‘Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Uncle,’ Coinin said, hopping from the bunk. ‘I must speak with Jericho immediately.’ He made haste for the cabin door and exited quickly.
Marrok and Draken were left alone, staring uncomfortably around the room, neither wishing to say anything to the other.
NORTHBOUND
Coinin stood looking over the prow of the ship and reflected on the events of the past several weeks. Draken had shown Coinin and Jericho how the stars pointed to the correct year, and although they did not fully understand it, they sensed no deception or reason why Draken would offer a falsehood. When questioned why he had brought this to their attention now, he replied simply that he did not wish to die because someone mixed up the dates.
They had dismissed Draken and taken council with Marrok and Captain Dalia. After much deliberation, the assembled had concluded that the greater risk at present was Lordich. If they could quickly eliminate him, then they were free to search for the swords without hindrance or interference from him. If in six months, they had not defeated Lordich, then all efforts would be switched to finding the swords.
Draken, of course, was furious at the decision and paced his bunkroom, offering curses and oaths for the remainder of that night.
Hur’al had consulted with the crew and asked them if they wished to continue, and each of them said they would rather die than take the coward’s way out. Jericho had asked the former prisoners if they wanted to join them or alight at the next available town. They too stated that they wished to accede to the fight. So the decision had been made to head North to find Lordich’s lair. All they knew was that it was an ice wasteland to the North. Nevertheless, that would not deter them from their course.
The night air was cold as the giant airship made its way high above the desert. Now and then the crew would see, far below, the campfires of travellers brave enough to live in such harsh conditions. The going was good, not as slow as some of their recent journeys, and they felt optimistic about taking the fight to Lordich.
Except after so many days without setting foot on land, their optimism had begun to wane as the journey dragged on. Endless, featureless deserts began to play tricks on the mind and made everyone uneasy and fidgety.
When will this end? Hur’al thought, and then his boredom turned full circle as something new appeared on the horizon. It started as an orange haze on the horizon and then gradually grew brighter. Before long, a seemingly never ending lake loomed out of the gloom and reflected the moon. To his left, he caught the telltale sign of a distant city and pined to visit it, even for just a day. To set his feet on firm ground and greet new people would be wonderful. It was not as if his comrades were boring him. There were only so many times that he could hear the same conversation before he went mad.
‘Rodine, ho!’ yelled a crewman and pointed to the city.
Hur’al opened his cabin door and stepped into the cold night air, shivered and headed to the prow. ‘Good evening Curator,’ he said as he spotted Coinin leaning over the side of the ship.
‘Captain. Did I hear someone shout Rodine?’
‘Yes, you did. The Capital City of The New World.’
‘The Brotherhood has a temple there, I believe.’
‘That’s correct, although The Order’s influence isn’t as great here as it is in Rosthagaar.’
‘I’ll have to make a point of visiting the outpost to see how our brothers are managing affairs,’ Coinin decided.
The next few minutes passed in silence while they watched the far end of the lake slowly loom closer.
‘Hur’al?’
‘Yes?’
‘What do you think our chances are of finding and defeating Lordich?
Hur’al scratched his chin, itchy from the hair growth that he had neglected to shave the past week. ‘An excellent question and a difficult one to answer. I know from our experiences so far that the gods must surely be smiling down on us.’ He paused. ‘If I had to take a guess or apply a percentage to it, I’d say thirty to forty percent.’
‘That much?’ Coinin mused. ‘I had the figure considerably lower. However, I was taking into account the dragons.’
‘I hadn’t considered that.’
‘Sir, there’s a storm front coming in. We’ll have to climb above it to avoid it, or we’ll run straight into her.’ A voice said behind them.
‘Excuse me, Curator, I need to see to this. Please find a safe place below decks to ride this one out.’
Coinin nodded and looked at a bank of almost black clouds racing to greet them. A strong wind picked up, and he bolted for the hatch just as hailstones hurtled down at him, stinging his ears and burying themselves in his hair. Covering the top of his head with his hands, he hurried down below.
Hur’al took position behind the wheel. He was going to ride the storm and get them to safety. The wind kicked at him, and the hail bit him sharply, yet he ignored it all. He had overcome far worse weather in the Southern Seas, and he was not about to let a little bad weather stop him now.
On his order, the boiler was stoked and refuelled to give him the lift he needed to rise above the clouds. Thick, black smoke billowed from the stack in the middle of the deck, and Hur’al angled the outboard sails to give them lift. At first, it appeared that no lift had been achieved and then all of a sudden they began climbing higher and higher. Clouds threatened to obscure their vision, and the wind buffeted the ship with such force that Hur’al feared that the ship would be torn apart by the sheer stresses on her timbers. Lightning, bright and terrifying, streaked across the sky like daggers, splitting the darkness in two and bathing the hail-heavy cloud in momentary brightness that accented every billowing nuance and shape.
For a moment he swore he saw a gigantic smoke-like hand with long pointed nails reach for the ship menacingly and, in that split second, a lightning flash engulfed the ship before things went drastically wrong. A bolt of lightning struck his starboard propellor, and the ship lurched to the port and then swung uncontrollably back again. Hur’al’s hands were ripped from the wheel, and he was thrown into the handrail surrounding the bridge, barely managing to hold on as the vessel began to spiral out of control. The air sac above them let out a great hiss of escaping air as small stress leaks had begun to form.
‘Douse the boiler!’ he screamed at the top of his lungs. ‘Douse the boiler!’
He knew if the boiler were to rupture and send hot coal flying in all directions that the ship could go up in flames very quickly, and with powder on board the very real risk of explosion in mid-air was likely.
They were losing height fast, and no amount of stoking was going to prevent that. The remaining hot air in the bladder above him should stop them crashing if he could get the ship under control.
On hands and knees, he crawled back to the wheel, all the while fighting against the spinning motion of the ship. The noise of the wind howled in his ears and from somewhere below he could just hear faint cries and screams of those beneath him.
Grasping the wooden wheel, he clawed his way up it and held on for dear life as the spinning motion threatened to throw him overboard. He cranked the wheel as hard as he could to starboard, and the ship protested with groans and creaks as he tried to turn the ship against the roll. He watched in dismay as the sails tore themselves free. Then horror spread across his face as the starboard flaps wrenched open, followed by the port flaps. The forces exerted on the ship were just too great.
A hissing sound deafened him, and a cloud of smoke belched from the chimney stack, then a steam release valve let go of its pressurised payload. The boiler room had managed to quench the flames, it seemed. This would mean that no more hot air was making its way into the bladder that kept the ship afloat. Without this carefully regulated gas, the ship could not keep afloat. They were surely going to crash; the question was just how quickly.
Hur’al had made some headway in turning the ship, and although they were dropping from the sky, the odds of remaining i
ntact when they hit the ground were near zero. He had no way to control the descent. They were going to impact the ground, and it would be devastating.
More turning of the wheel forced the rear rudder to direct the airflow and eventually he was able to turn the spin into a straight drop.
Several bruised and battered crewmen clambered up the bridge to aid the Captain, and he waved them away. ‘Get below! Tell everyone to brace for impact.’
Scared faces retreated into the hold of the ship, and he heard terrified screams of people who had just heard they would most likely die. Hur’al removed his belt, lashed it to the wheel so that it would not shift and then left the bridge. He dove into his cabin and removed a long, thin wooden box from under the Captain’s bunk. He marvelled at the craftsmanship of the cut and the design and rubbed his hand across the gloss black finish of the eaglewood. He hurried from the cabin and raced down the stairs to the hold, two at a time. He rushed passed several crewmen covering in a corner and ordered them to their cabins to use what they could to cushion the impending impact.
He turned into Coinin’s and Marrok’s cabin and slammed the door shut. Coinin was wide-eyed, and blood was running down his arm from an unseen wound.
‘What’s happening?’ demanded Marrok.
‘The ship is going down. We are going to hit hard. Use what you can to soften the blow, but I don’t think we’re going to get out of this one alive,’ Hur’al replied in a surprisingly calm tone.
It did nothing, however, to calm Coinin, who was stricken. This was yet another way to die. How high were they? When would they hit? The not knowing would drive him mad.
‘You can do what you wish. I’m heading up top.’
‘You most certainly are not,’ Hur’al snapped, and stepped in front of Coinin who made to barge past him.
‘You cannot stop me, Hur’al.’
‘No, he can’t, but I can,’ Marrok said, reaching out for his brother and holding him tight.
Marrok could see that Coinin was beginning to panic and he himself was not feeling overjoyed at the prospect of crashing into the unknown inside a wooden ship. Though what option did he have? He could do nothing to prevent it. He forcibly manoeuvred Coinin over to the corner of the cabin and sat him down. ‘Stay!’ he ordered.
Marrok then hoisted a straw-filled mattress from his bunk and laid it on the floor before grabbing a second. ‘Coinin, get on the mattress.’
Coinin looked at him as if he was mad. ‘I’ve got to see; I’ve got to get on deck—’
‘Not today, Coinin. Now, get on the mattress.’
Coinin reluctantly did as he was told, climbed onto the bedding and sat there awkwardly. Marrok turned to Hur’al and shook his hand. ‘The best of luck to you.’
Hur’al did his best to smile and failed miserably. Adrenaline up until then had fuelled him, and now the realisation that the likelihood of surviving was slim had finally hit him. ‘The very best of luck to you both,’ he said, withdrawing his hand from Marrok’s. With a nod and another grim attempt at a smile, he left the cabin.
Marrok took the second mattress and lay down next to Coinin. The elder brother covered them both with the straw bedding and held on tight. It would be a miracle if this helped. Still, it was all they could do to try to stay alive.
They waited, anticipating what was sure to be a bone-breaking jolt. Coinin was shaking with fear and Marrok did all he could to reassure his sibling that everything would be fine, while inside he continued to battle his own panic.
The rushing wind was accompanied by whimpers and crying that seeped through the cracks in the floor and added to their unease.
For the briefest of moments the wind grew louder, and then the ship struck the ground with deadly force. Debris flew in all directions and fractured timbers and cannons ejected at great speed made for dangerous projectiles. The airship compacted by two decks and utterly crushed the lower hold. The Captain’s cabin ripped away from the deck and was flung over the side of the ship leaving only a small portion of the bridge standing. The air bladder burst explosively, sending leather flying in all directions. It deflated quickly and collapsed over the carcas of the once airworthy vessel.
For a long time, nothing moved, and not a sound was heard until the screaming began.
Death and pain had visited the beleaguered crew with a vengeance. Several men in the lower hold lay crushed and broken, and a cannon pinned three of the former prisoners. They had been fool enough to take refuge in the gun room and now screamed in the agony of their pain.
The brothers’ cabin was a mess, though thankfully Coinin and Marrok had survived the journey, if not a little sore and bruised. The mattresses had done as intended and prevented serious injury. Marrok had righted the bunks, and each sat assessing their wounds, thankful that nothing more than bruising seemed to be the order of the day.
Coinin was dreading what was to come, learning who had died and who had such horrific injuries that they would not survive. It was inevitable that not everyone would have been as fortunate as he and Marrok. His immediate concern was for his friends, Aniol, Axl and Jericho.
‘Marrok, I think we must go and help the others.’
As if he had not realised others would be in trouble, Marrok looked puzzled and then concerned. ‘Of course, come on.’
Marrok took charge, and with only moderate pain he scoured each of the cabins he came across for survivors. Those he found without injury he put to task to care for the wounded and then he moved on. Deck-by-deck he searched with Coinin in tow.
The devastation that greeted them was horrendous but not as horrific as some of the injuries sustained. Broken or forcibly detached limbs were high among those who had not had an opportunity to find adequate shelter. Debris and shattered timbers littered the hallways and needed to be cleared before they could advance. It was backbreaking and sweaty work, but little by little they searched the ship and eventually only three cabins remained.
Coinin heaved at the cabin door to his left, and it inched open enough for him to see that a body lay on the other side. ‘Marrok, help me, please.’
Marrok put his shoulder against the door and heaved again, but the pain from an old injury saw him switch shoulders. Eventually, the door moved enough for Coinin to squeeze through the gap. He moved the legs of the victim out of the way, and Marrok stepped inside and gave a start.
‘What? What is it?’ Coinin asked.
Marrok pointed, and Coinin looked to see Hur’al laid on the floor bleeding. He had been so preoccupied with opening the door that he had not registered that it was, in fact, Hur’al that he had moved.
He dropped to his knees and supported the dying man’s head. A spear of timber as thick as his arm had penetrated Hur’al’s chest cavity, and a pool of blood was forming under him.
Hur’al coughed, and blood spurted from his lips. When he opened his eyes, which were briefly unfocused, they settled on Coinin. With a wince, the injured man attempted a smile.
‘It’s just a flesh wound; I’ll be up and about in no time.’
Coinin, with a face of regret, shook his head sadly. ‘Not this time my friend.’
‘I know,’ he croaked. ‘I wanted to go out with a smile.’
‘I’m sorry Hur’al that it has come to this. You do not deserve this death.’
‘We’ve all got to go sometime. Now is my time.’ He coughed.
‘Is there anything I can do for you?’
Hur’al’s eyes closed and he drifted away for a moment until Coinin called to him.
‘Hur’al, wake up, this is important.’
He opened his eyes and refocused on Coinin. ‘Bury the dead with dignity and ... and I have a gift for Laliala. I should have given this to her before now. You must take it to her, entrust it to no one but her.’ He reached out with his right hand and touched a long, thin box, the same he had retrieved from the Captain’s cabin. ‘Take this and keep it safe.’ His hand fell from the box onto the floor.
‘What is it?’<
br />
The former pirate remained silent.
‘Hur’al, what is it?’ Coinin pleaded and lightly shook the man.
A hand rested on his shoulder. ‘He’s gone,’ Marrok said, genuinely sad at the loss.
True enough, Hur’al had indeed passed to the next life. His eyes stared fixed and lifeless. Coinin laid the Captain’s head down gently and sat back, deeply upset. Just one more life to add to his tally. Lordich would pay for this one day.
Marrok stepped over the body and retrieved the box that Hur’al had left in their care. He laid it out on a broken bunk and undid a brass clasp holding it shut. He lifted the lid, and his eyebrows rose in surprise. ‘Coinin, you had better see this.’
Coinin closed Hur’al’s eyes gently and dipped his head in respect. He stood and flinched in pain; his ankle had been further bruised in the crash and was sore. Limping over to Marrok he stopped and opened his mouth in shock. Marrok had removed an item from the box, and its distinct form told him that it was a Cerathil sword.
‘How is this possible?’ Coinin asked.
‘No idea. All I do know is that Hur’al has saved us some time,’ Marrok replied. He carefully reinserted the sword into the slender box and fastened the clasp.
‘Marrok, guard that sword with your life. We still have two rooms left to search.’
Coinin led the way this time, sad that he had to leave Hur’al where he lay. He turned left and was immediately confronted by a huge pile of timber, considerably larger than before, barring his way.
Marrok turned to him and cocked his head. ‘Well?’
‘Well, what?’
‘If you think I’m shifting that lot, you have another think coming.’
‘How do you expect me to help with this ankle? It’s already painful enough as it is.’
‘Magic?’
Coinin slapped his forehead. ‘Of course, how could I forget? Let’s see; I need something that will destroy the timbers yet leaves everything else intact.’ He wracked his brain trying to find a spell, something Archmage Menin had taught him. He closed his eyes and thought back to his lessons in the secret underground cave system under the Golden Temple to Rindor.
The Aduramis Chronicles: Volumes 1-3: The Definitive Collection Page 74