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

by T. J. Garrett

  Everything meant most of Lord Breen’s estate. From the lookout, they could see maybe five miles in a wide arc, from the grasslands in the west to the Broan river in the south. To the east, Daric could even see the misty outline of the white cliffs which gave the town its name.

  But he was not interested in the far horizon; they were there to spy on the big house and all its many outbuildings; on the road and the warehouses and the long barracks where Yacob said Breen’s most trusted guards lived.

  Apart from the warehouse, which was built on the roadside some way to the south, the rest of the buildings made a border around a large square courtyard. All the roofs were covered in snow, but the courtyard was well used and appeared dark when compared to the fields which surround the compound.

  There were wagons and crates and boxes all over that courtyard, but no horses, which meant they were either off gathering supplies or out delivering. The entire site had the look of an army encampment.

  “They’ve been busy,” Daric whispered.

  “I would say so,” Aleria said. “A lot has changed since the last time I was up this way. Then, there was only the main house and the barn.”

  “How long ago was that?” Daric asked, remembering the woman was well over a hundred years old.

  “A few years back,” Aleria said. “I was invited to a party.”

  Daric frowned. “You came all the way to Whitecliff and did not think to visit Brea?”

  Aleria shot him a scornful glare. “My personal matters are none of your concern, Colonel.”

  Up until recently, Brea Loian had not known she had a great-great-great grandmother. Or rather, she had not known her great-great-great grandmother was still alive. When she found out, she had been more upset with her mother than Aleria, and more because of Brin than knowing the old Oracle was still alive. Daric could not understand why Affair had pretended Brea’s father had run off, when really, he had gone to Kunadi to help Aleria protect the Rainstone.

  Still, that was a story for another day, and none of his business.

  “My pardon,” he told Aleria. Then, turning to Yosil, he said, “What have you seen today?”

  The young man blinked up at him. “Everything,” he said. Then he started rubbing at his temple.

  “Headache?” Daric asked.

  Yosil nodded. “It’s all this snow. Sometimes, it all looks the same, like the world is one big white blanket.”

  “I think maybe you should swap shifts,” Daric said. “Or at least have Yacob write up a shorter rotation. Snow blindness is a serious matter.”

  “But this is my job,” Yosil said. “And besides, Gyna promised to send me some hot tea and herbs.”

  The young man tapped his pocket. Did he already have the herbs?

  Daric ignored the question; he was not going to argue with the boy, better to have a word with Yacob.

  “And what is everything?” he asked.

  The young man frowned at him as if not understanding the question.

  Daric gestured toward the manor. “Troop movements,” Daric said. “Supply wagons, archery practice, parade formations, new arrivals…? What exactly have you seen today?”

  “Oh,” Yosil said, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Lots of movement. Soldiers practising in the morning. Then they went to the mess. Then there was a lot of people running up and down fetching and carrying stuff off the flat wagons. A coach came an hour ago, picked someone up from the guest house and took them out to the old farm. And then, ten minutes ago, there was a bright light in the upstairs window. It was like someone had lit a thousand candles all at once. It only lasted a moment, then it was gone. And five minutes before that, Bayon was in the courtyard shouting at one of the guards. I think he wanted a runner, because just as you turned up, that guard handed something to a man on a horse.” Yosil pointed toward the east, where the road split just before the stream crossing. “That’s him, there. Turning down the Halem road, by the looks of it.”

  “Hmm,” Daric said. “Sending messages to Halem? That’s not good. Can we send someone to intercept the messenger?”

  Yosil tapped a finger on the branch-covered rail. Chewing his lip, he mumbled, “You mean, chase him? We don’t have any horses here.”

  That was a shame, Daric thought. He would like to have known why Lord Breen was sending messages to Halem.

  “Never mind,” Daric said. “You have done well, Yosil.” Turning west, he added, “Where is this old farmhouse? Is it something we need to worry about? More guards, maybe?”

  Yosil shook his head. “I thought it was empty. I don’t know why they would send a coach there.” He turned to his right, as if he could see the old farm. “It was a nice coach, not one of the ones from Whitecliff.”

  Daric rubbed at his chin. “A nice coach?” he whispered. “Likely some important guests. We should go have a look.”

  “We?” Yosil said. “But this is my job.” He pointed at the bench.

  “I didn’t actually mean you and me. I meant someone should go and see who is staying at the old farm.”

  Aleria nodded her agreement. “I’ll send Brin,” she said. “And you can send that Nana.”

  Daric grinned, remembering the look on Brin’s face the last time he asked Nana to go with the man – and he thought Yosil’s cheeks had gone red.

  “Might be better to send one of the legites with him. That Mags looks like a good tracker. Nana should stay guarding the cave; she’s the best fighter I have.”

  Aleria raised an eyebrow. “Better than Gyna?” she asked.

  “Faster than Gyna,” Daric said. “And she knows her way around a fight. Believe me, if any of Breen’s patrols find the cave, you’ll be glad Nana is there.”

  “If you say so,” Aleria said.

  Daric might have said more, but he could sense the woman was digging for an argument – she did that a lot.

  Instead, he turned back to the compound.

  “What’s that building over there?” he asked.

  He nodded at a dark wooden structure which was maybe a hundred paces east of the courtyard. There were no guards posted outside, and no one was going in or out. It was the only structure with a single slope roof, and it looked new compared to the others.

  “That’s where Breen talks to the new ones,” Yosil said. “They go in there human, and come out demons.”

  “Demons?” Daric said. “I don’t know about that. Brainwashed, maybe, but not demons. Remember, Yosil, if we are right about Lord Breen, most of these folk are ordinary town’s people forced to serve against their will. They are not evil. If we can, we will help free them. Remember what Gyna said about the Tandrian blade? If I can destroy the creature controlling them, most of these folk will just pack up and go home – assuming I can find the creature, and the knife actually—”

  Aleria tugged his sleeve. “I think you have told the poor lad quite enough of that, Daric,” she whispered.

  “He has a right to know what we are doing,” he whispered back.

  Aleria was shaking her head, eyes fixed on the back of Yosil’s head.

  If the lad had heard their talk, he made no sign. Instead, he said, “Breen is the beast. You only need look at him to know it for true. His eyes, his pale skin, the way he walks; it is all wrong. Use that knife of yours on him, don’t waste time looking for some creature.”

  “You may be right,” Daric admitted. “But I’m not sure the knife will work if I use it on a human. And if there is some creature lurking about the manor, I could destroy our best chance of—”

  “Really, Daric, that is enough,” Aleria hissed. Her jaw was clenched, she looked ready to hit him.

  Daric sighed deeply. He might have told the woman what he thought of her interruption, but decided it better to wait until they were alone – she might not mind arguing where all could hear, but he did not like to give folk reason to gossip – especially when they were barely a day from a fight.

  “Anyway,” he said, “I think we have seen enough. I
must get back to the cave. We have a plan of sorts, and the sooner we get started, the sooner I can go home.”

  Suddenly, Yosil turned to them, eyes heavy with sudden tears. “This is my home,” he said.

  When had he started crying?

  Daric put a hand on his shoulders. “I know, Yosil. Try not to fret. I promise, we will do all we can to free your land, and your people.”

  “Are you sure?” Yosil said. He had been sobbing, now, he sniffed loudly and wiped his eyes. “You sure we can save them?”

  “I promised, didn’t I,” Daric said, patting the young man on the shoulder.

  Yosil gave a loud sob, then smiled. “Thank you, sir. Yacob said you were a good man.”

  “Did he now?” Daric said, his voice jovial. “Then I’ll have to try to live up to his compliment.”

  Aleria gave him another of her glares. “You should not promise what you cannot deliver,” she whispered.

  Yosil had gone back to his bench. Daric glanced over at him, hoping he had not heard.

  “I promised we will do all we can,” he told Aleria, “and that is what we will do.”

  “And if it turns out Mairi is already gone? Will you stay here and keep your promise to the lad? No, of course you will not. Guard your words, Colonel, these folk are at the edge of the abyss, a push from any direction could see them fall.”

  Daric pursed his lips, thinking. He knew very well what Aleria had meant by gone, and it had nothing to do with Mairi going back to Bailryn. She was right, of course – if it turned out Breen had moved his wife, he would not stay; he would go after her. But it was too late to take back his promise.

  “We should go back to the cave,” he said.

  Aleria nodded, then turned to the rope ladder.

  Daric was about to follow her when Yosil suddenly flinched.

  “What is it?”

  The young man fumbled in his pocket and took out a stone. Smiling, he said, “It’s Gyna, with my tea.”

  Daric was going to ask what the young man was talking about, then he noticed the stone in his hand – it was one of the tiner stones.

  Yosil twisted the top half of the stone around until it clicked into place, then put it on the flat bench. Almost immediately, a small, plate-sized portal appeared. A clay cup emerged from the portal, held by an extremely large hand – Gyna’s hand. Yosil took the cup. Then, bending down, he said, “Thank you, Gyna,” into the small portal.

  Gyna’s distant, “You are welcome, Yosil,” echoed back at them.

  Daric could not help but grin. Breathing deeply, he smelled the aroma of fresh lemon grass coming from the cup. “You use tiner stones for headache medicine.”

  “No,” Yosil said. “I have to use the stone to deliver reports. They save me having to climb down the ladder and run to the cave every time is see something interesting. The drinks and cakes were Gyna’s idea. She’s nice, Gyna.”

  Daric nodded. He supposed that made sense. In fact, it was an incredible boon. Now, even folk without the voice could pass on messages across long distances without the need to travel. Again, he decided he would have to ask Gyna if she could find more of these stones.

  Aleria, on the other hand, was scowling. Doubtless, she did not think giving such a thing over to Yosil was a good idea.

  Daric did not care what she thought; she may well be a one hundred and fifty-year-old Oracle, but she was not a soldier – on the front lines, secrets got folk killed.

  Daric nodded a farewell to Yosil, then followed Aleria down the ladder.

  CHAPTER 22

  The Old Farm House.

  Fa’rann walked back through the portal. It had only been the second time he had used the Ways since taking over Lord Breen’s body. He would not have used a portal this time, only he needed the Cinnè’arth’s help to destroy Ash’mael, and returning the witches powers was the only way he could think of to aid his old enemy. Absently, he wondered how long it would be before Vila’slae realised she could use the Voice again.

  Wouldn’t that be a sight to see, he thought. And no doubt a surprise for you, too, Cinné’arth. What will you do when the witch once more has the Power to forge? Will you destroy her, or ask her for help?

  That thought made him want to laugh – the idea of placing the Cinné’arth in such a dilemma was extremely pleasant. Still, he hoped he would not kill her. As much as he hated the Dragonkin, he needed the beast to take care of Ash’mael for him, and with Vila’slae once again wielding her Power, that outcome seemed all the more likely.

  He was contemplating the idea when he heard Lord Breen whimpering again.

  The man’s spirit had been doing that a lot of late. Yes, Fa’rann had buried His Lordship deep in the back of his own mind, but more and more, he seemed to find a way to come forward. Fa’rann cursed inwardly and pushed Breen back again – if he could do without the man’s spirit, he would have scourged the soul long since, but he could not control the body without at least a slither of its original occupant remaining intact.

  The effort of pushing Breen back made Fa’rann shudder. He reached out and leaned on the mantel above the fireplace. A cold flush flooded him, a sickness which was becoming all too familiar. The sickness was followed by that chill feeling. He would have to order Bayon to build the fire up again.

  Hand on the mantel, Fa’rann noticed a wound on his forearm. How had that happened? It was a long, shallow slash, almost from wrist to elbow. He could not remember having been cut, nor feeling any pain in his arm. Had that Salrian done it?

  No, he would have seen a blade in the bald man’s hand. He would have reacted, killed the man where he stood.

  But if not him, how did you cut yourself?

  He thought again of the voice deep in the back of his mind. Had Lord Breen taken over for a moment? There were a few seconds just before he had re-entered the portal, the few seconds where he seemed to cross that clearing awfully quickly. Was that when the Salrian attacked him?

  He sat down in the chair next to the fire. This was not good, he could not achieve his goal if he were having blackouts – if a mere human could strike him with a blade without his knowing, what could an Oracle do to him, or that Gialyn boy?

  There was a knock at the door, Bayon entered without being asked.

  The footman started. “Beg pardon, sir. I did not know you were in here. I’ve come to see to the fire.”

  Fa’rann had to fight the urge to leap at the man. How dare he just come into his private quarters? Had he done it before?

  Of course he has you fool. Who do you think cleans up after you?

  Fa’rann flinched. Was that his thought, or Lord Breen’s?

  Forcing down anger, Fa’rann said, “You do not come in here without permission, Bayon. Never. You understand?”

  Bayon paled. Lip quivering, he mumbled, “I’m sorry, sir. It will not happen again.”

  Fa’rann pulled his sleeve down, lest Bayon see the wound, and waved the footman toward the fire. “Quick as you can. I have work to do.”

  Bayon bowed, then started on the fire. First scrapping up ashes, then adding more logs.

  “Tell me,” Fa’rann said, “did you send the message to Shanks? Can I expect more follower… can I expect men from Halem any time soon?”

  “I sent the message, sir, but it will be tonight before Shanks has it in his hand. I expect word first thing. I dare say Shanks will complain, but he will do as you bid. You will have more followers from Halem by week’s end, sir.”

  Fa’rann nodded. At least that was one reason for good cheer.

  “We have news of the Re’adh boy,” Bayon said. He was shovelling ashes into the bucket he had brought, not looking up.

  “Go on,” Fa’rann said. “Don’t keep me waiting.”

  “Yes, sir. Seems the young man made a detour across Taris, went to that wolf village, Illeas’den. He left again almost immediately with their alpha, a wolf by the name of Toban. If my source is correct, Re’adh had the mage’s boy with him, and a Krassian tra
cker.

  Fa’rann tapped his lip. “A tracker?” he said. “And what are they looking for.”

  “I don’t know, sir, but my man said the Re’adh boy – we really should stop calling him that; he is nineteen. Anyway, according to my man, Re’adh opened a portal right there in the village square. An odd thing, Rugel said he had never seen the like.”

  “What?” Fa’rann said, “the village square, or the portal?”

  “The portal, sir. Not that I know much of such things, but Rugel described a crackling noise and a bright blue glow.”

  Fa’rann nodded. “A Juno portal,” he said. “The boy has Travelled across the sea.”

  Bayon was nodding. “Ah, that would tie up nicely with something else Rugel said – something about Atria? I did not mention it before because I thought such a thing were impossible.”

  “Don’t presume to know what is or is not possible, Bayon,” Fa’rann said.

  The footman bowed. “My pardon, sir.”

  “So,” Fa’rann said. “He is in Atria, is he? I would bet he has joined with Sek’s little party. That, or he has gone to fight the black dragon.”

  “Is that likely, sir?”

  Fa’rann shrugged. “We can hope. But no, he will have gone to join with the dragons, or bring Sek’s clan in with the Gan. Hard to say with that lot; Tor and Sek are jealous brothers. Either way, he is up to something, and being in Atria will make it all the harder to get a message to him of his mother’s predicament.”

  “I imagine he will be back soon,” Bayon said.

  “And what makes you say that?”

  Again, Bayon started. “Well… uh… it’s just… Well, there is nothing of any import in Atria.”

  “Again, you presume to know, Bayon. Mark me, there is plenty of import in Atria. The dragon temple being first among them.”

  Fa’rann gave a faint laugh. “What a peculiar web these Albergeddians weave: Gialyn in Atria, the Tanner girl in Eiras, her brother with the Oracle, and Arfael down in Bly. I wonder if the boy’s father is still in Kunadi?”