by James Duvall
By the time Timothy returned to the captain's quarters, Christopher had changed into a fresh shirt and trousers and a fine coat he usually reserved for special occasions, usually meetings with important customers or to impress a lady. Raimes's belongings were set out on the desk. Christopher sifted through them until he found a folded up square of parchment and gave it to Timothy.
"He was Sir Samuel Raimes, of Nanek Shard. Thirty-one years of age, a second-order mage of His Royal Majesty's Arcanist Corp. Those are his orders and we may be in luck. He was apparently on his way to Dralder's Shard."
Timothy opened the papers and saw this was true. "I've never heard of the place," he said, reading the dispatch. Raimes was to investigate Dralder's Shard and report back his findings on the quality of glidestone and other valuable mineral deposits. The dispatch went on to enumerate particular facets of the shard he was to investigate in greater detail.
"It's a poor man's assignment," Christopher answered and pulled the charts out of their drawer.
"There," he said, jabbing his finger against a chart. "Dralder's Shard. It's in the West Reach. About as far from Telluria as you can get. He could not have been well-liked, if he were being sent so far from the capitol."
It seemed likely that his only saving grace was a well-connected family that could put their son into the University of Bendrin for magical studies. Aside from being a magical savant, only money could speak to an applicant's likely acceptance.
The news did little to ameliorate Timothy's fears. Despite Raimes' poor standing, even the most disliked of bridgers was still a bridger, and this bridger was dead by Timothy's hand. The only saving grace of the revelation was that he was supposed to be months away in a sparsely populated shard of little consequence to the kingdom as a whole.
"Did we learn anything else?" Timothy asked, hoping that Raimes' title was the last of the bad news.
"I've got his signet ring," Christopher answered. "It's likely that he came to Pendric Shard without reporting his movements. It is far off the route to Dralder's Shard, and there would likely be questions."
"We were in Beronn because Master Raimes wanted to look up a colleague,” Aebyn supplied. “Someone from the university. Master Raimes had hoped he might use his influence to provide him with an assignment that might not send him into the frontiers for three years on a geological survey."
For once, Christopher was not put off by the gryphon's interjection. "Do you know the man's name? What does he look like?"
Aebyn shook his head. "We were going to see him when we arrived in Beronn. Master Raimes never mentioned him by name, but said he worked on designs for airship engines using mist mingled in with the steam. I believe he also repairs steam-geigers to fund his tinkering."
Christopher slouched into his chair. "He would never admit to his colleague that he left a lighthound behind," he said, looking to Timothy. "No doubt he concocted some story of theft or betrayal."
There was a brief silence as the gravity of this sunk in. "Should I inform the crew we are departing in the morning?" Timothy asked.
Christopher waved the notion away. "We'll have time before someone finds he is missing, and they might never think to check here. For now, we stay the course."
“Seven among us, Christopher, I killed a man! A bridger!” Timothy hissed. His friend silenced him with a reproachful glare.
“And it will only look all the more conspicuous if the morning after such a man goes missing that we abruptly conclude our business prematurely and throw our lot with the wind. No, we stay the course.”
Chapter 5
The Island of Mercy
Nothnor, Pendric Shard
Of course, exploration has never come without its high cost in human life, but growing kingdoms found the price particularly high when this cost them their bridgers. In the year 538 A.S., King Richard Tandor II, King of Deshym, issued a royal decree proclaiming that any shard in which a bridger entered but failed to return from after the span of three months should be declared inhospitable to human life and should not be entered again.
From Shardwalls, A History
Two nights after Samuel Raimes had gone to his fate, Timothy found Aebyn lounging on the quarterdeck, his piercing blue eyes looking down into the city streets. In the fading twilight hours they seemed to glow a little, and Timothy wondered if it might be because he was a lighthound, but had not yet had occasion to ask. Aebyn had, since the morning after the death, settled into a quiet and pensive melancholy and become distant from the rest of the crew.
Timothy sat up on the rail near Aebyn and looked out over Nothnor with him. "How are you holding up?" he asked.
Aebyn lifted his head up long enough to give Timothy a warm smile with his eyes and then took up his sentry duty again just as quickly.
"I am well," he answered plainly. "Thank you for asking."
The deck fell into an awkward silence again, as Timothy searched for a way to broach the topic of Aebyn's self-exile to a duty no one had asked of him, but then Aebyn looked over at him with worry in his eyes and spoke again.
"They would have come for you by now, if they were going to, wouldn't they?" he asked, his ears drooping a little. He looked positively miserable.
It took several moments for Timothy to readjust his thinking to make sense of Aebyn's question. All along he had felt safe in his assessment that the young lighthound was in mourning of Samuel Raimes. It seemed in direct contradiction that he was instead fretting over Timothy's own well-being. Indeed, the threat of his own arrest had thrown a pall over the usual excitement of arrival in a new port, but he had never expected that Aebyn too might feel the weight of it.
The revelation seemed to cast the previous weeks of travel in a new light. Aebyn had found his place at Timothy's side from the very first day aboard, seemingly out of the convenience of Timothy being available and, to some degree, being responsible for his survival at the wreck of the Wild Hawk. From the first that may very well have been the gryphon's motivation, but somewhere along the line the attachment had deepened.
When did that happen?
"I cannot say that the threat of it has passed entirely," Timothy admitted. "But if we had been seen, they no doubt would have come for the lot of us by now."
Aebyn breathed a quiet sigh of relief and sat up on his haunches, surveying Timothy up and down. "Then I suppose the next order of business is to proceed with our expedition," he announced in a manner that could only be attributed to spending too long in close proximity to Christopher.
"Of course," a bemused Timothy said. He could only hope that this was the full extent of Christopher's influence on the young gryphon.
His fears laid to rest, Aebyn lifted his head high and looked out to the dim twilight on the horizon. From the skydock they could see over Nothnor's buildings and across the great forests to the distant mountains that bordered Merindi's east coast. Timothy followed the gryphon's eyes to the distant horizon and leaned against the rail, taking it in.
"When you said it was an island," Aebyn began, "I could not imagine a place so vast as this. Do you think we will be able to find such small a thing as a treasure in a land so great?"
Despite his misgivings about Faralon's journal, Timothy assured him that if there were any treasures on Merindi, they would be sure to find them. It was more optimistic than he was willing to be with himself, but it brightened his mood a little to see Aebyn's youthful brightness restored to him.
"How will we find them? There is much ground to cover!" Aebyn said, pawing at the deck. His raptor eyes were aglow with blue light as he scanned the horizon as though he thought he might pluck the promised treasures from the forest in the black of night.
"We have Faralon's journal, and a map. Together, they ought to be enough to help us retrace the wizard's steps," Timothy said.
In the morning he showed Aebyn the map, spreading it out on the captain's table where he and Christopher both had easy access. Aebyn could see by peering over the edge of the table.
He had crammed himself into a corner and could not hope to open his wings in the cramped confines. Timothy was not certain how big Aebyn might get, but he felt the lighthound had gained a few inches since his arrival on the Stormbreaker. He was already well past the size of even the larger breeds of dogs and was soon to surpass even the noble lion that the bulk of his frame seemed based on.
Over the contours of the island, the map bore the title 'Isla Merindi, The Island of Mercy'. Nothnor was the only city to speak of, with a dozen or so smaller settlements and townships marked along mostly the southern coast. A few more intrepid pioneers had crossed the island in its entirety and made their own little marks along the northeastern shore. The interior was largely devoid of settlements except in the most literal sense, where the mountains were marked to indicate passageways down into the depths of a dwarven kingdom. Much of the rest of the landmass was claimed by the forces of nature, which were not at all docile if the many warnings on the map were to be heeded. Where otherwise a town, farm, or plantation might have been established, the map bore only the names of forests and moors and vague promises of violent death.
"Lot of friendly critters around," Timothy said, putting words to what the others were both thinking. "Did you know it meant mercy?" he asked, looking up at Christopher.
Christopher simply shrugged. "Most of the Lost Islands have names like that. There's Glory, of course, and Valor. I forget what Isla Degrindlis means..." and then he trailed off, trying to remember his grade school lessons on the islands.
"But how do we know if the map is any good?" Aebyn asked, scrutinizing it with a distrustful eye.
On the corner of the parchment a red wax seal bore a simplified version of the royal seal of the Kingdom of Deshym, the silhouette of a gryphon rampant, framed by a sword and staff.
"That's the royal seal," Timothy explained, pointing to it. "It means the map has been approved by a royal cartographer, out of the library in Cahen."
Of course, there was no way to be certain the seal itself were not false, but a place so out of the way as Merindi was not a place likely to see such forgeries. Those would be reserved for the main shipping lanes, where maps moved around so quickly that a cartographer might unload a few forgeries in a week without attracting any attention. Even those were usually good enough to navigate by, they simply had avoided the tax on paper goods.
"Perhaps I could see about it?" Aebyn suggested as he hemmed and hawed over the map. Finally he announced his intent to survey the island himself that very day, that he might make any needed corrections to the map before the expedition should begin.
"No, no not at all, it is out of the question," Christopher jumped in, cutting off Timothy's own misgivings before he had gotten a single syllable clear of his tongue.
"But why not?" Aebyn demanded. "I shall fly the coast of the island, and bring you back my report. It is as simple as that. I am an able flier and it is not fitting that the crew ought to venture into the unknown interior based on the word of some nicely dressed man sitting in a library dozens of shards away."
"It will attract attention is why not," Christopher rebutted. "It is in our best interests not to alarm anyone or to make anyone think we are here for anything but business transactions in the port."
"I should hardly think that me taking an afternoon flight would be alarming to anyone, or arouse suspicions," Aebyn protested. He shifted side to side, abortive attempts to open his wings stymied by the cramped confines of the captain's dining room. "Besides, if I do not go for a flight, I will have to accompany Timothy into town, and surely that will garner much more attention than a little exercise. Will it not?"
Christopher looked to Timothy, quietly pleading him to bring Aebyn in line. Timothy shrugged back at him helplessly. The gryphon's arguments were unassailable, and he could of course not be confined to the cargo hold for the whole of the ship's visit to Pendric Shard. With that it was settled and Timothy waved from the deck as Aebyn bounded twice toward the rail and leapt over it with feline grace. His wings flared open as he dove out of sight and then returned a hundred feet or so off the starboard side of the ship, his foretalons tucked against his belly and his feather-tipped tail trailing behind him, letting him steer as though it were a rudder. He disappeared into the distance quickly, shrinking to the size of a housecat before vanishing entirely.
Nothnor went on without Samuel Raimes. Coaches rumbled by Timothy without notice. Without Aebyn at his side, no one paid particular attention to him beyond that which an unfamiliar face in a smaller city might merit. Much of the supplies for the journey inland could be borrowed from the ship's own stores, but these would need to be replenished before the ship got underway again. That responsibility fell to the quartermaster. Timothy was tasked with gathering information and tools that were unlikely to be useful in the normal course of a ship's duties, and therefore unacceptable to be delegated to the quartermaster. With the matter of a map already well in hand, much of the rest of the list could be placed on order at the local outfitter.
By midday, Timothy had found a respectable man of middling years and entrusted him with the funds to procure all that might be needed for an extended expedition into the island's interior. The story about meeting with the dwarves was taken at face value and few questions were asked. It seemed business was slow and so cordiality without prying was the method of the day, continuing until the shopping was finished and Timothy found time to stop at a pub for a late lunch. A half-sovereign bought him a sizable lump of bread, a slice of cured ham, and a bit of sharp cheddar that mixed well with the bread and beer.
Chapter 6
The Alchemist
Abandoned Alchemy Lab, Pendric Shard
Just as every apprentice blacksmith begins by making nails, every would-be alchemist must master the art of brewing crystal water.
A Treatise on Alchemy, page 17
Emberstones burned with a cheerful and steady warmth on little tin plates. Above each, crystal water bubbled away its impurities. Sapphire checked on the beakers every few minutes, looking up from the centuries-old book she was reading to ensure that the bubbling solution was still clear as fine glass.
Nicholas Carrol's treatise on alchemy was a dry read, rife with figures and long passages on their use, but Sapphire was able to digest much of it. The book was printed on alchemist's paper and felt waxy to the touch. It had been treated to withstand the years and the harsh vapors it might be exposed to on a regular basis. The book was one of the very few that had endured the centuries since the lab had been left to the mercy of the elements.
"We could have brought Ruby," Dawn said from by the window. He peered out through the dusty pane at the surrounding forest. Twice he reached his paw up to rub the dust away, only to reach uselessly through the glass. After the third, Sapphire got up from her book and cleaned it for him.
"She would be just as bored as you are," Sapphire answered in disinterest. She returned to her book, scribbling a few observations on its contents into her own journal.
When she didn't comment on it any further, Dawn pressed the issue. "I just don't like the idea of you out here all alone," he said, looking worried.
Sapphire looked up at him. "Dawn, I am hardly alone. Particularly with you popping in just to watch me read for hours. Shouldn't you be resting?"
Dawn avoided her look and instead returned to the window. "I'm just saying, if something happened..."
"Nothing will happen," Sapphire answered. "But, if it makes you happy, I will have to go back into Nothnor in a few days, and when I get there I will ask her if she would like to come back with me. I've had a few days to look around and I don't see that she could get herself into much trouble."
Dawn brightened to this suggestion and promised straightaway to take a much needed rest. He started to curl up on the ground.
"In the bed," Sapphire demanded. She was not about to have him sleeping on the platform among all the crystals and runes required to broadcast his image into her amulet. Not when a per
fectly suitable bed of cotton and wool blankets was right down the hall. Dawn grinned sheepishly as he faded away.
After he was gone, Sapphire fetched a mortar and pestle from the storeroom. She selected several herbs from one of her satchels and mixed them together, grinding the leaves until the juices had been crushed out of them. Measured out, there was just enough for each of the three boiling beakers with only a few drops to spare. The droplets sank into the crystal water, leaving a column of oily residue behind until Sapphire stirred them in with a thin glass rod. The potions, when finished, would serve as preservative vessels for rare herbs that Carrol's book promised could be found in Merindi's high mountain range. The potions would ensure the herbs were fresh as though just harvested when it came time to use them.
The work was nearly complete when her ear pricked to the snap crunch of a boot on the path outside. Voices. Sapphire had only seconds. She swept the emberstones aside, blowing them out like ordinary candles. She ducked into one of the bottom cabinets, clutching Carrol's book tight against her chest. It could very well contain the remedy for all that ailed Dawn, and she would not let it out of her sight. She would not.
Her heart raced in her chest. Blood thundered through her ears. The lab door opened slowly with a creak. She couldn't see the beakers. Were they still bubbling? Removed from the emberstones they might continue to do so for half a minute, crystal-water gave up its heat easily. Through the crack in the door a thin shaft of light fell across her eye. She peered out through the gap, careful not to bump the door with the curve of her muzzle.
Just go away...
* * *
Squirrels and field mice scattered as Aebyn descended into the courtyard. Lush vines had crawled up the facility walls and curled across the the roof as though the tendrilous plants had some ambition of pulling the stout stone walls back into the earth they were once hewn from. Aebyn wondered how great a treasure such a place could possibly hold, being so small. A cracked and warped door barely clung to its rusty hinges. Above it an inscription read 'Forrander University Alchemical Studies' in bold letters that had somehow stood against centuries of wind and rain.