The truth was that these woods were no longer what they had once been. Now they supported the mouths of Dragonhold, and they had been picked nearly bare. Once there had been black walnuts by the hundreds arranged in circles beneath the trees, but now one or two might remain high among the branches, the grounds clear.
"The farther away we get the better and worse it will get," Strom said, and he knew the truth of those words. The lands were less forgiving to the east, but they shouldn't have been picked clean. The snakes alone were usually enough to keep people away. "Try not to step on any rotting logs."
"That's not even a little funny," Osbourne said, but both had a brief laugh. "While we're talking of memories, I seem to remember a hill with a big tree and some apple trees not far away. You think we could find that place again?"
"We can do that," Strom said, and Osbourne noticed he stood a little taller as he walked. An achievable goal had perhaps given them both a little hope. Perhaps the land was more welcoming now, or maybe they had learned with age to be more careful where they put their feet, but the journey across the swamps was not as unpleasant as it could have been. Rolling hills waited beyond, and the smell of apples was on the wind.
"I think we're getting closer," Osbourne said. He sighed. "I miss them all."
"I know," Strom said. "I'm glad you're here. A pretty lady would be better, but we can't have everything."
"I'd trade you for a sack full of sausages, cheese, and springwine. Or any one of the three in a pinch."
Over the next hill stood a place they both recognized; the mighty tree still presided over the sloping hills, and not far away, another tree cradled a stone as if gripping a mystical orb. The memories were overwhelming. Some made Osbourne want to laugh; others made him want to cry.
"Gather wood," Strom said. "I'm going fishing." In his hand the smith held fishing wire and a hook. They were the only tools they had, and Osbourne was grateful Strom had managed to sneak them out of Dragonhold. He hoped they would not have to live off the land for long, but he knew they could if they were forced to. Strom had sent a message through the Vestrana, seeking a ship, but there was no way to know if that message had ever gotten through to anyone willing or able to pick them up.
The realization they had no home was inescapable. All Osbourne could do was hope.
* * *
Even his memories of the Arghast Desert could not prepare Osbourne for the oppressive heat and searing sunlight. The sand reflected the heat, gradually cooking them. Strom had taken off his shirt, and his skin tanned like leather. Osbourne remained trapped within his long shirt, knowing the sun would boil the skin from his body; his fair skin would never tan like Strom's, and he envied the man.
Much as Wendel and Benjin had done all those years ago, Strom and Osbourne walked the coastline. Bordered on one side by nothing but blue salt water and the Arghast Desert on the other, they suffered from thirst. Here the heat from the sands burned off any moisture in the air, and everything was parched. The sea water was salty and would make a person sick, and they had nothing to help them distill it into potable water.
"We shouldn't go too much further," Osbourne said. "If we don't find water soon, we're going to need to go back to that last stream we found, and it was a long way back."
"Just a ways further," Strom said, just as he had three times before.
Osbourne knew they would eventually go too far and turning back would do no good. The only source of hope was the gathering darkness along the horizon. Rain would give them what they needed so badly. Lightning illuminated the growing clouds, and Osbourne decided he should take care in what he wished for. There was no cover along the shoreline, and he and Strom were the tallest things for some distance.
"What do you think we should do?" Osbourne asked.
"About what?" Strom replied, sounding irritable.
"About that," Osbourne said, pointing to the storm, knowing his friend had been in deep thought. Neither was at their best.
"We should look along the water for shells or anything we can use to hold rainwater," Strom suggested.
"What about shelter from the storm?" Osbourne asked.
Strom just shrugged. "Not much we can do about that."
Together they scoured the beach, searching for shells, but most were small, broken, and not much use. Strom had just found a conical shell the size of his fist when Osbourne saw something he would never have expected. Some kind of cross between a balloon and a ship emerged from the storm clouds, rocking and bucking like a prize bull, and the thing managed to lurch its way toward where Strom and Osbourne stood. The shell slid from Strom's hand as he stood agape.
"Is that who I think it is?" Strom asked.
"Who else could it be?" Osbourne asked in return.
Only Kenward Trell could be responsible for something as audacious as the airship. As she drew closer, they began to see the rough likeness of Kyrien. It was rough but not without charm.
For a moment, Osbourne felt lucky, albeit nervous. The nervous part grew as the ship approached, and Kenward's orders continued to rise in pitch. The winds driving the ship forward whipped across the beach and drove sand before it, stinging skin and eyes. Osbourne did his best to keep his eyes on the approaching ship.
"Be ready to jump aboard," Kenward shouted as the ship descended until she skimmed across the water without ever touching the waves.
When lightning flashed behind the ship, Osbourne could see it through the slats making up the vessel, and he swallowed hard, uncertain he wanted to board this madman's airship. This feeling grew stronger when the ship crashed into the sands behind him and Strom. It was a violent impact, but the ship held together. The wind socks rested on the sand for an instant before the wind filled them. They stretched the ropes tight and dragged the ship sideways across the sand, rapidly approaching where Strom and Osbourne now ran, trying to escape.
"Be ready!" Kenward shouted. "We'll pull you aboard! Just don't get run over by the Serpent. That wouldn't end well for you."
Osbourne looked over his shoulder, wondering if he could outrun the ship, but it was clear he could not. Strom had come to the same conclusion, and both turned at the same time. The ship rushed toward them, and Kenward's crew reached out while holding on for dear life.
"Now! Jump!" Kenward called.
It was too soon, Osbourne thought, but he was glad he jumped when he did. Clipping the rail, he spun in the air and landed firmly atop Kenward, which was only fair. Strom made it aboard much more gracefully, but they were far from safe. Sand built up before the ship, and she was threatening to dig in. Given their speed, it could tear the ship apart. "Get us back in the air," Kenward ordered.
Crewmen moved and shouted, but not much otherwise changed except for the gouts of black smoke filling the air and a whirring sound that grew louder and higher in pitch. The wind bags quite suddenly righted themselves and inflated, and the ship left the sand. It rejoined the sand several times before finally leaving the ground behind.
Kenward ordered a structural check and offered Strom and Osbourne a winning smile. "Welcome aboard the Serpent! If you see any giant dragons chasing us, be sure to let me know."
* * *
Flying aboard the Serpent was an experience Strom would never forget. As a craftsman, almost everything about the ship offended his sensibilities, but it was the only thing between life and death. It was not a good feeling. There were things about the ship he had to admire as well, which helped a little. Though the lashings appeared sloppy, for example, they also flexed, making the ship supple. Given the wood's brittle nature, this design made more and more sense. He still didn't like the deck shifting under his feet or the way the ship flexed and moved, but she flew. He had to give Kenward that point. Without using Istra's power, the Serpent flew.
When he probed deeper into how the ship managed flight, Kenward was guarded. "It's an ancient technology," he admitted. "I'm sworn to secrecy on its exact nature and source, I'm afraid."
"Coal fir
ed," Strom said, sniffing the air. "Steam power and hot air as a by-product. How do you regulate the pressure?"
"Show off," Kenward said, grinning. "Come on. I'll show you."
Strom followed against his better judgment, although to the delight of his curiosity. The deckhouse was as flimsy and haphazard as the rest of the ship. Within waited unbearable heat, a coal pile on one side, and a huge boiler on the other. Men tended the fires, and Strom kept looking for the valves, the pressure releases. He found only one, and there was no gauge or any other way to measure the pressure. It was a nearly sealed system. They were flying on a giant bomb. If it didn't explode, it would likely burst into flames. The mounts holding the boiler in place were surrounded by smoking black wood. An impeller drove a shaft with a leather belt running between it and another. If the belt broke, as belts were wont to do, it could take out the less-than-sturdy boiler mounts.
"Isn't she a beauty?" Kenward asked.
Strom was impressed Kenward had lived as long as he had with such a terrible mental illness. "Your brilliance is only surpassed by your sheer lack of concern for safety."
"Thank you!" Kenward said with his irrepressible grin. "I knew you would see the beauty in her."
In truth, Strom could think of nothing but getting off this flying disaster before it came unglued. "How long until we reach the Firstland?" he asked.
"Not much longer," Kenward said, either blissfully unaware of Strom's misgivings or in complete disregard of them.
Strom suspected the latter. "Perhaps we should land at the beach. Landing within the hold is risky."
"Oh, but it's so much easier," Kenward said. "You'll be able to step right off the ship and into Windhold. That's how we do things here on the Serpent. No long journey's just to board and disembark, no, sir. We come to you and take you directly to where you are going. It's the way of the future, my friend. You just have to see my vision."
Strom was having visions of his own, most of which involved fire and a twisted pile of burning flakewood. Osbourne thought even less of the ship and refused to even walk around the deck. He had remained glued to the deckhouse in spite of the heat, and Strom thought he might have splinters from gripping the planks so tightly.
When the Firstland finally came into view, Strom found himself at a loss for words, despite having seen the Firstland before. No descriptions from fireside tales or books could convey the majesty of the place said to be the cradle of mankind. Osbourne even stood to get a better view, though he remained stuck to the deckhouse. Mountains reached for the sky and pierced the clouds, a natural harbor at their feet.
Strom decided seeing the Eternal Guardians from above was the most awesome way to see them. The entire Valley of Victors was amazing in how real the carvings of men were. Catrin had always said how it had bothered her that there were no women depicted at all, as if they hadn't existed. Unpredictable surrounded the mountains, especially Windhold, which boggled the mind and the eye. The mountain had been carved out to leave only her bones, twisting sweeping shafts of hard rock shaped by forces long forgotten.
The Arghast, who Strom knew he must now think of as Drakon and Dragon Clan, gathered near the largest opening into Windhold. Strom questioned the wisdom of their decision. Gusts blew the ship sideways without notice, and there was little Kenward or anyone else could do about it. Perhaps one could fly without Istra's power, Strom thought, but should one? The answer was clear when the Drakon fled.
"We're coming in too fast," Osbourne shouted, but everyone else had already realized it.
"Vent the steam!" Kenward shouted. "Lower the sails. Brace yourselves!"
The Serpent struck Windhold a resounding blow. The mountain didn't budge, and thus the ship and her occupants absorbed the energy. Though the ship was still in one piece, Strom was fairly certain something important was damaged if not completely broken. Black smoke poured from the chimstack, and he just hoped the thing held together long enough for him to get off of it and never get back on again. He would swim wherever else he may need to go if that was what it took. No more flying with Kenward, he promised himself.
The wind bags pressed against the hold by the prevailing wind held the ship in place. Though Strom would have liked to have been the first one off the ship, he couldn't leave without Osbourne. He turned back to the deckhouse, but to the man's credit, he was already walking toward Strom.
"Get me off this ship," Osbourne said.
"Why do people always say that?" Kenward asked. No one responded.
Strom helped Osbourne over the rail, and his friend offered him an arm to grasp as he made his way down. His arms and legs tingled, and he had to take a couple of minutes just to bask in the glory of having survived flying to the Firstland aboard the Serpent. Osbourne hugged him in celebration. Kenward shook his head as if they were daft.
"I wish Martik was here," Osbourne said and Strom agreed. He deeply regretted leaving Martik behind but would have to live with his regret. Kenward and his men worked with rope and winches to secure the Serpent. The wind bags and the sails were stowed and the fires quenched, though the steam nearly filled the entire hold. The dragons, at least, seemed to like it.
Sinjin and Kendra approached, and Strom couldn't help but grin. "Look at you," was all he could think of to say. At least he didn't say, "Look how big you've gotten."
"Welcome," Sinjin said, smiling. Then he turned more serious. "Martik?"
"Captured but most likely well cared for," Strom said. "There are things Trinda wants him to fix."
"Fix?" Sinjin asked.
"Remember how well things went when the water got turned on?" Osbourne asked while poking Strom in the ribs. "Those kinds of things."
"What are those things supposed to do?" Sinjin asked.
"Sinjin," Kendra said, "you're interrogating the poor man. It's clear they've had a harrowing journey."
"Yes," Kenward said as he came to join them. "I'm certain the time they spent in the wilderness must have been quite harrowing. How lucky they were the Serpent arrived to pick them up."
"And how lucky they were verdant dragons have to eat and sleep," someone behind Kenward said, but he ignored it.
"Kenward," Sinjin said, "I must ask. Why were verdant dragons chasing you?"
"Oh. That," Kenward said. "Clearly a misunderstanding. They think we stole something from them. The crew and I have discussed it, and we have decided we did not steal anything. And yes, thank god and goddess verdant dragons have to eat and sleep." His crew roared in response.
"Please, all of you come in and have some tea," Kendra said. This was the most Sinjin had ever seen her attempt to entertain anyone, and he rather liked it, though he wouldn't tell her that. She might take it the wrong way. What he liked was that she was warm and welcoming, and she wasn't yelling at anyone. The last thought came with a chuckle. His wife was a spirited woman.
"They ambushed us as we were leaving the hold, grabbed Martik, and forced us the rest of the way out. Trinda told us we were never to return, but I'm not leaving it up to her. She even had the guards dispose of our packs and supplies.
"Had to rough it, eh?" Sinjin asked with a smile.
Seeing what the Drakon had done with almost nothing, Strom was ashamed to admit they struggled.
"It took months to get set up well enough I didn't have to worry over our day-to-day survival," Sinjin said.
"You worry too much," Kendra said while adjusting his shirt collar.
Strom looked to the dragon watching him from nearby.
"That's Valterius," Sinjin said. "He likes to know who's in the hold."
"He doesn't talk in people's minds, does he?" Strom asked, unable to hide the worry in his voice.
"No," Sinjin said with a smile. "Sometimes I wish he did."
"Don't wish for that," Strom said. "Trust me."
"What is this thing Martik is working on for Trinda?"
"It's a towering wheel of stone," Osbourne said. "No idea what its purpose is, but Martik is supposed to make it t
urn."
"Really?" Sinjin asked. "And then what happens?"
"I wish I knew," Strom said. "Martik is still trying to figure it all out."
"I don't like the sound of it," Kendra said. No one disagreed.
"I'm going to see if she'll trade with me," Kenward said. "She's got the perfect airship landing pad--something you need here, by the way, seriously."
"Good luck with that," Strom said.
"She'll do it," Kenward said. "She's cut off from the world, and there'll be things she wants. I might know how to get those things. And perhaps I can get you things."
"We'll talk about that later," Sinjin said. "I could use your advice. The Heights are claiming the ferals are very active, though not in as great a number as before."
"Give them a couple years," Durin said as he walked up. "The place will be crawling with them." He served tea and embraced each in turn, threatening to spill their hot drink.
"Anyway, the Greatlanders want to remain neutral, and the rest want us to fly in support of the verdants, so they can continue vital trade across the Jaga. We're not really fully settled here yet, and that would drain us of resources. What do you think?"
"I think you violated my first rule," Osbourne said. "Never be in charge. Failing that, my second rule is to care for yourself and your family first. If you can help more when those are cared for, then do so."
Sinjin smiled. "I thought so too. Thanks."
"You shouldn't second-guess yourself," Kendra said.
"People's lives are at risk, and these decisions could place a lot more in danger. I won't apologize for seeking good counsel."
"Nor should you," Kenward said. "And I shall give you my advice. Start by having some of your friends help your other friends fix their ship."
The Fifth Magic (Book 1) Page 7