by William King
The storm began to move inland, gaining energy as it went, driven from within by elementals of dark magic that steered it towards the distant mountain top.
Soon, thought N’Kari. Soon.
chapter six
Eastern Ulthuan, 10th Year of the Reign of Finubar
Tyrion could smell the sea. The air tasted different; saltier, fresher. The wind was cooler and damper. Gulls drifted overhead. Just the sound of it and the sight of the white birds made him smile. He felt as happy as he ever had in his life.
He was mounted on a horse. He was riding down from the mountains and, within hours, he would catch a ship to the greatest city in Elvendom. He felt in some ways as if his life had finally begun.
As soon as the thought struck him, he felt guilty about his father and about his brother. He rode back along the small column to where Teclis lay stretched out on a bolster in the back of a wagon. The tented canvas cover of the wagon was drawn back and his twin lay looking up at the sky. They had hired it from one of the villagers who dwelled near his father’s villa and used it for taking his produce into town to market. The elf would come into town in a few days and collect it.
‘Isn’t this wonderful,’ Tyrion said unable to contain his enthusiasm.
‘If you can call having your bones jarred on this wooden instrument of torture wonderful then I suppose it is,’ Teclis said. He was smiling though and he looked better than he had in months. Tyrion had worried that the hardships of travel might finish off his brother but the potions Lady Malene had brewed really seemed to have improved his health. More than that, the prospect of travel and of learning magic seemed to have eased his troubled spirit and made life more endurable for him. Tyrion suspected it had given Teclis a reason to live. He felt grateful to Lady Malene for that at least.
He glanced ahead. The sorceress was riding side by side with Korhien Ironglaive. The two of them exchanged secret smiles but there was nothing sinister in them. They looked like the lovers which Tyrion supposed they were. It was hard to imagine what the open-handed and hearted warrior and the stony-faced mage-woman saw in each other, but they obviously saw something.
Tyrion wondered how Father was getting on. He was not concerned for his welfare. Prince Arathion was quite capable of looking after himself without any help from his sons and his work would keep him from being lonely. It was just strange to think of him wandering about the empty villa with only Thornberry for company.
It made Tyrion uneasy. Sometimes monsters came down out of the mountains. Maybe one of them could get over the wall. He told himself not to be foolish. His father was a mage. He was capable of handling any monster that might find its way down to their home.
Teclis had raised himself up on one elbow and was looking over the side of the wagon into the distance. ‘I think I see the sea,’ he said. Tyrion followed his pointing finger. They had just crested the brow of a hill and below them there was indeed a wide slice of shimmering blue starting where the green land ended.
The land was starting to change around them. It looked much more heavily cultivated and they had passed the fields worked by yeomen and many glasshouses where enchanted fruits were grown in magically controlled environments.
It was the richest and most fertile place Tyrion knew although he would have been the first to admit that his experience of such places was limited. Here and there on the higher grounds were mansions of such a scale that their father’s house could be easily fitted into one wing. Indeed, it seemed little better than some of the yeomen’s cottages they had passed. Tyrion was used to his father being the richest property owner in the area where he had grown up. Once again, he realised now that compared to the elves of even this small town, his father was very poor indeed. It was odd to realise how small his life had been and how large the world was. Exciting too.
On many of the buildings green paper-lanterns hung outside windows or on verandas. People were beginning to prepare for the Feast of Deliverance, the great festival that celebrated the return of spring and the saving of Aenarion’s children from the forces of Chaos by the Treeman Oakheart. Alongside the streets stood little carved models of the Treeman, a creature that looked like a friendly cross between an elf and a massive oak. All elves had reason to be grateful to him. Without his intervention, there would be no Everqueen. Every spiritual leader of the elves since that time had been descended from Aenarion’s daughter, Yvraine. Tyrion had a more personal reason to be grateful. He was descended from Aenarion’s son, Morelion.
He rode back to where Teclis lay. His brother grimaced. He was tired and the strain of the long day’s ride showed in his face. ‘We will be in town soon and aboard ship after that.’
‘I look forward to it,’ said Teclis. ‘I can’t imagine anything could be worse than this.’
A few fishing boats rode at anchor in the harbour along with a vessel that dwarfed them like a whale alongside dolphins. It was an elven clipper, part trading vessel, part warship, long and sleek and three-masted. It had a huge eagle head carved on the prow. There was a massive ballista on the aft deck and near the prow. Sailors swarmed through the rigging and moved across the deck with purpose. A set of planks had been laid from the midships to the pier, wide enough for horses to be led up.
The messenger bird Lady Malene had sent must have got through for they were expected. The ship’s mistress waited at the docks to greet them. Much to Tyrion’s surprise she reported to Lady Malene and not to Korhien; she seemed to find the enchantress a much more important figure than the White Lion. The flags fluttering from the ship’s masts bore the same device as the bodyguard wore on their tabards. House Emeraldsea owned this ship and the lady was the highest ranking representative of the House present.
‘Are we ready to depart, Captain Joyelle?’ Malene asked. She cocked her head to one side and sniffed the air. ‘I smell a storm coming in and there is magic on its winds.’
The ship’s mistress nodded. She was even taller than Lady Malene and if anything looked sterner. Tyrion was starting to wonder if all the women of Lothern were so hard-faced when he noticed some of the female sailors were staring at him. They were younger and much prettier. As was his habit, he smiled back. Some of them met his gaze boldly. Others looked away shyly. It seemed that sailor women were not so different from the hunter-girls of the hills with whom he had experience.
‘The Eagle of Lothern is ready to sail, Lady Malene. We can catch the tide if Captain Korhien and his men can get their horses aboard quickly.’
The horses looked restive. They had obviously been aboard ship before and had not much enjoyed the experience but they were elven steeds and they obeyed their riders. One by one they allowed themselves to be led up the gangplanks and lowered by a small winch into the hold. It seemed that all had been made ready for them, for the mangers were full of fodder and the act of eating seemed to settle the beasts.
Tyrion noticed that the captain too was staring at him as he helped Teclis up the ramp. At first he thought he had committed some sort of faux pas by not asking permission to board. No one else had, but presumably they were already known to the ship’s mistress. Then the thought crossed his mind that perhaps she was unsettled by the sight of Teclis. His brother’s infirmity often had that effect on his fellow elves. They were not used to the sight of illness. When he glanced back the captain had stopped staring and said something to Lady Malene in a low voice.
The mage nodded agreement and then walked over to them.
‘The captain has had cabins assigned to you.’
‘What else was she saying?’
‘Nothing of any great importance,’ said Lady Malene, a little too casually. Tyrion remembered Teclis’s suspicions about her. He thought about the upcoming voyage. How many people would notice anything or say anything if they were to vanish over the side during the voyage south to Lothern? He told himself not to be so suspicious. There was almost certainly an innocent explanation for the mage’s attitude.
Nonetheless, he resolved t
hat he would keep his eyes open and the door barred. Despite his fears he could not keep his heart from soaring when the ship raised anchor and headed out of port a couple of hours later. The sun was sinking behind the mountains, and he could not help but think about his father once more.
He wondered if any of those tiny lights on the mountainside belonged to their home and he wondered how long it would be before he saw it again.
‘This is cosy,’ said Teclis. He looked around the cabin thoughtfully. It was tiny, like all such chambers on ships. There was just room enough for a couple of narrow bunk beds and a couple of sea chests. Between them the twins did not have enough to fill even one. There was a tiny porthole that let in some moonlight.
‘Two of the junior officers gave this up so we would have a place to sleep, or so Korhien told me,’ Tyrion said. ‘It seems we are honoured guests. The rightful owners are sleeping on the deck.’
‘I am not sure that I would rather not be there myself,’ said Teclis. He did not sound too good.
‘Are you all right?’ Tyrion asked looking closer. His brother looked sick again. He had gone a nasty shade of green.
‘I have not felt right since I got aboard this accursed vessel. There’s something about the way it sways that makes me feel very uncomfortable.’
‘Seasickness,’ said Tyrion. ‘I’ve heard some people get it.’
‘And I am one of them, and you are not. What a surprise! Normally I am so healthy and you are so feeble!’
‘If you don’t like it here, I can ask for us to be allowed to sleep on deck. This is more sheltered if rough weather comes though.’
‘Isha’s Blessing – don’t talk to me about rough weather. This is bad enough.’
‘It should only be for a few days, if we get decent winds, and there’s no reason we should not. Apparently they blow southerly at this time of year.’
‘You are becoming quite the sailor, brother.’
‘I’ve been listening to the sailors. I intend to learn what I can on this voyage. You never know when it might come in useful.’
‘My plan involves lying on my back here and hoping my stomach settles and the room stops spinning.’
‘I think they call this a cabin.’
‘They can call it what they like as long as it stops moving!’
Tyrion sprang into the upper bunk. The ceiling seemed very close above his head. It felt odd just to be lying there, with the boat gently rocking up and down as it moved. Aside from his nights camping with the hunters, he had never spent the night away from their father’s villa before. This was the first time he had ever slept in an actual bed that was not his own. The strangest thought of all was that even as he lay there, he was getting further and further away from home and closer and closer to Lothern, a city they had not seen since they were very small children.
It occurred to him then that this was what made ships such a swift way to travel. A boat did not move any faster than a horse, really. It could just keep on moving through the night if it needed to as long as there was someone on watch. Ships never got tired and they kept steadily moving towards their goal.
He was thinking that there was a lesson to be learned from this somewhere, when he drifted off to sleep.
Tyrion was woken by the rays of the sun beaming in through the cabin window and the sound of Teclis being noisily sick into the bucket beside his bunk. The smell was overpowering in this tiny cabin.
He lowered himself from the top bunk, being careful to avoid landing with his foot in the bucket. He waited for Teclis to finish and then tossed the contents out through the porthole. It took him a fair bit of time to unscrew the handles that held it in place, and he decided to leave it open to let the stink escape.
‘I was thinking that perhaps I should try flying next,’ said Teclis. ‘My head will probably fall off. Every mode of transportation I have tried so far has been worse than the last.’
‘You will get used to this. It might take a few days but your body will get over it.’
‘I sincerely hope so.’
‘You want to take a turn on deck and see if perhaps we can find some breakfast?’
‘A walk on deck, yes. Breakfast? What daemon possessed you to suggest such an infernal torture?’
‘Well I am hungry.’
‘And doubtless, as always, you will eat enough for the both of us.’
‘I will try, if I can find some food.’
He helped Teclis up onto the deck. Many of the crew were already up and about. They worked away, scrubbing and sanding the planking and coiling ropes. They clambered over the rigging, making adjustments to the sails on the orders of the ship’s officers. One of them sat in the crow’s nest, another stood watch by the great figurehead on the prow. It seemed like the seas around a ship took a great deal of watching.
As they came up out of the stairwell, Tyrion was aware that they were being stared at again. It was not just Teclis who was attracting the looks either, it was him. It made him feel uncomfortable even though he made a point of smiling at everyone when he caught their eye. He was used to being looked at by women but the males were giving him odd looks too.
He looked around for Korhien or Malene but neither were visible. One or two of the soldiers were on deck, sharpening their weapons and chatting casually and trying hard not to look completely idle amid this bustling hive of activity.
‘Where can we get something to eat?’ Tyrion asked. One of the soldiers jerked his thumb in the direction of a small chamber behind him. Tyrion saw a firepit and a cauldron bubbling away within.
‘I might have known you would be close to where the food was,’ said Tyrion.
‘Spoken like an old campaigner,’ said the elf. ‘We will make a soldier out of you yet.’
‘I hope so,’ said Tyrion.
Tyrion entered the ship’s cookhouse. ‘Could we have something to eat?’ he asked. ‘Please.’
The cook smiled and tossed him two bowls and a package of ship’s biscuits wrapped in a large leaf. Tyrion held out the bowls and the cook ladled out some form of spicy fish stew into them. Tyrion handed one bowl to Teclis and took the other for himself and they made their way back onto the deck.
Tyrion was surprised to find the stew was good, and that the biscuit was nutritious and filling.
‘There is some sort of enchantment in it,’ said Teclis. ‘Like with waybread.’
‘I suppose they need to keep the crew fit,’ said Tyrion. ‘You want yours?’
‘I don’t feel like eating.’
‘Take the soup, at least. I would not want you dying of starvation before we get to Lothern.’
‘It would be a mercy,’ said Teclis.
‘Don’t even joke about it.’
One of the sailor girls was watching them closely. Tyrion smiled at her. She smiled back and then looked away shyly. She was the prettiest girl on the ship for sure.
‘I see you are going to be breaking hearts again,’ said Teclis. Tyrion had shared some of the details of his experiences with the hunter-girls with his brother.
‘Such is never my intention,’ Tyrion replied.
‘The gap between intention and consequence is as large as that between heaven and hell,’ said Teclis.
‘Who are you quoting now?’
‘No one. I just made that up.’
‘Are you contemplating a career as a philosopher then?’
‘It would be useful to have something to fall back on if I fail as a mage.’
‘I doubt that is going to happen.’
‘You never know. My life has not been conspicuous for its successes so far.’
The twins stood on the deck for a long time, watching the life of the ship around them. Tyrion found it all infinitely fascinating. Teclis seemed to find it just tiring.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tyrion stood on the prow of the great ship, staring out over the bird of prey’s head carved there. A school of flying fish erupted from the water nearby. The sight of them flickering si
lver in the sunlight before they vanished once more beneath the waves made him smile.
The wind filled the sails and the vessel seemed almost to skim over the sea. Green flags with the insignia of House Emeraldsea fluttered in the wind.
Sailors leapt from mast to mast and clambered over the rigging in response to commands given by the ship’s mistress. To Tyrion, it was all incomprehensible and all very exciting. So far he had loved every moment of it. He liked the feel of the hard wooden deck beneath his bare feet. He liked the salt smell of the sea.
Laughing, he leapt up and caught a cable, and pulled himself up to a crossbar. When he had first started doing this the ship’s officers had been worried that he might fall and break his neck but it had swiftly become obvious that he was far more at home in the rigging than most sailors and far more agile than any of them.
None of the sailors objected as long as he did not get in their way. He clambered all the way to the crow’s nest high atop the second mast. The figures on deck looked tiny beneath him. It felt far more exposed than being atop a hill of similar height. For one thing, hills did not sway with the movement of a ship.
The wind tugged at his linen shirt. Gulls perched just out of reach. He swung himself out onto the spar and then ran out along it to where the gulls sat. Seeing him coming, they fluttered away, circling over the ship, cawing mockingly at him. He wished that he could fly so that he could follow them.
He shaded his hand with his eyes and glanced off into the distance. Huge shapes moved beneath the clear water, perhaps whales, perhaps some of the legendary monsters that were said to haunt this part of the sea. So far none of them had paid any attention to the ship, for which he was grateful.
Some leagues away he thought he could see islands. Sometimes. Sometimes they were there. Sometimes not. A faint shimmering covered the waves, as far as he could see. It resembled a heat haze but it was not. To his eyes it looked tinged with magic, more than that he could not say.