Authors: Michael A Stackpole
own people. We have not forgotten the many kindnesses of the Naleni people. We are
willing to interpose ourselves between the noble Naleni and the vile Desei, even as the
Keru impose themselves between Prince Cyron and his enemies.”
Pelut allowed his eyes to half close. “Nalenyr would never forbid Helosunde from any
action Helosunde’s prince deemed necessary, but this matter of Meleswin is one in which
we urge extreme caution and deliberation.”
The flicker of Koir’s eyes betrayed his thoughts. Pelut had told him that Nalenyr would
back the decision of a Helosundian prince. This would force the bureaucracy to come to a
decision about an heir before they would authorize the attack. The wrangling over the heir
might take months if not years, and the urgency of the attack would pass.
That, or all will be done in haste and disaster will result.
Cyron smothered the desire to shake his head. Had Pyrust been in his place, he’d have
exploded off the throne and likely kicked the insolence out of Koir.
Probably have to kick
him to death to do that.
While a kick or two would be gratifying, Cyron would have just as soon bribed Koir and his fellow ministers to do nothing. Unfortunately, they would have
taken his gold, then used it to fund their plan, the whole time conspiring with his own
ministers to keep the results of any disaster secret.
Koir bowed, but not low enough for his head to touch the carpet. “The dragon’s wisdom
and friendship is the greatest treasure of the Helosundian people. I shall withdraw and
share it with my leaders. May the Strength of the Nine continue to enrich the Komyr
House.”
The Helosundian minister rose and backed from the room. Pelut watched him go. He then
turned to Cyron and bowed. “He is where we desire him to be.”
Cyron snorted. “Committed to doing nothing, or speeding forward on a course that will
create more problems? Meleswin is a disaster in the offing. If they cannot see it is a Desei
trap, they are stupid. I can only hope Koir leads the horde into the city.”
“Unlikely, Highness.”
“I know, which means their brave die and their idiots remain.” Cyron again snapped open
his fan, cutting off any further discussion. “A dragon weeps, not of disgust, but pity for
courage spent worthlessly.”
5th day, Month of the Rat, Year of the Dog
9th Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court
162nd Year of the Komyr Dynasty
736th year since the Cataclysm
Stormwolf,
in the South Seas
Only two-thirds of a week out of Archurko and Jorim realized he’d learned far more about
the Fennych than any other source in the world—at least, any human source. He had no
doubt the Viruk knew a lot about them, but he hardly expected their reports to be without
bias. He watched the creature carefully, keeping it with him constantly for the first three
days, then letting it wander from his side once Captain Gryst became convinced it would
cause no mayhem.
Jorim had encountered creatures, like the rainbow-lizard, which would shift color so it
could fit in with its background. The Fenn seemed able to do so with his shape and even
personality. Isolated from his species, the Fenn immediately began to adapt to life among
humans. He took on more human proportions, though his head, eyes, and ears remained
large. In fact, according to measurements Jorim took, his head, orbital cavities, and eyes
actually grew larger.
Jorim had explained it to Iesol rather simply. “He exhibits a marked degree of neoteny—
he’s modeling himself after a human child because that’s what invokes our most protective
instincts.”
“But we have no children on board.”
“That’s true, but the overlarge head and large eyes are common for infants of most
species.” Jorim nodded as the Fenn leaped from a squat and swatted at a cable-end
being dangled playfully by a sailor. “Likewise such play behavior is common. He’s slowly
being socialized in the ways of Men, and being cute means he gets attention, avoids
harm, and gets fed.”
It came down to much more than simple imitative behavior, however, for fairly quickly the
Fenn began to speak. He showed a preternatural ability for discerning and discriminating
sounds—and Jorim thought this might have been one of the reasons his ears actually got
bigger even though they were decidedly not human. Syntax seemed irrelevant to him, but
he developed an insatiable desire to know the “nama” of everything and everyone. “Jrima
nama,” followed by the sound of a paw patting something, became so common that Jorim
found himself answering in his sleep.
The learning of language clearly was an adaptive skill, and the fact that the Fenn was able
to attach meaning to more conceptual words provided a big clue as to his level of
intelligence. After several days, the Fenn provided his own “nama,” by patting his chest
and announcing “Shimik.” Shimik often mumbled to himself in a melodious language, but
resisted any of Jorim’s entreaties to share words.
Shimik did learn very quickly what behavior was and was not allowed, such as waking
folks from a sound sleep or interfering with people at work. He likewise picked up
language from belowdecks and incorporated it into his vocabulary. Thus anything broken
or bad became “dunga.” Being able to provoke laughter was quickly rewarded, so he
became something of a clown, though he turned those antics off when he joined Jorim in
his cabin and Jorim needed silence to take measurements, record data, or communicate
with Qiro.
Despite having had less than a week to study Shimik, Jorim drew conclusions about the
creature that explained how it could be so docile away from others of its kind, so
intelligent, and yet become bestial in a community. While alone, Shimik remained so
compliant that Jorim could force his mouth open, study his teeth, or expose his claws
without so much as a growl. The offensive weapons that made the Fenn capable of
attacking and killing a Viruk warrior were still present, just not used.
What he decided was that the Fenn were inordinately intelligent and creatures well suited
to living in a society. When away from their own kind they felt extremely vulnerable, and
with good cause, since a lone Fenn was unlikely to be able to defeat a lot of creatures—
and certainly not a Viruk. In a Fennych mob, however, they had little to fear. Their
numbers could overwhelm almost anything, and the chances of any one of them being
singled out and killed dropped with each new Fenn added to the group. When a bunch of
them came together, the need for intelligence fled and they just acted and reacted
together.
What he assumed happened on Ethgi was simple. Under normal circumstances, Fennych
probably had their own separate ranges and remained relatively solitary. They obviously
found members of the opposite sex for breeding, and he wondered a great deal about the
size of litters and the like. The kits, when old enough, would spread out and find their own
ranges, but as more of them grew up, the population expanded and forced them into
closer company with each other. A mob would form and go rambling off, killing things and
pushing into a new area where they could spread out again. The whole process would
begin anew, with the time between mobbing determined by food supplies, local predators,
and other factors that would limit population growth. On Ethgi there was no place to go
save into the village, and no prey to be had but villagers, which resulted in the situation in
which the
Stormwolf
had intervened.
Studying Shimik and taking navigational readings provided Jorim with something to do.
Had he not had the Fenn to watch, he likely would have gone mad, for there was little else
for him to do. The
Stormwolf
sailed south, looking to catch a current running east. As they went, they looked for the islands in the chain, but had little success. This frustrated him
because the Soth chart had seemed promising. They’d found Ethgi with it, after all.
Captain Gryst was more inclined to dismiss the absence of islands. She stood with Jorim
at the aft rail on the wheel deck, studying the faintly luminescent wake of the ship as the
sun slowly set. “There are various explanations for why the islands aren’t here, Jorim.
That map was over three thousand years old. What were indicated as islands may have
been atolls exposed at a time when the sea was at a lower level. And we have no
indication the Viruk understood more about longitude than we do, so they could be
leagues away from where we expect to find them.”
Jorim shook his head. “You might as well say some god reached down, scooped them up,
and moved them somewhere else. They should be there. The arc was right on the map for
a chain of islands. Maybe they were old volcanoes or something.”
“Maybe they were just legends to the Viruk, much as the Mountains of Ice are legends to
us.”
“You don’t mean that.” Jorim cocked an eyebrow at her and turned to look south past the
prow. “They’re there.”
“How do you know, Master Anturasi?”
“It stands to reason. If one goes north, through the Turca Wastes and beyond, you come
to a land of ice. It makes sense that the same conditions would exist south. That, coupled
with the legends, indicate the Mountains of Ice will be there.”
Shimik, whose fur had grown shorter and had taken on the honey-gold hue of the oak
deck, loped over, then held his paws up to Jorim. “Jrima uppa uppa.” The little fingers
twitched and Jorim lifted him up lest claws appear and he start to climb.
Anaeda smiled as the Fenn waved a hand at her. “I find you quite curious, Master
Anturasi. You are here taking measurements so we can define the world and know it
better. You are studying this Fenn very carefully and recording what you learn. You
similarly sketch the fish we catch, draw birds we see, map out the constellations that are
not visible from Moriande, yet you allow yourself to believe in a land where the mountains
are made of ice based on nothing more than fanciful stories from a time of heroes. How do
you reconcile such things?”
The sea breeze made his braids float and Shimik tried to catch one in his paws. “I’m not
certain, Captain, that I need to reconcile those things. There are plenty of people who live
in mountain valleys who are certain the world is flat and the sky a bowl over it. They are
doubtlessly convinced that we’ve already sailed off the edge of the earth.
“But I believe the mountains are there, and I know why. In part it’s the stories I’ve heard.
All the ancient maps show them. As I said before, if we have a land of ice in the north, why
not the south? And the measurements I’ve taken show it’s getting colder. Many of the
birds and fish I’ve seen resemble those in the colder climes to the north. It stands to
reason that the Mountains of Ice exist.”
“I accept your reasoning, but where do you draw the line?” A smile twisted her lips. “There
are those who believe that, beyond the mountains, there is a hole that is the entrance to
the Underworld. If you venture in there, you can find all the wealth that is sacrificed and
sent to our ancestors. You can bet that if we find the mountains, there will be those who
want to make the trek beyond them.”
Jorim shook his head. “I know the legend, but I put as much faith in that as I do the idea
that Empress Cyrsa will return from the west when the Land of Nine Princes is threatened.
The idea that she and her surviving heroes are just sleeping makes no sense. There’s no
information to support it. When she didn’t come back, folks started that story to make
themselves feel good. Times were so bad they wanted a little hope, so they made up a
savior who would return if things got worse.”
She nodded. “That very well could be what happened. Or, she
is
out there, waiting.”
“Why, Captain, I’d not thought you would allow yourself to believe in such superstition.”
Anaeda’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t limit yourself for the sake of making a point. You were
quite clear in amassing the evidence that leads you to conclude that the Mountains of Ice
exist. There is more to suggest that Empress Cyrsa existed and might yet exist. We both
know that the
jaecai
are said to live longer lives. We know she and her warriors were
present at the spawning of the Cataclysm, in which great amounts of magical energy were
released. You’ve seen the changes it made in the world.
“Think about it, Master Anturasi. Outside many villages there are circles in which
swordsmen engage in their duels, and where two
jaecai
have met, magical energy is
released. In some of those circles, the ravages of winter are never seen, and in others the
snow that falls never melts even in the heat of the summer. Thus magic can clearly
preserve as well as destroy, so why is it not acceptable to believe she is preserved as
well?”
“That’s a very good point, Captain.” Jorim looked at Shimik. “You are very heavy, and the
evidence points to your needing exercise. Earn keepa, Shimik.”
With a shriek of delight, the Fenn leaped from his arms and scampered off, leaping the rail
to the main deck and disappearing down the nearest hatch, bound for the bowels of the