Voyage of the Fox Rider

by Dennis L McKiernan

  A minute or so later Bokar shouted, “Someone is in the water. Dead ahead.”

  Aravan’s gaze swept to the horizon all about. “I see nought in the way of threat. Wear her around the wind and luff her up, Reydeau. Jatu, ready a gig. We’ll take him aboard, whoever it is.”

  “Stand ready at the ballistas,” called Bokar when the Dwarf heard the piped signals. It is questionable whether the Dwarven warriors needed the command for they already crewed the missile casters.

  “He’s not swimming, Captain,” called Bokar. “Just bobbing about.”

  “Take him up regardless, Jatu,” ordered Aravan.

  Swiftly the gig was lowered, and Jatu and five others clambered aboard, two Dwarven warriors among them to act as eyes and to provide arms should combat be called for.

  Aravan watched as the gig rowed out, and then came Jatu’s voice calling across the water. “He’s dead, Captain.”

  They fished the naked body from the icy brine, the gig returning to the ship. Jinnarin and Aylis and Alamar joined Aravan as a litter was davit-lowered and the corpse laded and brought aboard.

  “Oh, Adon,” gasped Aylis when she saw the cadaver, for it was the horribly mutilated remains of a Man: he had been eviscerated, his eyes were gouged out, some fingers were missing, his privates were torn loose, and his arms and legs flopped unnaturally, as if the bones within were broken, and he was slashed with hideous burns.

  Horrified, Jinnarin turned her head aside. “What did this?”

  Tink looked. “Shark?”

  “Nay, lad,” growled Bokar, “neither shark nor other fish. The evil that did this does not swim in the sea, but walks about on two legs instead.”

  “I am the seer,” said Aylis, kneeling at the dead Man’s side. She laid her hands on the mangled corpse and closed her eyes and murmured, “Percipe praeteritum.” Suddenly her face blanched, and she gasped, “The pain. Oh, the pain.” Her breath came in great gulps, and she wrenched back and forth, as if she were trying to break loose but could not, and she wept in agony.

  Aravan leapt forward and pulled her away, Aylis swooning in his grasp.

  Now Alamar bent down and laid hands on the corpse. “Quis?” he demanded. His face went white and filled with rage, and with venom in his voice he hissed, “Durlok!”

  CHAPTER 18

  Marge

  Winter, 1E9574–75

  [The Present]

  Durlok?” asked Bokar. “What is a Durlok?”

  “Durlok is not a ‘what,’” gritted Alamar, rising from the corpse, “but a ‘who.’”

  “Well then, Mage, who is this Durlok?”

  Jinnarin looked up at Aravan, the Elf kneeling on the deck, holding Aylis. “Brandy, Aravan? Do we need brandy?”

  “I’ll get it, Cap’n,” said Tink, and he bolted aft.

  “No brandy,” murmured Aylis, opening her eyes. “I am all right. Breaking the connection was…difficult.”

  “Not surprising, Daughter,” said Alamar bitterly. “Durlok is behind this all.”

  Aylis’s eyes widened, but she said nothing.

  Bokar growled. “Again I ask, just who is this Durlok?”

  Jatu came clambering over the rail. He glanced at the corpse and then at Aylis, the seeress now sitting. The black Man leaned back over the wale and called down, “Run the gig to the aft davits, the deck is crowded here.”

  Tink came rushing back with a full decanter of brandy but no glass. The lad wheeled about and ran off again.

  As Aravan helped Aylis to her feet, Bokar roared, “Kruk! Will you not answer my question? Who is Durlok?”

  Shocked from his asperity, Alamar stared at Bokar. Then the bitterness filled the elder’s face again, and he harshly replied, “A Black Mage, that’s who, Dwarf.”

  Jinnarin gasped, but did not speak.

  Bokar’s eyes narrowed. “I take it that Black Mages are vile.”

  Alamar nodded once, jerkily.

  Jinnarin turned to Aylis. “Is he the hidden Mage of your cards, Aylis?”

  Aylis turned up her hands, but Alamar answered, his voice grating out, “It is the way of his kind.”

  Jinnarin gestured at the mutilated corpse. “And is Durlok the one who did this to the Human?”

  Fury filled Alamar’s eyes. “Yes! Of that there is no doubt.”

  Bokar looked at the Mage. “How know you this?”

  “Because I see the traces of his , that’s how!” exploded Alamar.

  “Father, calm down,” appealed Aylis. “Bokar is not the enemy.”

  Again Tink arrived, this time bearing both decanter and glass.

  Glaring about, Alamar snatched the brandy and crystal from Tink and then stalked away muttering to himself.

  “There is more here than meets the eye,” said Aravan.

  Aylis nodded. “You are right, Aravan. My father and Durlok—they are ancient foes.”

  Aravan raised an eyebrow.

  Aylis elaborated. “Long past, my father and Durlok dueled.”

  “Dueled?” blurted Jinnarin, gazing at Alamar’s retreating back. “I cannot imagine Alamar with a sword in his hand.”

  “Oh, it was not a sword fight they fought,” demurred Aylis. “Instead it was a duel of Magekind: casting against casting.”

  Tink’s eyes flew wide. “A magic fight,” he breathed. “Spell against spell.”

  Aylis sighed, then said, “I suppose you could call it that, Tink.”

  “Cor, Lady Aylis, wot happened?”

  Aylis glanced about at the others. “Durlok followed the teachings of Gyphon and was practicing the forbidden arts, using the sufferings of others to power his castings. Father discovered this and confronted him, and there was a terrible battle. In the end, Durlok was defeated, and the Council imprisoned him and banned him from all castings. Both Durlok and my father were ravaged by the duel, and it took long years for them to recover. When he was well, Durlok escaped and disappeared. Whence he had gone, none knew, yet Father always suspected that he had flown from Vadaria, had fled to Mithgar; my father was right, it seems.”

  Jatu glanced from Aylis toward the rear quarters where Alamar had gone. “When did this take place, Lady Aylis?”

  Aylis shrugged. “Millennia past, before I was born.”

  Behind them a chanting began, the Men hoisting the gig back aboard.

  Jatu now looked at the corpse. “Captain, what would you have us do with this…Man.”

  Aravan turned to Aylis. “Is there aught else thou or thy father can learn from the slain one?”

  Aylis shook her head. “No. I know how he was murdered and why. And my father knows who did the deed. We need nothing more.”

  Aravan looked at Tink. “Fetch Arlo, Tink. Have him sew the body in canvas with ballast. We will see that he gets a decent burial at sea.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.” The boy sped away.

  “What be our course now, Captain,” asked Frizian. “Where do we sail next?”

  Aravan looked at Jatu and Bokar, and then down at Jinnarin. “East, Frizian, due east. A hundred and fifty miles, for there I deem the next plume will fall, and we must stop Durlok from committing another of these foul deeds.”

  Jinnarin glanced once again at the mutilated remains. “Why would this Durlok do such a thing, Aylis?”

  “To power his castings, Jinnarin. It is the way of the Black Mages to use the rage and fear and suffering of others to gain for their castings.”

  They found Alamar in the captain’s lounge, the Mage in deep thought, the full brandy decanter on the table before him yet stoppered, the glass unused. As they came into the salon, Alamar glanced up and about, fixing at last on Aravan. “Captain, you’ve got to sail east, go to the next place where Durlok is likely to be. We cannot let him do this again.”

  “Thou art right, Mage Alamar,” replied Aravan.

  Even as Aravan spoke, the silks of the Eroean were piped about to catch the wind once more, and the ship fell away before the frigid southwesterly breeze.

>   Bokar took off his helm and laid it on the table. “We are making a great assumption here,” he growled.

  “Assumption?” asked Jatu.

  “Aye, assumption,” responded the Dwarf. “We are presuming that the Black Mage will be where the next plume falls, yet who is to say that he follows these will-o’-the-wisps at all?”

  “Oh my,” ventured Jinnarin. “Do you believe that it was merely happenstance that the plume came down where Durlok’s victim was found?”

  Bokar shrugged. “Mayhap.”

  Jatu cleared his throat and said, “On the other hand, perhaps he doesn’t merely follow the plumes. Perhaps instead he causes them.”

  “To what end?” asked Bokar. “Why would he do such?”

  All eyes turned to Alamar.

  The eld Mage made a chopping motion with his hand. “It doesn’t matter why. The only thing that matters is that we stop him.”

  Aylis sat down beside her sire. “And how do you propose we go about stopping him, Father?”

  “I did him in the eye once before, Aylis, and I can do it again.”

  Jinnarin frowned in puzzlement. “Did him in the eye?”

  Alamar nodded sharply. “Defeated him, Pysk. Did him in.”

  Aylis took his hand in hers. “Father, you were in your prime then.”

  Alamar’s jaw jutted out and he glared at her, but Aylis’s gaze was unwavering, green eyes staring into eyes of green, neither looking away. At last Alamar said, “But he’s got to be stopped.”

  “We can go to Kairn,” said Aylis. “Surely at the college will be someone who can defeat him.”

  “Daughter, if we go to Kairn now, we will lose Durlok’s trail.”

  As if appealing for aid, Aylis glanced at Aravan, but the Elf said, “I deem thy Father has the right of it, chieran. If our assumption is correct, then Durlok will go to the next place of the plumes.” Aravan pulled a map from the chart box, spreading it out before them in the lantern light. “Given that the plumes move fifty leagues a day, by the time we can sail to Kairn and back, and then onward to where the plumes will have gotten to, aro! they will have marched another two hundred leagues easterly—six hundred miles in all. And that puts them at”—Aravan stabbed a finger down to a landmass on the plot—“this point: the Realm of Thol. In fact, if they continue along the same course, they will be well inland. Nay, Aylis, if Durlok fares east and we would catch him and put an end to his vile deeds, now is the time.”

  Jatu nodded in agreement, adding, “And remember, we depend upon the wind, and should it die as we fare to or from Kairn, then we must await its return before we can take up the chase again. I would rather follow a trail that is hot on the wind than one grown cold, the scent lost.”

  Aylis looked ‘round at each of them. “And what will we do if and when we overtake him, eh? Has anyone here the power to oppose him?”

  Bokar hefted his axe. “Just let me stroke his neck with this. Then no matter his power, it will be of little concern.”

  Alamar snorted. “I doubt you will get the chance, Dwarf…if Durlok sees you coming, that is.”

  Jatu gazed at the Mage, then said, “Then we will need to take him unawares.”

  Aylis turned her palms upward. “Again I ask, who among us has the power to do so?”

  “Perhaps I do,” said Jinnarin. Her voice came from a cluster of shadow gathered in table center.

  None said anything for a moment, and then Jinnarin spoke: “I could slip upon him unawares. And remember, my arrows are deadly.”

  Bokar growled. “Assassinations have no honor to them.”

  Jatu raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

  “No, Pysk,” said Alamar. “It is too dangerous. We must find another way.”

  The cluster of shadow disappeared, and Jinnarin stood revealed in the lantern light.

  Jatu looked at Aravan. “He must be in a ship, Captain. Sink the ship and he will drown.”

  Again Alamar snorted. “Nay, not drown. Sink his ship and he will merely walk away.”

  Aravan’s thoughts flashed back to the wet footprints Alamar had left behind when he first had visited the Eroean riding at anchor in Port Arbalin.

  Bokar slammed a fist to the table. “Burn him then. Cast fireballs at the ship and set it aflame.”

  Again Alamar snorted. “Do you not remember what I did to the Kistanian Rover’s fireballs? He will do the same…or worse.”

  “Not if we take him unawares,” said Jatu, “slip up on him in the dark. Perhaps we can fire the ship when he is below decks.”

  “Fat chance,” sneered Alamar.

  “Well, Mage,” gritted Bokar, “have you a better scheme?”

  “Not at the moment, Dwarf. But before we get there, I will think of something.”

  A silence fell upon the group, none saying aught. After a moment, Aylis looked at those gathered ‘round the table. “That’s it? That’s the best we can come up with? Somehow sneak this great tall ship up alongside Durlok’s and shoot fireballs at it in the hopes that the Mage is below decks? That’s our plan? Ha! Some plan!”

  “Daughter!” barked Alamar, “I said I’d think of something.”

  “Well, I hope so, Father. I hope that at least one of us comes up with a better strategy, and soon, for we’ve less than a day to do so.”

  In his cabin, Alamar paced back and forth, the eld Mage muttering to himself. Finally he turned and said to Jinnarin, “The only way to fight fire is with fire.”

  Jinnarin’s eyes flew wide. “But I thought it was the better to quench flames with wat—”

  “Argh, Pysk! Where is your head? I don’t mean ordinary flames. I mean . Castings.”

  “My head is right here, Alamar!” shot back Jinnarin, pointing to her temple. “If you want me to know what you are talking about, then I suggest you say what you mean!”

  “Well what I mean, Pysk, is that it will take a spell to overcome a spell.”

  “But Aylis said—”

  “Never mind what Aylis said.”

  “But, Alamar, isn’t she right?”

  Alamar growled, then said, “In some things she’s right, Pysk. —But look here, what I plan to do is to get the jump on Durlok, surprise him, as Jatu says catch him unawares.” The elder rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  “And just how do you propose to do that, Alamar?”

  “Well, Pysk, think on this: what if Durlok cannot see the fireballs, eh? Then what?”

  “Um…I suppose they would strike his ship unimpeded.”

  “Exactly so,” cackled Alamar. “Exactly so. And I can conceal them with a casting, make them, hmm, unnoticed.”

  “But, Alamar,” protested Jinnarin, “won’t he simply use his magesight to see them coming?”

  “He could, Pysk, and that’s why we have to surprise him, so that he doesn’t get a chance. Then we’ll burn his ship, and if he escapes, skewer him with a bolt from a ballista. That will put an end to his plans, whatever they may be.”

  “But, Alamar, you assume that he is indeed on a ship. What if he is not? Then what?”

  Alamar stared at Jinnarin. “How else would he travel about in the middle of the ocean, Pysk? Tell me that.”

  “I don’t know, Alamar. You’re the Mage. You tell me.”

  “Pah! It’s not even worth considering.”

  Jinnarin reluctantly acquiesced, then gazed up at the Mage. “That’s your plan? The whole of it?”

  Alamar nodded. “What do you think?”

  “Well, Alamar, I think that it’s full of holes. See here, if Durlok is the Mage you think he is, then won’t he counter your spells with castings of his own? Won’t he quench any fire we burst upon his ship? Won’t he turn any ballista bolt hindward in its arc and send it back at us? I mean, look at it this way: if you, Alamar, were on a ship being attacked thusly, what would you do? And whatever you decide, isn’t that exactly what Durlok will do?”

  Bokar, Jatu, and Frizian sat drinking hot tea at a table in the ship’s mes
s. “I say we do it just as we did the pirate ship in the Straits of Alacca,” declared Bokar. “Only this time it is we who will hale alongside. Then we drop the corvuses and charge across, while some swing over on yardarm ropes, and take the ship. It is as simple as that.”

  “Oh?” murmured Jatu, a skeptical look on his face. “As simple as that, eh? You forget, Bokar, there’s a Mage aboard that other ship, and where Mages are concerned, nothing is simple.”

  “Bah!” exclaimed Bokar. “There are forty Châkka warriors upon the Eroean, all armed and armored. I doubt that any Mage can withstand such an assault, especially if it comes as a surprise.”

  Jatu nodded, but Frizian said, “Perhaps so, Armsmaster, yet surely this Durlok does not sail alone. He must have a crew of his own. And if so, they will not simply be standing about while we board their ship and go after the Mage. I mean, we’ll be fighting for our very lives.”

  Bokar canted his head in agreement. “True, Frizian, yet heed: I will have ten of my Châkka bear crossbows, and assign them the task of finding the Mage and bringing him down. Surely one or more bolts will find their mark. He cannot turn them all aside.”

  Before the ship’s second officer could reply, a seaman came to the table. “Mister Frizian, sir, the wind is beginning to shift. It’s running a bit warmer and up from the south.”

  As Frizian stood and made ready to leave, Jatu shook his head and said. “Perhaps this plan of yours will indeed succeed, Bokar, yet it does have a weakness, one which Lady Aylis pointed out: just how will we slip this tall ship alongside Durlok’s without being noticed?”

  “Fainting is not my wont,” said Aylis, standing in the center of the stateroom she and Aravan shared.

  Aravan canted an eyebrow. “Chieran?”

  Aylis shook her head. “Twice now it has happened to me: the first time when I was trying to read your cards, love; the second time when I laid hands on the…on Durlok’s victim. Never before have I fainted, but now it seems to be on the verge of becoming a habit.”

  Aravan pulled her to him, his strong arms going about her. Of a sudden he pulled back and looked at her. “Thou art trembling, Aylis.”