“Mollena, why was Theido frightened of coming here? Why did he wish Durwin to stay away?”
The old woman wrinkled a squint upon him. “Who told you he was afraid?”
“I heard them talking about it. Durwin said from the beginning that we should come; Theido was against it. Then something happenedâTrenn came with word that the Harriers were after usâand Theido relented. What was he afraid of ?”
“That is not for me to say, but you may ask Yeseph, one of our leaders. He may give you an answer to your question, for I cannot.”
Again a cryptic reply, thought Quentin. What was it these Curatak were withholding from him? Certainly he had seen nothing so far to be afraid of. He puzzled on this the rest of the day and far into the night before dropping off to sleep. The next day he awoke determined to seek out Yeseph and put the questions to him. Why was Theido afraid for Durwin? And why had he changed his mind?
W
e have luck with us yet, my friends,” exclaimed Theido upon his return from the shipyards of Bestou.
“You have found a ship to take us to Karsh?” asked Alinea. She and Durwin sat in the lodge of the Flying Fish Inn, waiting for Theido to arrange their passage to the island stronghold of Nimrood the Necromancer.
“Yes, though it has not been easy. I have asked fully half of the captains in the yard if we may be accommodatedâalways the same reply: âWe stay far away from Karsh! Not for gold, nor for the blessing of the sea gods themselves would we go there!'
“One man sought me out, however. He said he is captain and owner of a ship that would pass near Karsh and would be willing to land us on a friendly shore, if there is such a thing in Karsh.”
“He sought you out, you say?” mused Durwin. “We must be suspect of any offering aid too readily. They may be in Nimrood's employ.”
Theido brushed the observation aside impatiently. “We cannot always be looking under every rock and behind every tree for a spy. We must trust our own initiative; we must act!”
“Of course, Theido. But we would do well to remember that our foe is a sorcerer of great skill, adept in evil of every kind. And his net is cast wide indeed.”
“That may be,” said Theido a little angrily. It chafed him to remain idle; a man of action, he wanted to move at once. “But we cannot wait forever for a sign from heavenâwhether your god smiles or not, we must go.”
“Gentlemen, please! Refrain your tempers for the sake of our cause,” pleaded Alinea. She had seen the growing restlessness of Theido in the past few days as they waited for a favorable result from the docks. She had often to play the peacemaker, supplying the gentle word or a quiet touch in times of heated discussion between the two men. “I am as anxious as either of you to see the end of our journey, but not at the cost of enmity between us. That, I fear, would be disaster for us and our good king.”
Theido nodded, acknowledging the reproof. Durwin, too, admitted his irritation, laying a hand upon Alinea's and saying, “You are right, my lady. Our purpose will not be served if we are crossing swords with one another.”
“Then come, good friends. Let us be resolved. Our differences are slight and better put far behind us.” She looked long at Theido's worn appearance and at Durwin's usually cheerful countenance, now overcast with care. “My king has never had more noble subjects, nor any half as brave. His gratitude to you in this adventure will be hard-pressed to find worthy enough expression.”
“To see him alive and safe once more will be payment enough,” said Theido. He smiled, but the tight lines around his eyes were not erased.
The party had reached Bestou on the island of Tildeen after a rigorous march through the tangled forest surrounding Dekra. Their path had become surer and the way easier upon reaching the fishing outpost, hardly big enough to be called a village, of Tuck. There they clambered aboard the ferry, which plied the narrow channel to the island of Tildeen, one of the larger of what were called the Seven Mystic Isles. In truth, there was nothing particularly mysterious about any of the islands in the small chainâonly that the largest, Corithy, had long ages ago been used as a primitive holy sanctuary of a shadowy, secret religion. Strange events were said still to take place on that odd-shaped, often mist-shrouded island.
But Tildeen, the second largest of the seven, was the site of the seaport city, Bestou. This commercial center served as the winter refuge for the whole of Mensandor because of its immense sheltered harbor, which seldom froze during the coldest months, despite the island's northern lay.
Upon arriving on Tildeen, put ashore rudely by the rustic operator of the ferry, Theido, Durwin, Alinea, and trusty Trenn had before them an arduous mountain trek, up and over the hunched and twisted backbone of the island, on a serpentine path descending at last to the low-lying port on the other side.
The journey was accomplished in more time than Theido would have liked to allow. But as the group came within sight of the harbor, approaching like bandits dropping down out of the high hills behind Bestou, Theido had been vindicated for his relentless push along the trail; the ships lay at anchor, their colored sails ready-furled, waiting for the first good day to sail.
As he walked the shore that first morning after their arrival, having spent the first warm night in weeks before the fire in the lodge of the Flying Fish, Theido had talked to sailors and captains of large ships and small. Each refused, some politely and others with bold discourtesy, to grant them passage to that accursed land.
Their reluctance was understandable. Karsh, a grotesque lump of earth, the tip of a huge submerged mountain, jutted out of the water far east off the coast of Elsendor, Mensandor's sprawling neighbor. The island had long been shunned by superstitious sailors, even before Nimrood had taken up residence there and built his fortress. The place was forsaken by all gentle humanity, fit only for countless seabirds, which nested in the precipitous cliffs on the western side, and the tiny land crabs that feasted upon the washed-up remains of putrid fish and hatchlings from the cliffs above.
Theido, with Trenn behind, had stalked the wharf for two days before happening upon the captain who agreed to deliver them to the hated island.
At last satisfied that his objective had been achieved, Theido did not bother with the formality of inspecting the ship or its crew, relying on the word of the captain, a rather short, oppressive-looking man who called himself Pyggin, to vouch a faithful account of its seaworthiness.
He returned to the inn, humming to himself and leaving Trenn to stow their few things and make any provisions he thought necessary for their convenience on board. Trenn, after seeing to his task, also returned to the inn, much less happy than his friend Theido.
“There is something strange about that ship,” he told Theido, pulling him aside after dinner that evening.
“What did you see on boardâsomething amiss?” The knight searched the soldier's troubled features for a clue to his misgivings.
“Nothing I can say, sir. But I noticed that while all other hands aboard the ships in harbor made ready to get under sailâloading and stocking provisions, mending sails, tarring, and whatnotâthis Captain Pyggin's men sat idle. Not one stirred a hand all the while I was on board. They stood about the deck or sat on barrels in the hold . . . as if they were waiting for something.” He frowned deeply. “I do not like it at all.”
“Perhaps they are ready and only waiting for the first fair wind to be under sail. So the captain told me,” replied Theido, blunting the other's complaint as gently as he could.
“Perhaps, but I never saw a ship of that size that didn't need some fixing, nor any captain who ever let a crew stand idle.”
“That may be,” agreed Theido. “But all we ask is to be put ashore at our destination. Where is the harm in that?”
Trenn pulled on his chin and scowled furiously, repeating his original pronouncement. “You know best, sir, and no doubt. But I still say there is something strange about that ship.”
W
hen Prince Jaspin fled from the games, so disrupted by the sudden and unwelcome appearance of the Harrier and his grisly mementos, he flew at once to his castle at Erlott Fields. “Let the games continue,” he had announced magnanimously after disposing of his debt to the odious tracker (who demanded twice the payment he had been promised, and his dead companions' shares as well). Prince Jaspin, being caught in an awkward situation, was anxious not to offend public sentiment, which held that anyone dealing with the Harriers was a villain himself, so he paid the savage and sent him off with a minimum of show.
So Jaspin called for the contest to be resumed lest the people be too disappointed. Then he, with a handful of his esteemed confidants, left the field immediately, allowing that he had been called away on some detail of state importance.
The prince and his cronies had run at once to the security of Erlott Fields and there held a hasty conference to discuss the situation.
The meeting availed little in terms of correcting the damage already done, and since the prince could not reveal the actual source of his fear, he dismissed them all brusquely and retired to his own counsel in his inner chamber.
Once the door to his outer apartment had been secured and guards posted to make certain no intruders would interrupt, the prince stole into the inner chamber, a small dark room with no outside window, a nook hollowed out of the massive outer curtain of the castle.
There Jaspin sat down before the enameled box. Lifting off the lid and placing his hands upon the sides of the miraculous pyramid, he felt the pulse of power throb as the golden object began to glow. Soon his sharp features were bathed in the waxing light. He listened to the drumming throb of his own heart pounding in his ears and watched the opaque sides of Nimrood's invention take on a misty appearance.
Then, as always before, Jaspin looked into the clearing depths of the enchanted object and watched the thinning mist reveal the dreadful mien of his malicious accomplice.
“Well? What is the meaning of this unexpected summons, princeling? Lost a pin? A throne?” The necromancer threw back his head and laughed, but the sound died in his throat. He then fixed Jaspin with an icy glare.
Prince Jaspin quailed at the message he had to deliver. But having no choice, he plowed ahead and steeled himself for the wizard's awful fury. “The Harriers have returned,” he said simply.
“Good. They enjoyed the benefits of a successful hunt, I trust?”
“N-no,” Jaspin stuttered, “they returned empty-handedâor rather one of them did. The other two lost their lives.”
“You fool! I gave you but one more chance, and you have wasted it. You are finished! Hear me, you insignificant dolt!”
Thinking quickly, in an effort to appease the raging sorcerer and avert further threats, Jaspin seized upon the one scrap of information he had and flung it forth like a leaf against a thunderstorm. “I know where they have gone, Nimrood!” he shouted.
The seething sorcerer quieted his ranting but, still frowning furiously, demanded, “Where have they gone, then? Tell me.”
“First, you must promiseâ,” Prince Jaspin started, but Nimrood cut him off.
“Promise? How dare you! Listen, dog of a prince! I give my word to no man! Never forget that!” Then the black magician changed, instantly sweetening his tone, as if speaking to an unhappy child. “But I forgive you. Only tell me where the scheming wretches have gone and I will forget this trouble between us.”
Jaspin told quickly the minute fragments of information he had been able to drag from the Harrier. “There are six, and there is a woman among themâthe queen, I believe. It is fair certain they have gone to the ruins of Dekraâto hide, most likely. Everyone knows there is nothing there.”
“There is more at Dekra than people know,” said Nimrood. The faintest trace of worry crossed his wrinkled face but was instantly banished by his haughty leer. “They will leave that place as they must. I will ready a special surprise for these bold travelers. Yes, I think I know what it shall be.” Then, speaking to the prince again, he continued. “You serve me well in spite of yourself, proud Prince. And you have earned yourself a reprieve from my anger. It may be I can use you yet.”
“You are forgetting your place,Wizard!” Jaspin, incensed at the staggering insolence of the necromancer, rebelled. “It was I who hired
you
âyou serve me!”
“I tire of your games of petty ambition,” hissed the sorcerer. “Once it suited me to further your childish schemes. But I have designs you cannot imagine. But serve me well, and you shall share in my glory.”
The pyramid lost its crystalline transparency and became cold and solid once more.
Quentin had begged and otherwise pestered Mollena into arranging a meeting with Yeseph for him at the earliest possible time. That meant the moment he opened his eyes the very next morning, the day after their limited tour of the ruined city.
Toli sat opposite Quentin over their breakfast, pointing at objects around the room and demanding that his instructor supply the appropriate word that he might learn it. Quentin, although it seemed sometimes a colossal chore, beamed with pleasure at his pupil's progress. Toli could already speak halting sentences, albeit simple ones, and could understand most of what Quentin said to him, though he could not always repeat it. When others were around, however, he usually lapsed into his native tongue.
They were deep in concentration when Quentin heard the old woman's shuffling footsteps on the stone steps outside the kitchen, where they were finishing their meal.
“Mollena! What news? When can I see him?” he blurted as soon as he saw her creased, kindly face poke into view.
“Soon . . . very soon.”
“Mollena . . .”
“Todayâwe will go as soon as you are ready.”