Voyage of the Fox Rider

by Dennis L McKiernan

  Bokar tugged on his beard. “Tell me, Alamar, if not to gain advantage, what do you call what you just did against the Kistanee?”

  Alamar’s jaw jutted out. “I call it protecting this ship, Dwarf. That’s what!” He tossed the last of the brandy down his throat and slammed the glass to the table.

  Aravan leaned back in his chair and smiled, his tilted Elven eyes glittering, watching these two fiery-tempered allies go at one another.

  Bokar ground his teeth. “Guiding our fireballs is protecting this ship?”

  “In the long run,” shot back Alamar.

  Fager held up his hands. “Hear, hear, gentleme—gentle beings. No need to argue ‘mongst ourselves. Besides, Alamar needs rest, not debate.”

  After glaring a moment, Bokar stalked out from the lounge, heading back to the deck, grumbling to himself.

  “I suggest you lie down and rest, Master Alamar,” said Fager. “Take your ease. Recover from your ordeal.”

  Aravan stood and placed the brandy decanter back in the cabinet, Alamar watching with some disappointment.

  “Let’s go, Alamar,” said Jinnarin, turning, leaping down from table to chair to floor. “Heed the chirurgeon.”

  The Mage shuffled down the corridor and to his cabin, Jinnarin at his side. When they entered, the Pysk stepped into her under-bunk quarters and set aside her bow and quiver. Returning, she found Alamar reclining on his own bunk, sighing wearily.

  “Are you all right?”

  Alamar rolled on his side and looked at her. “Just remembering, Pysk. Just remembering.”

  “Remembering what?”

  “Why, when I was not old and frail, as I now find myself, I could have tossed those fireballs right back at them. Better yet, I could have made them spin and circle in the air as would a jongleur tossing colorful balls while singing humorous ditties.”

  Jinnarin laughed at the mental picture. Of a sudden she sobered. “How do you do it, Alamar?”

  Alamar yawned. “Do what?”

  “Do your—your, uh, castings.”

  Alamar blinked slowly at Jinnarin. “More secrets, eh, Pysk?”

  Jinnarin sighed. “Well, if it’s a secret…”

  Alamar pursed his lips. “Look, Pysk, everything has a—an astral fire within, be it alive or dead, animal, mineral, vegetable, or aught else. This astral fire has five pure forms—fire, water, earth, air, aethyr—or can be an amalgam or admixture or alloy of such. My Folk can see this astral fire, with a vision which goes beyond that of the eyes. And, with much training, we can cause the flame to flow this way or that, changing it, controlling what it does, and that in turn controls whatever is housing that fire, whatever it may be—all things alive or dead or never alive—”

  “Even people?” interjected Jinnarin.

  Alamar grunted. “Even people.”

  Jinnarin sat cross-legged on the floor, her chin resting on one fist. Long did she sit this way, lost in deep thought. At last she glanced up at Alamar, a question on her lips. But she did not ask it, for the Mage was fast asleep.

  Two more days did the Eroean fare through the long Kistanian Straits, but no more pirates did she come across, the waters free of maroon sails. At last the Elvenship cleared the narrows, though she was yet in the waters of the Avagon Sea, the Weston Ocean lying some hundred leagues ahead.

  Westerly she ran another day, in the wide gap between Tugal to the north and Hyree to the south, the wind yet abaft though more gentle.

  And at noon on the following day, with a bright Sun overhead, just as the Eroean came upon the marge between the two oceans—“Castaway!” called the foremast lookout. “Castaway, on the starboard bow!”

  Alamar and Jinnarin on the foredeck shaded their eyes and peered ahead, the Pysk standing on the stem block, up where she could see. In the distance bobbed a small gig, a single mast rising but no sail mounted. A figure stood in the boat, one hand braced against the bare spar, bare that is but for the square of cloth flying at half-mast, a signal of distress.

  Aravan stepped to the foredeck as well, looking long as the Eroean sliced toward the small boat. “Reydeau, pipe her to wear around the wind. Luff her nigh that gig. We will take him aboard.”

  Bokar, too, stood on the foredeck. “Beware, Captain, it could be another Rover trap.”

  “Reydeau, any maroon sails?”

  The bo’s’n piped a signal, and from the forward crow’s nest came the response, “No ships nigh but the castaway, Captain. None starboard, larboard, fore, or aft.”

  Aravan nodded. “Wear her around, bo’s’n.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  As the bo’s’n piped the signals, Alamar turned to Aravan. “You could give him a sail, Aravan, and enough provisions to reach the mainland. For if you take this castaway aboard, he may see Jinnarin, and he is not sworn to secrecy.”

  Aravan nodded then turned to the Pysk. “Lady Jinnarin, I suggest that thou and thy fox take to a hiding place—below deck.”

  “But, Aravan, I want to see.”

  “Now, Pysk—” growled Alamar.

  “Look, Rux and I will hide under one of the deck gigs”

  “Pysk—”

  Jinnarin stamped her foot. “No, Alamar. You can go below if you want someone out of the way, but Rux and I are staying above. Hiding, but staying above.”

  Alamar looked at Aravan and shrugged as if to say, I did my best.

  Climbing the rope ladder came the boat’s occupant, swinging up and over the rail.

  Clutched in shadow beneath a deck gig, Jinnarin gasped for it was a female, reed slender and dressed in brown leathers. Her light brown hair was cropped at the shoulders and seemed shot through with auburn glints in the bright sunlight. Her complexion was fair and clear, but for a meager sprinkle of freckles high on her cheeks, and her eyes were green and flecked with gold. And she was tall, the top of her head level with Aravan’s startled eyes.

  As to her Race, that soon came clear, for upon stepping aboard she turned to the Wizard Alamar.

  “Father,” she said, her voice soft.

  “Aylis,” he responded, embracing her.

  CHAPTER 10

  Portents

  Early Autumn, 1E9574

  [The Present]

  As Aylis returned her father’s embrace, her eyes flew wide in astonishment, for over the elder’s shoulder she saw stepping toward her a tiny female, twelve inches tall, and at her side came a fox.

  “A Pysk!” she gasped and pulled back to look at her sire in wonderment. “Father, I knew that you travelled in strange company, but a Pysk!”

  Alamar turned. “Daughter, this is Jinnarin, mate of Farrix who saved me from the boar.”

  Aylis kneeled and held out a hand, her smile wide. “Jinnarin.”

  The Pysk lightly touched Aylis’s palm. “I’ve heard somewhat of you, Aylis.”

  Aylis glanced up at her sire then back to the Pysk. “Filling your head with tales of my waywardness, I shouldn’t wonder.”

  “Oh no,” responded Jinnarin in all seriousness. “He’s quite fond of you, you know.”

  Aylis nodded. “I know,” she said softly.

  “Harrumph.” Alamar cleared his throat. “Daughter…”

  Aylis grinned and stood. “Yes, Father.”

  “Daughter, this is Captain Aravan.”

  Aylis turned to Aravan, her green gaze falling into his of blue, and of a sudden her face flushed, blood rising hot to her cheeks, and she seemed neither able to speak nor breathe.

  “Art thou well, Lady?” asked Aravan, stepping forward, reaching out to take her hand and steady her, and when fingers met fingers, a spark leapt between, startling Aravan and Aylis both. Even so, he held her hand in his, and Aylis, her color returning, grinned up at him, saying, “Quite well, Captain. It’s just that, I did not expect to see…you.”

  Aravan’s eyebrows rose and again Aylis blushed. “I mean…” she began, and then her voice seemed to fail her, and flustered, she pulled her gaze from his, though she made no a
ttempt to retrieve her hand.

  A dawning look came over Alamar’s features and he began to laugh, his cackle rising upward in merriment.

  Jinnarin looked up at the eld Mage in puzzlement. “What is it, Alamar. What can be so humorous?”

  Holding his fingers to his lips and chortling, the Mage glanced down at Jinnarin. “Nothing, Pysk. Nothing. Or maybe something—a silver mirror—”

  Dropping Aravan’s hand as if it were a hot coal, Aylis spun about and sharply said, “Father!”

  Alamar’s voice dropped to a loud whisper. “We’ll speak of it later, Pysk.”

  In that moment Jatu stepped to Aravan’s side. “Captain, I’ve ordered the Lady’s gig brought aboard. Men are unstepping the mast now. We can be underway in a trice.”

  Aravan nodded. “Lady Aylis, this is my first officer, Jatu.”

  Aylis smiled, acknowledging Jatu, receiving a wide grin in return.

  As Jinnarin peered through a runoff port and down at the Men working below, Tivir came scrambling up over the railing, sea bag in hand, the lad beaming at Aylis. “Y’r belongin’s, Laidy. Oi’ve brought them, Oi ‘ave.”

  As she reached for the bag, the cabin boy drew back and blurted, “Hoy, Laidy, Oi’ll carry it f’r y’, that is, if y’ don’t mind.”

  Aylis smiled. “Why, thank you, Mister…”

  “Tivir, Laidy. Tivir’s m’name. And no mister at that.”

  Aylis laughed a deep throaty laugh. “All right then, Tivir it shall be, with no mister in front.”

  Tivir bobbed his head and stepped aside and smirked at Tink in victory, the other cabin boy standing by.

  Jatu gestured toward the railing. “Is there aught else in the gig you would have special care of?”

  Aylis shook her head. “No, Jatu. All I had with me was my sea bag and a bit of food and water.”

  Aravan turned to Tivir. “Lad, bear Lady Aylis’s belongings aft. We will quarter her opposite Mage Alamar.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” Tivir sped away.

  Jatu peered over the wale at the gig now being hoisted on davits. “My Lady, the ship you were on—gone down I take it.”

  “I came on no ship, Jatu.”

  “But then, your distress flag—”

  “I was in no distress. I merely needed you to stop and take me aboard.”

  Jatu’s eyes widened. “But how did you get here? Surely not by that bit of a gig below.”

  Aylis smiled and nodded. “I sailed south from Tugal yestereve.”

  Jatu shook his head. “Most foolish. Lady. Foul weather alone could have foundered you, to say nothing of what the Rovers might have done had they come across you ere we did.”

  Alamar grunted impatiently. “Jatu, my daughter would not have come in that gig if storms or pirates were in the offing.” The elder turned to Aylis. “Tell me, Daughter, just what were you doing out here bobbing about in the ocean like a cork adrift?”

  “Waiting for this ship, Father, waiting for you.”

  “Waiting?” burst out Jinnarin. “Waiting for this ship? The Eroean? For Alamar? But how did you know—?”

  “Argh!” growled Alamar. “Pysk, I think you never listen to me. That, or your memory is a sieve. Did I not tell you that she is a seer? And seers know.”

  Jinnarin stamped her foot angrily. “Unlike you, Alamar, I have not lived among Magekind all my life. How could I know?”

  “Because I told you! And what I say I expect you to remember.”

  “Oh? Every last phrase you utter, I suppose?”

  Aylis moved between the two, effectively shutting off the brewing argument, though Alamar tried to step around her to continue, but failed.

  Aylis turned to Aravan, as if to appeal to him to reason with these two, but she gave up when she saw the Elf futilely attempting to suppress a grin.

  Managing a sober look, Aravan asked, “My Lady, just why wert thou waiting for my ship? Surely ‘tis a most uncommon way to visit with thy sire, neh?”

  Aylis took a deep breath, her gaze sweeping from Aravan to Jinnarin to Jatu and across the decks of the Eroean, stopping at last on the visage of Alamar. “Father, I have done a casting. You, this ship, the crew, everyone aboard, we are all in dreadful danger, though what it is I cannot say.”

  “Shielded?” Alamar’s eyes flew wide. “But that would mean…”

  Aylis, Aravan, and Alamar were seated ‘round the map table in the captain’s lounge. Jinnarin sat cross-legged upon the board, and Rux was curled up below. At Alamar’s outburst, Rux snorted and stood and trotted out from under the table and to his door in the passageway, disappearing into the privacy and quiet of his den, there where he and Jinnarin slept.

  “Yes, Father, I know,” replied Aylis, her voice soft.

  “Well, I don’t,” snapped Jinnarin. “I don’t know what it means at all.”

  “It means, Pysk,” muttered Alamar, “that some Mage somewhere is blocking Aylis’s castings, concealing from her scrying whatever it is that’s going on.”

  Jinnarin threw up her hands. “Why would someone block her?”

  Aylis leaned forward in her chair. “I do not think that it is just my attempts being thwarted, but rather all attempts.”

  Jinnarin turned to Aylis. “Even so, why?”.

  Aylis shrugged. “There are any number of reasons to shield against scrying, but they all come down to a person or two ensuring their privacy.”

  “Lovers?” Aravan’s sapphirine gaze again caught at Aylis’s emerald eyes, and somewhat discomposed she nodded as her cheeks reddened.

  Jinnarin’s voice cut through Aylis’s diverted silence. “Besides lovers, who?”

  Aylis counted off several. “Merchants, war commanders, misers, alchemists, cooks”—she turned up her palms—“anyone wishing to keep a secret. Oh, do not assume that I and my kind spend our waking hours snooping upon the private acts of others, nay. Twould be most unethical to do such. Moreover, it takes considerable power to see through time or space or both in detail, hence the need must be great enough to justify the cost ere such castings are made…just as must the need for privacy outweigh the cost of shielding. I hasten to add, though, that the price paid to hide something is much less than that of its finding.”

  Alamar stroked his beard. “And the cost to break through this particular shield—?”

  “Father, this shielding is strong beyond measure. I deem I cannot break it.”

  “Then, Lady Aylis,” asked Aravan, “how dost thou know that danger lurks?”

  “Because, Captain”—from a pouch at her waist Aylis extracted a small wooden box—“I have cast several simple readings.” The box was made of sandalwood. A small golden hasp latched it. Aylis opened the clasp and raised the lid. Inside was a black silk cloth wrapped about…a deck of cards.

  “You use cards?” blurted Jinnarin.

  “At times, tiny one,” Aylis answered, “particularly when I wish to demonstrate to others what I have seen.” Taking the pack in hand, she began shuffling the deck, blending the cards time and again, and on the final shuffle she murmured, “Simplicia, propinqua futura: Aylis.” Setting the pack before her, she fanned the deck wide and selected a card at random and turned it faceup. It showed a lightning-struck tower bursting apart, stone blocks flying wide, a person falling from the castellated top. Aylis glanced up at those watching.

  “What does it mean?” asked Jinnarin.

  Alamar answered. “Disaster.”

  Aravan reached over and took up the card, commenting, “A single pick does not a future make.”

  Aylis reassembled the pack and handed it to Aravan. “Captain Aravan, you mix and select.”

  Aravan cocked an Elven eye her way and slipped the single card into the whole. Then he shuffled the deck, while this time Aylis murmured, “Simplicia, propinqua futura: Aravan.” At last Aravan spread the cards and selected—

  Jinnarin gasped. “The tower!”

  Aravan slowly canted up and over one of the end cards of the lapping spread such that
the remainder of the cards turned faceup. Revealed was a variety of illustrations—people and places and animals, the Sun, Moon, and stars…more—each card different from the others, some representations ordinary, others arcane.

  Aylis gazed at Aravan, her green eyes atwinkle. “Did you think they were all towers?”

  Aravan smiled at her. “My Lady, wouldst not thou, thyself, scrutinize all ere deciding what may lie within a riddle?”

  Aylis’s own smile answered his. “Perhaps, Captain, some things should be taken on faith.”

  “Perhaps,” responded Aravan, his grin widening, his eyes lost in hers.

  Alamar looked at Jinnarin. “While those two are canoodling, Pysk, would you care to try?”

  Jinnarin drew in her breath sharply. “Oh no, Alamar. I don’t want to know. Besides, I am too small to handle those cards.”

  The Mage took up the pack and began shuffling. “Then I’ll see what they have to tell me. —Daughter. —Aylis!”

  Aylis started, then turned away from Aravan’s smile and toward the frown of her father. She gathered her scattered thoughts and whispered, “Simplicia, propinqua futura: Alamar.”

  The Mage spread the deck, his right hand wandering back and forth above the cards, index finger pointing, touching first this one and then that. Finally he teased one facedown card free and pushed it out and away from the deck, the elder glancing up and at Aylis. And then his hand darted back to the spread to select another card altogether. This one he turned over.

  It was the tower.

  “Blast!” snarled the elder. “I hoped to fool it.” Casually he reached out and turned up the card he had pushed to the fore. Jinnarin suppressed a shriek and Aylis turned pale, for portrayed thereon was the skeleton of a Man.

  CHAPTER 11

  Reflections

  Autumn, 1E9574

  [The Present]

  Northwesterly fared the Eroean out into the deep blue waters of the Weston Ocean wide, all of her sails unfurled and driving her full, the wind abeam and brisk. She was bound for a distant Land, her goal some seventeen hundred leagues hence, some five thousand miles away, though tacking as she did, the Elvenship would sail half-again that far. But the Eroean was swift, and given fair winds she would be but four to six weeks in the crossing.