“I’ll take the rudder,” shouted Tyler over the pounding waves, “see if you can bail out some of the water.”
“They are going to sink,” Ilanthia groaned in frustration, looking up at the woman by her side.
“We cannot help them,” said Eona, “neither of us has the power needed to calm the sea.” “He is in danger because of my daughter, had she not sought his help he would be safe now on dry land. Can we use the transference beam?” “There wouldn’t be enough power in the cells to raise that craft. Even if we just concentrated it to save the boy and the old man, we can’t guarantee it would dematerialise them safely. When you returned your daughter to Ikasar, three of the main circuits burnt out, they’ve been repaired, but it has yet to be tested.”
“There must be a way,” said Ilanthia resolutely, turning away from the viewer. Eona considered for a moment, her reptilian eyes flickering up in agitation. “One of the prisoners in the cells before we crashed is a sea creature, who can breathe air for a short time. That is how he was able to survive when his tank burst on landing. I know he swore with some of the others not to harm the inhabitants of this planet. If we concentrated our thoughts, we might be able to reach him and ask him to help us save the craft. We are not too far from the sea and he’s bound to have headed for a large body of water like that, a pond would not contain him.” “Anything is worth a try,” said Ilanthia, a worried frown lining her brow. Their foreheads touched, perfect skin against the silkiness of scales, they inhaled each other’s breath, pushed out their minds and together they called upon the sea creature, Ceranius. “Who calls my name?” a booming voice echoed in the confines of the chamber. “Great Lord of the sea, we are truly sorry for disturbing you, but we are concerned for the welfare of an old man and a boy, whose craft will flounder in stormy seas if you will not help them.” “By my gills, Ilanthia, I never thought I would hear your thoughts after all this time. ‘Great Lord of the Sea’, is it now,” mocked Ceranius. “And you, Eona, my little snake, I thought you would have crawled off the ship to slough your skin and start a new life in these alien surroundings. Now, why have you woken me, what is it you need from your old prisoner?” “The boy goes to aid my daughter, she summoned him and put him in this danger, should he die then she may fail in her task and her life could be in danger too. Please, Ceranius, can you help us?”
“I’m not sure I have the time,” he deliberately drew out the silence, increasing Ilanthia’s agony. “But I’ll make time, as it’s you who’s asking. Although you abducted me from my own world, you were not an unkind jailer. This New World is much like my own, the oceans are deep and well stocked, and there is much to do. I will try and calm the stretch of water they sail.”
The strain of holding onto the rudder, whilst trying to breathe through the constant mouthfuls of sea water, was exhausting Tyler. As he backhanded the spray out of his eyes, trying to see the way ahead, he realised that the old man too, was near to collapse. Then, as suddenly as the tempest had sprung up, calm was upon them. The sea levelled out and the gale force wind, which had cruelly buffeted them, was still. For a moment, Tyler believed they were in the eye of the storm, but when he saw calm seas stretching away to the horizon, he released his grip on the tiller and knelt beside the old man upon the foam-covered boards of his boat.
“Leave the bailing and rest at the rear of the boat,” said Tyler, helping the old man to his feet. “I will finish this.” For the next hour, Tyler bailed out the water until only a few inches slopped around on the planking. But when he looked at the sail, he saw it hanging limp against the mast, not the slightest of breeze ruffled the canvas.
“We might have survived the storm,” said Tyler, “but there is equal danger in a becalmed sea. If we float idly here for too long, the merchant ship will escape us.”
Ceranius considered the insubstantial craft bobbing upon his new domain and smiled. He was too distant for either Tyler or the old man to see, but he could keep watch over the two people on board with clarity, just as though he were clinging onto the stern. He heard the younger man speak the name of the girl he was following, and the disastrous outcome if he failed in his quest. He inhaled through his gills and blew gently towards the small craft. As the sails began to flutter, Tyler took over the rudder and directed the craft towards where his mind told him Nemeila travelled. Ceranius huffed harder, his scaly cheeks expanding with the effort, and filled the sail to capacity, watching in triumph as the Missy-Jess suddenly took speed across the surface of his world.
‘Ilanthia was right in asking my help for her daughter,’ he mused. ‘If this boy is to be her saviour, then only I can help him.’
Unseen by human eyes, Ceranius continued to supply the wind for their sail, enjoying the distraction from a life grown a little tedious. Lying about on the ocean floor was preferable to being in a prison cell, but chasing and tormenting fish he could easily catch was boring… and then there were the sharks, which were a different and somewhat unpleasant matter.
“At this rate, we will soon see the ship we are after,” said Tyler, shouting against the wind to be heard.
“See, I told you what a good craft she was, didn’t I,” Ned yelled back. His weatherworn face creased into a satisfied smile.
Later that day, as dusk began to fall, they caught sight of the stern of the merchant ship in the distance. Tyler guided the Missy-Jess alongside her, and the small craft dwarfed in its shadows. There was no need to hail those on board, for the Watch had tracked their progress. Nemeila stood at the rail and waved to them, a worried frown screwing up her forehead at the possible danger of the Missy-Jess being crushed. Sailors lowered a boarding net, and as Ned manoeuvred their craft close enough, Tyler jumped and grabbed hold of the coarse rope. Clinging precariously for a moment, his legs banging against the ship’s hull, he steadied himself and began climbing. He had barely set both feet on the deck, when Nemeila grabbed him to her in an affectionate and relieved embrace.
“I prayed you would pick up and understand what I was trying to put in your mind,” she said, as she stepped away from him to look into his face. “It is so good to see you, but I had hoped you might find a somewhat larger boat.” She glanced disparagingly at the tiny craft bumping against the larger ship.
“It got us here didn’t it, and I hope it will take us home just as quickly,” said Tyler, sounding slightly irritated at having to jump to the Missy-Jess’ defence. “Have you got all your things ready to travel?”
“There are only my change of boots, dress and the casket,” she replied. “I am ready, if you are willing and able to take me.”
The captain had come up behind them, and peering over the rail, wondered in amazement how such a fragile craft had managed to catch them. “This is your young man, is it?” he asked, grasping Tyler’s hand in a hearty, bone-crushing shake.
“Well, he’s not my young man, but he’s the one I was telling you about,” answered a blushing Nemeila, and hastily changed the subject. “Would you have your men lower my belongings please, so I can take my leave of you and return to Kallopia.”
“Rather you than me in such a small craft,” the captain echoed Nemeila’s feelings in the matter. “Do you have water and provisions for the return journey?” he enquired, solicitously.
“If you have a spare barrel of water, we would be obliged,” said Tyler, “one went over the side during a storm we encountered.”
The captain motioned to one of his men to fetch a spare barrel. It was lowered along with Nemeila’s belongings to Ned’s waiting hands below. Tyler climbed down first, and once safely balanced on the thwart he helped Nemeila on board. Nemeila waved goodbye as Ned pushed his boat away from the merchant’s side, and as it pulled away to become a speck on the horizon, they began to chart their way home.
The sun was very low in the darkening sky, when the Missy-Jess puttered into port. The other fishing boats had already returned from the day’s trawling and the men were drying and mending their nets on the quayside. They c
eased their tasks and stood in amazement, as Nemeila stepped over the thwart onto the steps leading up to the quay. As Ned hauled his exhausted body behind her, the fishermen cheered him. “We didn’t expect to see you again, old friend,” grinned one of the men, “let alone with the girl. How by the Gods did your craft catch up to a merchant ship on full sail?”
“I’ve been at sea since before most of you were born,” snapped Ned. “My Missy-Jess has a greater age than most of you an’ all, and she’s still a good little boat, even though she might not be painted up as pretty as the ones you own. The boy here’s a good navigator and a worthy mate, something you might do well to learn if you are to survive out there in conditions like we faced.”
“Let us buy you a drink,” said Nemeila trying to calm Ned down, “and give me the honour of taking the hand of the bravest, kindest man I know.”
She had seen how the hands of the man who had risked his life for her, a stranger, were gnarled and discoloured with arthritis and watched how he had worked in great pain without complaint during their voyage. As she took his hand to thank Ned, she drew upon the power of the amulet and her own strength, and as the amulet grew warm in response to her will, she channelled its force into Ned’s twisted fingers.
The following morning his granddaughter first noticed that the grotesque lumps on his finger joints had disappeared. Ned examined his hands and carefully, anticipating great pain, he closed his fingers to make a fist: the expected agony never materialised. His hands were usable again: he could sail, fish, and mend his torn nets; even give the Missy-Jess a new coat of paint. Most importantly, it meant he could earn enough to keep his granddaughter and himself in food and clothes and they wouldn’t lose the roof over their heads. It was a miracle, just when he had given up believing in them.
Chapter 13
Death Rides in Tainted Armour
As the castle fell behind, the blowfly buzzed to safety. But life was never that easy, especially if you were small and vulnerable. Having had a near miss with a spider’s web before managing to struggle free, Tobyn found, as night began to fall, other airborne creatures considered moths and flies somewhat of a delicacy. Bats! Small creatures who were silent in flight, their inbuilt radar deadly accurate in locating their prey. He landed on a fallen log and immediately metamorphosed back into human form; the bat that was chasing him suddenly lost interest and soared back up into the darkening twilight. Not quick enough though to escape Tobyn’s wrath. Curling his lip he cast a charm at the creature and as it starburst between the branches of the trees the bat was no more. “Humph! That’ll teach you, you little parasite,” he said to flash of light, as he straightened his robe. Steadying himself against the log, he began cursing his luck, disbelief that such a young girl could have beaten him festered in his mind. His furious mood did not subside when he realised he was isolated in an unfriendly and deserted landscape. He needed transport and a change of identity if he were to finish what he had started back at the castle. Changing into a form the bats would no longer view as a prospective meal a coal-black raven soared high into the clouds. It wasn’t long before he spied a lone farmhouse with a good spread of land surrounding it, and from what he could see, stables at the far side of the cottage. He had no money for bargaining and he knew the owner would not give him a horse out of goodwill, the situation called for drastic measures. He perched on a length of wire that separated two fields and made sure he was alone before disposing of his feathers. As a young fair-haired youth now, he made his way towards the farmhouse. His knock brought the grumbling owner to the door.
“You have a fine gelding in your stables,” he smiled, “I would like to own him.”
“Not for sale,” insisted the man. “Now go away, I’m having my dinner.”
“That is a shame,” said Tobyn, losing the smile, “for without a horse, my journey will be a tiring and troublesome one.”
“I am very sorry to hear it, but about three leagues to the north-east is another farmer, perhaps he might be able to help you.”
“But I like your horse and I am here, I can see no purpose in walking when in fact I could ride. I have no money to purchase the animal, but you will let me have him. Won’t you?”
This conversation had gone far enough, thought the man. “Now be off before I knock you down. The horse is not for sale. That is the end of it.” He tried to slam the door shut, but Tobyn’s foot appeared in the way as if by magic, and he seemed to feel no pain as it was caught in the jam.
“If you are going to be pigheaded about it,” said Tobyn, “perhaps you might like your appearance to match your mood.”
He raised his hands before him and his twining fingers began to conjure the spell he needed. The man began to shout as he tried to kick Tobyn’s foot clear of the door, but the shouts changed to a loud squeal, just as his nose flattened into a snout and his ears grew in size until they stuck out from the sides of his head. His body shrunk in size, as he dropped to all fours, trotters poked out of his leather moccasins. The man was no more. “You are lucky I’m not hungry,” mocked Tobyn, laughing, as the snorting animal shambled back into the cottage, “roast pig is something of a delicacy, so I am told.”
There were over eighty men laughing and joking in the glade. Some were mock sword fighting, others drinking, and dreaming of the women they’d left behind. Not far from where they rested, five ships bobbed at anchor a little way from the shoreline, in the calmer waters of the bay. It was quiet, apart from the noise made by the men fooling around, and if anyone had noticed them, they would have believed them to be ordinary seamen taking a well-earned break in their journey for a brief period of shore leave. But a closer look would have revealed a mound of weapons stacked at the heart of the camp; swords, axes, bows and arrows, the tips and blades of which were stained red from their previous murderous activities. Their boisterous cavorting ceased as a lone rider approached them. He was riding a chestnut gelding, sitting tall in the saddle, slim with long fair hair that fell around his shoulders. The men scrambled to their feet in silence as he came closer, amazed that a stranger would dare ride into their camp. Drawing his horse to a halt, the rider dismounted, showing no apprehension or fear of the men who surrounded him. “Who is your leader?” he calmly enquired of the man closest to him. A burly red-faced man of about forty pushed his way to the front. “I am,” he growled, “the name is Cleaver, but who wants to know?”
“I am Aurek, and I challenge you to the right of leadership,” answered the stranger.
“Challenge? The leadership is not up for challenge, especially not by a mere snot-nosed boy. What would such a wet behind the ears whelp like you know of leading a group such as this?”
“Oh, let me see now… I know that you have plundered many villages killing and raping as the mood takes you, and that your spoils have been placed in those vessels anchored off shore. It’s up to you. You can either ride at my side as my first in command or die, here, where you stand.”
“Brave words, young puppy,” the man guffawed, slapping his shoulder, “you don’t even look strong enough to wield a dinner knife, let alone a sword or axe.”
The men all relaxed, grinning at each other. This was going to be fun.
“Then if you think I will be the one to die as you defend your title,” said Aurek, with a sly grin, “choose your weapon and I will match it. But be warned, if you fight me, I will kill you.”
Cleaver gave a hearty laugh. “Well, it’s been a boring day, so I might as well have a few laughs. Broadswords then for me,” he said, “but I doubt you are strong enough to lift one. There are a number of weapons stacked over there, choose whichever one you want.” He shrugged and turned away to enjoy the joke with his men.
Aurek strode to the weapons cache and chose the largest sword. It had been well crafted with a jewel embedded in its pommel, the blade chased with an intricate pattern along its length. He held the sword one-handed and slashed the air before him, before tossing it high in the air and catching it easily wit
h his other hand.
When Cleaver saw this, he hesitated, unsure of what he had agreed to. But a challenge had been issued and accepted, and he could hardly back down and retain the respect of his men. He snatched up his own blade and stood ready to defend himself.
Aurek stood before him, calm assurance etched on his face. “You can still offer me the leadership as a gift,” he shrugged insolently.
“You want it, you take it,” spat Cleaver. He brought his blade down in an arc that had it hit its target, would have sliced it in two.
“So be it,” said Aurek, stepping back, adopting an aggressive stance.
The men formed a jeering circle around the two swordsmen, excited at the prospect of a gory fight to the death. It seemed that no matter how hard their leader tried, he could not get his blade close enough to bloody his opponent. Aurek, on the other hand seemed to be toying with Cleaver, on several occasions he had stepped aside and either slapped his opponent’s rear with the flat of his blade, or kicked his feet out from under him, humiliating him as he sprawled in the dirt. A clean death is what Aurek had planned and it would have been so, had not the tip of his opponent’s blade caught his cheek. Blood gushed from the smarting wound and trickled down his face; incensed by the pain and salty taste as it found his mouth, Aurek brought his blade down on the man’s wrist; Cleaver’s weapon struck the ground, still gripped by the hand that had wielded it.
“Give him another weapon,” Aurek snarled, as the man stared at the stump in shock and disbelief.
Blood gushed from his wrist as he stabbed it into his armpit to stem the flow. He started to beg for mercy but realised it wouldn’t be forthcoming and took the proffered sword with his left hand. Aurek again sliced downward, this time cleanly removing the man’s sword arm at the shoulder.
The Wolf and the Sorceress Page 21