by Jack Massa
Having nodded to Troneck who stood by the tiller, Lonn and Eben sat down before the windbringers. They bid them good afternoon, and greeted Azzible and Kizier in particular.
Bostulls had human names for human convenience, to distinguish one from another. If the plant-creatures had individual names in their own language, they never mentioned them to humans. Thus Azzible had retained his typical Tathian name, though it might just as easily have been changed to something else. For two days Azzible had been part of this chorus and was already absorbed into its inner harmony. He returned the Iruks' greeting and replied to their questions about his well-being without particular interest. Typically for a bostull, he felt no special emotion or nostalgia about his time with the klarn.
That was what made Kizier so unusual, his human-like personality and keen interest in human affairs.
"Kizier," Eben said. "We've been talking things over and would like to ask you some questions. We're already a great distance behind our dojuk and heading for lands of which we know little, except that they are far-flung and crowded. What chance does Amlina really have of finding the Cloak and Glyssa?"
"Truly, it is impossible to predict," the bostull said. "Mainly it depends on how well Amlina can sense the emanations of the Cloak. It is a thing of great power, and will be hard to hide in the Deepmind. But the one who has it has already shown a high mastery of the shaping arts. Still, Amlina possessed the Cloak, however briefly, and knows the psychic feel of its emanations."
"How briefly did she possess it?" Lonn asked.
"For less than one of Grizna's cycles. She took it from the Bone Tower of the Archimage of the East, and was sailing with it back to Larthang when you Iruks intercepted our ship."
"So it is as we guessed," Lonn said. "Amlina herself stole the Cloak and feared pursuit by its true owner. That is why this coaster was sailing in First Winter and without escort."
"You surmise well," Kizier said. "Your one error lies in assuming the Archimage to be the Cloak's true owner. In fact, that witch stole it herself, some eighty years ago. Amlina was returning the Cloak to its rightful owners, the witches of Larthang."
"We've heard this Archimage mentioned again and again," Eben said. "Always with a shifting of eyes and a tremble of the voice. But my impression is that you and Amlina don't think the Archimage is the one who has the Cloak now."
"You are correct again. The mind I sensed moving in your lodge house was unfamiliar to me, and it seemed a masculine mind. Besides, we don't believe the Archimage would cast such designs over a distance. Once she located the Cloak, she would likely come in person, to take it back and to revenge herself on whoever had it. For the first ten days of our voyage, Amlina wove designs to hide us and the Cloak from the seeking mind of the Archimage. Only then did she give in to exhaustion and enter deep trance to restore herself. It was in that state you found her when you took the Cloak. So far, Amlina's designs have held, and the Archimage has not found us—or, if she has, she has left us alone for the time being, to search for the Cloak instead. But sooner or later she will seek out Amlina, for she would never allow one who had stolen from her to go unpunished."
"Tell us more about her;" Lonn prompted. "Since we are Amlina's allies now, we should know about her enemies."
"Indeed you should," the windbringer said. "Well then, the history is that Beryl—for that is the Archimage's name—was at one time a witch of Larthang, of great accomplishment and renown. She advanced to the highest circle in the House of the Deepmind and was made the Keeper of the Cloak of the Two Winds. She would likely have one day become Archimage of the West, but her desires led her in another direction. As she grew older, she became obsessed with herself and could not bear the thought of aging and dying. She took up the studies of blood magic and necromancy, seeking to preserve the youth of her body and become immortal. But these arts are forbidden in Larthang, and when Beryl's peers learned of her unlawful studies, they threatened to break her mind unless she ceased. Instead, Beryl fled from Minhang, the Imperial City, taking the Cloak of the Two Winds with her. She journeyed across the seas and islands until she reached the continent of Nyssan, where necromancy and ancient rites of human sacrifice are still practiced. She came to Tallyba, called the Terrible, mightiest city of Far-Nyssan.
"With her knowledge of the Larthangan arts and the Cloak of the Two Winds in her possession, Beryl soon gained power and rank among the magician priests of Tallyba. She became High Priestess of the Temple of the Sun, which in the practices of Far-Nyssan means she is regarded as the incarnation of the Sun Deity. The victims sacrificed on the altars of that temple are in fact sacrificed to Beryl, their life-force flowing into her body and replenishing its vitality. So her thirst for immortality finds impermanent but effective satisfaction. In time, Beryl destroyed her rival priests one by one and demolished their temples, until she ruled Tallyba absolutely. Then she proclaimed herself Archimage of the East, the first to hold that title since the centuries of the Second Empire, when Larthang last reigned over the Three Nations. In the years since, Beryl has used the Cloak of the Two Winds to subjugate the cities and towns of southern Nyssan, laying waste to field and wood with the freezewind until the people submitted. Thus she is assured a constant stream of young captives for the altars of her temple."
"You speak of this witch with great passion," Eben observed. "More than I've ever heard in a windbringer's voice."
"Yes, with good reason," Kizier murmured. "I was not always a windbringer, you see. The Archimage of the East made me what I am."
Astonished, the two Iruks listened while Kizier related his own tale—how he had been human once, a wandering scholar born on the Tathian island of Glistre. In his 38th year, he had gone to Tallyba and become a resident of the Archimage's court.
"That was years ago," he said, "when Beryl's tyranny was not yet so monstrous and absolute. The city was still open to trade then, and not, as today, shunned by all free vessels, save those unlucky ones like this Larthangan that are blown there by ill weather."
Lonn glanced at Troneck here, and saw the evil memory reflected on the captain's stern face.
Kizier was still speaking, telling how his wealth of knowledge and tales had made him a favorite of Beryl's. Despite the wickedness and dark magics of Tallyba, Kizier had not feared for his own safety, since the position of wandering scholar, like that of bard, was considered a privileged and protected one by human custom.
"But Beryl finally proved herself beyond all human custom," Kizier continued bitterly. "When the day came that I wanted to leave she forbade me, and when I tried to escape she laid this ensorcellment on me, that I should be transformed into a windbringer, so I could continue to serve her with my knowledge and amuse her with my anecdotes, but would have no hope of ever escaping. I was a prisoner for twenty-six years in Beryl's palace, until Amlina, in making her own escape, managed to steal me away."
"Where does Amlina fit in all this?" Eben asked. "She is a Larthangan. How did she come to Beryl's city?"
"I believe I should let Amlina tell you that herself," the bostull said. "She can give you a better account than I."
Lonn and Eben exchanged frowning glances, wondering what the bostull meant to conceal.
"Then answer us this," Lonn said. "This question weighs on our hearts: Whoever has taken the Cloak, whoever is using Glyssa to bring it to them, what are they likely to do with her once they have it?"
"Again, it is impossible to predict," Kizier replied. "Perhaps she will be killed. But it is also possible she will be kept with her will enslaved, her life-force gradually changing its pattern, until she is no longer the woman you knew but a reflection of the deepshaper's will, a thrall as such mindless ones are called."
"You're saying there's no hope of getting her back?" Lonn's voice rose in anguish.
"There is still hope," Kizier answered softly. "The change, as I said, is gradual. Glyssa is tough-minded, and it would take a long time to destroy her will completely. If you find her in time
you should be able to call her back to herself, with Amlina's help. I regret I cannot give you a more optimistic picture, but you must keep hoping. You must think and believe you will save Glyssa. All else being equal, the Deepmind tends to bring us what we expect."
Lonn and Eben looked at one another, their minds in ferment with all Kizier had said. They asked no more questions and presently Kizier shut his eye and joined the other bostulls in trance. As the Iruks left the rear deck, Kizier was humming with the rest of the chorus.
Seven
Schools of bluefish were sighted two days later, running east, some passing beneath the coaster's scudding hull. The Larthangan crewmen scrambled about on the main deck, unraveling nets and casting them over the side. In their minds the multitudes of fish meant a chance at extra rations.
In the storeroom below, Lonn and his mates were stirred to a different activity: strapping on harnesses and gathering their weapons. It was the first month of First Winter and the bluefish were migrating, escaping the Polar Sea for the warmer ocean. Inevitably, the runs of bluefish in this season were pursued by yulugg herds, also migrating. Often, the yulugg were chased by hunters.
"Less than three spears each," Karrol said, as Draven doled out the weapons. "We'll never hold off a hunting fleet with only these."
"Let's hope we won't have to," Eben said.
The Iruks hurried out on deck and climbed to the forecastle to keep lookout. The last of the bluefish schools swam past the coaster, and there was no sign of yulugg spouts, or sails. The Iruks breathed easier, though still they watched the hazy edges of the sea.
Behind them on the main deck, the Larthangans hauled in their nets, a meager catch of a few dozen fish flailing inside the meshes. Captain Troneck climbed the steps to the forecastle.
"What's the trouble?" he shouted. "Why are you dressed for battle?"
Lonn was starting to explain when the sailor atop the mainmast sang out the alarm. "Sails, Captain Troneck. Ahead to larboard. Lateens!"
"How many?" Troneck shouted.
"A dozen. More. "
"Hunting party," Eben said, squinting into the north.
"Pirates, you mean," Troneck said.
Now Lonn discerned the boats, taking shape in the bright zone where sea and sky blended—dojuks, running toward them.
"Hard to starboard!" Troneck yelled through cupped hands. "Stand by your sheets."
"No!" Lonn grabbed the captain's arm. "Belay that order. We can't outrun them. If we try, they'll attack for sure."
Troneck hesitated, then ordered his helmsman to resume the former course. "What else can we do?"
"Sail straight at them," Lonn answered grimly. "Make them turn aside."
"We can't fight twenty boats," Karrol said.
"I know," Lonn answered. "Maybe we can bluff them down. Spread out along the rails. If you have any ideas, let me know."
Moving at a run the Iruks arranged themselves about the three decks, Karrol in the bow, Brinda and Draven amidships, Lonn and Eben returning with Troneck aft. They climbed the steps to the quarterdeck and crouched down in front of Kizier. The windbringer's eye was open and alert.
"Kizier," Lonn said. "I know the witch doesn't want to be disturbed for any reason. But if we don't have her help now she might soon be disturbed by a hundred pirates."
"You must prevent that," the bostull stated firmly. "Her vulnerability in the dark immersion is a chief reason Amlina needs bodyguards. You must not try to wake her, Lonn. It could sever her ties to this world, so that she'd never return."
"We'll do what we can," Lonn answered, standing. "But if it comes to a fight, don't expect us to win. Not against Iruks at odds of twenty to one."
"You must expect to win," Kizier said. "You must find a way."
Lonn glanced at Eben, who could only shrug, then out beyond the bow at the on-racing dojuks. They approached the coaster at a sharp angle to the wind, lateen sails billowing over the dark, knife-like hulls.
"You should be on the foredeck, Lonn," Eben said. "To speak for the klarn."
Lonn gripped his two spears tightly, "Keep hard to the wind, captain. And tell your men to stay out of sight, as many below decks as possible."
Troneck shouted that order through his megaphone, and the Larthangans aloft moved quickly to comply. A number of the crewmen were fleeing below as Lonn hurried across the main deck, passing near Draven.
"Tell them about the witch, and exaggerate her powers," Draven said. "Maybe we can frighten them off."
Lonn nodded. The truth, with a little embellishment, seemed the best choice to him also. He charged up the steps to the forecastle where Karrol was crouched, waiting.
The dojuks had sailed near enough that Lonn could make out the individual shapes of prows and outriggers. It was indeed the hunting fleet his klarn had quit…only twelve days ago. It seemed like many more.
"There are boats of Ilga in that party," Karrol said. "Must we kill our own neighbors, Lonn?"
"I hope not. But they'll have to decide. Remember, we are sworn to protect this ship."
The fleet split into two packs as it neared the coaster's prow. The Iruks in the boats were beating their spears together, shouting for the ship to halt. Peering over the rail, Lonn recognized several klarns from Ilga in the forefront.
"Heave to!" the hunters called. "Surrender or we throw our spears."
Lonn jumped up on the rail. Gripping the forestay with one hand, he lifted his two spears high with the other. "Avast! Leave us unmolested. I, Lonn, son Orla, tell you this."
The first dojuks had sailed nearly even with the Plover, and from their hulls the Iruk pirates stared in surprise.
"Lonn, what do you here?" shouted a skipper named Bralluk. A respected warrior of Ilga, he commanded one of the lead boats. "What ship is that?"
"A witch's ship, and we are her allies. Steer away, I tell you."
"How came you there?" called a woman captain named Gertraun. Like Bralluk she was the generation older than Lonn and his mates.
The boats were gliding past him now, and Lonn moved aft on the forecastle to answer. "Our mate, Glyssa, was stolen from us by witchcraft. In our quest to find her, we were forced to make alliance with the witch who commands this ship."
"Lonn speaks true," Eben shouted from the quarterdeck. "Our klarn has sworn to protect this witch and her ship!"
"Turn upwind," Bralluk ordered. "We will talk more of this."
"We cannot," Lonn shouted back. "We sail in pursuit of our lost mate. Turn off and leave us in peace."
"Come about," other pirates yelled. "Come about or we fight!"
"We will not come about," Lonn called from the forecastle steps. "Turn and follow if you would speak more."
He watched as the dojuks moved past, swarming on both sides of the coaster. There was brief, loud discussion among the skippers of the boats and their mates. The few Larthangans who'd stayed on deck to man the sails muttered with nervous relief when the last dojuk slipped past the coaster's stern.
But Lonn knew it would not be so easy.
All at once the dojuks came about, sails sweeping, hulls bounding on the coaster's frothy wake. The boats turned smartly, all to leeward, and pursued the Plover on its starboard side.
Lonn directed his mates to the starboard rails and rushed himself to the rear deck. He took the megaphone from Troneck and raised it as soon as the boats were in earshot.
"Bralluk, Veela, Gertraun, Harful," he called the skippers he knew by name. "I warn you for your klarns' sake, keep away."
"Where is this witch?" Harful shouted. "We would see her."
Lonn's heart sank. Harful was a younger leader, tough and stubborn. Lonn had always considered him a bully. They had fought once when both were drunk.
"She is below decks," Draven called after Lonn hesitated. "Perhaps weaving magic to trap your souls, or a spell to drown you."
"Or perhaps there is no witch," Gertraun cried. "Perhaps your klarn has taken this ship and wants to keep all the loot for yoursel
ves."
Angry grumbling passed among the close-packed boats. The hunters began shouting for surrender again, and rapping their spears together. The dojuks had drawn nearly even with the coaster, close enough for the spears to be cast with deadly effect.
"Turn upwind or have our spears," Harful shouted.
"You will have ours in turn," Lonn answered. "We must protect this ship. Even against our own neighbors."
"We are many and you are few," Bralluk said.
"We have the high decks. Many of you will die before you take the ship. And those who live will still have the witch to deal with."
Lonn could sense their rage and suspicion warring against the uncertainty in their minds. The hunters had let out their sheets a bit and their boats were keeping pace with the coaster, bobbing over the wave made by the ship's prow.
"Show us the witch," Gertraun demanded.
"Let her come out on deck," Harful called. "Perhaps she'll pay us to leave her pretty ship alone."
"The hunting has not been good," Bralluk added. "Your klarn started this hunt with us. We have a right to a share of your booty. That's only fair, Lonn."
Many voices shouted their righteous agreement.
"I tell you there is no booty," Lonn shouted, brandishing his spears. "Leave us, and go back to your hunt."
"Show us the witch," Harful said, "Else I say you are lying."
Lonn jumped onto the rail. "Another day I would split your gut, Harful, for calling me a liar. But now I say just this: sail on and leave us in peace, or come and fight!"
There was a growing, confused uproar of voices as the pirates yelled back at Lonn and argued among themselves. A few of the dojuks veered in closer, but Lonn's mates lifted their spears and bluffed them back. Many of the pirates raised their spears in response, arms tensed to throw, awaiting the word from their skippers.