“Before I met you outside the caravanserai, I sent the Ring of Silence west by dragon wing. Given your reputation, you might’ve tried to take it by force of arms. Being clever, I thought to put it beyond your reach.”
“You’re telling me–”
“The Ring of Silence is not here. I sent it out past the Borderlands for safekeeping, into the Strange.”
20: Regent
Elandine, Queen of Hazurrium
“Sark are heading this way, Your Majesty,” said the scout. “They know we’re here.”
Elandine bit into the yellow fruit whose name she didn’t know as she listened to the scout’s alarming report. Juice exploded in her mouth, slightly sweet, but mostly bitter. Appropriate, she mused.
Navar had warned against choosing a regent in haste. Once again, Elandine regretted her hot-headed decision to ignore the First Protector’s advice. To Navar’s credit, no recriminations had been offered. Yet.
Opportunities for I-told-you-sos would present themselves after they emerged from this latest unfolding disaster. Assuming they made it through, and didn’t disappear into the fetid Green Wilds without a trace. Since Elandine’s expedition had no business being anywhere near the Green Wilds, no one was going to come looking for them in the tumult of giant trees, poisonous snakes, and numberless sark anytime soon. Especially with a regent sitting on Hazurrium’s throne with what Elandine pictured as a secret, smug smile on her face.
Damn it, this was all Brandalun’s fault! If her mother hadn’t dashed off to pursue her latest cause, whatever the hell it actually was, Elandine wouldn’t have been wearing the crown. Why couldn’t Brandalun have finished out her reign with dignity and wisdom, and let Elandine grow into the position for a few more years?
But things were as they were. What a rude awakening to learn that merely having that title of queen didn’t protect one from a series of wrong – some might call them disastrous – decisions. Being angry helped her through the bad times, but it was no substitute for steering clear of poor policy in the first place. Damn Brandalun!
After War duped Elandine and escaped with the Ring of Peace, the queen fell into a depression the like of which she’d never previously endured. She finally gave in to the inevitable. She retreated to the queendom of Hazurrium to lick her wounds and to mourn her sister Flora.
At least, that’d been the plan. But the passing months didn’t dampen her flame; they fed her anger. Say one thing about Queen Elandine, say she holds a grudge like none other. So after the worst of feeling sorry for herself had passed, Elandine allowed the rage to ramp up once more. She vowed revenge on the Betrayer. Deposed Incarnation of War or not, no shading piece of dragon shit was going to get the better of the Queen of Hazurrium!
So she’d raised a host of peacemakers, pardoned criminals, and the cream of the adventuring companies Hazurrium was famous for hosting. Doing so dangerously weakened the standing force that guarded the city. That hadn’t been her worst error. Because right before leaving, she gave in to her councilors’ recommendation. She installed someone to rule in her stead in case she was gone for an extended period. Regent Shari Marana. Shari was Elandine’s cousin, and a noble in her own right in the neighboring kingdom of Mandariel. As regent, Shari had promised fidelity and honor in the queen’s absence.
Instead of doing any of that, Regent Shari had somehow arranged for Elandine and her host, shipping across the blue stretches of Oceanus, to sail directly into the teeth of the most wicked storm to lash the great sea within the memory of any living sailor.
Some might call it bad luck. Of course, they didn’t know the “gift” Elandine had received in the throne room prior to her departure from Hazurrium. Regent Shari had bowed, respectful and fawning as any handmaiden. She’d described how her agents had made a secret rendezvous with the Oracle in Telenbar. Everyone knew the Oracle’s predictions were never wrong. The trick was getting her to provide a prognostication in the first place. Somehow, Shari had managed it. So caught up in the preparations of departure, Queen Elandine never questioned the veracity of the document containing the Oracle’s supposed prognostication. She’d been taken in by Shari Marana’s downcast eyes and her explanation that the gift was merely something any subject would offer her queen setting off on a dangerous quest.
The document laid out a timetable describing when the most auspicious sea crossings might be made over Oceanus for the next few months. It described when good winds and weather would be assured for Elandine and her army to take ship. Elandine, already feeling the sting of too little time, was happy to shift her original timetable a few more days, in order to sail through the prognosticated “window” when they could expect the best winds and weather to see them across the sea in record time.
Who would’ve guessed waves could grow so tall? It was as if Oceanus had gained a malign will of its own that night. It tried to shake off all who inched across its wind-torn, wave-lashed skin. The queen’s armada was shattered.
The storm had been more terrifying than the fight during the krayfall at the Moon Door. Then, at least, she had been able to fight for her life. Against the angry sea, swords mattered little. One could only scream imprecations. Of course, all words, prayers, and curses had been instantly drowned in the wrack and boom. Half the ships Elandine led out of Hazurrium went down with all hands, including the vessels transporting their mounts.. The survivors were blown west, only to break up on the rocky cliffs of Oceanus’s southwestern shores.
So Elandine had assembled the survivors. All told, including herself and Navar the First Protector, she counted just over a thousand able warriors still strong enough to test the walls of Megeddon. The remaining survivors, those too hurt or too depleted in spirit to continue, she ordered to the queendom’s nearest outpost instead of back to Hazurrium. As much as she wanted Shari Marana to know that her scheme had failed and that the true Queen of Hazurrium yet lived, she’d decided to lay low. If all her enemies thought her dead, when she finally gathered her forces, she could strike with devastating surprise.
But of course things were already off to a bad start. The salvaged carts containing supplies enough to feed her much-reduced force continually broke or got mired in the rough, roadless terrain. Three warriors had succumbed to some kind of poisonous asp, ten had come down with shakes from forest fever, heatstroke culled dozens more, and now the scout had returned with news of sark headed their way.
“How many?” Navar asked the scout, a woman dressed in gray and brown leathers with a scar that ran from the edge of her left eye across her face.
The scout shrugged. “A dozen.” She appeared not the least impressed at being asked to give her report directly to Queen Elandine and the First Protector in the royal pavilion. On the other hand, the royal pavilion was hardly more than a large tent. The scout added, “But there could be more. Those curs can cut through the forest like water past rocks in a stream. If I’d gotten closer, they’d have seen me, certain as winter.”
Elandine had fought sark before. Vicious, debased, and graceless, the fallen qephilim were hardly more than animals, and rumored to be driven by the quiescent will of the Sinner himself. It made her shiver to think on that connection overlong. The idea that sark were once qephilim at all seemed absurd on its face. But Elandine knew it was true. They’d lost any grace they might have once possessed, and wore only clothing made from the hides and scalps of their victims. They’d forsaken dignity, and possibly even their sanity.
“How soon will they arrive?” Elandine said, putting images of the vile creatures from her mind.
“Assuming they keep moving at their current pace and speed, they’re less than an hour from our camp.”
Navar saluted the scout. The scout squinted at the First Protector in confusion, and gave something that was halfway between a wave and salute in return. Had the scout been a peacemaker, she’d have known she’d just been dismissed. But she was from one of the companies who’d joined the expeditions in hopes of finding fabulous loot i
n Megeddon, and just stood there.
“Thank you,” said Elandine. “Please alert your troops and any other unit leaders you see to expect company.”
“Sure,” said the woman, finally realizing the situation. Before ducking out under the flaps, the scout snatched a piece of fruit from a silver platter. The platter had been set by Elandine’s seneschal, who remained more concerned with maintaining etiquette than the reality of their situation.
Navar studied the floor of the tent, staying silent. But not for long; by her posture, Elandine knew what was coming. So Elandine got the jump on her First Protector. “Don’t say it. We’re pressing forward.”
Navar’s ears flattened fractionally. Only because Elandine had spent so much time with her did she recognize it: the First Protector’s body language screamed disapproval. Elandine felt slightly ashamed of all the horse dung she made the First Protector swallow. Navar was only trying to live up to her duties. But so was she.
“Listen. For all we know,” said Elandine, “the Betrayer was behind Shari’s duplicity. Either way, War’s spies have likely reported to him that Queen Elandine and her retinue are dead. Which means his guard is down. We can’t let this opportunity go past without seizing it! You would do the same were you given to rule over the queendom.”
“Our forces are only a quarter of what they were.”
“And still twice what we need if we strike from surprise.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s a maybe we won’t get to try again any time soon. If we’re successful, we will do more than secure the Ring of my ancestors – we will cleanse Ardeyn of the Betrayer! All the Daylands will be the safer for his removal, not merely Hazurrium. You know it’s true.”
Navar shook her head and said, “I’ve offered all my arguments. I won’t offer them anew, because I know your mind is made up. My apologies.”
Elandine smiled. “None necessary.”
“Let us see to the approaching sark threat. If we survive that, we can assess our best route through the Green Wilds. We’ll need to resupply before venturing across the Glass Desert, or skirt it. We did not count on that as our original route.”
Elandine nodded. She said, “If our enemies knew we’d survived in the first place, they won’t guess we’d track south through the tangled paths, or that we’d spill out onto the killing glass. We have an advantage. We should use it.”
She stood, grabbed her sword, then paused a moment to admire the fine runes glittering along the blade. Without the Ring of Peace, her power was lessened, but Rendswandir remained as deadly as ever. It was particularly good at dispatching sark. And scheming regents. She said, “I wonder what that bitch Shari is doing right now?”
The First Protector deigned not to answer.
Elandine girded the sword to her waist. “Round up a detachment to ambush those damned sark before they reach us.”
“Of course.”
Elandine put a hand on Navar’s arm before she lifted a flap to exit the pavilion, then pointed at the platter. “You should have one, while they’re still fresh. The taste is tolerable. Satisfying, even.”
“Later, Your Majesty.”
“Your loss.” Elandine enjoyed another few bites of the yellow, bitter fruit.
21: Nightstar
Carter Morrison
The crew of Nightstar delighted in setting rats on fire just to watch how far the shrieking things could run across the glass before expiring. Nightly degradations occurred down in the prisoners’ hold, where desperate captives were shackled. Hazing was also popular; new crewmembers were ambushed in some dark corner of the ship and beaten within an inch of their lives, while onlookers laughed themselves sick.
Captain Taimin wasn’t present for any of these particular episodes, or half a dozen similar incidents that occurred daily on his ship. But he might as well have been the one holding the torch, the whip, or the rope. His implicit permission for every and any atrocity perpetrated by his crew gave the worst among them an excuse to indulge in depravities they were unlikely to have attempted on their own.
That’s how I saw it, and for me it wasn’t academic. I fucking hated Taimin, despite not having seen his face in the couple of months since I’d come aboard. Things would’ve been bad enough, but several of Kadir’s comrades remained on Nightstar. They were none too happy that their friend had been forced off the ship. They’d selected me as the target for their dissatisfaction. From their perspective, Mehvish was too scary to hassle, and Siraja had come under the captain’s eye, potentially as his new first mate.
Which left me. And who was I? A stranger found on the glass who should, by all rights, be shackled down with the other captives to be sold as a slave the next time Nightstar visited the Citadel of the Harrowing.
Siraja saw to it that I had a hammock and a daily allotment of the slop that each pirate was due. She also provided me with a safe in her own cabin where I kept Jushur. I worried that if I kept that odd object on my person, on in my bunk, someone would steal it.
But Siraja was also kept busy by her new duties, so I hardly ever saw her. Mehvish made it clear I was not to come anywhere near her, or our deal was off. Which left me pretty much on my own. At first, that seemed ideal. I figured that I’d spent the first week or so just trying to understand how things worked on Nightstar. And more importantly, trying to delve into my newly revealed Ardeyn-given talents and memories. Then, once things settled a bit more, I’d planned on getting the hell out of Dodge.
Things hadn’t proved so easy. Finding more than a few minutes of time to myself was insanely difficult. Several pirates shared my bunk on alternate sleep shifts from me, so I couldn’t retreat to the hammock for private time other than during the five-hour sleep shift I had to myself. The bosun seemed to know exactly where I’d next try to hide from him, so as to avoid some backbreaking job or other that he delighted in handing out. And keeping ahead of Kadir’s many comrades was a full-time job in itself.
And that’s when I learned about the hazing.
Limper, one of the pirates who shared my hammock on alternate sleep shifts, was a greasy, smelly man. He walked as if perpetually drunk, though his rolling gait was actually due to an injury, and thus his name. Of course, he always was inebriated, which didn’t help.
Limper was also the keeper of the maps. Instead of taking his place in the hammock we shared when my turn came around, I followed him up to the main deck. I was almost dead on my feet and too tired to think straight, but I’d finally realized he’d know Nightstar’s route better than anyone. Which meant he’d know the ship’s closest approach to the edge of the Glass Desert.
Limper made his wavering way to the stern, and I followed. I wanted to talk to him when no one else was around. I didn’t want to invite curiosity about my interest in our route. Someone might guess my actual intent to escape my “duties” as a privateer.
I caught my quarry at the very rear of the ship, along a sort of narrow catwalk that skirted the sterncastle. The sun had set a few minutes earlier, but the warmth radiating up from the glass below was still palpable.
Limper had out his charts, maps, and a sextant. I was surprised a sextant worked in Ardeyn, but there it was.
“Hey, Limper, got a minute?” I said. Only after addressing him with the name everyone else used did I my newfound facility for knowing what people are called reveal his birth name: Alizado.
Limper – Alizado – flinched, jerking the sextant away from his eye.
Seeing me, his eyes narrowed. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know, I should be sleeping. Shit, I’m tired. But I wanted to talk to you first. I hear you’re a master with the maps, no one better. I was hoping you could help me.” Yes, I was resorting to flattery.
He scowled. “As if I’d help you. Get away from me, demon!” Not the response I’d expected, and it knocked me back on my heels.
“Hey!” I said. Not particularly eloquent, but better than the response I’d swallowed, “I’m not a demon!�
��
“Bad enough I got to share my hammock with the moontaint who got Kadir, bravest son of the Maker, thrown off Nightstar. Not my choice. But I don’t have to stain my ears with anything out of your mouth. Or look at you.” He turned back to his equipment.
Another member of Kadir’s fan club. How such a bully had won over so many friends I couldn’t imagine, but there it was. Limper wasn’t going to willingly speak with me, let alone help me. Unless… I helped him see the merit of my cause.
And really, wasn’t Limper just an outgrowth of the code I’d written to create Ardeyn? Yes, he was. Which meant I could directly tweak his attitude. And in doing so, I argued with the part of me suddenly concerned with where this was going, I wasn’t so much overriding the will of a conscious being as making a few adjustments to eliminate bugs.
Right? I promised myself that I’d wrestle with moral implications later, and concentrated, looking for Limper’s true name. Alizado was only part of the greater truth making up the man.
A hand fell on my shoulder and squeezed hard before I discovered anything more about Limper. The hand spun me around into the foul breath of someone three times my size. It was Big Toma. Bad news. Another Kadir stalwart. In fact Big Toma was still openly bitching about Kadir’s absence. No one else would dare talk so openly against Captain Taimin’s decision. But Big Toma was either too stupid, or too sure of his own strength – or both – to keep his tongue in check. And now he had me in one of his oversized hands.
Big Toma said, “You’re that new prick, right? Just joined the crew. What’s your name?” He grabbed me around the neck and squeezed.
“Cart-ooph!” I wheezed with what air I had left. He’d caught me off guard. I wasn’t getting enough oxygen.
“Cart? That’s a funny name. Well, Cart, you ain’t faced the Red Mast of Valor, have you? You can’t be one of us if you ain’t gone through what the rest of us done!”
The Myth of the Maker Page 17