sorry, my Kahlerian is a little sloppy. I meant treasure chest.”

Now the King stood.

“Great! A treasure chest, buried under a pile o’ rubies! We ain’t been on a good treasure hunt since my granddaddy, the Twenty-Fifth, ruled this great land.”

“Shall I gather a crew, Captain, Your Highness?”

“Indeed, go forth, gather a great crew for me to command. And return the prisoner to our dungeon. We shall have them walk the plank before we leave port, to bring us good luck on our journey!”