The Ship of Tears: (The Legend of the Nine: Part One) (The Eastern Kingdom Chronicles Book 8)

by T. J. Garrett

  “Stop it!” he growled, unable to open his mouth wide enough to scream. “You are killing me! Stop…”

  * * *

  “Come on in,” the woman said. “I assure you, it is quite safe.”

  Daric was in a huge building. Somewhere, high in the rafters, he could hear the flutter of wings – bats, or maybe pigeons. The ground was dirt and the shadows dark. All around, the smell of old wood. If this was a barn, it was built for giants – or giant horses.

  “All is well, Daric. Come on in.”

  Of course, Daric knew this for the dream it was – he was lying by the stream on the Eurmac border, likely still rolling about in agony – but it was extremely convincing. For one thing, he could smell the wood.

  Can you smell in a dream? he asked himself.

  He did not think so. He did not think that warm breeze he could feel from over by the door was something he should have noticed, either. Yes, this was a dream, but like none he had experienced. Maybe it was one of those visions Gialyn was always talking about.

  Careful, Daric, this is more of that Power and Balance rubbish.

  “Over here,” the woman said for the third time. Her voice was patient, as it talking to a small child.

  “Are you talking to me?” Daric asked. He looked around; there was no one behind him.

  “Of course I am talking to you. I said, Daric, did I not?” Again, the patient motherly voice.

  “Do you know me?” Daric said, stupidly pointing at himself. “Where am I?”

  His eyes were adjusting to the dark. At one end of the huge barn, he could see things hanging from the ceiling. There was a lamp down that end, and the light it gave illuminated a long, waist-high bench of white stone. The bench was covered with peculiar devices. The last time Daric had seen anything remotely similar to those tubes and containers and flimsy wire constructions was when he had visited Master Roan’s workshop, under the west tower of Bailryn palace.

  “Are you a herbalist?” he asked the woman.

  She laughed. “Hardly. But… yes, I suppose you could call me a doctor of sorts. Please, come in. Sit down. You look tired.”

  Daric walked over to the round table – this was only a dream, after all, what could she do to him?

  This area of the barn had been made up like a house. There was a fire, a few comfortable chairs, the round table, and a bed with a washstand at the side.

  “You live here?”

  “Only when I’m working late,” the woman said. “It is three miles to my house in the village, and sometimes I don’t want to walk.”

  “Where is this village?” Daric asked.

  The woman smiled. She looked remarkably like his cousin, Jaklyn: Dark hair, dark eyes, strong features on a tanned face. “Excuse my manners,” she said. “My name is Rysa Storm.” She made a sweeping gesture, taking in the barn and all its dimly-lit wonders, “and you are in my laboratory on the western island of Tevaryn.

  “Tevaryn?” Daric whispered. He touched the back of his head. Tevaryn lace; that cannot be a coincidence.

  Rysa gave him a warm smile. “I see you have made the connection.” She pointed at the hand still rubbing his neck.

  “I didn’t know there were any western islands,” Daric said.

  Yes, he had heard of the Ulroch alliance with an army of westerners, but nobody had believed it; they all thought the westerners were from Myst or Myrashek or one of the islands off Corpus. Was she talking about one of those?

  “No,” Rysa said. “I’m not talking about one of those. And no, we did not ally with the Ulroch in the Eurmac war. I’m talking about the Western Isles, Tevaryn being the largest of them.” Again, she gave him a kind smile. “Yes, they really are there, Daric. Climb aboard a ship in Beugeddy and sail west for a month or so, you will find us.”

  “How did you do that?” he said. “I barely thought of that question. Are you reading my mind?”

  Rysa shrugged. “This is your dream.”

  So, it was a dream. That was a relief. He wondered if he would remember any of this when he woke up.

  “If this is a dream,” Daric said, “why should I believe anything you say?”

  “A dream for you, yes, but for me, this is all quite real. Here…” She took off one of her earrings and handed it to Daric. “Put that in your pocket.”

  Daric took the earring. It looked remarkably like the pendant he had found in the small room: silver, with a small red stone in the centre. “This one isn’t going to sprout legs and bury itself in my palm, is it?”

  Rysa laughed. “No, it is just an earring.”

  Daric looked down at the red stone earring in his palm. It felt normal enough, which was odd in itself, given where he was. Still, it had not sprouted legs. He put the earring in his shirt pocket.

  “All right, Rysa,” he said. “So this is a dream, but you are real – what do you want? And if you don’t mind getting to the point? I am in something of a hurry.”

  Rysa waved off his comment. “Nothing you do here will keep you more than a couple of seconds in the waking world. Have no fear; I’ll have you back in plenty of time. Indeed, your friends won’t even know you were asleep.”

  Daric glanced around the barn. Everything looked real. Rysa said she was real. And he was talking to her, wasn’t he? How could only two seconds pass in the waking world?

  “Let’s say I believe you,” Daric said. “Just why am I here.”

  “To help us, of course. Why else would you wear the…?” She stared at him, sipped something from the cup that had been on the table in front of her, then glanced over at the white bench. She seemed troubled, confused. “You did put on the lattice, didn’t you?”

  “Oh, well, as to that. I did not intend wearing the thing. It ran up my arm and attached itself.”

  Rysa frowned. “But you must have opened the box. Didn’t they warn you what would happen?”

  “Err… yes. It was an accident. I was in the room, looking for something else, and the box fell. I grabbed it before it could hit the floor, and it opened. The… lattice… was in my hair before I could stop it.”

  “Oh dear. That’s most unfortunate. It won’t let go until you have completed the task it was made for.”

  “And what task might that be?”

  “I don’t know. Let me see.” Rysa stood and walked around the table. She told Daric to bow his head. After a few moments fiddling with his hair, she said, “Ah, this is an old one, meant for the Ulroch. How did you come by it?”

  “From an Ulroch,” Daric said, voice level. “Well, they did not give it to me. Like I said, it was an accident.”

  She patted him on the shoulder. “You are in luck. All you need do is go to the Tunnels of Aldregair, talk to a man by the name of Tamri Maison. The lattice is for him.”

  “But I’m going nowhere near the tunnels.”

  “No hurry,” Rysa said, sitting back down. “Anytime in the next few months will do. Once you find Tamri, the lattice will have you ask a few questions. Nothing too strenuous. In the meantime, it will help you on your quest to free Mairi.”

  “But I’m not going to the tunnels,” Daric insisted. “We are in the middle of a war, the Karakin are loose, Lord Breen is building an army, the dragons are up to the gods know what, refugees are evacuating Lop and the southern islands, and I’m supposed to be in Bailryn, securing the palace for His Majesty. All that, and I still have to rescue my wife. I don’t have time for this; can’t you just take it off?”

  Again, Rysa smiled. “I don’t think you understand just how much help the lattice will be, Daric. You are heading into danger,” she pointed at his head, “and you have what amounts to the Knowledge of Ages stuck to your scalp. Are you sure you want me to remove it?”

  “The Knowledge of Ages?” Daric whispered. Was that not something to do with the Oracles? He had to admit, having access to such a thing would be more than helpful.

  “So, you can take it off?” he asked.

  “If you insist,” Rysa said.
“But if that is your will, we will have to do it now. The longer it stays, the harder it is to remove. And don’t forget what I said about the Knowledge of Ages. You may need a little help with what is to come.”

  Daric nodded. That was true; he had no idea what had been brainwashing all those folk in Whitecliff, or what Lord Breen was up to, or what state his wife would be in when he rescued her – and he would rescue her. Maybe having a little bit of inside knowledge buzzing around his head would help. And what harm could it do? A quick trip to the tunnels would not be all that burdensome. He would need to visit Gieth’eire sooner or later; he could drop in on the tunnels on his way west.

  That made him laugh – drop in on the Tunnels of Aldregair? As soon have breakfast with one of those Rais’coi Gyna had spoken of.

  “Very well, I will do it. But you are sure it will drop off once I’m done with the tunnels?”

  Rysa nodded. “That is the task. It will… drop off… as soon as you have accomplished it.

  “All right, I’ll do it.”

  He sat up, so he was sitting straight in the chair. “You can wake…”

  * * *

  “You can wake me up,” Daric said.

  “Oh, can we now,” Gyna said. “Nice of you to say so.”

  Daric sat up. He was by the stream; the others had gathered around. They were looking at him like he was going to do something interesting.

  “What are you all staring at? Is someone going to help me up? I thought you were making food, Brin.”

  “Daric?” Aleria said, voice soft. “A second ago you were all but screaming. I thought you had an inner bleed in your head. Your eyes were red, you could not breathe properly, and you were shouting for something to stop it. Now look at you, right as good well water. What happened? And don’t say nothing; I’m not a fool.”

  “You tell me. I had a dream. A vision, maybe. One of those Balance hallucinations. One minute I was here, the next I was on a hill talking to a tree.”

  Yes, that will do, he thought. He remembered Gialyn saying something about a hill he had seen in one of his visions. A hill surrounded by mist.

  “And it was foggy,” he added.

  “That sounds like Arenthenia,” Aleria said. “But what would Bausamon want with you?”

  “I have no idea,” Daric said. He let Cal help him up. “The food?” he asked Brin. “I’m starving.”

  Aleria grabbed his arm. “We should talk about this, Daric. What did the… tree say?”

  “Something about a man in a cave,” Daric said, trying to make his comment sound off-handed. “I don’t know. Just some man in a cave. I was supposed to ask him questions, but the tree did not say what the questions were.”

  “A man in a cave?” Aleria said, frowning. “It might make more sense if the tree said a man in a tunnel. Are you sure it did not say tunnel?”

  “Quite sure,” Daric said, trying to hide his surprise. “Now, can we eat?”

  He started unloading his food pack.

  If she asked me about Tamri Maison, I’m going to tell her the truth, he thought.

  Don’t do that, a voice said. It sounded like Rysa, only faintly, as if she were on the other side of a door. This is not for her.

  Not for her? Daric repeated, surprised he was answering the voice so calmly. What difference would it make? She might even have an answer to your questions. She is an Oracle.

  He felt a warm sensation at the back of his mind. Again, the voice said, It is not for her.

  “Are you sure you are all right?” Aleria said. “You are staring again.”

  “He always does that,” Cal said. The Cren was unpacking his provisions, too. “Leave him be, Aleria. A bit of food will see him right.”

  Aleria opened her mouth to say something else, but shook her head instead. She started on her own pack.

  Daric gave Cal a nod of thanks. He did not know how many more times he could have lied to the woman before she figured something was up. Not many.

  He lay out a portion of salted beef on the stone by the fire Brin had made, then remembered something. Furtively, he felt the outside of his shirt pocket. There was something in there, something small and round – the earring Rysa had given.

  “Gods,” he whispered, “and just how in all the hells did you manage that?”

  CHAPTER 10

  Legites

  Other than a brief stop at a stream to take on water, the flight across Linieth was blissfully uneventful. They flew over Rhodair, across the hills of central Linieth, and followed the Brion on a flight parallel to the Townhill road. Daric had no more dreams or vision – which was just as well, considering they spent most of those hours two hundred spans above the grasslands – and Aleria had stopped asking her question. They finally reached the outskirts of the Breen estate at an hour past midnight.

  Daric had spent most of the journey wondering over how he might rescue Mairi. The others would expect a plan of some sort, but all he had was the Tandrian blade and a vague notion of the layout. He still did not know what this creature was Magryn had mentioned and, to be honest, he did not care; if there was a way of rescuing his wife without a confrontation, he would take it and run – run all the way to Bailryn; let the king worry about the Balance. It shamed him to think he would leave all those folk to their fate, but as long has Mairi was in danger, the concerns of others would have to wait. Magical blade or no magical blade, he would not risk her.

  Lyduk was right; it was bloody cold up north. Worse, the ground was covered with a thick layer of snow; there would be no clandestine trips to the manor house to sneak a peek through the windows.

  They landed three miles north of the Breen estate, close to the woods folk in those parts called the Halem’coi. From the hill they had landed on, Daric could see the light from the manor house; the faint glow of seed oil lamps, likely used around the stables, or maybe in the gatehouse. From that distance, there was no way of knowing for sure.

  “There must be a lot of folk up at the manor to need that many lamps,” Cal said.

  “And a lot of folk over there, too,” Brin said. He was pointing further west, where the glow from a dozen lanterns made a crooked line against the shadow of the far horizon. “That must be where His Lordship’s men have set up camp.”

  Abruptly, Brin started to laugh.

  “What?” Daric asked.

  “There must be hundreds of them. We’ll never get close enough to sneak a look, never mind rescue anyone.”

  Daric felt a flush of anger rise in his chest. “And you think that funny?”

  “Calm down,” Aleria said. “One thing at a time.” She turned to Brin. “It is the middle of the night; we have no idea what those lights represent. For all we know, that could be a warehouse working through the night. I imagine His Lordship is gathering supplies for his army. I would not be surprised if this whole estate was full of storage barns and warehouses. As for his men, I would guess most are in town, or guarding the roads. No, we wait until morning before deciding what all those lights mean.”

  Daric regarded the woman. For a one-hundred-and-fifty-year-old, she made quite the field commander. Maybe her coming along was not such a bad idea after all.

  “Meanwhile,” Aleria went on, “we should tend to our camp, get those dragons undercover before someone looks this way and starts asking their own questions.”

  Daric nodded his agreement. Maybe he would not need to make up a plan of his own; he could just listen to the old woman.

  He was about to head for the woods, make his way down the hill and find a decent place to make camp, when he heard a faint voice.

  “That you, Mistress Dovani?” the voice asked.

  Daric spun around, looking for Gyna. She was still atop the hill, retrieving her pack from the back of Ribion’s chariot.

  “That one of your friends?” Daric asked.

  Gyna tugged the pack free of its binding and swung it over her shoulder. Turning toward the voice, she said, “I think so. Only Yacob would dare ca
ll me ‘mistress’.”

  “Don’t you go shootin none a those arrows,” the man said. “I’m coming out.”

  As if rising out of the snow, a man appeared before them.

  Daric reached for his knife.

  “Now then,” the man said, “no need for none a that. We’re on your side. Tell em Mistress Dovani, tell we’re on your side.”

  “We?” Daric said. “Where are the rest of you.”

  With that, and as if by magic, four more people emerged from the snow – that, or there was a tunnel around there somewhere.

  “Bring your folk in,” Gyna said. “Let us see you all.”

  “No time,” the man – Yacob – said. “You landed right on one of their patrol paths. They’ll see your tracks for sure. The dragon’s tracks, at any rate. Best you send them off, and the rest of you come with us. Tell your dragons to meet us on the other side of the forest. They don’t patrol there. Do that, and they’ll think the beasts landed here for a rest on their way back to—”

  Yacob stopped abruptly, his eyes fixed on Nana. “Ally? That you, girl?” He stepped closer, and Nana took a compensatory step back. “Praise the gods and call me a donkey, it is you.”

  * * *

  The dragons flew north. Ribion would continue on to Braylair, but Ban and Lyduk agreed to stay a while longer. Daric and the others would meet up with them north of Halem’coi, where the stream turned east – not that Daric knew of any stream, but that was what Yacob had suggested. With the plan set, they took to the track, the five Legites leading the way.

  Daric knew there was a Legite temple south of Whitecliff, but he did not know there were still Ein’laig worshippers using it – and never mind those same worshippers had formed their own militia. It did not appear to make any sense; why would religious folk start up their own army? Whoever heard of such a thing?

  Still, Daric was glad of their company, as less than ten minutes after leaving the hill, the forest echoed with anxious shouts – one of Bren’s patrols had found dragon tracks in the snow. Fortunately, the two-legged folk among Daric’s group had managed to hide their own footprint. With any luck, Yacob’s idea would work, and Breen’s men would think the dragons had stopped for a rest on their way north.