Wrath of a Mad God (14 page)

It was late afternoon by the time he reached the cliffs above the agreed-upon beach. He considered the drop and again wondered how a city-bred lad such as himself could end up considering a descent that would have given a fright to a mountain goat. There was no easy way down, though there certainly was a quick one, he thought dryly.

He traversed the narrow cliff and found nothing useful, then turned and with his eyes retraced his route down to the top of the cliffs. He was likely to spend hours climbing back up to where he thought another way down might be found, and even then there was no guarantee it would provide the right descent. He would probably have to endure another night on the mountainside, and he was now both thirsty and ravenous. He recalled with bitter amusement a confidence trickster he had once encountered in a tavern in Krondor while the man waited to take ship to Elariel in Kesh. He had tried to sell Jim a “magic cloak” which would, he claimed, allow the wearer to leap from
the tallest building or wall and gently float down to the ground. A clever enough scam, for if the fool who bought it tried to use it, he’d either be dead or lying abed with too many broken bones to attempt hot pursuit and the trickster would be safely away in Great Kesh. But, oh, how he wished it had been true and he had such a cloak now.

He kept looking for inspiration, for he didn’t relish the climb back to the other route. He decided to make one more traverse of the cliff top before he started hiking. He moved northward until he reached an outcropping of rocks that prevented further progress, glanced down and saw waves crashing into the rocks a hundred feet below him. Not a bad dive, he thought, if the water was deep enough and there weren’t rocks everywhere.

He traveled back southward, occasionally glancing out to where the three ships waited, wishing he could somehow communicate to them that he was up here. Not that it would prove any more beneficial, unless someone on the crew had developed the ability to fly and could come fetch him to the ship, or at least fly up here with a rope.

A rope? He glanced around. If he had a rope, where would he tie it off? He walked over to a sturdy tree that had been the victim of cliff erosion. It had started leaning forward from the edge of the cliff and had then died as its roots were exposed. But the dried-out trunk was still firmly planted in the rocky soil and when he pushed hard against it he found it unyielding. It would support his weight. If only he had a rope.

He looked down and saw that the tree overhung a gap in the cliff with a ledge about twenty feet below and that the ledge also contained a small growth of trees. He wished he could gauge how high those trees were from his current vantage point. He sprinted along the cliff face, looking back several times, and finally found a bend in the cliff where he could get a good perspective. He could see the trees closest to the edge on that little ledge were in fact about thirty feet below the cliff on which he stood. He rapidly did the mathematics. He could lower himself down until he overhung the trees, and his feet should be not much more than twenty feet above the ledge and only ten feet above the trees.

Gods, he silently mused, what is desperation driving me to?

He realized that once down on the ledge, the chances of climbing back up to where he stood now were practically nil but he blocked it from his mind: he needed to be on that ship as soon as possible. He moved rapidly to where he could climb out on the dead tree, and gauged the most likely looking tree below to try for. They were all scrubby-looking things, pines or firs of some sort—he really didn’t know or care what they were—and he needed something big enough to grab on to, or at least sturdy enough to slow his fall. He didn’t mind cuts and bruises, but broken bones would consign him to a slow and painful death.

He scrambled around until he was hanging directly over the chosen tree, then he let go. The fall was less than a dozen feet, but it felt like a hundred as he crashed into the top branches. As he expected, he was cut by several of the branches as they broke, but he grabbed hard on to a larger one and his fall was broken. He paused to catch his breath, then climbed down.

Once he stood at the rim of the little ledge, he wondered what madness had overtaken him. It was another thirty or more feet down, to what appeared to be mostly sand, but there were enough rocks poking through it that he couldn’t be sure how deep any of it was. He looked down for anything remotely like a handhold and felt his stomach sink; the face of the cliff here was eroded by the tide and now he was on an overhang. He considered his choices and realized he had none: he had to get down from here, no matter the risk.

He wished he had a rope. Then he corrected himself and decided if he was going to waste a wish, he’d wish to already be in Krondor—in the apartment he used as James Jamison rather than the hovel he used in his role as Jim Dasher, Mocker—bathed, rested, dressed, and entertaining Lady Michele de Frachette, daughter of the Earl of Montagren and, he hoped, someday the mother of his children.

The wind picked up and he saw the ships at anchor begin to rock slightly as the ocean chop increased. Ah, how to get there? He looked down again. He was slightly over six feet in height, so a dead hang drop from the ledge meant twenty-four feet or
so to the sand. Still sufficient to break enough bones to prevent him getting to the ship. If he could just shave two yards off the distance…

He stripped off his boots and threw them to the sand below. Then off came his belt and trousers, then his shirt. He rapidly worked so as to get this over with before he reconsidered. He tied the belt around the tree closest to the edge of the ledge, a scant thing looking barely able to support its own weight, let alone his. Still, it only had to hold for a moment or two. He then tied one leg of his trousers to the belt, making the best knot he could, then his shirt arm to the other leg. He threw the rest of the shirt over the edge and looked down. The makeshift rope of clothing had given him the six feet he needed.

Never one to hesitate, he rolled over on his belly, ignoring the scrapes on the rock and the pain from the cuts he had already suffered from falling into the tree branches. He wiggled backward, hoping no one from the ship was watching, given the state he was in. Then he pushed himself off and quickly went hand under hand down the fabric of his trousers and shirt. He felt a slight jerk and realized the tree was starting to fall. He went as quickly down as he could, holding at the bottom. As his momentum was halted, he heard the crack of wood above.

With a single shout he let go, flexing his knees to take the shock of hitting the ground. He hit the sand and struck the side of his head against a rock, which caused his eyes to lose focus for a moment. Then he rolled up and over and, looking up, he saw that the tree was about to fall on him. Jim Dasher just continued to roll, striking more rocks as he tried to avoid being crushed by the small tree he had uprooted from the ledge above. He heard the tree fall with a crash.

Lying on the sand, aching and his head ringing from the blow, he realized suddenly—he was on the beach! He struggled to get up, and finally managed to stand despite his head throbbing and his vision being unclear. He stood motionless for a full minute trying not to fall over. His stomach knotted and he felt sick for a few moments, then he took a long, deep breath. He knew his head blow was going to make him less than fit. He
needed to start a fire to signal the captain of the
Queen of the Soldanas
to send a boat to pick him up as soon as possible.

Jim Dasher found his clothes firmly buried under the bole of the tree that had almost crushed him. He cleared away sand and discovered his trousers were firmly pinned between the tree and rocks. His shirt tore as he pulled it out, and he could find nothing of his belt. He looked about and found his boots not too far away, so he went over and put them on. He stood feeling ridiculous in his torn shirt, underlinen, and boots but sighed in resignation. He needed his belt: it contained a small pouch in which was hidden a piece of flint. The buckle had a steel tongue, and together they could be used to start a fire. He could probably find a piece of flint nearby, but he knew he’d never find a piece of steel.

He looked at the three ships and suddenly they were twice as far as he had thought when he first saw them. That was because he knew he would now have to swim to them.

At least the wind would keep the surface roiling and hide him from the sight of enemies, he thought as he took off his boots. Regretfully he tossed them aside—he really liked them and it took a lot of work to make really fine new boots look old and worthless. Observing the wind and the spindrift coming off the choppy water, he wondered if that might keep the sharks away. Considering how many cuts he sported, he hoped so. Well, he thought as he waded into the surf, he’d soon find out.

Jim almost got his head removed by a belaying pin for his troubles as he clambered up the anchor rope. The sailor whom he had surprised had been warned, along with the rest of the crew, to be vigilant and wary of surprise attack.

“You never should have got that close, have got that close, fella-me-lad,” he said as he helped the sailor off the deck, where he had knocked him down. “I’ve a bump on my head and it’s taken me off a bit.”

The sailor recognized Jim as one of the party sent ashore with General Kaspar, but he still looked ready to fight. “Where’s the Captain?” asked Jim, heading off further disputes.

“Coming,” said another sailor as the entire deck crew came to gawk at the sopping wet man wearing only a shirt and drawers.

“What’s this then?” asked the first mate. “A deserter?”

“Hardly,” said Jim, slowly adding “sir,” as he retreated to his role of common thief. “I have news for the Captain.”

“Tell me and I’ll relay it,” said the First Mate.

“That won’t be necessary,” said the Captain as he forced his way though the press of sailors. “Get back to your duties!” he commanded, and the sailors moved off. “I’ll take this man with me, Yost,” the Captain instructed the First Mate.

Mr. Yost looked unconvinced, but he nodded and just said, “Yes, sir.”

“Follow me,” said the Captain, a very experienced and loyal member of the Royal Navy of Roldem by the name of William Gregson. He, like every other sailor in this little flotilla, wore no uniform and to the casual eye appeared to be merely a commercial captain, but like every other man aboard the three ships, he was navy to the bone.

Once inside the privacy of his cabin, Gregson said, “What news, Lord James?”

“My head is pounding,” said Jim, sitting down without waiting for leave. “I hit a rock coming down off that cliff over there. Do you have something?”

The Captain went to his private sea chest and removed a stoppered bottle. He pulled out two small glasses and filled them both. “Medicinal brandy,” he said, offering up a glass to Jim. “Now, what’s happened? You wouldn’t be swimming with sharks if there wasn’t a problem.”

“Aye,” said Jim. “Kaspar and the rest are prisoners.”

“Who’s taken them?”

“Elves, but none like any I’ve seen. I’ve got a lot to report, but as I must be on my way as soon as possible, you’ll have to wait for the official word to be passed back to you.”

The Captain, his face a leathery map from years on the quarterdeck, said, “So it’s mind my own business, is it?”

“Something like that, Captain.”

“How fast is fast? The
Lady Jessie
is our fastest.”

“Not ship-fast. I need that device I asked you to keep for me.”

The Captain returned to his chest, opened it, and took out a small golden sphere. “I’ve been wondering what it was.”

“Something that will get me where I need to go faster than the swiftest ship in the fleet can bear me. One thing, though, before I use it.”

“What?”

“I need a pair of trousers.”

The Captain could barely keep from laughing. He went to his clothing locker and produced a pair of trousers which were slightly too large but would do. “Boots?” he offered.

“I think yours won’t fit.”

The Captain fetched another pair but they were too small.

“I’ll find something along the way,” said Jim. He held up the orb and said, “Well, goodbye, Captain,” and depressed a switch on the side of the device.

Before the Captain could reply, he was gone. Only a slight inward surge of air marked his disappearance. Into the empty room, the Captain said, “What do I tell the men?”

It was the dead of night on Sorcerer’s Isle when Jim appeared. It was his first visit to the home of the legendary Black Sorcerer, Pug. Jim was aware that he had some sort of distant kinship with the magician, as Pug’s adopted daughter Gamina had been the wife of Lord James, but Jim suspected he was hardly the first member of “that side of the family” not to know his forebear.

He had arrived in a small room set aside for visitors, and a student had been detailed there to keep an eye on it. Even so, the student leaped a mile as Jim materialized. At last he regained his composure and said, “Wait here. I will fetch someone.”

Jim knew better than to argue for he had been given clear instructions by his great-uncle and Lord Erik that if he were ever to use the device he must do whatever he was told once he reached the island.

Jim didn’t have long to wait. A regal-looking woman obviously just awakened arrived with the student. She gave him a searching look. “Who are you?”

With an only slightly mocking courtly bow, he said, “I’m James Jamison, grandson of the Duke of Rillanon. And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

“I’m Miranda,” answered the woman. “Come along. You wouldn’t be here if the situation didn’t warrant it. I’ve heard of you, Jim Dasher, and what I’ve heard is good: we need sneaky bastards on our side at a time like this.”

Jim wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not, but he decided to take it as one. Miranda led him down a long series of halls. “Most of the faculty and students are asleep, as you’d expect. I’ll warn you though, when sunrise comes, you may see some…people, unlike any you’ve encountered. Try not to gawk.”