She held that image in her mind for a moment and the smile returned to her lips.
"Karas, should we not increase our chances of success, if at all possible?"
Duren's hooded eyes, which had been assessing the color of a glass of wine he was holding up to the candlelight, slowly turned toward her. Brother and sister stared at each other for a full minute without speaking.
'Teanna?" he finally asked.
"We have two rings left, and she is family."
His response was to raise his glass to her before he drained it.
Teanna d'Elso, Princess of Nyngary, looked at the invitation from her uncle requesting that she join him and her mother in the garden for their midday meal. Although not quite as tall as her mother, the eighteen-year-old favored her greatly, both in looks and demeanor. She had inherited startling blue eyes from her father's side of the family, and her hair was a shade lighter, but otherwise mother and daughter were difficult to tell apart, even when standing side by side. Teanna had always considered herself fortunate to have inherited her mother's general composure and intellect. She was aware of this at a very young age.
When she opened the door to her quarters, the two soldiers standing watch at the entrance snapped to attention. She barely noticed them. She walked past the soldiers and headed down the wide granite corridor that led to the courtyard below, sparing a glance at the portraits lining the walls. My ancestors, she thought. She felt the same attachment to them as she did to most people. None.
The opulence of her uncle's palace was a contradiction to its owner, she thought, who seemed an austere individual. Karas Duren tended to speak very little. He was an observer, as she herself was. So were her mother and her cousin Eric.
She supposed such things ran in her family.
Teanna passed through the courtyard, noting that water had been added to the central fountain since their arrival. She made a mental note to ask her uncle about the artists who had crafted the work. It would be nice to have a similar one for their own palace in Nyngary. Her father would commission it. Teanna had no doubt that either she or her mother could get what they wanted from him with little difficulty. That had always been the case for as long as she could remember. She loved her father, but she had little tolerance for the man's indecisive nature.
The door hidden among the rows of boxwoods was rusted, but it still swung open easily past the soldier standing guard there. It pleased her to see that the man looked away quickly, not meeting her eyes. Her mother had taught her that fear could be a potent tool if one used it correctly.
She followed the little path, under a spreading canopy
of olive trees, and found them waiting for her. A table had been set for lunch. Duren rose and made a slight bow to her, formal as always. She curtsied, then took a seat next to her mother.
"I'm so glad you could join us this afternoon, Teanna," Duren said, offering her a glass of chilled wine.
"Thank you, Uncle. I'm only sorry that Uncle Kyne could not be here to join us."
"And why is that?" Duren said, taking a sip from his glass.
The question took her aback. She had said it because she thought it would be an appropriate expression of grief at the passing of a loved one. But then the sight of Duren tossing the first handful of dirt on his brother's grave flashed in her mind. At the only other funeral she had attended in her short years, that of a distant cousin, the tossing of the first handful of earth had seemed to be a solemn act, attended by a good deal of tears. Her uncle, however, did so in the most offhanded way, barely pausing in his conversation with her mother, before they walked away from the grave.
She shrugged. "It seemed like the correct thing to say," she replied coolly. She decided that she would have to be more careful with her comments in the future.
Duren smiled. "Thank you, my dear. It's gratifying to see that your mother's candor runs in the family. We invited you here today because we wanted to present you with this little gift." Duren held open the box containing the rings.
The second she sat down, Teanna noticed that both her mother and her uncle were wearing identical gold rings with the same rose-colored tint.
She was also aware that though he was smiling, her uncle was watching her. Typically, her mother's beautiful face was an unreadable mask. Teanna looked at the box, picked up one of the rings and examined it closely.
Seconds passed. The wind blew through the trees, rippling the green leaves, and water continued to splash noisily over the stones into the pond beside them.
She took another quick glance at her mother. For a moment she thought she saw the barest hint of a smile.
Teanna placed the ring back in the box and selected the other, slipping it onto the third finger of her right hand.
Abruptly, the expression on her face changed and she stared at the ring, startled. When she looked up, her mother and uncle were smiling—genuine smiles, it seemed.
24
On the River Roeselar
The trip downriver would have proved inter-minably boring if not for Oliver Donal. The blunt captain, with his wind-beaten face, proved not only a courteous host, but a talented teacher as well. At times, it seemed to Mathew the man was carved from a block of wood. He could be found on deck at all hours of the day and night, his sharp eyes missing nothing. The captain solved the problem of where to put Lara by courteously vacating his own quarters to her and moving in with the first mate, a man named Zachariah Ward.
The weather improved throughout the first day, sparing Mathew the embarrassment of having to deal with his stomach. Unfortunately, things got worse at the beginning of the second day, when the river emptied into the Great Southern Sea, which lower Elgaria, Sennia, Cincar, and Vargoth all bordered.
Mathew's wonder at being on a real ocean was marred when the waters became considerably rougher, forcing him to spend the entire day in his cabin. He emerged the following morning pale-faced, but steadier on his feet, as his body grew accustomed to the ship's motion. By then he was able to keep some food down, and tentatively sampled a hot bowl of porridge and biscuits the cook thoughtfully sent to him.
Several of the hands, and one in particular, named Biggs, found it amusing that anyone could be sick in such mild conditions. Twice Mathew heard him making jokes about it to the other men as he walked past them. He ignored the comments, but they made his ears burn.
After the second day, and each morning for the remainder of the next two weeks, Mathew rose early and left his cabin to attend "class" with Jaim and Pryor, two brothers who were training on board the Wave Dancer. Captain Donal instructed them on how to read a navigation chart properly. He also taught them how to use a compass and sextant. Mathew learned that even though the land was out of sight, by calculating the position of the sun in the morning, taking a "reading," as Captain Donal called it, he could determine their position with a high degree of accuracy.
The math was a considerable challenge to the two brothers, as well as the patience of Captain Donal. Mathew, on the other hand, had no difficulty with the equations, most of which he was able to do in his head. In due course he learned that the boys were apprenticed by their father for two years to learn the trade. Pryor, who was fifteen, was a year older than his brother, Jaim.
Mathew found almost everything on the ship fascinating, from the complex series of lines that ran from the yards and braces, to the design of the ship's hull. He wanted to know how and why things worked the way they did, and finding a kindred spirit in him, the captain was free with his answers. To amuse himself, Mathew often passed his time practicing with the compass and sextant. He checked and rechecked routes, plotting them on Captain Donal's considerable store of charts.
At one point Mathew tried interesting Lara in what he was doing. She kissed him on the cheek, when nobody was looking, and told him to come get her for a walk around the deck when he was through tinkering.
Once the Wave Dancer reached the open sea, they be�
�gan a leg of their journey that was to take them nearly 1,200 miles. Under full sail and making good speed, they were certain to be out of contact with the land for at least two weeks. This was due in part to the winds and prevail-
ing currents in that part of the world. The entire experience of being on the ocean was astonishing and wonderful to Mathew. It was an odd feeling to look out and see nothing but water all around him. He learned from Zachariah Ward that the Southern Sea was harder to navigate than other bodies of water because of its unpredictable weather.
Standing in the bow the morning of their eighth day out, Mathew had to hold onto the brass railing to keep from being pushed backward by the force of the wind. Lara came up for a while to be with him, but went below after fifteen minutes. He thought it was exhilarating. For most of the day they had been "running before the wind," as Captain Donal put it, but during the last hour the wind shifted and freshened considerably, coming from the northwest over the port quarter of the ship.
Mathew soon learned what Zachariah Ward meant when he said that the weather could be unpredictable. In the west, the very direction they were heading, the sky began to darken, forcing Ward to call the watch and shorten sail. About two miles ahead of them Mathew could see a squall line forming. He was still watching it when he became aware of someone approaching behind him.
"Ho, Mat," Collin said.
"Where've you been?" Mathew asked, wiping some spray from his face as the bow plunged into a wave.
"Below, talking to Father Thomas."
Mathew nodded.
Collin glanced over the side at the foaming water below, then back at Mathew. "I've been thinking .. . this whole business about the ring is pretty strange, isn't it?"
Mathew took a breath and nodded again.
'Tell me again what exactly happened?"
"Why? We've gone through it already."
"I know, but I was upstairs when the stable exploded. I thought... maybe if we go over it once more, there might be something that we missed."
"I just don't see what good it will do. I've thought the whole thing over till I'm blue in the face. Everything about it makes me uncomfortable. It's. . . just that... I don't know ..."
Mathew's voice trailed off and he looked up into the foremast rigging.
Collin didn't say anything.
After a while Mathew turned back to him. "What is it you want to know?"
"Everything you can remember—everything, and don't leave anything out."
Mathew took a breath and began by recounting the details about what had happened in the forest. Collin didn't interrupt or make any comments until he was through.
"What were you thinking, just before it happened?"
"I wasn't wishing for my vision to turn green, if that's what you mean," Mathew said, annoyed.
"I know that," Collin said. "Do you remember anything about what you were thinking?"
Mathew's eyes became unfocused for a moment. "I remember wishing that if I had that farsighter invention of Daniel's—you know, the brass tube and the glass lenses—that I might be able to see just how many Or-locks were out there. I think that's about right. I was pretty scared at the time."
Collin nodded to himself. "And what about in the stables, Mat?"
"Well... the Orlocks were starting to come at us, and one of them said, 'Give it to me,' or something like that. I thought he was talking about Lara. But then he pointed and said 'the ring.' It was as clear as can be."
"And . .. ?" Collin prompted.
"And I was pretty sure that we were both going to die," Mathew said, his eyes still distant. "I didn't remember to bring my sword with me. I got furious with myself for being such a dolt."
"And?"
"And and and," Mathew said irritably. "The last thing I remember just before it happened was thinking that I would see them in hell." Mathew looked into his friend's
brown eyes. "Look, I was angrier than I've ever been in my life. It was mostly at myself, but then I remembered what they did to Garon and Lee, and that just added to it."
"You'd see them in hell, that's what you said?"
"I didn't say it, I thought it. I was trying to find a way out—any way. We were trapped. I thought we were going to die. Do you understand?"
"Sure," Collin said.
His expression was serious, which Mathew didn't see often in him.
"Mat, would you put the ring on for a second?"
"What? No. I think it's best if I keep it off. I'm giving it to the first member of Giles's family I can find."
"I'd like you to try something—"
"No," Mathew said emphatically. "Was this Father Thomas's idea?"
"Uh-uh. I think he feels the same way you do—just keep it off for a while and see if any other odd things happen."
"Well, that's good advice as far as I'm concerned," Mathew said. "It stays off. What'd you want to do anyway?"
Collin shrugged. "I'm not sure. I wanted to see if you could make something happen when you were completely calm. I was thinking that maybe being angry or scared out of your mind might be the key."
"And what if I made something happen like before? It would sink the ship, if not blow it up completely. I don't even know what caused the other things to happen in the first place, and I certainly don't want to try and find out in the middle of the ocean."
"Hmm .. . you may have a point, Mat Lewin." Collin grinned. "And you're not that great a swimmer."
Mathew found that he was gripping the railing so hard, his hands hurt. The whole business about the ring made him uncomfortable. Not having answers was like trying to grab smoke. With an effort, he forced himself to relax and smiled back at Collin. Over the last week, the same thought had occurred to him several times. Twice when he was alone, he had started to slip the ring back on his finger. But each time he had resisted the temptation and placed it back on the leather cord again.
Mathew was spared any further thoughts on the subject when another wave broke over the bow, spraying them with water. Now only a mile away, it appeared the approaching squall line had expanded in either direction, obscuring the horizon. Mathew knew the hazy areas ahead of them were probably sheets of rain; there wasn't much possibility of going around them.
For the second time that morning, Zachariah Ward was forced to call out the watch to shorten sail.
"Will you look at that?" Collin said, pointing.
Mathew looked and saw one of the strangest sights he had ever seen. Just off the port bow, a huge funnel of water had lifted itself out of the sea and was twisting and spinning over the churning ocean.
"Waterspout," Zachariah Ward said from behind them.
They turned to look at him and then back at the phenomenon gliding across the ocean. The tail of the waterspout appeared to move and dance as the whole thing changed shape, from wide and symmetrical to elongated and lopsided.
The first mate watched it pass astern of the Wave Dancer and gave a curt nod, satisfied it would present no immediate danger to the ship. Mathew was about to ask him how such things happened when Collin suddenly said "Hey!" and took a step forward, holding the back of his head.
All three of them looked down to see a gray fish, slightly less than a foot long, flopping around the deck at their feet. A second later another fish landed on the deck, followed by another.
"What in the world?" Collin exclaimed, still feeling the back of his head. "I thought someone hit me."
When they looked around, they discovered that the deck was littered with fish, flopping everywhere. Before anyone could speak, Mathew saw Captain Donal coming forward. He had a dark, menacing look on his face.
"What is the meaning of this?" he demanded.
"I don't know," Collin said. "I was just standing here— and this fish hit me in the head."
"What? Are you trying to tell me these fish just fell out the sky, sir?"
"But it's true," Mathew stammered.
"True! You both have the effront
ery to give me the lie on my own quarterdeck?" Captain Donal's face was red and he was shaking with rage.
"We're not lying," Collin said. "It happened just like that. I swear."
Several crew members, hearing the raised voices, stopped what they were doing to stare. A few started to draw closer, and soon a small crowd had gathered. Mathew looked around and started to worry.
"A fish just hit you in the head, you say?" Captain Donal said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Well. . . yes," Collin said, noticing the men around him for the first time.
"Hit him in the head. Do you hear that, Mr. Ward?" Captain Donal sneered.
"I do," the first mate answered. His face was now even more serious, if such a thing were possible.
"Well, I don't see any wings on this fish, do you?"
"N-No," Collin answered, "but it happened that way, I'm telling you."
The captain looked at Mathew, who nodded in agreement, not knowing what else to say. He noticed one of the men had a belaying pin in his hand, and another was holding a grappling hook. None of them looked happy. The captain's face was so red he looked as if he were going to explode.
"Again you give me the lie. This will go hard on you, sir. Fish everywhere on my ship—all over my nice clean deck! Did any of you men ever hear such nonsense? Boyish pranks, I call it."
There was a general murmur of agreement from among the crew, and they began to move toward them in a menacing manner.
Collin said, "Look, Captain, I swear—"
"Silence," roared the captain. "Mr. Ward, what do you think we should do with these two?"
"Hmm," the first mate replied, rubbing a whiskered chin and looking them up and down.
"Keel-haul 'em," someone in the crowd called out.
"I say over the side with them," another man growled. Mathew recognized him as Wimby, a master's mate.
Mathew could not believe what was happening. The world had just gone crazy. Fish were flopping everywhere, seeming to have fallen out of the sky; the captain was raving at them like a madman; and the crew looked as if they were ready to hang them for what happened. Then out of the corner of his eye he noticed that Captain Donal was shaking. With a start he realized that the man was quivering with laughter as he wiped tears from his eyes. A second later the entire crew burst out laughing. Even the grim-faced Mr. Ward was laughing so helplessly, he could barely stand.
Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0) Page 29