Authors: Julian May
Deveron's hand strayed to the golden case hanging at his neck. 'But if Rusgann is captured and in danger of torture or death, it behooves us to travel in the quickest manner possible: using my Subtle Gateway sigil.'
Cray shook her head. 'Nay, Grandson. I think it most unwise for you to call upon Beaconfolk sorcery to assist you in this journey. Only recall the cruel trick they played on you the last time you conjured Gateway! You would have lost your life had Induna not been with you. I think there would be small risk in using your minor sigil, Concealer, on this mission. But it's best that you travel to Castle Boarsden by mundane means.'
'We'll need a trustworthy river boatman then,' Deveron said.
'Seek the advice of Ising Bedotha, the lord of Castle Morass.' A sly grin crept over the little woman's face. 'That old brigand knows the wilderness of the Great Wold Heath better than the palm of his hand.' She rose from her seat at the table. 'Have you and Induna had enough breakfast?'
'Yes, Eldmama,' the husband and wife replied in unison.
'Then come with me. I'll introduce you to the baron.'
'Recommend a boatman to take you to Boarsden?' howled the wild-eyed old man. 'Be damned if I will!' He gulped down the contents of a lidded beer mug and slammed the vessel onto a sideboard with a loud crash.
Deveron and Induna flinched and exchanged apprehensive glances.
Cray spoke sternly. 'Now behave yourself, Lord Ising. The request is harmless enough -'
Gangling as a scarecrow dressed in splendid robes, the elderly noble capered around the solar of his dilapidated castle laughing at the top of his lungs.
'No, no, Mistress Cray! You misunderstand.' He skidded to a halt before the visitors, cocked his head owlishly, and laid a knobby finger aside of his long nose. The sparse silver hair on his scalp and his straggling beard seemed to crackle with electric tension. His brilliant blue eyes bulged as though about to pop from their sockets.
Cray sighed. 'Explain yourself, my lord baron.'
'Your young relatives won't need a boatman,' Ising Bedotha proclaimed. 'I've been navigating Didion's rivers since I was a snottynosed sprog with mud between my toes. I intend to take them to Boarsden Castle myself! As it happens, I have secret business in the vicinity. And so does my liege lady, Queen Casabarela, who's a fair sort of river-rat herself. We'll all travel together.' He screwed up his face in a huge wink as his voice sank to a conspiratorial whisper. 'And likely these two outland magickers will help Casya and me as much as we'll help them. Tit for tat, eh?'
Deveron inclined his head in reluctant agreement. 'We have our own mission to carry out, but we'll do whatever we can to assist you both, my lord,'
The baron smacked his hands together in antic glee. 'Splendid! I'll tell Casya the good news. Now that her broken wrist is nearly healed, she's been champing at the bit, anxious
to get to the Didion heartland where the army is camped out. Her grandsire, Duke Kefalus Vandragora, is there with his warriors. She thinks it's about time he met the Wold Wraith.'
Giggling wickedly, Ising Bedotha turned back to the sideboard, tapped a small keg atop a silver stand, and refilled his mug with beer.
Deveron shot a worried glance at his wife. What had they let themselves in for?
Induna only shrugged and said to the baron, 'When can we be off, my lord?'
'How about right now?' the baron replied, in a voice that was quiet and stone-cold sober. He sipped the brew and eyed them narrowly. 'No time like the present, eh?'
CHAPTER
TEN
'It's too lovely a day to be sad,' Lady Nyla Brackenfield said, guiding her white palfrey closer to the tall bay gelding Orrion rode. 'And since I outrank you, sir, you must obey my command to speak only pleasantries as we journey to Rockyford Station.'
He lowered his gaze meekly. 'As you wish, my lady.'
'Put out of your head all thought of the future, sweetheart,' she said. 'We have these few precious days of travel together before you must be shut away in Stormhaven. Let's make the most of them!
Who knows? Perhaps the Sky Lords of Demon Seat will find a way to repair their imperfect miracle before we reach our destination.'
'If it could only be,' Orrion said with a wistful smile. 'Still, the King's Grace did say I might petition him concerning our marriage once a year has gone by.'
'I'll be close to you, at Brackenley Manor, hardly forty leagues from the castle. An easy day's ride for a decent horsewoman . . . and I am one, be sure of it! Thank God I was not forbidden your company by the king. It's up to Father's discretion - and Mother has promised to intercede for me. So hope for the best and enjoy the sunshine. Brother Binon
says we have days of fair weather ahead of us. Keep in mind also that the Sovereignty will soon be at peace, and perhaps your royal father's anger will cool.'
Small chance of that, Orrion thought. He was more aware of the political realities of the situation than Nyla. Still, his dear love was right: they'd see one another during his exile
and throughout this trip they'd scarce be parted, save when the party stopped for the night.
The cavalcade was not a small one. Besides the two lovers, it included twenty-two other riders and five pack-mules. The Lord Lieutenant and his wife preceded Orrion and Nyla; behind them came the family's elderly alchymist Vra-Binon
looking rather seedy and complaining of a sore throat, three Cathran knights belonging to Lord Hale's official household at Cala Palace, six men-at-arms under their command, and four young armigers in charge of the mules. Two more Cathran warriors brought up the rear, knights whose duty it would be to guard Orrion at Stormhaven Castle.
Additionally, riding at the head of the procession, were four Didionites: Count Egonus Cuva, the dour young widower who had been linked romantically with the Princess Royal, and three noble companions of his who were known to have abetted his illicit affair in defiance of Conrig's command. By order of the Sovereign, they were all banished from the court of Somarus for a year and confined to the environs of Dennech-Cuva, the ducal seat of Lord Egonus's powerful father Azarick.
It was the earl marshal who had suggested that the Lieutenant's party accompany Egonus and his men, to ensure that the royal command concerning the count was carried out. Dennech-Cuva lay in the far western reaches of Didion, within twenty-six leagues of the coast. From Boarsden Castle, the group might ride easily along the Wold Highroad to Rockyford and thence to Elderwold Town. There they would
turn west along the Shadow River track to Tweenwater Fortress, and eventually reach Dennech-Cuva. After seeing the count safely to his father's rustic palace, the Cathrans would take ship from the port of Karum and sail directly to Stormhaven, a voyage of some four hundred leagues.
Aside from the safe shepherding of the surly young count, by taking this roundabout route Hale Brackenfield's group would avoid an otherwise tedious journey through the rough Cathran hill country west of Elk Lake, which the noble ladies had not looked forward to. The Shadow River track was lonely and wild, but at least it led over fairly level ground. Before Somarus became king the region was a notorious haunt of bandits and Green Men; but nowadays that part of the wold was relatively safe ... at least for well-armed travelers riding in sizable groups.
* * *
In the waters along the Desolation Coast of Tarn, the fog still hung low and dense at midday. Sealady Tallu Ramis and her husband Ontel Pikan stood on the quarterdeck of the frigate
Gyrfalcon,
becalmed some thirty leagues off the mouth of the Blue River. Both had their eyes closed and their minds open to subtle traces on the uncanny wind.
No one aboard made the slightest sound. The crew had their orders. But normal shipboard noises still disturbed the near-perfect silence: the creak of planking in the hull and decks, the squeaks and groans of the rigging, the soft slosh of water in the bilges as the vessel rolled gently in long swells coming,from the east.
Tallu addressed her husband in voiceless windspeech. 'Do you still detect the submarine currents of their passage?'
'Yes.' He responded in the same
mode. 'Save for the fact that they travel due north in huge numbers, they might be whales. But it's the wrong time of year for pods of cetaceans to migrate in that direction. And these creatures utter none
of the conversational noises normal to whales. We must draw the obvious conclusion.'
'If only we dared approach closer, so you could scry them underwater,' Tallu fretted. A stalwart, hatchet-faced woman whose greying rust-colored hair was cut short, she wore the curtailed jacket, easy-fitting breeches, and high boots of a mariner. Her only symbol of rank was a small golden badge pinned to the black silk scarf wound about her throat - the ancient winged escutcheon of Tarn's Company of Equals, who scorned the sumptuous trappings of the other Blenholme nobility.
Ontel, a shaman specializing in weather prediction, was a balding man of frail build, closely wrapped in a hooded cloak that almost concealed his birdlike features. 'My love, do you think it might be possible for our combined talent to move the ship stealthily through the water?' he asked. 'The swimmers are only a league or two distant. If we were very careful not to generate a significant bow-wave or wake.’
'We could try,' Tallu decided. 'I'll have to take the wheel. You point the way.'
She opened her eyes and moved noiselessly to the helm, motioning to the steersman to unfasten the lashed spokes. The sailor sprang to obey, then took his place beside the First Mate and two other petty officers who awaited the sealady's orders. Still bespeaking her husband on the wind, she said, 'Now.'
Both of them summoned propulsive magic and exerted pressure on the frigate's hull. For a long time, nothing happened.
Gyrfalcon
remained dead in the water, enveloped in fog as thick as wool. Ontel's eyes were also open now, although his gaze was unfocused. He stretched out an arm and pointed in a direction just off the starboard bow. Tallu increased her uncanny thrust and felt the massive ship resist - then suddenly stir. The bowsprit swung minutely as the
vessel responded to the gentle coaxing of the rudder. An infinitesimal breath of air touched the sealady's parted lips. The billows of mist seemed to flow in a single direction now, rather than swirling chaotically. They were moving.
Once inertia was overcome, the job was much easier. She told Ontel to belay thrusting, leaving it to her, and concentrate instead on the search. He nodded slowly, continuing to point the way in the white void. In this manner
Gyrfalcon
glided almost imperceptibly across the surface of the glassy sea, trailing an exiguous wake. Their motion was so gentle that the water slipped silently past the hull. For over an hour the ship crept further away from land, toward the source of the currents generated by the water-displacement of thousands of enormous bodies moving through the sea.
‘I have an overview,' Ontel bespoke her at last. 'They are Salka - a vast column of them proceeding northward like a dark river, less than a league away. I see no beginning and no end to them. They stay two fathoms deep and never come up to breathe. Their skins act as gills, you know, extracting air from the water when their lungs shut down.'
'So the sloops sent out from Ice Haven were deceived,' Tallu observed sadly, also speaking on the wind. She left off pushing. The frigate slowed gradually and came to a stop. The fog was still so thick that nothing was visible beyond a distance of five or six ells. 'The monsters are not retreating to Moss. I think they intend to circumnavigate the island. Perhaps they plan to attack our capital! I'll send a warning to Zirinna at Fort Ramis, using the most guarded windspeech thread. She'll relay the tidings to the Joint Fleet admirals gathered at Ice Haven. But I fear there is no way Sovereignty warships can catch up with the Salka. Not in this cursed flat calm ... Do you have any notion of when the fog might lift and the natural wind rise to fill our sails?'
'Perhaps toward sunset, dearest one.'
'We'll follow then, using our magic to assist us,' Tallu asserted, 'keeping well out of their observation range. If they finally swing wide around the reefs at the tip of the Lavalands, we may be able to gain on them a bit by taking the cutoff through Needle-Eye Passage. It's a pity that we have no significant numbers of men o' war at Cold or Warm Harbors. There seems no way for our navy to engage the monsters until they approach the Firth of Gayle and -'
'Tallu!' Ontel spoke out abruptly with his natural voice. 'Bespeak the warning! Do it now! God of the Heights and Depths - hurry, love! The Salka know we're here. Numbers of them are leaving the main column and coming straight at us!'
She bowed her head and shut her eyes, launching a tightly aimed windhail at the shaman-farspeaker Zirinna, who was in residence at their principal stronghold along the Desolation Coast.
'Tallu cries a warning, Zerinna! Relay it to the Sovereign's brother Stergos at Boarsden. The Salka are not retreating as we believed. They swim north, perhaps to circle the island and attack Tarn along our western seaboard. There are many thousands of them - perhaps the bulk of their invasion force. Tallu cries a warning! Pass the word. Pass the word.'
Zirinna responds. I will pass the word, Sealady Tallu. Do you have further details of the enemy's movements?
'Later. I'll bespeak you later. Pass the word.'
She cut the windthread, opened her eyes, and saw Ontel staring at her with an ashen face. 'We have only a few minutes before they arrive, sweetling,' he said. 'At least six score of the devils. Too many . . .'
Tallu turned to the First Mate, who had stood by silently. 'Yavegin, call general quarters and ready the guns and tarn-blaze grenades. We'll give the slimy trolls something to remember us by.'
As the man shouted orders a tremendous splash sounded out in the fog. It was followed by another, and then by many more. The glassy surface of the water round about the ship was broken suddenly by a flurry of ominous ripples.
Invisible to starboard, a single Salka uttered a thunderous bellow. Tallu and Ontel swung
Gyrfalcon
to bear on the voice and a volley of cannon-fire blasted into white emptiness. But it was a futile act of defiance, for there was really nothing to take aim at.