“I will, Great Kaan,” he said. “I will call you when we reach them.”
“Make it soon,” said the old dragon. “Or one of these hunters will claim their prize before long.”
And he was gone.
Needing air, Hirad jumped off the bunk and walked out on to the deck, coming to stand by the starboard rail and look out over the benign seas, so beautiful when they were blue. He scratched his head and puffed out his cheeks, willing the ship to go faster. He heard someone walking up to him.
“Something wrong?” asked Ilkar.
“The usual,” said Hirad.
“The Kaan,” said Ilkar.
Hirad nodded. “I don't know what to—”
But Ilkar wasn't listening to him. The elf stared out and ahead of them, then ran toward the bow of the ship, leaning out, peering into the distance and the empty horizon beyond the Ocean Elm. Hirad caught him up.
“What is it, Ilkar,” he asked.
Ilkar shook his head. “Gods drowning, Hirad. There's so many of them.”
“So many of what?”
A shout echoed down from the crow's nest.
“Them,” said Ilkar, pointing way out to sea.
Hirad strained his eyes, seeing tiny shapes in the haze at the edge of his vision. They were sails. He counted seven. There could have been more but the distance confused his eyes.
“Who?” he asked through he knew the answer.
“Dordovans,” said Ilkar. “It's the whole damned Dordovan fleet.”
Hirad didn't wait, he couldn't afford to. He returned to his cabin. They needed help and, with or without fire, there was only one source.
The Kaan.
Denser kissed Erienne's breasts gently, his tongue flickering at her nipples while his hand caressed her side and right thigh. She giggled and lifted his head, looking deep into his eyes.
“I've been fantasising about this,” he said.
“But not practising, I trust,” she replied, drawing him forward to kiss his lips. “I wonder what you'd be like with a smooth chin?”
Denser scratched at his beard. “Younger,” he said. “Definitely younger.” But Erienne could see him struggling to smile.
“What is it, love?” she asked. “Don't look so sombre. We're nearly there.”
“Yes, I know.” He looked away and watched his hand run down her stomach to rest on her pubis. Erienne felt a warmth rushing through her but took his hand away in any case.
“So what is it?” she asked. “No answer, no fun.”
He stared at her face and she could see his eyes roving, taking in everything from her crown to the point of her chin. He nodded.
“All right. It had better be now.”
He rolled out of bed and she watched him pull on his shirt and loin cloth, her heart suddenly beating anxiously, her mind rushed with a thousand uneasy thoughts.
“Denser?”
“Put your shirt on and look at this.”
She cast around for and found her shirt, rearranging it to slip it over her head while she watched him open a cabinet and pull out some parchment. He handed her a page.
“Seen this before?” he asked, coming to sit beside her and stroke her hair.
She pulled her shirt over her waist and sat on the tails, covering herself. She unfolded the page and gasped.
“Where did you get this?”
“Your library,” he said. “There are others but this is the one you have to see now.”
She looked hard into his eyes and saw terrible sorrow there. Her heart lurched and thudded painfully. She realised she was scared.
“But it's Lore. Lower Lore, I grant you, but Dordovan all the same.”
“It's part of the Tinjata Prophecy,” he said.
Erienne shook her head. “I don't recognise it.”
“I know you don't. They hide it from people they don't want to see it and refuse to offer the translation to others.”
“People like you,” she said.
“Yes, so I stole it. I had to know.” He grimaced and swallowed and she put a hand to his face, trying to comfort him for a pain she didn't understand. “And now I do.”
He handed her a second sheet. She took it and read it. It was a translation. Short, filled with gaps, but for all that, very explicit. She began to tremble, the parchment shaking in her hand. She had a lump in her throat and her stomach twisted. She looked at the prophecy, then back at the translation, searching word by word for an error.
“No, no, no,” she whispered, her eyes scanning feverishly, finger following lines of text.
And there was one. Basic but commonplace in untrained translation.
“Oh Denser,” she said. “It's wrong. Whoever did it translated it wrong.”
“Where…how?”
He grabbed the parchments from her, she didn't know why. So she pointed at a single word in the Lore.
“They got the gender wrong,” she said, dragging in her last breath before the tears came. “That doesn't mean Father. It means Mother.”
For one brief day, as they closed on the Dordovan fleet heading in from the west, Denser and Erienne hoped it might not come to the death of either of them. The cloud carried on thinning, the sun warmed them from a patched blue sky and the winds were exactly as strong as Jevin expected for this part of the Southern Ocean.
They had cried long together, bolting the door of their cabin and refusing any refreshment but their own company. Once they'd regained control and could bear not to clutch each other, Erienne had scoured the pages of the prophecy Denser had brought for some clue that their reading of it was wrong. But there was nothing, and Tinjata knew his signs only too well.
In the early evening of the sixth day, Denser lay with an arm around Erienne's shoulders, stroking her right arm with the tips of his fingers. The love they had made was tearful and tender, sensuous and quiet, each delighting in the other's body, knowing the other's pleasure by the sound of a sigh or a groan. No words were necessary then and they weren't now as they basked in the afterglow, the sun still streaming through the window from low on the horizon.
Soon, it would be time for dinner with The Raven, and to watch the sunset, glorious and red, firing its energies across the darkening sky under the remaining cloud. But for now they lay silent, staring at the ceiling above them, their bodies warm and the silence beautiful. Denser breathed in deep, Erienne's scent filling his nostrils. Maybe. Maybe her sacrifice wouldn't be necessary.
He knew he should worry about the Dordovans, who could reach the Ornouth Archipelago in front of them, but somehow he was certain they would fail. All that consumed him was the burgeoning hope that Lyanna's Night was over. If the weather held, if calm returned to Balaia and the Southern Ocean, it could really only mean one thing. That Lyanna had learned the control that was vital to her and Balaian survival. And if that was so, Erienne wouldn't have to die.
A shadow passed in front of the sun. Denser craned his head to the window to watch it pass. The shadow deepened and he frowned.
“Sundown's early tonight,” he said, propping himself on one elbow and looking down at Erienne.
“No it isn't,” she whispered, and there were tears standing in her eyes. “It's started again.”
“No, love,” he said, but he already knew it was true.
The temperature was falling, the ship was shifting against its forward motion. There was a swell rising and a storm coming.
“We knew it couldn't last,” she said. “Didn't we?”
He nodded. There were no words, not now.
Above them, he heard orders rattling across the decks and the sound of hurrying feet. He heard the slap of limp canvas and felt the ship turning. There was a knock on the door, urgent and insistent.
“Sorry, you two, but you've got to see this. I'll meet you on deck.” Ilkar's voice was apologetic but determined and Denser listened to his footsteps receding and the sounds of sudden tension from above before turning back to his wife.
“Well?”
“I love you, Erienne,” said Denser.
Erienne swallowed a sob. “Remember that you do.”
They dressed quickly and, after a long embrace, walked up to the deck. Pushing open the forward hatch, the gusting wind felt strong in their faces. The ship was beginning to pitch sharply.
“Here we go again,” muttered Denser.
He led Erienne by the hand out into the fast fading light and looked around for Ilkar. He was there, standing by the port rail, which was lined with people. Hirad, Ren'erei, Darrick, one of the Protectors and half the crew of the Calaian Sun. They hurried over, Ilkar seeing them and stepping back so they could see clearly.
A light was arrowing out from sea to sky over at the Ornouth Archipelago, the first islands of which would soon be visible. It was a vast column, green-edged yellow, shot through with orange, brown and a dismal black. It disappeared up into the sky and where it touched them, the clouds spun around it, thickening and expanding.
They already covered the horizon and blotted out the sun and with every heartbeat they fled across the ocean toward Balaia. Inside them, lightning flared and smudges in a dozen places told of rain falling in torrents. Beneath them came the wind, and below the wind was driven the sea, white-capped and murderous. The swell was growing, already at ten feet. The ship still made headway but Jevin had already furled all but topsail and foresail, and soon he would be forced to take in more.
“Oh dear Gods,” said Denser. “Look at what our daughter is doing to us all.”
Erienne's arm was around his waist and it tightened. He looked at her, saw her eyes reflecting the pain he felt and he squeezed her trembling shoulders and turned her away.
“I think we should eat now, before it gets too rough,” he said to Ilkar as they passed him. The elf nodded.
“I'll sort it, don't you worry about it.”
The forward hatch slid back as they approached it and a very familiar shaven-headed figure came halfway out, spotting them and beckoning them over. He was clutching a sheet around his waist.
“Any idea where my clothes are?” he said.
“Unknown, it's good to see you,” said Erienne.
“And you, Erienne. And it'll be even better when I catch up on what the hell has been going on and have some food. I am bloody famished.”
The gale roared into the Choul in the early hours of the morning. It was some time before dawn and the night was black, the cloud unyielding and the rain unceasing. Sha-Kaan brought the Brood to wakefulness, their dulling eyes regarding him in irritation.
“We are doing nothing here but dying,” said Sha-Kaan. “Hirad Coldheart is right. We must help them.”
“It is not our way to help but to be helped,” said Nos-Kaan. “We are the Kaan.”
“And this is not Beshara, and here we do not rule,” said Sha. “So we will help my Dragonene. He, at least, has stayed true and deserves our help. Without him, we would already have perished. Unfurl your wings, young Kaan, and we will fly. But beware. The hunters are everywhere.”
“Yes, Great Kaan,” said Nos and Hyn.
“I will lead.”
Sha-Kaan moved along the Choul to find himself some space and stretched his wings. It was becoming a painful exercise, alleviated only by the thrill of the hunt for prey. But even that was beginning to pall. Sha-Kaan was already an old dragon when he was first marooned in Balaia. The unhelpful conditions merely brought his death closer. But there was still hope. The Al-Drechar could help. They had both the knowledge and the power. While they lived, so would he.
He opened his great mouth, sucking in the air and opening the muscles above his flame ducts, feeling the chill rush around the emptiness of the sacs. He wondered how much more confident the hunters would be if they knew the dragons were dry. Not so terrifying then, he supposed. Then again, he considered as he examined his claws and felt the tips of his huge fangs with his tongue, then again…
Sha-Kaan snaked his neck around to see his Brood pair working their tired wing muscles and stretching the drying, cracking membrane. But they were ready and would not fail him.
“Come, Kaan. We will fly high and fast. Let the Skies keep us.”
“Skies keep us,” the Kaan intoned.
Sha-Kaan walked along to the entrance, his keen eyes piercing the gloom, seeing nothing but flat dark rock, trees bent double under the gale and the teeming rain.
“Balaia,” he growled. “Sooner left, better my scales.”
With a roar, he spread his wings and leapt into the air, beating upward. Nos and Hyn-Kaan following. Sha-Kaan rose to the peak which housed their Choul and circled, waiting for his Brood to join him.
There was movement below. He barked a warning and an order to climb faster. He could see metal glinting in a thick area of brush. There was a dull thud which he could pick out above the wind whistling around the peak. A long shaft rose very quickly and Hyn-Kaan squealed as it pierced his left wing, the metal tip ripping through the membrane and the shaft dragging the hole larger as it passed, continuing on into the sky before falling back to the earth.
Sha-Kaan roared and dived on the brush. The humans had already scattered to hiding places but one had not been quick enough. The Great Kaan snatched him in his jaws and bore him back into the air, the puny body writhing pitifully against his grip. Above the peak of the Choul mountain, he bent his neck round and grabbed the human in a foreclaw, bringing him close to his eye.
“Fall. Like you wished on my Kaan.”
Sha-Kaan flung the screaming figure away to his death, not bothering to watch his impact. He turned and beat his wings, driving to where Nos and Hyn circled. Hyn was pained but the wound was not critical.
“And you still want to help the humans?” pulsed Nos.
“They are not all alike,” said Sha-Kaan. “Hyn-Kaan, return to the Choul if you cannot fly the distance we must travel.”
“When we reach the upper skies and can glide, I will match your speed. Do not ask me to stay, Great Kaan.”
“Then follow me. This is the flight to our fate.”
Roaring into the wind and thunder, he drove up into the cloud, searching for the calmer air of the heights.
Erienne woke earlier than Denser, with the wan light of dawn edging through the window. In truth she had hardly slept. The ship had plunged in all directions during the storm, which still raged outside and, since Jevin had ordered them all below shortly after dinner, she had been lying here in the dark, her husband close.
It was strange. Funny almost. On the Ocean Elm, she had become accustomed to her impending death but hated why it had to happen. Now, with her death just as certain, she felt calm and had felt close to euphoria during the night. There was a reason. The perpetuation of the One and the life of her child. And no matter how much she would miss Lyanna and all those she loved, she knew that her death would mean something to the whole of Balaia. Perhaps bring a new dawn in the days of magic.
There had been a moment for both of them during their despair of the last couple of days, and neither she nor Denser would deny it, a moment when they considered the death of Lyanna as preferable to their own irrevocable parting. It was an option that would save Balaia and they would not have been human had they not considered it, however fleetingly. But as this day came, the thought seemed almost laughable.
Erienne turned in the small bed and rested her head on Denser's chest, running her hands through the hair on his chest and listening to his even breathing and the gentle beating of his heart. Outside, the wind battered the ship and drove it on toward her doom. If it all went according to plan, she would be dead in about two days’ tim
e. A strange thought but one she felt she could cope with. After all, there was a great deal to be done before she could indulge Balaia with her passing.
She smiled and rubbed her head against Denser. At least one more success was walking about the ship again. He was limping, as he would forever, but The Unknown Warrior would regain the strength in his left leg again. She wasn't sure he'd be able to fight effectively with a two-handed blade, and that was an anxiety to come for him, but he would fight and eventually, he would run. Standing and fighting was about it for now. She hoped he was satisfied.
Bizarrely, she felt as if some form of status quo had been reached. Her arrival back with The Raven had certainly cheered Darrick who had, by all accounts, been brooding the whole voyage so far. Only Thraun was a continuing problem. She had been shocked to see him, let alone see the state of his body. She hadn't said it but she feared he'd be better off dead.
Anyway, enough of all that.
She angled her head up and saw only beard. She reached up and scratched at his chin. Denser's hand flapped in his sleep and he blew through slack lips as if trying to dislodge a fly. So she poked his cheek. Still he failed to wake. There was no way she was going to lie here awake alone while the ship pitched and rocked. She slid her hand under the sheet and grabbed his penis. He grunted. She massaged it gently. He murmured. That was more like it but he still gave every impression of being dead to the world. It was the hand that whipped across and cupped her breast that finally gave him away.
“Good morning,” she said.
“It is now,” said Denser.
Lyanna walked through the orchard, her shoes crunching on broken glass. She was unhappy. The old ladies didn't talk to her much. They hadn't since she had woken. And Mummy wasn't back yet, though she had felt her close while she was still in the dark place the sprites had told her she would go to.
So she had come to see the sprites. To play with them again. But they weren't dancing on the trees like she remembered. And the trees weren't all standing straight like she remembered. Some of them were broken and all the sprites were lying on the ground, most of them bunched in the corners of the orchard. Just like leaves in autumn.
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