“I don’t think that’s possible, Alise,” said Shadamehr.
For a minute she looked defiant. Then she sighed. “No, I don’t suppose it is.”
“You are afraid,” he said suddenly.
She bristled. “I am not.”
“Are, too!” he returned mockingly. Seeing her color rise in her cheeks, he added, “You’re afraid that if we’re lovers, we can’t be friends. That we’ll lose what we have together.”
“Well,” she said to him, challenging. “Haven’t we?”
“No, I—” Shadamehr paused. He stood there with his mouth open. For, by the gods, they had lost it.
She walked away, left him standing at the taffrail, staring unseeing at the rolling waves and their foaming wake.
The joyful spirit of the passengers evaporated as the Kli’Sha sailed into what the orks knew as the Blessed Straits. In order to reach Krammes, the orks would have to sail past the isle of Mount Sa ’Gra, their sacred mountain that was now in the hands of the detested Karnuans. The orks avoided sailing in this direction if they could help it. It was not that they feared attack. Land-bound warriors, the Karnuans knew better than to fight the orks at sea, where the orks would have all the advantages. The orks could not bear to look at the peaks of the revered mountain and imagine the humans defilers walking the halls of their temples.
The orken lookouts sighted a few ships flying the Karnuan flag, but those turned tail the moment they saw the orken pennant and sailed away, to jeers and challenges from the orken crew.
Mount Sa ’Gra, with its plume of smoke streaming from the snow-whitened top, came into sight. The captain ordered all hands on deck. The orks lined the rails and climbed into the rigging. Taking off their caps, they gazed longingly at the mountain. Quai-ghai, their shaman, recited an orken prayer in low, solemn tones.
Although Damra could not understand the words of the chant, she could hear the grief and aching pain in the shaman’s voice and see it reflected on the faces of the orks. The chant ended in a fierce, strong shout. The orks shook their fists in the direction of their mountain, their voices joining that of their shaman in a thunderous roar.
“They vow to return,” said Captain Kal-Gah, translating. “And on that day, the Blessed Straits will run red with Karnuan blood.”
“Given your anger,” Griffith said, “I am surprised that you haven’t tried to take your mountain back by now.”
“The Captain of Captains is wise,” stated Kal-Gah. “We are gallant warriors on board our ships, hopeless bunglers on land.” He grinned suddenly. “Being an ork, I can say that though I would cut your throat from ear to ear if you said it, Baron.”
Kal-Gah clapped Shadamehr on the back, a blow that propelled him halfway across the deck.
“We have heard,” Kal-Gah added more solemnly, “that the Captain has a secret force of orks assembled in Harkon. They wait for the right omens to attack.”
“Is that true?” Alise asked, interested.
“Whether it is or it isn’t, it keeps the Karnuans from sleeping well at night,” said the captain. He gazed back at the mountain, dwindling on the horizon, and his smile tightened to a grim line. “We will come back. Someday.”
The elves and humans took their meals in their cabin, away from the orks, mainly because the sight and smell of orken food was too much for them to stomach. That night, the orks had captured a large squid and were anticipating a grand feast.
The mere thought of eating the squirming, slimy creature was enough to ruin Damra’s appetite, and she only picked at her meal, which wasn’t all that great to begin with. The ship had stopped at one of the towns along the coast to take on supplies, so the elves were able to add nuts and dried fruits to the menu of hard-baked biscuit and cheese. Having eaten nothing else for days on end, Damra thought that if she never saw another fig for as long as she lived, it would still not be long enough.
To add flavor to the meal, the four discussed the orken political situation.
“I can’t imagine what it would be like to lose someplace that you love and revere so much,” said Alise. “To know that people who care nothing about it are probably writing nasty words on the walls of the temple where your god resides.”
“And where they toss their sacrificial victims into the bowels of the sacred mountain,” said Shadamehr cheerfully.
“Do they?” asked Damra, amazed.
“Yes, I’m afraid so. The orks consider it a great honor, actually, to be given to the god of the mountain. And thus most of the victims they sacrifice are orks, who presumably think a leap into molten lava leads to heaven.”
“But to take life, which is sacred, is not right,” Damra argued.
“According to your gods. Not according to the orken god. Would you impose your beliefs on the orks? That’s what the Karnuans did, you know. That was the excuse they used to capture the sacred mountain. They claimed that offering living sacrifices was offensive to the gods.”
“It is,” said Damra.
“And slaughtering thousands of orks and enslaving thousands more isn’t offensive to the gods?” Shadamehr asked, with a wink at Griffith.
“Don’t encourage him, Damra,” said Alise. “My lord Shadamehr will argue that the ocean is dry and the sun shines at midnight, if you let him.”
“Still—” Damra began.
She was interrupted by the arrival of one of the cabin boys, the son of Captain Kal-Gah, brought along on this voyage to learn the trade.
“Sir,” said the boy, thrusting his head in through the door, “the shaman said for you to come right away. She’s doing her daily water speak, and it seems that someone is trying to contact you.”
“May I come along, my lord?” asked Griffith eagerly. “I’ve never seen this spell performed. Unless you think this message might be private.”
“No, no,” said Shadamehr gaily. “I have no secrets. So long as Quai-ghai does not mind your presence, I have no objection. Ladies? Would you like to come along, too? Although her cabin is small, and I suppose all of us would be rather a tight fit.”
Alise said she was going to bed, and Damra wanted to meditate. Griffith and Shadamehr were on their own.
“I’ll wager I’m not going to like whatever it is I’m about to hear,” Shadamehr predicted gloomily, as they followed the cabin boy belowdecks to Quai-ghai’s quarters.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because no one goes out of his way to tell you good news, yet people fall all over themselves to tell you the bad stuff.”
The cabin boy shushed them as they approached Quai-ghai’s cabin. He did not knock on the door, but gently opened it to admit the two men. They slid quietly inside, trying their best not to disturb the shaman’s concentration.
Quai-ghai sat at a table in front of a large bowl fashioned out of an enormous quahog shell. Seawater in the bowl moved gently with the motion of the ship. Quai-ghai was talking to the water, asking questions and receiving answers. Cocking her head, she listened, then replied.
“Wonderful!” Griffith breathed softly, as he took his place opposite the table. “Have you ever seen this done before?”
Shadamehr shook his head. Quai-ghai flashed them both an irritated glance, and Griffith lowered his voice to a whisper.
“She and another shaman can communicate directly with each other with this magic. All that is required is that each have a bowl of water and know the proper spell. Wyred who are permitted to study Water magic find this spell to be invaluable for rapid communication over long distances.”
“I should think so,” said Shadamehr, intrigued.
“The two people must establish a certain time of day when both will be present,” Griffith continued. “According to Quai-ghai, almost all orken shamans choose sunset as the time they will be at their posts, in order to receive or send messages.”
Quai-ghai lifted her head. “The spell is ended. You no longer have to whisper. Do you know someone named Rigiswald?”
“Crotchety old
geezer? Bad-tempered, but a snappy dresser?”
“I didn’t see him,” said Quai-ghai with dignity. She frowned at the baron. “This is a serious matter.”
“Sorry,” said Shadamehr meekly. “Please go on.”
“The Rigiswald person hired a shaman to contact you through me. The shaman has been trying for a week, and finally managed to speak to me this day. The Rigiswald person says to tell you that Dagnarus, Lord of the Void, is now King of Vinnengael.”
“At which news, I am sure, there was much rejoicing,” said Shadamehr dryly.
“The Rigiswald person says to tell you that Dagnarus has the support of the people, for he led the battle against the taan army and slaughtered them.”
“The taan army that he brought himself?” said Shadamehr, lifting an eyebrow. “That was good of him. What else?”
“The Rigiswald person says to tell you that Dagnarus has ordered all his barons to New Vinnengael to do him homage and swear their loyalty to him. If they decline, their property and assets are forfeit to the crown. According to this Rigiswald,” Quai-ghai added, her voice softening, “the king has seized your lands and your keep and all your revenue. The Rigiswald person warns that if you go back, you are in danger. Your keep is not all that you will lose.”
“I see,” said Shadamehr quietly. He could feel Griffith’s gaze on him, but he chose not meet it. He stared unseeing at the bowl of water. “Anything more?”
“An attempt was made on the life of this Rigiswald while he was on the road, but he survived, and he will meet you and Alise in Krammes.”
“Tough old bird,” said Shadamehr, smiling. “An assassin would have to get up pretty early in the day to do in Rigiswald. Any other cheerful news? The world about to come to an end?”
“No, that is all,” said Quai-ghai. “Is there anything you want to tell this person?”
“Just to take care of himself,” said Shadamehr. “And we will see him in Krammes.
“Well, well,” he said to Griffith, after they had both thanked Quai-ghai and taken their leave, “it seems I am pfenningless.”
“I am so sorry, my lord,” said Griffith.
Shadamehr gave a lopsided smile. “‘Easy come, easy go,’ as the Dunkargan thief said when they chopped off his head. Still, I was fond of my keep, even though it was a tad drafty in the winter.”
“What will you do?” Griffith wondered.
“I rather think I’ll have to get it back.”
“But, my lord,” exclaimed Griffith, appalled. “Dagnarus is King of Vinnengael, with thousands of troops at his command, and he’s also—”
“Lord of the Void, with Vrykyls and ravenous taan and Void sorcerers ready to satify his every whim? Yes, I know. But I have my health. That must count for something.”
“I don’t see how you can joke about this, my lord.”
Griffith could not imagine a greater calamity. To be exiled was the worst possible fate that could befall an elf. Death was far preferable.
“It’s either that or sit down and sob uncontrollably,” said Shadamehr. “And sobbing always makes my nose swell. Don’t worry. I’ll think of something. I always do.”
Shadamehr put his hand on the elf’s shoulder. “Brace yourself, my friend. Now comes the really hard part.”
“What’s that?”
“Telling Alise. You won’t need to summon any winds this night, Griffith,” Shadamehr predicted. “The blast of her fury will propel us along so that we’ll be lucky if we don’t end up in Myanmin by morning.”
The blast of Alise’s fury didn’t quite propel them to the Nimorean coast, but it came close. She was enraged at Dagnarus and the fools of New Vinnengael for having fallen victim to his treachery, and she was equally as enraged at Shadamehr for taking the disastrous news with such apparent calm.
“My dear,” he said in response to one of her tirades, “would you feel better if I hung myself from the yardarm?”
“Yes,” she retorted. “At least you’d be doing something constructive. You spent this morning fishing.”
“Since we’re stuck on a ship in the middle of the Blessed Straits, I’m not certain what constructive thing I could be doing, other than catching our dinner.”
“You could be making plans,” Alise said, with a wild gesture. “Deciding what to do, where to go—”
He leaned back against the rail, regarded her with a cool, insufferable smile.
“Damn you!” she said. Doubling her hand into a fist, she punched him in the arm.
“Ouch!” Shadamehr said, startled. “What was that for?”
“To make you stop smirking. You knew this would happen,” she said accusingly. “You knew this would happen, and you didn’t tell me. You knew before we even left the keep—”
“I wish I could claim that I had foreknowledge that I was going to be exiled and stripped of my lands and titles and made a target for assassination, but I’m afraid I can’t, dear heart.”
“Hah!” she said. “You chose Krammes for our destination because it is on the other side of the continent from New Vinnengael and because you have friends among the officers at the Imperial Cavalry School. Friends you can recruit to help you take back your keep…”
Shadamehr rolled up his sleeve. “Look there. Look at that mark you made. I bruise easily, you know.”
“You always said that the best-trained officers in the world came from that school,” Alise went on. “They won’t be willing to follow Dagnarus, nor will the people of Krammes. We’ll form an army and march on New Vinnengael. You have the Sovereign Stone. You’ll have to become a Dominion Lord, of course, but I’m sure the gods will overlook the defects in your character and not fry you to a crisp during the Transfiguration—”
“What would you say the odds were, exactly?” Shadamehr interrupted. “On not frying me to a crisp.”
“Oh, seventy/thirty,” said Alise.
“Seventy which way and thirty which way?”
“Seventy they fry you.”
“Not great,” he pointed out.
“I don’t honestly see how you can expect better.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“You could always do something to improve them,” Alise said.
“Do you think that’s possible?”
Alise was about to make a witty retort. Looking at him closely, she changed her mind. “Shadamehr, I believe you’re serious!”
“I think about it sometimes,” he said. “About Bashae, giving his life to protect the Stone. And for what? To hand it off to me. What good am I doing with it? Precisely nothing. I don’t know what to do,” he added, frustrated. “Do I summon the Council, as Damra wants? Or do I take the Stone to Old Vinnengael, as Gareth told me in the vision.”
He turned away, stared moodily out to sea.
“You know I was joking, don’t you?” Alise rested her hand on his arm, massaged the place where she’d hit him. “I don’t think there is a man on this world who is better suited to be a Dominion Lord. The gods would be crazy not to snap you up.”
“That’s the rub,” said Shadamehr. “The gods. All my life, I’ve been in control of my own destiny. I may have bungled things here and there, but, if I did, I had no one to blame but myself. To give myself into the hands of fate or destiny or whatever you want to call it—that’s what truly frightens me, Alise.”
“I don’t think it’s like that, exactly,” she said.
“What do you mean?” He turned to her, interested to know what she was thinking.
Shadamehr stood silhouetted against the backdrop of rolling blue waves touched here and there by white froth. Seabirds skimmed the tips of the waves, either in search of fish or because they loved the adventure of flying through the foam. The wind ruffled his long hair. His face was tanned from the sun, and that made his eyes blue as the ocean. The laughter that usually danced in his eyes, like the sun glinting on the water, was gone. Understanding that he was opening his heart to her, laying bare his fear and his doubt, Alis
e pondered long before she replied, trying to explain what was for her the inexplicable.
“There is a spell that some Earth magi are taught,” she said, her words coming slowly as she went over each in her mind, to make certain it was the word she wanted. “A spell that we know as Earthen Killer. With it, we can summon into being a shambling mass of rock and order it to do our bidding. The Killer has no mind. It has no will of its own. It gives no thought to what it’s doing. The magus has to keep this thing in control, for it would just as soon kill him as his enemies.”
Alise looked into Shadamehr’s eyes. “The gods don’t want an Earthen Killer. The gods want men and women who can think for themselves and make decisions and act on those decisions. Sometimes those decisions will be wrong, but the gods understand that. I don’t believe that those who become Dominion Lords act at the direction of the gods. I believe that they act on their own. I think that what makes Dominion Lords special is that they are given the chance to look into the minds of the gods. Not far, perhaps. Just a tiny glimpse. But even that tiny glimpse helps them to judge what to do.”
“Or perhaps,” said Shadamehr thoughtfully, “Dominion Lords are given the chance to look inside themselves.”
“Maybe it’s the same thing,” said Alise.
He reached out with his hand and smoothed back the red curls that blew across her face. “We can never go back to what we were, Alise,” he said.
“I know,” she replied.
“So where do we go from here?”
Smiling at him, she kissed him on the cheek. “To Krammes, my lord,” she said.
THE CITY OF KRAMMES HAD BEEN THEIR DESTINATION FROM THE start of their voyage and, as they drew nearer, their expectations for this city shone as brightly as the beacon fires the orks built nightly to serve as guide for the ships sailing the treacherous shoals of the Blessed Straits. Time had been suspended while they were at sea, but now the pendulum was swinging again, the ticking resumed.
Shadamehr was eager to see if any of the Dominion Lords, warned by Ulaf, had arrived. He would at last be able to hand over to them responsibility for the Sovereign Stone. And he was also looking forward to talking with Prince Mikael, ruler of the city, and the officers of the Imperial Cavalry School, to find out what they thought of their new king, Dagnarus. Alise was looking forward to seeing Ulaf and their friends. Damra and Griffith were both hoping and dreading to hear news of their homeland. Captain Kal-Gah had cargo to sell in Krammes. The crew smacked their lips when they thought about the ale houses. Everyone was looking forward to fresh food and water and walking on dry land.
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