Swiftly a gig was lowered, and Aravan rowed toward the tiny flame. As the keel of his boat scraped sand, Aravan turned about to see Jinnarin and Farrix standing by the fire, along with Rux and another fox he took to be Rhu. There, too, were clusters of shadows—other Pysks, he presumed. And back in the fringe of the forest, something…huge…loomed in the darkness among the trees.
“May I come ashore?” he asked, standing in the boat.
“Oh yes, Aravan,” said Jinnarin, distress in her voice, “please do. Perhaps you can talk some sense into these—these log-headed, stubborn fools!”
Aravan stepped into the shallow wavelets lapping the shore and dragged the gig a bit higher onto the sand. Then he walked to the fire and knelt. The clusters of shadow moved back.
“What yields?” asked the Elf.
Farrix drew in his breath and blew it out slowly. “They will not come.”
“Oh? None? Neither the tree nor hummock nor hole dwellers? The fen swimmers? The forest runners? Others?”
Jinnarin plopped down in the sand. “Some are afraid. Others refuse to be seen by Humans, Dwarves, or Elves. Still others do not believe that a fight between Durlok and Alamar or any other Mage is of concern to them.”
“Meddle not with Mages!” muttered Farrix. “It is an old saying, and many will not go against the adage.”
“Did ye tell them of the Black Mage, of Durlok’s evil?”
Farrix nodded. “Even so, most claim it is the business of Magekind.”
“If he comes to Darda Glain” came a whisper from a cluster of shadow, “then will we deal with Durlok. Else we let the Mages police their own.”
A low, heavy wordless rumble came from the massive, looming darkness in the fringe of the woods.
As a tremor shook the land, Aravan turned and addressed the gathering. “Do ye not see that Durlok has already come unto thy domain? This shaking of the land is his doing. It presages something dire, of that ye can be certain.”
“Perhaps,” replied a voice from yet another cluster, “but whatever it is, it is aimed at the Mages and not at Darda Glain.”
Jinnarin pounded a fist into the sand. “It’s no use, Aravan. We’ve argued until we are blue in the face. The LivVolls, Vred Tres, Sukke Steins—none of these would come, saying that it would take too long. The Sprygt will not leave their Tres, the Tomté stay with the Volls, and the Ande say they are linked to the glades. As to the others, they would not listen at all.”
“What of thy Kind, the Pyska?”
Jinnarin waved a hand about. “A few came to see the ship and the Friend who saved Tarquin, that’s all.”
“They will not come?”
“Right, Aravan, it’s simply no go,” added Farrix.
“We will not abandon Darda Glain,” whispered a voice from one of the clusters.
A tremor jolted the land.
Aravan knelt in silence for a while. At last he stood and brushed off the knees of his breeks. Then he addressed the clusters. “We go now to return to the Eroean. Come the dawn, if there be a wind, we set sail for Kairn. Should a change of mind come upon any of ye, light a fire along the shore ere we reach the open sea and we will come for ye. And that goes for thy immense friend standing at yon forest edge, or any other Hidden One.”
Leaving Jinnarin and Farrix behind to say farewell, Aravan walked to the prow of the boat and waited. Moments later, both Pysks turned and came to the gig. Rux and Rhu leapt into the boat, and Aravan lifted Jinnarin and Farrix to the craft and settled them in the bow, and Jinnarin leaned her head against Farrix’s shoulder and wept.
Just as the Elf prepared to shove off, there sounded a call from the woods, and riding into view came a band of Pysks, ten altogether, males and females alike. Jinnarin and Farrix leapt to their feet and watched as the Pysks approached, Jinnarin wiping the tears from her eyes. Dressed in leathers and armed with bows and arrows, the band of riders rode their red foxes down across the shingle of sand to come before the gig, where they stopped.
In the lead was a russet-haired female, and she sat before Aravan and looked up at the Elf momentarily. Apparently he passed her muster, and she turned her brown-eyed gaze upon Jinnarin. “We have come to join you.”
Jinnarin’s tear-streaked face lit up. “Oh, Anthera, we are so glad you changed your mind…all of you!”
Again Anthera looked up at the Elf then back to Jinnarin. “Long we debated ere we decided. Had it been any other than you and Farrix and a Friend, we would not have come.”
The land shivered again.
“Thou didst well to come, my Lady,” said Aravan, “for Rwn itself may be in danger.”
Anthera shook her head. “Oh, we do not believe that the island—or even Darda Glain—is in any danger. Oh no. Instead, you see before you a warband. We came to oppose the Mage who took one of our own as a prisoner. Never again will we allow the return of the old days unto our world, when the capture or killing of Hidden Ones was a common practice. Never again!”
Behind her, Pysks raised their bows and shouted out, Never again!
When Aravan returned to the Eroean, he came in a gig filled with foxes.
Dawn came and still no breath of air stirred, and the silks were unfurled to hang lank in the summer morn. Too, no fire was lighted on the narrow beach. And the slenderest of Moons rode near the burning Sun. It was the eleventh of August and the morrow would bring the grand wedding.
Like a caged beast, Aravan paced the deck. And just ere midday he called to Jatu to break out the rowing gigs. “We will pull the ship down to the sea where we may find a breeze.”
The gigs were unshipped and towing ropes affixed, and Dwarven warriors began to row, canting their warlike chants. Slowly down the still bight they fared, heading for the distant sea, crews straining at the oars, the forest gliding steadily by, the Sun creeping down the sky. Now and again the lookouts reported movement among the distant trees. Yet when they stared at the forest marge, nothing afoot did they see.
And still the Dwarves rowed.
“Two knots at most I gauge it, Captain,” replied Jatu to Aravan’s query.
The Elf sighed. “I agree. At this rate we’ll come to the ocean at dusk.”
“By damn, if there be wind, Kapitan,” said Rico, “she make it to Kairn in time, will Lady Eroean.”
“I can only hope thou art right, Rico.”
And onward rowed the Dwarves.
It was nigh sunset when the first faint trace of air belled the sails backwards. “Rico, pipe the yards keel-ways to the ship. We’ve another long hour ere we come to the waters where we have sailing room. If need be, furl the silks altogether.”
“Aye, Kapitan.”
Slowly the hour passed, and the Elvenship came down toward the sea, the Dwarves haling on the oars, towing the craft behind. A gentle breeze, light and shifty, stirred the silks, and Rico furled them full so that they would not oppose the rowers. At last at dusk they debouched into the Weston Ocean, and Aravan ordered the gigs back aboard.
“Rico, prepare to sail. Boder, we’ll set the course tacking westerly, for the wind will be in our face.”
Yet as the purple twilight settled over the sea, a lookout called, “Dolphin, Cap’n! Dolphin off th’ larboard beam!”
Aravan stood at the rail and peered outward with his Elven eyes, and then he said to Rico, “Belay those orders, Bo’s’n, at least for a while,” for Aravan could see that among the dolphin racing for the Eroean came swimming a Child of the Sea.
Jinnarin and Farrix came running and climbed to a belaying-pin rack and peered down over the side. And as the pod of dolphin reached the Elvenship, Aravan leaned over the larboard railing and called down to the circling Child, “Speaketh thou the Common Tongue?”
The reply came, strangely accented and full of pops and clicks and chirps, and Jinnarin only understood two words in all: Ut!¡teri—whales; and ¡g!alley—the Merfolk attempt to say galley.
But Aravan seemed to understand the sense of what the Child was saying�
��perhaps it was because he was a Friend: perhaps it was because of his amulet; perhaps it was something else altogether; who can know? Regardless, he turned to the others, his voice grim as he said, “The whales have found the black galley.”
CHAPTER 39
Grand Wedding
Summer, 1E9575
[The Present]
Jinnarin’s heart hammered in her breast. “Where?” she called down to the Child of the Sea. “Where is the black galley?”
The Child cocked her head to the side and rattled a string of clicking, chirping, whistling words at Aravan. “She does not understand thee, Jinnarin,” he said. Then Aravan called down, “Where away the black galley? How far?”
The Child turned and gestured southwesterly, chattering her clatterous speech.
“Only halfway to Atala,” relayed the Elf, “surely Silver Bottom can sail that far. It is not even a half a day as the ¡Nat!io run. —Ah, yes, my Child of the Sea, less than a half a day for thee and thy Kind, but longer for me in this light breeze.”
Again the Child clattered back at Aravan.
“Neither ¡Nat!io nor Ut!¡teri nor A!miî can get near the black galley, for terrible power is pouring from it and doing something to the bottom of the sea.” Aravan’s eyes widened. “Durlok does something to the sea bottom! What?”
Aravan listened then repeated the sense of her reply. “Thou knowest not, for the terrible power goes down and the Sea Folk cannot go nigh.”
“Kruk!” cursed Bokar standing next to Aravan.
Jatu held a hand up in the breeze. “The wind freshens a bit, Captain. There is a chance we could get halfway to Atala ere the Moon kisses the Sun on the morrow.”
Bokar growled, “Mayhap the Children and whales and dolphin cannot get near the galley, Captain, but by Elwydd! my ballistas can reach far over the waters.”
“But what about Kairn?” asked Jinnarin, anxiety in her voice. “Aylis is there.”
“Ah yes, love,” said Farrix, “Aylis is indeed there, and perhaps Alamar, if he’s not yet crossed over to Vadaria, that is. But listen, Alamar did have a good plan back when first we began to pursue Durlok, before the Black Mage destroyed the lexicon: if we can distract Durlok for but an hour ‘round noon tomorrow, well burn me, I think we can upset whatever his scheme is.”
Indecision filled Jinnarin’s eyes. “But if we fail—”
“If we don’t try, we’ve already failed,” interjected Farrix.
The Child below chattered and clicked and chirped. “She says she will lead us to the black galley,” relayed the Elf.
Jatu looked at Aravan. “Time is passing, Captain. What’ll it be: Kairn…or Durlok?”
Aravan glanced up at the windage pennons fluttering in the strengthening northwesterly breeze. And his gaze strayed to the west-southwest, where Atala lay one hundred forty-four leagues away, some four hundred and thirty-two miles, toward the west-southwest where also lay the black galley, perhaps half as far. Then he looked to the northwest where lay the City of Bells, which held the grove where was his true love, a mere ninety miles beyond the horizon as the albatross flies, though a longer route by the sea.
“Captain?” said Jatu.
Aravan looked at the big black Man and finally said, “West-southwest, Jatu. We follow the Child of the Sea.”
In a grove of silver birch, Aylis glanced up at the stars. Her fine silvery hair fell down ‘round her shoulders, nearly all the brown now vanished. And she wondered if the evacuation of Darda Glain had gone well, for in but fifteen hours the unseen Moon would kiss the Sun. At the moment none of the wanderers were in the sky, would not be there until an hour before mid of night when the Red Warrior would come over the horizon first.
She wondered as well when Aravan would return, for he had promised he would come for her.
Aylis lowered her eyes and glanced down at Drienne, the sorceress sitting beside the crystal mere, her skin translucent with age. Nearly all of her raven-black hair had turned pearlescent. White, too, were her knuckles as she tightly gripped the arms of the crimson chair and channeled the
Yet could they delay Durlok’s scheme until the wedding was past, then all would be worth it…or so they hoped.
Swiftly the Eroean cut through the waves, the ship running wet, her stem aimed west-southwesterly, a braw wind on her starboard beam, quartering toward the bow. But out ahead of the Elvenship coursed a pod of dolphin, effortlessly pacing the ship, and in their midst raced a Child of the Sea. High in the aft skies the Red Warrior shown, and lower easterly stood the Bright Voyager, followed by the Shining Nomad. And Jinnarin had watched as each of the wanderers had risen, her hammering heart pounding rapidly as each climbed into view.
Bokar and his Châkka warriors had donned their armor and cleaned their weapons and had thoroughly checked the ballistas, and crates of fireballs and javelins sat ready at hand. And as Bokar had told his warriors what was afoot, Engar had called out, “Well and good, Armsmaster. When we sink the black galley, we will send twenty-eight Trolls down to the bottom with her!” An uproar of approval had greeted Engar’s remark.
As to the band of Pysks, they had taken quarters in Alamar’s former cabin, and they, too, prepared, though not in the open, for they were not yet comfortable around Humans and Dwarves…nor even an Elf, in spite of the fact that he was a Friend.
Onward sped the Elvenship in the sometimes juddering sea, false dawn coming at last, and with it rose the wanderer known as the Swift One; and Jinnarin thought her heart would burst with the tension, for they still had leagues upon leagues to go, but the inexorable turning of the unstoppable heavens heeded not their plight.
The Sun rose.
“Lord god, Aravan,” gritted Farrix, “where is the Moon?”
Aravan pointed slightly above and east of the Sun. “There, though it cannot be seen.”
Farrix looked, but the Sun was too bright for him to find the other orb.
The wanderers, too, had disappeared with the coming of day.
“Slow Foot will rise shortly,” added Aravan, “though it, too, will be hidden from sight.”
“Captain, we now run at fifteen knots,” said Jatu. “Will we arrive in time?”
Aravan glanced at the Sun, then away. “I don’t know, Jatu. It depends upon exactly where Durlok’s galley lies. This I do know: given our current speed, we will arrive at a point precisely halfway between Rwn and Atala exactly at high noon. If he is closer…well and good. But if farther…” Aravan did not finish the sentence, but all knew what he meant.
Farrix jittered about on the deck, unable to sit for any length of time. Jinnarin snapped at him to “give it a rest,” but no sooner had he plopped down than she took his place, muttering, “Come on, wind, can’t you blow harder?”
And across the sea ran the Eroean as the hours counted down.
The Sun stood nigh the zenith when the mainmast lookout bellowed, “Cap’n, the dolphin break away!” and at the same time the foremast lookout cried, “Cap’n, ship ho, dead ahead!”
As the Eroean thundered past the circling dolphin ringing ‘round the now halted Child of the Sea, Bokar shouted a command and Dwarves scrambled toward the ballistas. Dodging among the rushing warriors, Jinnarin and Farrix raced to the foredeck and scrambled up onto the stemblock and peered into the distance ahead. And just as Aravan joined them, low on the horizon and barely in their view they could see the black galley in the water.
“Good lord!” breathed Farrix.
“Adon!” gritted Jinnarin.
Hearing fear tingeing their breath, “What is it ye see?” asked Aravan.
“Don’t you see it, Aravan?” cried Farrix, his eyes wide in dread.
“The galley, aye, but nothing more.”
“Oh, Aravan,” breathed Jinna
rin. “The galley, it is covered over with a boiling nimbus of horribly writhing black fire.”
Aylis, her hair now completely silver, the brown gone with her vanished youth, glanced at the sun overhead. It was near high noon and the unseen Moon would any moment kiss the Sun. She sighed and slowly peered ‘round the slopes of the amphitheater, eyeing each and every Mage, all now burdened with age. Her eye stopped on a bent, wrinkled, hairless, stooped elder, partially hidden behind a tree, his arthritic hands knotted and trembling. Slowly, Aylis made her way down and across the Mage Grove and up the opposite slope. At last she reached the ancient one’s side, and weeping, said, “Father.”
Alamar looked at her with his rheumy eyes, his mouth gaping in a toothless grin. “Do him in the eye, Daughter,” he whispered. “We’ll do him in the eye.”
Yet even as Aylis looked on in distress, tears running down her aged face, she knew that neither he nor she could leave the Great Conjoinment until Drienne broke it. And weeping, she gazed upon her father, and his brown-mottled skin drew taut across his skeletal face as the last dregs of youth poured from him.
And in that moment the island lurched violently sideways, as if a vast hammer had struck an immense blow. The ancient Mage collapsed, and Aylis was knocked from her feet.
And the sea began rushing away from Rwn.
“Trim her up, Boder. We’ll pass with her on our larboard. Rico, get all the speed from the silks thou canst.”
“Aye, Cap’n,” muttered Boder, sighting down the length of the Eroean at the black galley five or so miles distant. “How close do you want me to come. I’ll graze her, if you like.”
Aravan grinned. “A hundred feet will do.” The Elf turned and called out, “Bokar, we’ll make the first pass with her a hundred feet on our larboard.”
The Dwarven warriors on the starboard ballistas groaned and growled and shook their fists at the larboard crews and shouted out curses in Châkur.
Voyage of the Fox Rider Page 55