“When your vision returns, you’ll know what to do with it.”
“Do you think I will take my own life?”
The guard laughed, a deep mocking cackle, as he walked off.
“The blade is for me,” said the other.
Geoffrey could see only a blurred outline of someone sitting up in the bed across the room. “For you?”
“For you to use to kill me. They like to pair us with our enemies. What satisfaction it gives them, I do not know.”
“Our enemies? Wait—you know who they are? Where we are?”
“I do,” said the other. “Before I tell you what you want to know, you must agree to put down the blade.”
“You think I would kill you?”
“You are bred to this purpose, as I am.”
“So it is true that we are enemies?”
“It is. But cannot enemies of enemies also be friends if there is need?”
“Perhaps it can be so if the need is great.”
“And the blade?”
Geoffrey dropped the blade, saying to the other, “I am listening.”
“Good,” said the other, “then I will tell you what it is you want to know.”
Geoffrey thought to himself that what he wanted to know was much more than any one man could tell him. He wanted to know the fate of the kingdom, whether the garrisons had liberated Imtal, whether the treachery had spread to Solntse, where he had gone wrong. He also wanted to know the fate of the crown prince, for surely if there was one who could bring unity to the lands and restore order it was Prince Valam Alder.
Chapter Two
As Prince Valam Alder surveyed the ship from the high deck, the sky growing darker by the moment, he saw a glowing shimmer shoot up the main mast. The soft golden glow lasted only a moment; but the way the light moved reminded him of Eldrick, the tree spirit, and a time beneath the Sentinel tree that seemed so long ago. Tree spirits, he had been told, were as ancient as the winds and the lands. The teller had also told him of the Fourth, an ancient power that could move through the world unseen by all save the Watchers and those few who could see into the land of shadow. It was said that the Fourth clashed against the very winds of Ruin Mist and could blow across the mountaintops.
What was meant by the saying Valam could only guess at; but Ekharn of the mountaineers, the elves who in ancient times dwelled in the Silver Mountains of East Reach, had told him so many things in the moments between dream and waking that his mind was still reeling these many days past. Ekharn’s queen was the one who had told him to return with all haste to Leklorall and to look to the Queen-Mother for answers. She had told him to ask of the sword as well just before she told him to awaken and remember.
The time between the end of the dream and waking seemed an eternity. He was only now piecing together everything Ekharn had told him, and he only now understood that Ekharn had told him many things that he perhaps should not have. “Our times are but echoes. Find the dream when life’s need is at its greatest,” Ekharn had told him at the last. And now at the behest of a long-dead queen, he was returning to Leklorall to seek answers to questions he wasn’t sure he understood.
Cagan, the elven sailmaster, stood at the wheel of the fleet’s flagship, directing the ship through the tack. Beside Cagan stood Tsandra and Teren of the Brown, two elves Valam had grown to trust, as well as Seth. Captain Mikhal was on the main deck, making his way to the high deck, as Valam watched. The captain’s return meant that the men were prepared for the heavy seas and that all was secure below decks—or as secure as was possible.
Sullen gray skies spread out across the distance. Cagan fought to meet the waves, but with each change of direction the boat faltered heavily in the turbulent waters. Prince Valam keenly focused his attention on the deepening black of the sky overhead. He sensed something that spoke ill to him; in these thoughts, he was not alone.
Tsandra and Teren were also concentrating on the energies of the storm. As before, they sensed more at work here than the hand of the Mother. A presence or a great force of will touched their thoughts lightly, though they did not sense it. It followed the thoughts in their minds and then fell away from them.
Cagan stood stoutly with his legs firmly planted on the deck. He strained under the weight of the helm as it tried to thrash about. Defiantly, he again turned the ship into the wind, directing the sails into the tack. His voice rose above the rasping of the waves and the moaning of the vessel. The bosun repeated his orders in seemingly ceaseless chords of shrill notes; all about the ship men moved to the sounds, tightening or loosening a sail or line here or there, as Cagan commanded.
Safety lines sprouted and stretched to the far corners of the deck. A rope found its way to the captain and lashed him about the helm. All the while, those that were now forced to move below deck were unaware of the proceedings above though in their minds they held images that were close to the truth. Danyel’, who had retired below after they set sail, lounged back as if nothing were going on. He chewed absently on a bit of bark he had saved in a small pouch. The bitter, sweet taste in his mouth carried his thoughts away.
Captain Mikhal fidgeted with a small worn coin in his hand. He rolled it in and out of his fingers, playing it from one side of his hand to the other. Out of the corners of his eyes, he maintained a watch on the others. He did not adapt to the idleness as well as everyone else seemed to although he did note concern upon Valam’s face.
The sound of water pouring down to the lower deck sent an alarm running through the thoughts of all. Startled minds brought feet scrambling to the mid-section hatch only to find more water, which drenched those close to the opening. Valam was the first to the ladder, and he was quick to secure the latch. He counted his blessings as the lock clicked, and he immediately heard the rushing of water above.
Valam waved the others back to where they had come from. He grinned broadly but not harshly at the concerned faces. This was not his first storm at sea; he had endured worse, or so he thought. He found his way back to the place he had occupied earlier and sat down. His thoughts began to reflect inward, and he turned to images of home, most especially what lay ahead for him.
A great creaking moan sent a shudder throughout the ship as if it bore an enormous weight. The bow and then the stern tumbled with a crash and then quickly rose on high. With the third crash came a cry and fear spread instantly. A rushing sound followed, like wind rustling through trees. Bodies swept with the water floundered helplessly, scrambling to catch anything available. Those that were able made for the hatches and safety.
The center hatch was the most congested as many began to flee the rising waters. For a moment the panic stopped and a cheer rang out. The shouts died out as the water continued once more on its course.
City walls that had seemed so large in the distance appeared to shrink as the small band approached. Slowly the walls blended in with the raised cliffs and rocky crags. Krepost’ had no immense protective wall as did its sister city though in its own way it was protected. As they rode, Xith cast long glances to the heavens, wondering if it was a fool’s folly to try to breach the heart of darkness. Had they outwitted Sathar the Dark and the Fourth himself? Or did the darkness want them to believe they had? Was the trap set and were they already in its throes?
No guard marked the entrance to the city, nor was there a watch raised in the forward or postern towers. Here they tethered their mounts and parked the coach. Several reluctantly elected to remain behind until the others returned. Inside the carriage, both Adrina and Amir had gone back to sleep, which none remarked about, which was just as well. Adrina had been wide-eyed since the river crossing thinking about the gatekeeper of Krepost’, who legend said might or might not chase them over the cliffs into Statter’s Bay and to their deaths. However, as the hours passed and the company slowly made their way to the city high in the mountains, her enthusiasm and fear had waned.
The streets were deserted, and silence prevailed.
Nijal squinted at the orange ball looming in the distance. The clouds above were just beginning to break up. The one thing about the city that was not disappointing was its size. Nijal compared it to that of Solntse, which was the greatest city of the West.
As they trod through street and alleyway on a course that only Xith knew, they came upon the market that the ferryman had mentioned. The sight and sound of so much activity suddenly springing to life took them by surprise. They had just circled around a squat, long, one-story building, and the market had suddenly appeared before them. They stood at its edge, staring in wonder.
Xith did a cursory inspection of his belongings and then led them into the square. He was quick to recommend that they keep a hand on anything valuable, adding that things had a way of disappearing though no one would admit to their theft. He also mentioned that accusing someone of thievery was not the brightest thing to do. Noman laughed as he added his agreement with that statement.
All manner of beast, fowl, food, and aromas assaulted the senses as they wandered among the stalls. Xith greedily snapped up bits of herbs and spices, mumbling to Noman as he made each purchase. The market at Krepost’ was unrivaled for the variety of its goods and services. It was the last stop, or the first, on the East-West road, and almost anything could be bought here if the price were right.
Xith had forgotten how excited bartering made him. A youthful spirit overcame him as he frantically dashed about, searching for all the things that were on an imaginary list that he appeared to be recording his purchases on. The satchels, which had been his first purchase, were now filled to capacity, forcing him to slow his pace.
“I don’t understand—” whispered Nijal, “Where did all these merchants come from? Where do they get all the goods?”
“That is the wonder of Krepost’!” replied Noman.
“No, really?” pleaded Nijal.
“Another time, another time, my friend.”
Noman moved back to assist Xith without further regard to Nijal’s insistence. Nijal sought out someone else to turn his questions on and found Shchander; but he did not know, either. He, like Nijal, had rarely been beyond Solntse; and while the markets in Solntse were grand, they were small compared to this.
Xith continued through the myriad of small tents and open stalls. He still had not found the one place he actually had sought, although he imagined it still lay somewhere near the center if he could reach the center. Hesitantly, he began to pass by things that he would otherwise have jumped at the opportunity to buy; yet as always the list of things he would later discover he had neglected would be enormous. He winked to Noman as he snaked through a twisted course that brought him at long last to his destination: a place where shipwrights and ship’s mates gathered in the market.
“Where can I find the day’s Master of Records?” he asked the sailors seated within the high-ceilinged tent. Soon after finding the master and making an inquiry about passage to the northlands, his voice was booming over the noise of the market. “What do you mean, there are no ships bound for the North?”
“Just that, I am afraid,” said the acting Master of Records. “There are no ships bound for the North.”
“The season is yet weeks from its end. Lead me to a captain that has an eye for gold.”
“I am afraid I cannot. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the day is long and I must retire.”
“It is only mid-day!”
“Mid-day is closing time in the market.”
“I know, I know,” muttered Xith.
Noman held back an urge to do something vile to the Master of Records. “Where can I find one of the shipwrights?”
“At this hour?”
“Yes, at this hour?”
“Most likely at an inn, taking a bit of lunch.”
“And which inn would that be?”
“Take your pick. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I must be off, or I’ll miss my own lunch.”
“Would this change your mind or delay your retreat?” asked Nijal, waving a small bag weighted with coin.
“No,” replied the man flatly.
“Come,” spoke Noman, “the others will have missed us by now.”
“Wait,” offered Xith, “I have something that will slow your retreat.” Xith shuffled through one of the satchels and procured a small, blue bottle. “Last one in the market, my friend, and it’s yours if you just help us on our way.”
The man stopped and looked, eyeing Xith carefully. “I take it you have been here before?”
“Many, many times,” returned Xith.
“You must forgive me; I thought otherwise.”
“No offense given, none taken.”
The man smiled and nodded. “Two Hands is the place you seek.”
“Still the same,” replied Xith.
“Yes. But if you knew that already, then why did you trouble me?”
“I see now that you do not understand. This is good.”
“Wait—do I know you?”
“Probably so, for I know you. The most curt officer of them all.”
“Obviously you have not met my company’s captain.”
“I am not sure.”
“Come and I’ll take you to the Two Hands, but once there you are on your own. And I still cannot guarantee you will find what you seek.”
“I seek no guarantees, my friend.”
“Good, good. As I said, I offered none, even with your gift.”
“No problem. We will wait and see.”
“Come quickly and follow at a goodly step or you’ll most likely find you’ve lost your way and your guide.”
Xith cast a glum stare at Noman, his dark thoughts from earlier in the day returning. Surely the trap was set and they were within its throes. But who were the conspirators in the dark plot against them? Did they dare trust anyone at all?
Father Jacob paced nervously back and forth, cautiously eyeing the threatening sky. He was not pleased with the turn of events. The timing just was not right; too much seemed beyond his control. The will of the Father had been barely perceivable for some time now. It was as if he were alone. He marked this as the third time this had occurred, and the growing number of occurrences frightened him.
Both Liyan and Seth sat quietly watching Jacob, reading his every thought unbeknownst to the good father. Their intent was not to intrude on Jacob’s privacy, but to clarify their own muddled thoughts with another viewpoint. They could sense a portent drawing near though they didn’t know what it was. Perhaps, they thought, it was the storm that carried the ill tidings to them.
Liyan slowly turned his consciousness inward for a time of reflection, wavering from the link he held with Seth and unintentionally severing that link. In his mind, he pictured the paths, and he began to piece them together, beginning at the time when Seth had left for the kingdoms of men and methodically moving forward towards the present.
Beyond the relative safety of the confines of the small tent the three occupied, the camp was teeming with frenzied activity. S’tryil, the newly appointed captain, moved about the camp, striving to maintain order. He still disliked the new authority given to him. It felt like a great weight. He was neither great nor proud like his father although he did inherit his father’s values, which were simple and true.
Extra stakes were being driven into the ground around each tent with ropes being attached and anchored. The hope was to give better support against the coming high winds. Stores of food and supplies were being moved under cover. Small bands of sailors were returning to their ships to ready them for rough seas. The harbor would give some protection from the winds and high seas, but it would not shield everything. The elements of wind and rain would still find them. The sea would most likely claim a boat with a heavy anchor.
S’tryil eventually found his way back to Jacob as did the five lieutenants. Their work was now complete; very soon they would know whether they had erred or had been successful. For a time, they moved to a warm spot n
ear the small hearth that was erected at one end of the tent, but they soon found themselves surrounding Jacob as he stared beyond the table, beyond the doorway, into the festering sky.
Chapter Three
Cagan fought a losing battle to gain control of the sinking ship in the vile storm. He had turned her about and aimed her at the shore. Though the course never held true as they were tossed about, they still would hopefully reach safety before the ship was claimed by the seas, which would devastate him.
Teren played with the voices in his head that called to him. “Why do you leave us?” they asked. He shied away from all save one—the one that was just at the furthest reaches of his will. A large wave swept over the deck and nearly toppled him and several others. Thankfully, his grip was strong, and the rope between his fingers burned into his hands only slightly.
Complete In the Service of Dragons Page 55