“The shipping schedule to Ghala is not of great concern,” agreed Wyant. “It sounds like a good plan. I will round up Rejji and Bakhai so that we do not delay the ship’s departure.”
The Emperor watched the marshal turn and leave. He turned to Gunta and told him to awaken the rest of the party.
* * *
“Sails off the port bow,” shouted the sailor for the rigging. “Make that three ships running hard. They are coming this way, Captain.”
“Man the sails,” shouted Captain Mynor. “We are coming about.”
Two sailors left the stern rail and raced forward to trim the sails.
“Two more off the port beam,” shouted the lookout.
“What do you make of it, Magella?” the captain asked the seaman alongside him who was drawing lines on the chart that he had been creating.
“It is obviously coordinated,” answered Magella. “Five ships appearing at the same time is no coincidence. They are coming for us.”
“As I suspected,” nodded Captain Mynor. “If I were them, I would have a few more far behind us to close in when we turned to flee.”
“I agree,” stated the seaman. “Our best course is the open sea. We will have to abandon the charting for now and pick it up again later.”
“That will waste a few days,” frowned the captain. “The longer we hang around this Island of Darkness, the greater the risks to our ship and crew.”
“Three more sails astern,” shouted the lookout. “They are coming on full sail, Captain.”
“There you have it,” scowled the captain. “We have no choice but to run.” The captain waited until the sailors were ready to man the sails and then shouted, “Coming about now.”
Captain Mynor grabbed the wheel and started turning to starboard. The small craft turned sharply and headed for the open sea.
“Trim the sails full,” shouted the captain. “We are in a race here. Make her sleek.”
The Sprite moved slowly at first as the sailors worked to trim the sails for the new wind. Captain Mynor adjusted the course for maximum speed. By the time the Sprite was up to speed, the eight Motangan ships were quite visible.
“They picked the right wind to spring this attack,” commented Magella. “If we were lazy in watching out for them, they would already be upon us.”
“This is not a voyage where we can afford to be lazy,” replied the captain as he looked over his shoulder at the ships converging on the Sprite. “They are closer to us than I would have liked.”
“They still have the momentum,” frowned Magella, “but I don’t think they can gain any on us now. Not unless the winds change.”
“Give a look, Sean,” shouted the captain. “Tell me what is on those ships.”
“Barrels are lit, Captain,” shouted the lookout. “I see no catapults, but there are scores of archers on the bows.”
“No type of weapons other than the archers?” asked the captain.
“None that I can see, Captain,” replied Sean.
“What are you thinking, Captain?” asked Magella.
“I am wondering if these ships are typical of the ones that will transport the massive armies to the mainland,” mused the captain. “If so, a fleet of small attack ships might succeed in costing the Motangans a great deal of men. I have heard that the attack ships are capable of carrying a thousand men each. Can you imagine the small victory of even one of those ships going to the bottom?”
“It would be suicide for our crews,” frowned Magella, “but the thought is worth pursuing. If their entire navy crosses the sea unhindered, Khadora does not stand a chance of surviving. We would have to build special ships to have any chance of sinking those behemoths. Do you think the Emperor would invest in such a plan?”
“It was Emperor Marak who sent us on this mission,” the captain reminded the seaman. “He wants this island charted for some reason, although I am not privy to his plans. I think if we can present a plan, he will sign onto it.”
“First we have to complete the charting of the Island of Darkness,” frowned Magella as gazed over the stern at the Motangan vessels bearing down on them.
* * *
The officer stormed out of the interrogation room and slammed the door.
“I assume that your efforts failed again?” asked a hooded man as he walked to the closed door and peered through the small window.
He gazed into the interrogation room, which was really a large storeroom with a table in the center of it. Shelves, lined with hundreds of tins, bottles, and piles of cloth, lined the walls. In the center of the room, a young woman was strapped naked to the table. Leather straps bound her legs and arms.
“She is not going to volunteer the information,” replied the officer. “I have threatened her and offered rewards for her cooperation, but she denies that she is a mage. Is there any chance that we grabbed the wrong person?”
“Did she confirm her name?” asked the hooded man.
“She is called Rhoda,” nodded the officer. “Maybe our spies were wrong in selecting her.”
“More likely,” the hooded man smirked, “she requires an expert interrogator. Fortunately for you, I have arrived. Go get some sleep. I will have her talking before you awaken from your nap.”
The officer frowned, but nodded and left the room through a door to the corridor beyond. The interrogator opened the door to the storeroom and walked in. He made a point of closing the door loudly so his victim would know that she had company. He smiled inwardly as the young woman’s head turned in an attempt to see who was coming. The interrogator stood silently outside her field of vision for several moments before approaching the table.
“Ah,” smiled the interrogator as he stepped alongside the table and stared at the young woman, “what do we have here? You are Rhoda of Raven’s Point, aren’t you? I remember seeing you there.”
“You have been to Raven’s Point?” asked the young woman. “I do not remember you.”
“I would not have been wearing my hood,” laughed the interrogator. “How could you possibly remember me?”
“That must be why I didn’t recognize you,” frowned Rhoda. “Perhaps if you remove the hood, I will remember you.”
“It is not me that I wish you to remember,” smiled the interrogator. “What I want is your knowledge of magic spells.”
“I am not a mage,” Rhoda said hesitantly.
“Do not lie to me,” shouted the interrogator.
Rhoda shook with fear at the change of the man’s tone. She was not convinced that the man was Khadoran, but she knew that her plan of playing ignorant would no longer work. This man would not be as easily frustrated as the officer had been.
“I only know one spell,” lied Rhoda. “I don’t consider that being a mage. There are mages at Raven’s Point. You must have me confused with someone else.”
The interrogator exhaled as one would when considering the words of an opponent. Rhoda felt a small sliver of hope that she could confuse the man.
“What is the one spell that you know?” asked the interrogator. “I will know by your answer if you are telling me the truth.”
Rhoda frantically thought about the spells she knew and which of them could possibly be witnessed by non-mages. Weaving an air tunnel was the only spell she could think of that an ordinary person would recognize as magic. She had used the spell in front of many ordinary clansmen. If this man had truly been to Raven’s Point, that is what he would be expecting her to say.
“There is a minor spell called an air tunnel,” Rhoda replied. “It is mostly a trick to amuse children.”
“It is a spell used for communications,” corrected the interrogator. “Do not take me for a fool. Explain to me how it works.”
“You would not understand it,” protested Rhoda. “Only a mage could understand the spell.”
“Yet you claim not to be a mage,” retorted the interrogator. “If you continue to lie to me, your punishment will be extremely cruel.”
Rhoda’s naked body shivered involuntarily in reaction to the interrogator’s threat. She knew that she had been stripped naked to make her feel more vulnerable. She used her powers of concentration to calm her body so that the interrogator would not notice her fear.
“The mages said that I had the capability of learning it,” replied Rhoda after she had calmed down. “That only meant that I had the talent within me. I must not have much talent if they only saw fit to teach me that one spell. Still, I would have to explain it to someone who at least has the capability to understand it. If you have no magical talent, you will not understand.”
The interrogator’s hand rose and pointed at Rhoda’s right leg. Flames leaped from his pointed finger and struck the leg. Rhoda screamed as the fire burned into her flesh. Her body twitched uncontrollably as the pain grew more intense. She felt as if her leg would burn completely off. Rhoda continued to scream until she passed out.
Rhoda was not sure how long she had been unconscious when she awoke. She could still feel the searing pain where the fire had burned her leg, but the pain was localized.
“So you are back among the living,” sneered the interrogator. “Did you enjoy my demonstration of magical ability?”
Rhoda said nothing. She concentrated on ignoring the pain in her leg.
“If not,” continued the interrogator, “I would be more than happy to demonstrate it again, and again, and again. The choice is yours. You can cooperate and live, or you can be burned one small area at a time until you do cooperate. Frankly, I hope you decide to be stubborn for at least a little while longer.”
“What do you want of me?” cried Rhoda. “I have done nothing to you. Why do you seek to hurt me so?”
“I want to know how you create an air tunnel,” declared the interrogator. “It is a simple request.”
“And if I tell you?” asked Rhoda. “What is in it for me? How do I know that you will not pleasure yourself with continued burnings of my flesh?”
The interrogator smiled broadly, although Rhoda could not see his face. He knew that his little demonstration had paid off where the officer had failed.
“If you cooperate,” answered the interrogator, “life will be simple for you. You will be free to live in peace on the island. If you do have any talents, we might even train you to be productive.”
“I won’t be allowed to return to Raven’s Point?” asked Rhoda.
“No,” the interrogator shook his head. “At least not while it is still Khadoran. Perhaps afterwards you will be allowed to return, after we have destroyed it.”
Rhoda felt a tear roll down her cheek. She had suspected that she would never see Raven’s Point again, but to hear the interrogator admit it brought a feeling of hopelessness to her.
“And you will truly teach me more magic?” Rhoda asked. “Would you really do that? Or are you just saying that to please me now?”
“If you have the ability,” answered the interrogator, “you will be taught. We have the finest teachers in the world here. Of course, it will depend on your abilities. I can promise no more than that.”
“I appreciate the honesty,” Rhoda tried to smile. “And all that I have to do is teach you how to create an air tunnel?”
“That is all,” nodded the interrogator. “Let’s begin now.”
“Alright,” Rhoda decided. “I have little choice anyways, and you will teach me magic. I always wanted to be a great mage.”
“Yes, yes,” sighed the interrogator, knowing that her low level abilities would never be worth nurturing. “Explain it to me now.”
“You have to create a vortex of wind,” explained Rhoda. “You do this by rotating your hands in a rapid fashion. Your hands must rotate around a perceived axis that extends from the perpendicular of an imaginary line connecting your two elbows. Then as the wind begins to circulate…”
“Wait,” commanded the interrogator. “Stop. Slow down so I can picture what you are saying.”
“I am sorry,” apologized Rhoda. “I guess I am just excited about the chance of learning new magic.”
The interrogator nodded and Rhoda repeated her statements again, only slower. She watched as the man tried positioning his hands properly.
“No, no, no,” Rhoda shook her head. “It has to be perpendicular. Your hands are off at an angle. Let me explain it again.”
“Be more detailed when you explain the positioning,” scowled the interrogator. “I want to get this right.”
“It would be much easier to show you,” sighed Rhoda. “That is how I learned. It really is a simple spell. You should not be having trouble with it.”
The interrogator stared at the naked woman as if weighing the risks of unstrapping her.
“Okay,” sighed Rhoda. “Let’s try this again. Put your arms out perpendicular to your body.”
“Stop,” ordered the interrogator. “I will unstrap you. Show me how the positioning is set. Do not take advantage of my leniency.”
“That will be easier,” nodded Rhoda. “As for taking advantage of anything, I am hardly in the position to run away. I do not even know where I am.”
“Trust me,” grinned the interrogator as he undid the straps holding her arms down, “you will not be running anywhere. Your legs will remain strapped to this table.
“That is fine,” replied Rhoda as she held her arms up and rubbed the areas that had been in contact with the straps. “You don’t realize how tight those straps are until they are released.”
“Begin now,” instructed the interrogator.
“Alright,” nodded Rhoda as she lifted her arms perpendicular to her torso. “Watch my hands closely. See how my arms are perpendicular to my body? Put yours out just like mine. Good. Now cup your hands like mine.”
The interrogator watched her hands closely and saw the beginnings of a vortex forming.
“You should be able to see the winds circulating now,” Rhoda said. “Note the circulation pattern. It must always go in the same direction.”
The interrogator nodded as he watched the vortex grow. “How do you use it to communicate?” he asked.
“In a minute,” replied Rhoda as she concentrated on her spell. “First the vortex must be fully formed. Only then can it be directed to the proper target.”
Suddenly, the tall shelves of the storeroom began to vibrate. Items on the shelves bounced around and began to lift off the shelves. The interrogator did not notice the storm-like winds that were rotating fiercely around the room as he stared at the small vortex within Rhoda’s hands. Soon the articles on the shelves began flying around the room. Tins, bottles and piles of cloth circulated the room like a small tornado. When the tall shelves loudly snapped away from the walls, the interrogator’s head snapped up to discover what was happening.
“What is going on?” he demanded to know. “Is this part of the air tunnel?”
“Oh,” smiled Rhoda as she twisted her hands to make the tornado collapse in on itself, “did you want an air tunnel? I thought you wanted something much more powerful. I know that I am ready to die. Are you?”
The tornado spiraled inward as the interrogator’s mouth opened in horror. The first obstacle to strike was a small tin filled with nails. It smashed into his head with the force of a strong punch from a burly krul. The interrogator swayed from the blow as the tornado collapsed inward.
Rhoda watched with glee as the flying debris descended on her and the interrogator. She saw a sharp piece of broken shelf plunge into the interrogator’s body. She could barely hear his scream over the howling of the wind. Then she felt the articles striking her body. She closed her eyes and prepared to die.
Chapter 8
Qubari Jungle
The Khadoran ship slid alongside the dock at Ghala, the morning sun just rising over the eastern sea. Two old men stood apart from the dockworkers that were securing the ship’s lines. Rejji grinned broadly as he saw the two men.
“Plesy! Copi!” smiled the Astor. “How good to see you again.”
“Stop your grumbling, Copi,” chuckled Plesy. “The smile hasn’t left your face since Ghala mushroomed into a city.”
“Some things never change,” laughed Rejji as he marched down the gangplank and greeted the city elders. “How is Riktor? I thought he would be on the dock.”
“This ship is unscheduled,” Plesy replied. “My son is off hunting this week. He will be back in a few days.”
“Too many unscheduled ships these days,” groused Copi. “Another arrived just yesterday. Don’t those Khadorans know how to keep to a shipping schedule?”
Rejji flushed with embarrassment as Emperor Marak stepped off the gangplank and stood alongside him.
“We were scheduled to arrive this day to honor the death of one of the city’s founding fathers,” Emperor Marak replied brusquely. “Hasn’t the one called Copi died yet?”
Copi’s eyes grew wide and his mouth hung open as he watched Halman and Gunta come down the gangplank and flank the Torak. He returned his eyes to the Emperor’s face and saw Marak grinning broadly. There was a twinkle of mischievousness in the Torak’s eyes.
“Bah,” grumbled Copi. “Don’t do that to an old man. My heart can only stand so much.”
“Your heart looks like it has been caring for you well,” smiled Emperor Marak. “Tell me of yesterday’s ship.”
“It just dropped off four people,” replied Plesy. “A young woman who calls herself the Star of Sakova and three fellow travelers. She is staying at the Ghala Inn.”
“The old man is alright,” interjected Copi. “He has been demanding to hear all of the old stories of the village.”
“What Copi means is that he has found someone to sit and listen to him tell all of those old stories,” chuckled Plesy.
“Those stories are our history,” retorted Copi. “Temiker is wise to seek out such knowledge.”
“Temiker is wise,” smiled the Emperor as the rest of the travelers filed off the ship.
“Mistake! Bakhai!” greeted Plesy. “You are all back together again. I remember the day the three of you arrived at our small village.”
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