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

by T. J. Garrett

  “There you go again. What creature?” Daric growled. “You don’t know, do you? You still can’t tell me where to look for this-this… thing… or even what it is I’m looking for. What if it isn’t there? All this talk is just too many ifs and maybes. I know where Mairi is, and I am going to get her back.”

  With that, Yosil stood, kicking dust into the fire. “You promised,” he shouted. Yacob raised a hand to calm the boy, but he was having none of it. All but tearing the yellow legite band from around his head, he turned to the old man. “No, Yacob, he gave his word. I don’t think they will hurt his wife. What would be the point? He’s just thinking about himself, and to the hells with the rest of us. He won’t come back. He’s as bad as that puppet king. None of them care what is happing down here, not so long as their precious Bailryn is safe.”

  Daric let the boy go on. He was young, and he was angry, Daric could not blame him for that.

  In truth, the boy’s words floated over his head; his mind was full of plans to rescue Mairi. He would get her back, return her safely to Bailryn, then come help the legites. Breen was not going anywhere. A day, a week, it did not matter. And never mind the Tandrian blade; it likely would not work anyway.

  A faint tingle brushed across his scalp. Daric touched the lump on the back of his neck. Was the lattice trying to tell him something?

  What now?

  Another faint brush.

  Go on, don’t leave me guessing. Do you know something about the Tandrian blade? Daric asked it.

  Another brush. Then, Ask Cahldien.

  Ask Cal? Why? What would he know?

  Until you use it, it is just a blade. Ask the woodsman.

  Ask the woodsman? Why? I thought you knew everything?

  No reply.

  Hello?

  Still no reply.

  I’m not changing my mind, Daric told it. I am getting my wife out of there.

  Ask the woodsman. The blade is in flux. Until you use it, it is not a part of the Road.

  Daric sighed. More magic. No, I have had enough. You ask the woodsman.

  No reply.

  Daric rubbed the lump at the back of his neck. And as soon as I’m done here, it’s the tunnels for you. Let Tamri deal with Rysa and her questions.

  * * *

  “I don’t know, Daric. Are you sure you want to do this on your own?” Nana said.

  She had been gone most of the morning. She had said she had been checking game trails, but Daric was not so sure; she seemed oddly quiet, vague, like her mind was elsewhere. To be honest, Daric had noticed her behaviour had begun to change not long after Yacob had confused Nana for that Ally woman. Did Nana know her? Or was Daric’s muddled mind making up problems that did not exist?

  “I’m not on my own,” Daric said. “Cal is watching the road.”

  They were with Lyduk at the forest’s edge, half a mile north of the cave. The conversation with the legites had descended into name calling, so Daric had decided it was time to let them settle down a little – not that he cared if they settled down or not; he knew his job for the next few hours. After a brief word with the others in his group, Nana had followed him to the dragons. She had already suggested he wait until dark, but Daric had said no; he wanted Mairi’s captors to see him coming. Or rather, he wanted them to see Lyduk coming.

  “I’m talking about the farm,” Nana said. “Are you sure don’t want me with you?”

  Daric chuckled. “There are only six guards; I’m sure Lyduk can nudge them over to our way of thinking. I don’t see any need for more of us to go. You should join the others, gather your things; we’ll be leaving as soon as I get back.”

  “But what if there are more than three hostages? You should at least take Ban along with you.”

  “Ban will stay by the lookout. Someone has to keep an eye on the manor and watch for Cal’s signal.”

  Daric had spent half an hour talking with the Cren. Without mentioning the lattice, he had asked Cal if he knew about the Tandrian blade. Cal had said no, and mentioned that the only magical blade he had heard of was the Sword of Myrashek, which, apparently, was an old Crenach’dair legend and children’s story about an evil dragon and a young woodsman – it sounded like a dozen Surabhan tales Daric had heard as a child.

  They had gone on to talk about the rescue, which was when Cal suggest he should keep an eye on the road between the manor house and the old farmhouse, and that Ban should stand ready for his signal, should anyone approach the old farmstead. That had been a good idea, and Daric had agreed.

  “I understand the need for a rear guard,” Nana said, “but you need someone to watch your back while on the farm. We only have Brin’s word on the guard count. What if there are more? What if they aren’t scared of the dragon?”

  At that, Lyduk swung his long neck about so he was looking at them. “I will make sure they are scared,” he said in a rumbling voice, then did a dragon grin.

  “But what if they know of the treaty? What if they know dragons aren’t allowed to take sides?”

  Daric groaned at that. He knew about the treaty Tor had sighed at the palace – well, Brea had sighed it, with Tor’s blessing. It was supposed to placate the nobles, satisfy them that dragons would not be used in matters of internal security. In other words, that the king would not use the dragons to unseat them from their estates. Daric thought it was a waste of good parchment, but the nobles had insisted, saying the king risked civil war if the dragon threat was not dealt with – as if Sek and the Gaw would honour any treaty. Still, Ban and Lyduk were Gan Dragons, if it came down to a fight, they likely would not attack the guards.

  “We will just have to hope they haven’t heard about it,” Daric said.

  Nana folded her arms. “And do you think that likely? Whatever else he is, Lord Breen is a nobleman. I’ll bet he has a copy of that treaty hanging on a wall somewhere.”

  “We can defend ourselves,” Lyduk reminded them. “If they act in a threatening manner, I am well within my rights, should I choose to defend myself.”

  Daric smiled at that. “And who’s to say what a dragon may find threatening,” he added.

  Nana huffed. “You are expecting everything to go to plan, Daric. You have been a guard for a long time, you know a plan never last longer than the first arrow. You should let me come with you. Drop me off at the wall if you must, but let me come.”

  Daric spent a good while regarding the woman. She was a good soldier, and she was right about a plan not lasting beyond the first arrow – and she seemed awfully persistent for some reason.

  He was about to concede to her argument, let her come along, when he heard footsteps. Turning, he noticed Yacob emerge from the deer trail. The old man did not look happy.

  “Now what?” Daric said. “Has Mags decided she wants to single-handedly infiltrate the manor? I told you, Yacob, I’m doing nothing until my wife is free.”

  “No, nothing like that,” Yacob said. He would not meet Daric’s eyes. Instead, he gazed down at his feet. His cheeks were red, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

  “Well, something has happened,” Daric said. “You look like a man who lost a ren and found a copper.”

  Yacob swallowed hard. He took in a long breath, then, “Have you seen Yosil? He has wandered off. I’m worried he may have…”

  “No,” Daric said. “Don’t tell me.”

  Panic burned in his chest. Frantically, he gazed around at the trees – which trail led to the lookout? If he hurried, he might catch sight of the boy before he reached the field.

  “How long?” Daric asked.

  “He may not have gone to the manor,” Yacob said. He knew what Daric was thinking, that the boy was on his way to give them up. How could he not? Where else would the boy have gone?

  As if arguing that unspoken notion, Yacob added, “He could just be sulking somewhere.”

  “He has gone to the manor,” Daric barked. “He will give us up, tell Breen to move Mairi. He wants to force my hand, make me att
ack the manor.”

  “You don’t know that. He could just—”

  “Enough!” Daric bellowed. “How long, Yacob?”

  Yacob pushed fingers through his greying hair. He glanced at Nana, then at the dragon. “You’re not going to hurt him, are you?”

  “Not if we get to him before he crosses the field. How long?”

  “Half an hour, forty minutes at most.”

  Daric tipped his head back. He felt like yelling to the gods. “Forty minutes! Gods, man, he could be across the field by now. Why didn’t you come to me earlier?”

  “We are ten minutes from the cave, Daric, and I’m not the boy’s father. I honestly thought he had gone off somewhere to sulk. It was Nasif who said he saw him heading south. He thought he was going to the lookout, but he turned down the west trail. I’m sorry, if I had known…”

  “Yes, yes. If you had known, doubtless you would come running.”

  Yacob folded his arms and shot Daric a looked that reminded him of General Mikelmoor. “Like I said, I’m not the boy’s father.”

  “Would that you were,” Daric whispered. “Gods, what a mess.”

  “We can still continue with the original plan,” Yacob said.

  Daric had to laugh at that. “Do you think they will leave it at Mairi? Do you think they will ask no more question of him? Of course they will. They will torture the boy, and he will tell them everything – the dragons, the herbs Gyna has collected to foul their water, the Tandrian blade… He’s as good as given them everything. Mairi will be lucky if they don’t kill her just to teach us a lesson. Stupid, childish, selfish little…. Never mind torture, if anything happens to Mairi, I’ll kill…”

  Daric could not finish. He looked around for something to kick, and settled on a tuft of grass.

  “Now what do we do?” he grunted. “We are back where we started, only now they know we are coming.”

  For the longest time, no one spoke. Then Lyduk said, “This is not a surprise attack anymore. Therefore, we need more men. Any idea where we can find a couple hundred soldiers?”

  Again, another long silence, where Daric had to stop himself lashing out at Yacob – the old man likely knew what Yosil would do. And if he did not, given the mood the boy was in, he should have at least kept an eye on him.

  No, you should have kept an eye on him. Now, stop blaming folk. You have to think; where are you going to find a couple hundred men?

  Daric felt a grin form on his lips. They don’t have to be men.

  “Not soldiers, no,” he told the air. Then, turning to the dragon, he said, “Are you in the mood for a short trip?”

  “Maybe. What are you thinking.”

  “I’ll explain when Cal is here. Nana, go fetch him, meet us back at the cave.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked. She had a look in her eye that was half-excitement, half trepidation.

  Daric had to smile. “Yosil is going to tell Breen there are only a dozen folk in our group, let’s see what His Lordship makes of a few hundred wolves.” He turned to Lyduk. “How quickly can you get me to Townhill?”

  Lyduk looked confused. “Do you mean Illeas’den? There are no wolves in Townhill.”

  “No, but they do have a lier’sinn,” Daric said. “As do the Rukin. And we have a witch.”

  He had to laugh. All that time complaining about magic, and here he was about to use a portal.

  CHAPTER 30

  A Wolf’s Response

  Unsurprisingly, the magistrate at Townhill had wasted no time handing over the lier’sinn to Lyduk. He had said it was supposed to remain in the town hall, so they could contact Bailryn should the situation in Whitecliff get any worse, but the dragon had persuaded the man to let them borrow it for a while. Asking the Rukin elders to send a couple of hundred wolves through a portal would likely take a little more persuasion.

  Actually, it was not a portal, not exactly. Daric had forgotten, using the lier’sinn to Travel meant a trip through Arenthenia. Still, Gyna had agreed to help, and four hours later, Daric was standing on the village green in Illeas’den.

  “I’ll never get used to this,” he mumbled, as Gyna patted him on the back.

  “Why all the retching?” she said. “You’ve used a portal before.” She gestured at the others. “Look, Cal and Nana are fine.”

  “It isn’t the portal,” Daric said. “It’s that damned spirit realm of yours. All that fog, the Road, the purple sky; it’s like walking in a dream. How can you not feel sick?”

  Gyna shrugged. “I don’t see the fog, and the sky seemed clear to me.”

  She was smiling. Daric ignored her, she was only teasing.

  It was still supper time in Illeas’den, and the streets were quiet. Not much had changed since Daric’s last visit – apart from the quiet. He had expected more folk on the streets. Illeas’den had always been a busy place; folk working at their jobs, the shopkeepers standing by the tables they had set up in front of their stores, children playing on the green. Yes, it was winter, but Daric had expected a bigger crowd.

  Ishban, who had made sure the lier’sinn stayed open on this end, and was the only human among the Rukin elders, was waiting by the steps to the Hall of Wolves.

  “Good to see you, my friend,” Ishban said. “I only wish it were not under such austere circumstances. Alas, I do not think the council will agree to your request.”

  Daric glanced over at Gyna while saying, “Straight to the point as usual, Ishban. It is good to see you, too, but I was not aware I had made a request.”

  Gyna shrugged. “It will be Aleria. You know what she’s like.”

  They had left Aleria back at the cave. They needed someone with a touch of the magic at either end to keep the Way open. Daric might have known the old woman could not resist opening her mouth – she loved the sound of her own voice, that one, and could not wait to let her opinion be known.

  “What has she told you?” Daric asked Ishban, as he walked over to shake the man’s hand.

  “That you want our help in attacking a stronghold of as many as three hundred armed men.”

  Daric let his head bob to the side. “Two hundred, three hundred; we are not sure exactly how many.”

  Ishban smiled. “You are not making this any easier, my friend.”

  Daric waved off the comment. “I doubt it will come to a fight, Ishban. They have my wife and two others. Lord Breen is no fool, he will not risk defeat and maybe losing half his men to keep three hostages. A show of strength, that’s what I need. You’ll likely be home before morning.”

  Ishban was shaking his head. “Not if what I am hearing about Lord Breen is anything like true. The man is possessed, Daric. All those folk from Whitecliff, the brainwashing, the mercenaries; I hear he has started recruiting men from Halem and Colair. You will need more than a few wolves to force his hand where it does not wish to go. Better, I think, if you had gone to the palace. Which leads me to another question: why didn’t you go to the palace?”

  The man is possessed, Daric mused. Another one who thinks Breen is a demon. There’s no proof. Where are they getting this from?

  It was a dangerous assumption to make. What if Breen was a puppet to this creature? What if he was a prisoner, too, a slave to this… whatever it was? After all, why would a demon want to possess a mere human? No, they had to be careful, lest they found themselves attacking the wrong enemy. Not that Daric thought Breen was a good man – not for a minute – but he had known Breen for years, and as bad as he was, His Lordship had never tried anything like this. So why now?

  We have to be careful. Remember what Mikelmoor used to say; prejudgement is the mother of all frailties.

  Actually, the lattice said, I think it was Lord Juno Harran who said that.

  Does it matter who said it first? Daric told the thing in his head. I remember Mikelmoor saying it.

  I just thought you would like an accurate account.

  Well, I don’t. Now be quiet. This will be hard enough without
you whispering in my ear.

  A small crowd had gathered at the edge of the green. Rukin, both wolf and human, made a semicircle around the well, maybe ten paces from where Daric was standing.

  “It might be better if we take this inside,” Daric said.

  Ishban nodded. “Yes, Gaiden and the others are keen to talk to you. Your friend has put them in a somewhat uncooperative mood.”

  Daric sighed. “That bloody woman. When will she learn?”

  Ishban laughed at that. “She is an Oracle, Daric, they are all like that, are they not?”

  Daric thought on that question as he followed Ishban up the steps. Yes, Brea could be a handful, and so could Olivia, but neither were anything like as annoying as Aleria had been these past few days. Maybe the self-important attitude was something Oracles grew into.

  The other elders were waiting in the big hall. Daric greeted them with a bow, and got a hug from Sarai, who came trotting out from the kitchen to greet them.

  “It is so good to see you, Daric,” she said. “It has been too long. I thought you were going to drop by on your way home from Albergeddy.”

  “Yes, sorry about that. Ribion was getting tired, we had to cut the detour and land at Braylair.”

  Sarai sighed, then patted his shoulder. “Oh dear, never mind; you are here now. How long can you stay? Did you bring Gialyn? What about Elspeth? I’m sure Lorne would love to see her again. She’s been practising with her daggers, I’m sure she will want to…”

  Ishban cleared his throat. “He has not come for a visit, Sarai. Lord Breen has his wife prisoner over in Whitecliff, Daric has come for our help in rescuing her.”

  “Oh no, that’s awful.” She turned to Ishban. “We are going to help, are we not?”

  “That depends.”

  The answer came from the old wolf sitting on the dais at the far end of the long table. Daric did his best to hide a groan; he had been hoping to see Toban, or maybe Mott, not the old elder. Gaiden was an awkward character, even for a wolf.