“That is all you need to know for the moment.”
“Something awful is going to happen?” ventured Emerya.
“You will see. No more questions, especially where anyone can hear.”
The second glances between brother and sister are uneasy … and followed by wary looks at their mother. Mairena ignores them, instead surveying the white stone of the boulevard, her eyes taking in the green awnings, most still folded up for the night, the clean white stone sidewalks and alleys. The doors to the well-kept shops are still closed in the early faint light in the half glass before sunrise.
Here and there are wagons at loading docks along the wide alleys, and there will be more in the next glass, Mairena knows.
Should you tell everyone? She shakes her head. The Kerial is the only substantial ship at the many white piers, except for the handful of small coastal traders and an Austran bark and a Nordlan ocean schooner. Cyador’s navy has dwindled to the point where it is almost nonexistent, and while traders visit Cyador regularly, there have seldom been that many outland vessels at once in recent years, although the merchanters of Cyador remain a force, if far less than once. If people believed her, and she has doubts of that, the few trading ships would be swamped and would save none. Nor would they be able to get under way quickly enough, not under sail with the still air that cloaks the city. And those she has summoned will more than tax the capacity of the Kerial. If you are even right. Yet how can she disregard what she has seen, seen with a preternatural clarity?
At the boulevard that fronts the harbor, the coach turns eastward. Mairena can see several other coaches ahead of them, also hurrying toward the third pier, the one where the Kerial waits. Those coaches are halted by the Lancers stationed at the foot of the pier, who make room for the Imperial coach to pass. Even in passing Mairena can sense, as healers usually do, the worry and concern emanating from the women in the coaches, for there are few full Magi’i left in Cyad, not after Lephi’s demands for Magi’i support in his war against the barbarians—and the dreadful dark angels, whose powers Lephi has treated dismissively all too often.
Farther along the pier, more Mirror Lancers stand waiting, in excess of a full company. That they have not been allowed to board is a situation Mairena had feared. Still, they are present, and behind them are a score of Magi’i families. Then there are the student Magi’i, doubtless puzzled at why they are standing on a pier before sunrise. The Lancers of the duty company move aside at the command of Captain Altyrn and allow the driver to bring the Imperial coach to a halt opposite the gangway from the white stone pier to the Kerial.
Standing short of the gangway is Tyrsalyn, although Mairena is not certain how he has managed to notify as many Magi’i and families as stand behind the Mirror Lancers and still reach the pier before her.
Always dependable, reflects Mairena.
“Wait here in the coach until I summon you,” she directs Kiedron and Emerya. “It won’t be that long.”
When she steps onto the pier, she surveys the Kerial, an impressive vessel with a white metal hull that stretches more than a hundred yards from end to end, with twin stacks. While the firecannon has not been tested, its forward turret does not appear unfinished, and there are four iron-shuttered gun ports spaced evenly just forward of the middle of the deck below the main deck. The gun deck. There are four ports on the far side as well, all for weapons not constructed or used in generations, unsurprisingly, given the effort it has taken to create just the guns for the Kerial.
Unfortunately, she can also see that the gangway is barred by a pair of armed ship’s marines. That is hardly surprising. For the moment, Mairena ignores the marines and turns to Tyrsalyn. “Third Magus, you’ve done wonders … again.”
“Is that not the task of the Magi’i?” His voice is dry.
“Now we must persuade Captain Heisyrt to cooperate.”
“He does not know?”
“He has written orders to have the Kerial ready to depart on a moment’s notice.” That was the best I could manage.
“I see.”
Mairena suspects Tyrsalyn understands too well, but the Empress and the Third Magus step toward the gangway.
As she nears the ship, Mairena can see the perspiration on the brows of the ship’s marines who bar the gangway. “You’d best summon the captain.”
“The captain is otherwise occupied,” states an officer who moves down the gangway and stands behind the marines.
Mairena sees the linked silver bars, suggesting, if the insignia means the same as it does for the Mirror Lancers, that he is a relatively junior officer.
“Lieutenant,” offers Tyrsalyn firmly, “if anyone is going to deny the Empress of Light permission to board, it had best be the captain, don’t you think?”
The junior officer’s eyes widen. He starts to speak, closes his mouth, and finally states, “I’ll send word.”
Before he can turn, another figure walks down the gangway, a dark-haired officer wearing the silver starburst insignia on his uniform collars. The lieutenant moves back and lets the older officer pass, as do the marines. The senior officer’s eyes take in the Third Magus and then Mairena. “Empress … I have not expected a visitation from you. Nor did I know that the Kerial was open to visitation.”
“It is not,” replies Mairena politely. “Your task, Captain Heisyrt, is to allow the Mirror Lancers and the others summoned to board, and to then get the Kerial and all on board out of the harbor,” states the Empress. And we are running out of time.
“I have no orders, Lady Empress.” The captain’s voice is firm, and she can sense his resolve … also the sense that he will not take orders from a woman … unless forced.
Still … she will try, if briefly. “You had written orders from the Emperor to have the Kerial ready to leave port at any time. Why would you have such orders if they were not needful?”
“I report to the Marshal and the Emperor. I have received no orders to leave Cyad, and the firecannon has not been tested.”
“You would ignore the written orders of the Emperor?” she asks gently.
“They do not specify…”
Seeing and sensing that nothing short of force will suffice, Mairena turns to Tyrsalyn. “If he does not comply in ten counts, turn him to ash. We have no time for niceties or orders that will not come. The life of the heir to the Malachite Throne is at stake.”
Tyrsalyn turns to Heisyrt. “Will you obey the Empress … or will you die?”
The captain swallows. “I will comply, if under protest.”
“That is a good choice,” offers Mairena warmly. “I can promise you will not regret it. If you would escort the Third Magus and me to the bridge so that you can make ready for immediate departure.”
“As you wish.” Heisyrt’s voice is polite, but his eyes are hard.
Mairena turns and calls, “Captain Altyrn, begin loading, with the heirs, if you would, then the Mirror Lancers. Do not worry about stowing gear. Just get everyone aboard as quickly as possible.”
“Yes, Lady Empress,” returns the Lancer officer.
“You are in haste. That is not wise in getting a vessel ready for sea,” says Heisyrt.
“Except when one faces a storm that will cast every vessel in the harbor upon the rocks,” replies the Empress. “To the bridge.”
Heisyrt glances to the clear skies to the south, out over the Southern Ocean.
“You will see,” promises the Empress.
“You said the heir…?”
“Kiedron is in the coach.”
The captain turns and addresses the junior officer. “Lieutenant, prepare to cast off once the loading is complete. Send word to fire all remaining idle boilers. Then escort the heir to the Emperor’s stateroom.”
“Yes, ser.”
Heisyrt then leads the way up the gangway, his steps measured.
After climbing metal ladders up three decks, Mairena is more than glad she has worn riding gear and boots. The covered bridge sits fo
rward of the first stack, overlooking the firecannon turret. Before she follows the captain onto the bridge, Mairena looks back down at the pier, then nods as she sees the Mirror Lancers, packs on their backs, filing up the gangway.
She slips through the open hatchway onto the bridge, her eyes on Heisyrt.
The captain reaches for the engine bellpull, then jerks it twice. “I’ve sent the order for all boilers to be bit lit off and brought up to full power.”
“How long before they are?” asks Mairena.
“It will take another quarter glass for them to be at full power. They should be ready by the time all the Mirror Lancers … and the others … are aboard.”
Mairena glances toward the Palace of Light, studies it, trying to compare what she sees to what she has seen. There is some time. Let us hope it is enough.
As she waits, every few moments Mairena walks to the pier side of the bridge. After a tenth of a glass, when it appears that everyone is aboard, or at least there is no one on the pier except for Captain Altyrn, she steps back through the hatchway onto the top of the ladder and calls, as loudly as she can, “Captain Altyrn!”
The captain looks up, finally locating her, and she gestures for him to board. Once he is on the gangway, she re-enters the bridge and looks to Captain Heisyrt. “It’s time to leave.”
Heisyrt nods to a seaman at the end of the bridge, and a series of whistles fill the air, followed by the clanging of a bell somewhere below the bridge.
Mairena watches and listens.
“Cast off all lines!”
“Gangway up!”
Heisyrt gives the engine bellpull a quick series of pulls, followed by a pause and a single pull.
Although the Empress can feel a muted shuddering in the plates beneath her boots, for several moments nothing seems to happen … except she realizes that the Kerial is easing forward and away from the long white stone pier.
“To where do you wish us to be bound right now?” asks Heisyrt.
“To the Western Ocean. Head directly to sea along the deepest channel.”
“That is not the course best steered…”
“The deepest channel,” repeats Mairena.
“That will take longer, if haste is necessary.”
“I understand. The deepest channel, please.”
“Left two points.… Then steady as she goes…”
The Empress continues to stand back from the helmsman, almost shoulder to shoulder with Captain Heisyrt. Tyrsalyn slips to the back of the covered bridge, his tired eyes moving from the Empress to the captain and back across the bridge.
After a time, perhaps a quarter glass, Kiedron appears in the hatchway through which Mairena had entered the bridge. Behind him is Emerya, and behind them a junior officer, very fresh-faced and with a single collar bar.
Mairena gestures for her children to enter the bridge and stand against the metal bulkhead that forms the rear of the superstructure. She says not a word, but turns to watch the captain and the helmsman, and the progress of the fireship away from the shore—and Cyad.
After another quarter glass, when the ship has begun to pitch slightly as it makes its way through the low waves, Mairena walks to the right side of the bridge and then through the hatchway and out onto the railed lookout’s platform. She looks aft. The Kerial is well clear of the wide harbor, heading south-southeast, as well as Mairena can tell, perhaps three kays out, so that the structures of Cyad seem like miniatures, with the Palace of Light rising just slightly above them, barely standing out on the gentle slope that rises to the north of the harbor. At that moment, the rays of sunrise creep across the water and bathe Cyad in yellowish light that will soon turn white under the greenish-blue sky.
Soon … too soon.
She steps back to the hatchway and beckons to Kiedron and Emerya. “Come here, both of you.” Mairena nods to Heisyrt. “You, too, Captain. Just to the lookout platform.” She walks back out onto the railed lookout platform, gesturing for the other three to join her.
Tyrsalyn follows, but remains in the hatchway.
“Emerya and Kiedron, watch Cyad,” commands the Empress. “Do not take your eyes off the Palace of Light, distant as it is. Especially you, Kiedron.”
Kiedron looks to his sister. Emerya nods. Heisyrt frowns.
Behind them, so does Tyrsalyn.
Just as the sun’s rays begin to shift from yellow to white, and the Palace of Light brightens to a greenish-white starpoint in the middle of Cyad, an unseen lance of blackness flares, enfolding Mairena in a blackness so deep she cannot see. She can feel herself falling …
III
Mairena wakes to find herself being held erect by Kiedron. She glances around. Emerya is white-faced, sitting on the wooden planks of the lookout platform. Tyrsalyn lies sprawled facedown across the raised lower lip of the hatchway to the bridge. Kiedron’s face contains lines of strain, and he massages his forehead with his left hand, his right around his mother’s waist. When he sees she is alert, he immediately releases her.
Heisyrt stares shoreward, looking back to the north, to the coastline.
Mairena steadies herself on the railing and also looks northward.
Where Cyad and the Palace of Light had stood, there is only a wall of darkness and dust. In every direction, the land is still shaking, and in many places, chunks of cliffs are toppling into the water. Spikes of dust spray into the air. Lower areas of land slump into the water, and yet, well off the shore south of the harbor, a long and low isle of land slowly rises out of the sea.
Even as Mairena watches, the harbor floor appears, as if the harbor and the channel are being drained. Then an enormous wall of water surges toward the ruins of Cyad, pouring over the piers and the seawalls, still shuddering as they vanish under the massive wave that surges up the gentle incline on which the City of Light had stood for centuries. Spray rises into the air, mixing with darkness and dust.
The captain studies the waves, then abruptly turns and commands, “Bring her two points to port! Now! Then steady on that heading.” Then he vaults over the prone form of Tyrsalyn and through the hatchway onto the bridge.
“Coming port, ser!”
The Kerial has barely straightened on the new heading when the ship pitches abruptly forward into a deep trough in the waves, a trough that races southward away from the fireship as water sprays across the forequarter. For several moments, the entire ship shudders, although Mairena does not know why.
She forces herself to look back at where Cyad had stood.
The water again recedes and bares the harbor floor, but the white stone piers have dropped so that only their upper surface is visible—and only for a time, until a second gigantic wave surges over them and over the debris that had been a great city.
Shortly, the Kerial pitches forward once more, if not quite so steeply as previously, and the shuddering lasts only moments before ending.
By now, the entire coastline is shrouded in mist and dust and darkness, and there is no sign of Cyad … or the white stone piers of the harbor.
From the decks below come cries of despair, wailing, and loudly voiced questions, some against the Rational Stars … and others which Mairena chooses to ignore. You did what you could. Even as she believes that to be true, she cannot help but wonder.
After a time, less than a quarter glass, Heisyrt returns to the lookout station, easing past Emerya, who is attempting to use her healing skills to rouse the Third Magus, who has begun to moan and mumble.
Heisyrt looks squarely at the Empress. “Why didn’t you tell everyone?”
“You didn’t believe me. Why would anyone else? I had visions. Nothing more. I had another this morning. I was guessing that it would occur this morning. What else could I have done, Captain? Were there any other ships that could have escaped in time? With no wind? As it is, those aboard will likely tariff your stores.” She pauses. “Had I been wrong … I would have been disgraced … possibly executed for commandeering the fireship.” Then she looks at
the captain. “Would you have risked what I did on a vision, Captain?”
After a long moment, Heisyrt’s eyes drop. Finally, he asks, “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” she answers honestly. “I only know that whatever it was came with a bolt of order, something so powerful I have never sensed its like.”
She looks down, sensing that the fallen Third Magus has recovered enough to offer what he may have felt.
With Emerya’s help, Tyrsalyn slowly rises to his feet, then puts out a hand to steady himself on the nearest railing. He moistens his lips. Finally, he speaks, slowly and deliberately. “In all my life … I have … never … felt such power. It was like the Accursed Forest, but … a hundredfold stronger … perhaps even more than that.” He swallows as his eyes take in the wall of clouds and dust that have obscured the mass of debris that had, less than a glass before, been the City of Light, Glory of Cyador, and wonder of all Candar.
Mairena follows his gaze, her eyes traveling west, then back east across the northern horizon. Although a large area is blocked by the superstructure of the Kerial, everything that she does see is similar—devastation everywhere.
“The destruction is likely worse elsewhere,” Tyrsalyn says slowly.
“Why do you say that?” asks Heisyrt.
“Because it had to come from the Accursed Forest, and it is hundreds of kays to the east.”
“You said it was stronger than the forest,” pointed out Kiedron.
“I did … but it could be nothing else … although…”
“Although what?” demands Kiedron.
“There was some other order as well … a different kind of blackness…”
“The dark angels?” suggests Mairena.
“They might have involved the Accursed Forest…,” muses Tyrsalyn.
“How?” asks Emerya.
“I do not know.” The Third Magus glances back northward. “The greatest force was, I think, directed at where chaos was the most powerful.”
Emerya looks to her mother. “Father…”
Recluce Tales Page 13