Pathfinder Tales--Through the Gate in the Sea

by Paizo Publishing LLC.

  What was this about? “First tell me about the perimeter.”

  “I’ve got two men at each corner near the entrance, and two pairs farther on, watching the trail out. Each just in sight of the others. Just as you ordered.”

  Ensara nodded. “All right, Sarken. What’s the problem?”

  “You know damned well. I saw you, Cap’n.”

  “You saw me?” He repeated doubtfully, even though he knew exactly what Sarken was talking about.

  “You had a chance to kill that Raas bitch, and you hit the boggard instead. What’s wrong with you?”

  His guts tightened every time he heard Sarken call her that. “I’m not sure you saw exactly what happened, Sarken.”

  “I damned well—”

  “First thing, Rajana doesn’t want Mirian dead before we can question her about what she found here.” He was lying—Rajana had said nothing of the kind. “Second thing, I was getting ready to hit her with the flat of the blade when the boggard got in the way.”

  “That’s not how I saw it.”

  “Are you questioning me, Sarken?”

  “Maybe I am.”

  “Maybe you need to remember who’s in command.”

  “I think you’re going soft.”

  He rested his hand on his pommel. “You want to try me, Sarken, we’ll see just how soft I am.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about. That bitch killed my brother—your sorcerer—and you save her? Where’s your loyalty, Cap’n?”

  “To my ship, and my men. And to the coin that keeps them afloat.” Ensara raised a finger. “Right now, Lady Rajana wants Mirian Raas alive, and she’s paying the coin. I don’t know if you noticed or not, but she’s one woman I mean to keep happy.”

  “Why, what charming sentiment.”

  He hadn’t heard Rajana coming up behind him. She must have just rounded the corner, her bodyguard following.

  She stopped in the circle of lantern light. “Is there a problem with your first mate, Captain?”

  Sarken called to her. “Did you really tell the captain not to kill that bitch Raas?”

  There was that word again. His fingers tightened on his pommel.

  “Your captain has correctly inferred that the Raas woman remains of interest to me. Especially now. Until I am completely clear on what she has recovered, I may well need her alive.”

  “But you didn’t tell him that,” Sarken said.

  “I didn’t say that she did, Sarken,” Ensara retorted.

  “You just told me—”

  “I told you she didn’t want Mirian dead!”

  “There you go, callin’ her Mirian again. He’s soft on her.”

  “No,” Rajana said after a moment of contemplation. “He simply comes from a more cultured place than you, Sarken. Captain, do you need help with this man? Narsian would be happy—”

  “No, m’lady,” Ensara interrupted. “I don’t need help with my crew. Sarken’s a little … passionate about Mirian Raas.”

  “Because of your brother,” Rajana said. “So I’ve heard.” She stepped closer and considered Sarken dispassionately. “Don’t forget that she killed my sister. Not through accident, like your sibling. No—yours she simply abandoned. Mine she shot in the face with her wand. So you see, I have little interest in her wellbeing. Except where it might serve me. And you,” she added. “For by my recent scrying, I am almost certain she’s on the cusp of a momentous discovery. One that we will reap the benefits from. All we need to do now,” her eyes slid over to Ensara, “is follow her.”

  “Follow her where?” Sarken asked thickly.

  “For now, back to her sister’s mansion. It’s remote and it’s late at night, and they’ll surely think the worst is behind them. Narsian, didn’t you tell me it was made of wood?”

  “Yes, m’lady.”

  “Wood burns so easily, doesn’t it?” Rajana smiled.

  Ensara cringed.

  “What’s wrong, Captain?”

  What was wrong was that it was somebody’s home, not some robber’s roost or treasure vault. What was wrong was that he might be a pirate, but he was a gentleman, and gentlemen didn’t go around burning down people’s homes. What was wrong was that he didn’t think he was going to be able to get himself, or Mirian Raas, out of this without coming to some kind of decision he wasn’t going to like.

  “I was just thinking about the logistics,” he said. “Sarken, go in and pull our men back.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” Sarken said gruffly, then shouldered past Rajana and Narsian.

  When he had passed the corner, Rajana addressed Ensara softly. “You should kill him. He’s beneath you, and he’ll drag you down.”

  “He’s been a loyal mate.”

  “But is he still? Loyalty only matters if it’s current.” She stepped closer. “More and more you interest me, Captain. I sense depths in you that are quite curious. When our business arrangement is over, perhaps we’ll discuss other matters.”

  There was no mistaking that look. He’d seen it in enough feminine eyes. She wanted him. And she was a lovely woman, no doubt about it. At least on the outside. The nearness of her set his heart speeding despite himself.

  She must have sensed that, for she looked at him through lashes and smiled knowingly before turning abruptly away. “Come, Narsian.”

  She swept on, and there was no missing the dark look Narsian favored him with as he left.

  Ensara followed. It seemed he had no other real choice in the matter.

  15

  THE COMPASS

  MIRIAN

  There was no further sign of either the boggards or the pirates, but that didn’t keep Mirian from pushing her party to the limits of their endurance. She took point and set Jekka and Jeneta trailing, leaving Ivrian and Venthan to carry Tradan

  It was a relief to find the sturdy horses right where they’d left them with their guards, unmolested by boggards or pirates, in the camp a mile and a half north of the ruins. Jeneta set her hands once more to Tradan and the resulting magics left him feeling more clear-eyed.

  He even commented upon the eagerness of the horses, which had been stubborn on the trek south but were now utterly compliant.

  “It’s the mist,” Tradan said. “They don’t like the mist or darkness, where predators can hide. They’re eager to get home.”

  That they were, moving at a fast clip through the jungle and out into the scrubland and finally onto the dirt track that led to the ven Goleman estate.

  Charlyn held herself together when she saw her husband, but there was no missing her eyes, wide with concern, or the shocked look she gave Mirian before she helped Jeneta get her husband upstairs. Tradan babbled nervous reassurances the entire way, telling her how the injury looked worse than it was and going on about how brave her sister was. Mirian didn’t think that was helping matters much, but she didn’t volunteer anything. Once Charlyn learned Tradan had a fever, she completely ignored Jeneta’s assurances it would fade and angrily demanded Mirian do something about it.

  Mirian hurried down the stairs with a vague plan for making some willow bark tea, and found Ivrian and Venthan waiting nervously. Each held a drinking jack, and the thought of putting foaming ale to her lips herself made her salivate.

  “Is everything all right?” Ivrian asked

  She nodded. “Jeneta’s fine with wounds but can’t deal with a fever, so Charlyn wants me to do something. I’m going to see about some tea brewing.”

  “We could ride to town for another healer,” Venthan suggested. Apart from helping carry Tradan, it would be the most useful thing he’d yet done in Mirian’s presence.

  Ivrian quickly seized on the idea. “It shouldn’t take too long. Particularly if Venthan knows where the best healers are.” The writer pushed back a wave of hair and checked with Tradan’s assistant, who nodded vigorously.

  “I do.”

  Her instinct was to tell them not to bother. Tradan’s fever was low, brought on by the wounds, and would swif
tly break. But then she remembered the tight, strained expression on her sister’s face. And suppose that Jeneta had missed something, or that Mirian herself was misjudging Tradan’s condition? “All right,” she said.

  Mirian wasn’t particularly eager to let either of them go, and was surprised when Ivrian passed the wand over. She took it and stared distractedly at the thing before trying to hand it back.

  “You might need this more than me,” she said.

  Ivrian shook his head. “No. I’m worried the pirates will come back here. If they make it through those boggards.” Ivrian took a deep swig from a mug, handed it back to Venthan. “Do you think the Mzali are working with them?”

  “I think the boggards were just hungry. And we can hope that the Mzali aren’t working with anyone else. Now hurry back, and be safe.”

  Once they were off, Mirian consulted with the new guard commander, who had eight on watch outside. She then went to check on Jekka.

  Her blood brother had gathered all the book cones and some candles and set them on Tradan’s desk, then taken a seat to inspect them. He’d shifted the chair so the back rose on his right, a preference of his. Jekka hated having to slide his tail through chair slats.

  Mirian watched him from the doorway as he shifted frenetically among the cones, the candles sending flickering shadows against the walls. She wondered whether Jekka’s hopes for his lost city were rising or falling. There’d been precious little time to talk.

  He looked up after a time. “Your sister’s mate is still healing? He will heal, I mean?”

  “Yes.” She didn’t bother him with details. That kind of minutia always bored him. She gestured to the book cones. “What do we really have here, Jekka?”

  “Almost everything, my sister.” He sounded elated. “I’ve found the entryway. I know how to open the gate in the sea.”

  She came around the desk to join him as he brushed the surface of one of the cones with shaking fingers. “Reklaniss recorded the whole of the story, here. How the humans came on, and on. How he looked into the future and saw a land where all of his people were driven into the jungles or lay dead and forgotten, when his language no longer sounded in the air. So he fashioned a wall around the island of Kutnaar using the power of the tear. A colony must still live there.”

  That had happened a long, long time ago, but she didn’t say that to him.

  Jekka continued: “That wreck we found must have been on its way to Kutnaar when it foundered. It needs the jewels to open the gate. We can put the ones you found on the Daughter of the Mist.”

  “And then the gate will just open for us?” Mirian asked.

  “It is a little more complex than that.”

  Of course it was. “How complex?”

  “You can only get through at dawn on the days of the full moon.”

  Mirian performed swift mental calculations. Yes, they might just be able to make that.

  “King Reklaniss didn’t want Kutnaar to be found by just anyone who could locate the gemstones. Once through the gate, there is a maze of reefs and obstacles. Only someone with the chart and a special compass can find the way through it.” Jekka’s dexterous hands fluttered nervously. “Here on these cones is the ritual for installing the gemstones. Here on this cone is a description of the path through the maze of reefs. But I do not have the compass. It’s focused on the island, not on the north. Do you think it might still be in the tomb of Reklaniss? That we missed it?

  “I don’t know, Jekka.” She didn’t like the idea of returning to the strange tomb Reklaniss had set up as his museum. “I wouldn’t like to go back unless we’ve no other options.”

  “There could be one on the wrecked ship we found.”

  “There might,” Mirian agreed, “but finding the wreck again is likely to be problematic, seeing as how I sent it careening along the…” She stopped in mid-sentence. “Ensara’s alive!”

  “Yes.”

  “He might be able to describe where the wreck settled.”

  “He might, but why would he help?”

  Mirian still puzzled over the most recent encounter with the pirate; why he’d stalked her in league with her enemy, then struck down one of her enemies rather than her. Usually pirates’ intentions were blatantly clear, but Ensara’s behavior just didn’t make sense.

  “Easier to go back to the tomb,” she decided.

  At the shuffle of footsteps behind them, both turned with hands reaching for weapons.

  But it was no enemy, only Tradan, leaning heavily against the door in a tan shirt and trousers, his hair combed back from his forehead. Jeneta stood watchful beside him, as if she expected him to crumple at any moment.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?” Mirian asked.

  “I’m not that bad.” Tradan forced a grin, though he looked ghastly pale. “And I couldn’t wait to hear what Jekka had found.”

  “Everything we need, really,” Mirian told him. “A chart. The magical stones that open the gate. The problem is that we need a specialized compass to show us exactly where the gate lies. A compass that apparently points only to Kutnaar.”

  “It’s energies are attuned to the gate,” Jekka added.

  Tradan sagged a little in the doorframe.

  Jeneta frowned, her voice tense with concern. “I told Lord ven Goleman he should stay in bed. Lady Charlyn is furious with him.”

  “That’s the way of wives,” Tradan said philosophically. “Would this compass happen to point northwest?”

  “Only if you’re southeast of the gate,” Mirian said slowly. Of course, they were southwest of the gate now, if it really was in the Lizard Kings reefs. “Why do you ask?”

  “I have a lizardfolk compass I found in the ruins,” Tradan said. “I thought it was broken. Because it doesn’t point north.”

  16

  THE CATACOMBS

  JEKKA

  Charlyn, sister of his sister, met them as they exited the study, garbed now in a green robe she wore over a long white dressing gown. The ruby ring still glittered upon her hand. Jekka thought he detected anger in the set of her lips.

  “You told me you would rest, Tradan,” she said. “And then you sneak downstairs? Can’t this wait until the morrow?”

  “Nothing to worry about, poppet. Just going down to the vaults.”

  Charlyn turned to Mirian and Jekka.

  Mirian sounded apologetic. “If you just tell me how to retrieve it, it probably is better if you rest.”

  “Nonsense. Besides, it’s a bit of a maze down there. The old homestead’s built over some ruins my family walled off for storage. And you needn’t look like that, Mirian. It isn’t some grim temple or anything. Nothing to worry about. But—it’s dark and winding.”

  “I can’t believe you’re insisting on doing this now, Mirian,” Charlyn said. “You see how he is.”

  “Perhaps we should wait until tomorrow,” Mirian offered.

  Jekka fairly burst with eagerness to find out whether the compass lay beneath the house. Did Charlyn not understand? “This is the future of my people, sister of my sister. If we find this compass, I will know whether or not my cousin and I are the last of our clan. I have waited long.”

  Charlyn’s look softened and she exchanged a glance with Mirian.

  “I’ll go with them,” Jeneta said quickly. “As long as your husband moves slowly, he should be all right.”

  “You see, pet, I’ll be perfectly fine. I won’t even strain myself. I’ll walk slowly. Jekka—I wonder if you’d mind—let’s keep the new items down in the vaults for now, shall we? The things Venthan was carrying in his pack? I store all the most important things below.”

  “Are you sure you can’t simply tell them where to go?” Charlyn asked. “It won’t take that long to draw a map.”

  He laughed shortly. “My dear, you simply worry too much. I have things in hand.”

  Charlyn frowned at him and her small chin rose in what was clearly anger before she whirled away.

  �
�Ah, women, eh, Jekka?” He chuckled.

  “Women what?” Jekka asked.

  “Damn it, Tradan,” Mirian snapped. “You’re being an ass.”

  Jekka didn’t understand why Tradan flushed suddenly. Was he angry, or ashamed?

  “The woman’s in love with you,” Jeneta said. “And you just insult her?”

  “I’m not really sure it’s your business. Or yours, Mirian. You’re suddenly watching out for her? After all these years?”

  His sister jabbed a finger at Tradan. “I saved your butt today, Tradan. And Jeneta carried it for a couple of miles. Seems to me that earns us something.”

  Again Tradan flushed. He cleared his throat. “Well, let’s get along then, shall we?”

  It was Mirian who shouldered the pack, not Jekka, who, despite assurances that there was nothing to fear in the basement, took his weapons. He dearly wanted to read the rest of those book cones, but he would be back very soon.

  The door to the family storage lay at the bottom of a set of old wooden stairs behind a door to what proved to be an underground larder off the kitchen. The door was a very sturdy construction of thick, aged oak, sealed with an extremely elaborate lock. Jekka, tilting his head, heard no less than four clicks when Tradan thrust in the key and turned it. Beyond lay a long hallway smelling of cool stone and dry earth. Tradan set the key back on his belt, lifted a lantern he’d brought with him, and started forward.

  “People who aren’t of the family don’t usually get to come in here,” he said. “Really, you’re among the first.” He laughed a little. “Although technically you’re sort of family,” he added with a glance at Mirian. “Just not of direct blood. Ah, you know what I mean.”

  “It’s a special honor,” Mirian said in a peculiar tone that set Tradan laughing nervously.

  There was some sort of human social interaction underway that Jekka didn’t quite follow.

  As they headed into the wide corridor of fitted stone, Jekka noted the narrow branching corridors and wondered just how extensive the ruins were, and who had built them.

  Jeneta, a pace behind Tradan, glanced at Jekka. “This must be exciting for you.”