“The coast bends to the east after a day’s swim as eared seals measure distances; it’s about forty sea-miles according to your way of telling distance, I believe ... and then swings sharply to the north again. The shore rises into towering cliffs for as far as anyone here has traveled. Even the birds know little of the inland area there. Evidently it’s some kind of desolation.”
“I thought you walruses went far north to ... er ... mate,” Marbleheart asked. “You don’t know what the land is like?”
“Actually, we go south to Stormy Strait, then west a bit to enter Warm Seas, then north to the cold waters off Everfrost to mate. None of us has ever gone very far north in the Ebony; few creatures from North Ebony ever come this far south. I’ve got a number of wives asking farther a-Sea, however. I’ll let you know as soon as more information comes to my ears.”
“I deeply appreciate all your help,” Douglas told him. “I’m afraid the fighting here destroyed your pleasant beach. If you wish, I can attempt to restore it as it was yesterday.”
“Thank you for your most gracious offer, Wizard,” replied the walrus rather formally, “but I’ve already got scouts looking about for a new bit of comfortable, quiet, peaceful waterfront for the rest of the season. We usually move from place to place anyway, so as not to deplete the local fishing. It’s no problem, believe me.”
“Well, if there’s ever anything you need in the way of Wizardly assistance,” Douglas said with a pleased smile, “call on me, please! And tell all your clan how much we appreciated their help here this morning.”
“We were delighted to be of use to the famous Wizard Brightglade,” the Beachmaster announced.
He bid them farewell and slid down the gravelly shore to splash ponderously into the now-calm Ebony, followed by the rest of the saltwater beasts and birds, when each had received thanks on behalf of his own species and kind from the young Fire Wizard.
“What do we do now?” Marbleheart asked his Master.
“Wait for Myrn to return. As good a spot and time as any to give you some much-neglected lessons in Basic Pyromancy,” Douglas said soberly.
The Sea Otter groaned at the thought of lessons, especially so close to the clear, cool waters of the Ebony, which invited a long, luxurious swim and perhaps would yield some tasty shellfish or shorefood snacks.
However, since he really was eager to add to his store of spells and useful enchantments, his groan was just for dramatic effect.
“Let’s start with this business of quick transformations into monkeys and birds and back,” Douglas began, settling himself against a cushion of soft white sand. “Why did you shed the handy form of a monkey coming down the mountain? And later abandon that of a swift as soon as you safely could, once you’d escaped the mountainside?”
“I-I-I was uncomfortable as a bird,” admitted the Sea Otter, stretching himself out full length on the warm sand and blinking at his Master. “And as a monkey, too, although that was better than the bird. I’d rather pop around as an Otter, when I can.”
“It could’ve been dangerous, and certainly took precious time and energy,” Douglas admonished. “Tell me—what was so wrong with being a bird? A very beautiful and graceful little bird, the swift, I’ve always thought.”
“Well...,” Marbleheart said slowly. “It seemed to be... well, uncomfortable. I’d never flown so far or so high or so fast, you know.”
“A touch of aerophobia, perhaps?” Douglas wondered.
“Aero... what? Oh, come on, Douglas! Use words a poor, stupid, unschooled Briny-born Sea Otter can understand!”
Douglas laughed aloud.
The Otter looked uncomfortable, but down on the beach the walrus clan began to sing a rumbling, shuffling kind of triumphal song in honor of the defeat of the Servant of Darkness ... although before that exciting morning they’d had no idea such a Being existed.
The day flew pleasantly by, and as the sun backlit the mountains toward early evening, a bright star flashed over their crest, curved down, and came to rest beside their campfire.
“I’m ready to chase all sorts of phantasmagoria,” Myrn announced, smiling as brilliantly as glowed the pearl necklace which had brought her. “My wonderful, handsome husband! Serenit is safe with Harroun and Saladim. They took to each other at once. Where’s the flying horse?”
“She went off to find her family and folk. Not a sign nor word yet,” Marbleheart told her, allowing her to ruffle the soft fur at the nape of his neck as soon as she had kissed and hugged Douglas. “King Priad seems to have gone missing.”
“Well, their home is on the far side of the Ebony,” Myrn considered. “It’s not very wide, is it?”
“They’ll be along,” Douglas assured her. “Meanwhile, here’s a nice hot supper from Blue Teakettle and a comfortable place to spend the night before we start out after the Darkness Servant again.”
“No word from home?” Myrn asked once they had eaten Blue Teakettle’s supper by the light of the fire on top of the sand dune overlooking the rolling Ebony swells.
“No,” admitted Douglas. “But I’m sure Flarman and the rest are keeping an eye on us from afar. When they’ve something to contribute, they’ll send word by Deka the Wraith.”
Myrn settled down comfortably into the crook of her husband’s left arm, laying her dark head on his broad shoulder contentedly. She seemed quite pleased with him, with herself, with life in general.
“I do prefer this to life in the Sultan’s hareem,’’ she murmured sleepily. “It surprises me there are no fishermen here on the Ebony. I saw all sorts of signs of fish offshore when I flew in just now.”
“It’s something you might mention to Sultan Trobuk when we see him next,” Douglas said. “There’re a lot of wandering tribes on High Desert. Fishing might be the answer to their need. As a rule they’re quite poor in material things and life can be chancy, I suspect.”
“Very poor, but a proud, fiercely independent people.” Myrn nodded. “Hmmm! They just might take to commercial fishing. Many of those I met would have liked to settle down to farming ... or said they would,” Myrn said, yawning, “if their desert weren’t so dry. Which is a shame, for I know there’s plenty of good water not far below the sand, Douglas.”
Her husband gave her an understanding hug but said nothing.
“Sleep’s not far beneath my eyelids! Do we sleep here in the open, beloved, or do you think a tent would be more comfortable?”
Douglas disentangled himself from her, fished out his best handkerchief, laid it on the ground on a flat, sheltered spot just over the dune-top from the winds, and spelled it to become a large, comfortable pavilion complete with a big, soft bed, a dressing table with a mirror, many lanterns on stands all about, and a double wardrobe.
When he turned from this task back to his wife, he found she was sound asleep, snuggled into the warm sand, smiling contentedly.
At dawn Douglas woke to the sounds of laughing and splashing. When he pushed aside the tent flap to admit the fresh breezes of an Ebony coast morning, he learned the commotion came from a delighted Sea Otter, twelve young harbor seals, a crowd of their parents, and Beachmaster’s entire clan.
Marbleheart was teaching the seal pups to play water polo using a large, round, green sponge he’d plucked from the sandy bottom offshore.
The young seals were raucous, eager competitors and the spectators, including a vast circling flock of birds, laughed, cheered, and clapped whatever parts of their anatomy served best for applause.
Myrn, looking sleepily beautiful, came from their tent and Douglas led her down to swim out to watch the game and join in the cheering.
“Blue Team!” screamed the Otter. “Offside! Toss up! Toss up! C’mon, Blue Team! Jump ball! Wheet—tweet! Way to go, Red Team! Shoot! Shoot!”
The seal pups plunged recklessly through the waves, flipping the sponge ball from player to player, crying out excitedly and laughing with pure joy.
Marbleheart, seeing his Master and Mistress, swam
over and bid them good morning.
“They’re absolute naturals!” He laughed. “Learned the game in no time flat!”
“You’ve probably started a new craze on the Ebony,” Myrn cried gleefully. “You’ll have to teach someone else to be their referee, however. We should set off after the Dark Servant, don’t you think, Douglas?”
“We can’t wait any longer for Indra,” Douglas decided. “We’ll leave a message with Beachmaster for her to follow us.”
He waved to the Walrus leader. When the great beast swam easily to his side, Douglas asked him for any news from his scouts.
“Last they said, well after midnight,” the huge walrus reported, “they lost track of our Being where the ocean coast turns to the north. Headed inland, they think.”
“We’ll start there, then,” decided Douglas. “He would not have gone far in daylight yesterday but would have moved at night. I’ve some charms that’ll help us, once we’ve picked up his trail.”
Within an hour the Wizards were off, mounted on the Dragon’s broad back, accompanied by Marbleheart Sea Otter and Cribblon, who’d returned from Harroun’s house in his normal shape, at last.
Skimming along fifty feet above the turbulent surf at moderate speed, they came less than an hour to where the coast turned sharply eastward.
“We’ll drop down here,” the Pyromancer directed Lesser, pointing at a high basalt headland they were approaching. “Check for signs and consult some spells.”
“The Servant has been here.” Marbleheart sniffed. “Smell his nasty fuming!”
Douglas and Myrn huddled over their spelling for a few minutes on the top of the headland while the Otter, the Dragon, and Cribblon walked off a few hundred paces, “Feeling the air,” as Cribblon put it in professional terms.
When they returned to the Brightglades, they found Douglas looking a bit mystified and Myrn shaking her head in a worried fashion.
“The signs are both clear and confusing,” Douglas told them. “What did you see?”
“Smelled, mostly,” Cribblon replied.
“Our quarry was here late yesterday,” said Lesser, “and he moved off northwest, leaving the coast behind him. Or so I surmise from what few signs still remain. He has taken steps to obscure his route.”
Douglas nodded and then shook his head.
“We can’t be very specific, either,” Myrn said. “We’ll just have to proceed by eyesight—and smell—for now. The Servant has managed to addle our usual Seeking Spells, I’m afraid.”
“It’d take us hours, maybe days, to clear the air of his countermagic,” agreed Cribblon.
“As long as we can smell,” Marbleheart insisted somewhat impatiently, “we’ll know we’re on the right track.”
“Smelling never was a problem with you, Otter,” Douglas teased.
“Unless he’s wise enough to stop to bathe,” Cribblon speculated, not indicating whether he meant the Servant or the Otter by this.
“He’s no amateur at obscuring his path, I suspect,” sniffed Marbleheart, making a face at the Air Adept.
“ ‘Simple is best,’ however,” Myrn maintained, quoting Augurian. “Let’s see if we can find anyone who can tell us of his passing or about the land to the north. I’d think the Servant would have a definite destination in mind, wouldn’t you?”
“Let’s hope so.” Douglas sighed. “We’ll go on foot, for now. Unless you can track the smell of his smoke while flying, Lesser?”
“Not too well,” the Dragon admitted. “Too much depends on unpredictable winds aloft and sudden updrafts and the local humidity. You’ll be much surer on the ground, Douglas. Dragon noses are not very good at smells.”
“It’s just their breath that smells,” Marbleheart said, poking the Dragon playfully. “Well, I’ll lead the way!”
“You’re the expert at smelling! Let’s go then,” cried the Pyromancer. “Cribblon, keep an expert eye on the weather and the sky, too, please. Other than the smell of nasty fuming, the sight of smoke rising or fog blowing ...”
“I understand, Douglas,” replied the Aeromancer.
“And I’ll watch for local creatures,” Myrn decided. “Someone will have noticed the Servant passing this way, I’d think.”
“That leaves me to be rear guard, then,” decided Douglas. “I’ll call Deka and send word homeward. Just in case. The Darkness, even just its Servant, is nothing to take lightly.”
“Well spoken!” agreed the Sea Otter, and he set off at an easy lope, nose swinging from side-to-side, eyes bright for the hunt, for he was very good at this kind of tracking.
The huge Dragon mounted into the hot air and climbed until he was a mere dot against the metallic blue of the sky.
Cribblon paced solemnly a few yards behind the Sea Otter, letting his eyes and his sharp Aeromantic senses of smell and taste range to all sides, but especially ahead, watching the horizon for telltale signs of air movement, unusual clouds, or suspicious patches of darkness.
Myrn walked beside her husband silently, stopping now and then to bespeak creatures living hidden in the jumbled, rocky land. These were few and far between, and all were either reluctant to speak or ignorant of the passing of the Servant.
Douglas Brightglade thoughtfully considered the wording of his message to Wizards’ High. If he urged Flarman and the others to come at once, they could not arrive much before late the following day. Instantaneous travel was well-nigh impossible by all the laws and powers of even the strongest Wizardry.
To await them here would be to risk losing the faint traces of the Being they followed. The acrid odor of the Servant was growing fainter by the hour as the hot sun blasted and moiled the air. They had to go on or lose it altogether.
By this time tomorrow it might be too late, Douglas thought .. .but on the other hand, if Flarman and the others were to arrive tomorrow, they ‘d add greater experience to the search, even though the trail has become cold.
In the end, he composed this terse note:
“Magisters, all—
Myrn has rescued Serenit and placed him in safety with a good friend. We are pursuing the Servant of Darkness, who was Serenit’s kidnapper. He (she? it?) flees to the north into the unknown land northwest of Samarca.
We will follow until we close with the Servant and seek means to render him powerless. Any advice you can give on this would be greatly appreciated!
If I knew what landmarks lay ahead in this empty land I would suggest a rendezvous with you, but we are all but completely in the dark. Full Wizard or not, at times I greatly realize my lack of experience. Do what you decide is best for all.
Love to all from Myrn and myself, Cribblon, Marbleheart, Princess Indra of Tereniget, whom you’ll remember as the flying horse Nameless, and Lesser Dragon, who has kindly joined our traveling troop.”
He scribbled the message on a rather dog-eared notepad he found, after some rummaging, deep in his right sleeve. As it was now after midday, he called to Marbleheart to find a cool and shady spot for rest and lunch.
The Sea Otter chose a clump of upright, tree-tall cactuses in the narrow midday shadow of a butte. It was extremely hot in the sun but dry, with only the faintest trace of the fleeing Servant’s odor still hanging in the air.
Douglas summoned Deka the Wraith while Myrn arranged for lunch. Deka and the lunch basket appeared at the same moment. The basket was gaily bedecked with a checkered tablecloth of red and white, but the Wraith seemed uneasy and rather faint, even in the deepest shade under the butte.
“Greetings, Wizard Brightglade, Journeyman Brightglade, gentlemen,” she whispered. “You certainly find the worst kinds of places to visit, if I may say so. How may I serve you?”
“Deka, dear old friend,” sympathized the Otter. “Sit by me here near the fire and well out of the sun. Share a bit of shade and lunch with us.”
“A pleasure! Desert sunlight is very hard on such as I,” said the astral being, blinking even in the reflected glare. She sat with the Otter in the wide
pool of shadow the Dragon cast.
“I’ve a message for Flarman,” Douglas told her. “I assume everybody’s still at the High?”
“As of a few minutes ago, yes,” Deka told him. “Some miscytwine? Of course! A dry place you’ve come to, Myrn! A few of those cool, blue grapes would be nice, too. Thank you!”
They sat in the deepest shade to eat. Only now, looking about themselves, they saw the empty wilderness was not as ugly as they had at first thought. On every hand wind-etched rocks formed strange but rather pleasing shapes: columns, tables, spires, and even full arches.
Bright little red flowers graced the tips of whiplike cactus bracts, sending pleasant scents into the desert air. The shade felt surprisingly cool after the full sun in which they’d walked all morning.
Myrn busied herself fashioning a parasol from the tablecloth, and then made one for Cribblon and another for her husband. Marbleheart shook his head. He needed all four feet for walking.
“I think I’m getting used to these dry places,” he remarked to Deka. “Not that I’ll ever really come to enjoy them.”
“Personally,” answered the Wraith, sipping her third glass of the tangy lemonade, “it must be quite nice here ... at night. The Day Star comes as close to being downright painful here as anything in my experience. But I prefer—quite enjoy—still, warm, deeply shadowed places like this at night.”
Douglas read his note aloud to her. She would memorize and deliver his words to Flarman.
“You say,” she said, rising to depart, “that you are unfamiliar with the land to the north of here?”
“Never been there or read anything of it! Empty wasteland, I gather?” Douglas replied.
“Well... perhaps,” said Deka, beginning to waver in the bright light of the sun reflected from the rocks behind them. “It was once a very powerful kingdom of Men. Sandrovia, it was called by its warlike inhabitants.”
“Do you know anything else of it? We need information, Deka!” Douglas called as she faded almost entirely away.
Her voice came as if from a great distance. “Sandrovia. Kingdom of the Sandrones. A full fifty thousand of your short years ago, Douglas Brightglade, they killed each other off. Their great city is a ruin, north of here a day or so at your present pace. You can’t miss it!”
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