by William King
“Yes, they did.”
“I pray I never witness the manifestation of such powers again. Once in one lifetime was enough for me.”
“I am with you on that, Lieutenant,” said Rik. He was cold now, and Sardec’s presence had robbed him of the solitude he had been seeking. “If you will forgive me, I would go below now.”
“By all means, Good night.”
“You look very thoughtful,” Asea said, as Rik walked into her cabin. Karim sat cross-legged in the corridor outside the door, a naked blade in his lap. Rik closed the cabin door behind him. Asea erected her privacy spell.
“I just encountered Lieutenant Sardec,” said Rik. “He treated me almost as if I was sentient.”
Asea laughed. “Sardec is not as bad as you think he is, Rik. He is just very young, very proud and he does not know himself or the world very well yet.”
“I still don’t like him.”
“In this life you will find you often have to deal with people you dislike. You’ll just have to get used to it.”
“You said you wanted to teach me this evening.”
“I do. After your encounter with your dear half-sister I have decided that I need to accelerate your training.”
“Are you going to teach me to fight like her? I would not have thought there was room in this cabin.”
“This is no joking matter, Rik. Poisons are common among the Terrarchs, many and subtle too. You need to be able to deal with them. You need to be able to heal yourself too. I am not always going to be around to patch you up after your adventures.”
Rik thought he detected a note of sadness in her voice. She sounded like a woman forced to contemplate her own mortality. He told himself he was imagining it. He could not possible judge the way one of the First thought.
“You are going to teach me healing spells?”
“First I am going to teach you how to heal yourself and how to purify your body of toxins.”
“Will I be able to heal others?” That would be a useful talent. She shook her head.
“The spells will work only for you. It is easier to stimulate your own body to heal itself than to heal others.”
“Why should that be?”
“It may be because we are innately selfish, Rik. It is easier to spend our power healing ourselves than to heal somebody else. It may just be the range is less and so less energy is lost in transmission. Like so much else about magic, Rik, there are many theories and few concrete explanations. I could spend the rest of the night explaining the theories to you, or I can show you how to do it. Which is it to be?”
“I have one more question. I will try and make it my last.”
“Go ahead.”
“You told me that in this world drawing on magic drains our body, I thought magical energy came from the Deep.”
“The energy needed for most magic is immense and it is drawn from the Deep, but you still have to make contact with it, to dig the well as it were. That is what draws on our own life-force.”
“What shall we do now?”
“I have much to teach you and little time to do it in, so I must use forced learning.”
“How will you do that?”
“We will need to use drugs and mindtouch to grant you the knowledge quickly. It can be dangerous and tiring and painful but I will try to be as gentle as I can. Once the seed is planted you will have to practise by yourself to make it grow. “
“Dangerous? How?”
“Some minds cannot accept this method of teaching. They break under the strain.”
“They go mad, you mean?”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“Do you think…”
“I think you will be fine, Rik. You are very strong-willed. Honesty compels me to tell you that there are other reasons this method is not much used by sorcerers.”
“And what would they be?”
“You must open your mind to me. You will be vulnerable in the most terrible way possible. Most people cannot stand that either — without being forced. Their minds instinctively rebel against it.”
“You mean you can alter my thoughts, lay a geas on me.”
“Theoretically, yes. I could implant memories and compulsions as easily as knowledge.”
“But you would not.”
“I would not hesitate to do so, Rik, if there was anything to be gained by it, but it does more harm than good. A mind is a very delicate thing. Altering one memory can have terrible and unforeseen consequences.”
“You are saying you need me whole.”
“I am. And it has to be said that unless imposed with brutal and overmastering power, such compulsions rarely hold for long. The natural tendency of the mind draws it back towards its original path over the long run. Now that I have told you this, do you wish to go through with it?”
“You are giving me a choice?”
“Not much of one. I suspect that unless you get the knowledge I want to give you and quickly, you are going to die. There are many people who will want you dead before we are finished, and they have many ways of making that happen.”
“Still, you are saying that if I do not trust you, if I do not wish to learn this, you will not force me?”
Her smile was sad. “I already have, Rik, and we both know it. Not by magic either.”
Rik considered her words. There was truth in them. He needed her. And he was forced to trust her judgement. As far as he knew she had never lied to him, and if she thought his life depended on him acquiring such knowledge then it was most likely so.
“I will trust you,” he said. “Let us proceed.”
They settled down facing each other over a glowing crystal sphere. She burned opiated incense and chanted the words of the spell over and over again. As the drug took hold, the rhythm of the words drummed into his brain, regular as a heartbeat, and something inside him answered. He found himself repeating her words, and mirroring her gestures. Under the influence of the drug and the sorcery, time seemed to slow and the night lengthened to near infinity.
The narcotic loosened his mental defences, making possible a mystical connection between him and her. Knowledge flowed between them on a subtler level than words and gesture. There were times when he connected to the vast chambers of her mind, caught glimpses of the enormous store of strange knowledge there. Perhaps it was the truth. Perhaps it was hallucination. He was in no position to judge.
His vision turned inwards, and it seemed to him that the nature of his vision changed too, until he could see through his flesh to the muscle and bone and blood beneath. If he concentrated he could see the small sentinels that protected his body from disease and repaired damaged tissue. By pulsing magic through his blood and flesh he could heal it. He could expel stuff from his blood and his belly that was not supposed to be there.
Only afterwards, when his brain had recovered from the strain of all the mediations, incantations and visualisations she forced it through, did he wonder at the desperation with which she forced him to learn, as if she really believed that his life and most likely hers depended on it.
The shouts of the Foragers got Rik’s attention. He woke groggily, still dazed after yet another night of forced learning. There had been so much teaching on this trip and so many spells that he barely remembered the river voyage. After the healing spells had come spells to increase his strength and then his speed, spells to make him more perceptive, spells to let him sense the presence of magic. Asea had claimed they were all simple spells but they did not seem that way to him. He felt like he was slowly drowning in a sea of knowledge that would swamp his brain. He was tired and sick and he wanted the whole process to stop.
The shouts from above continued. He forced himself to rise and staggered up the wooden stairs onto the deck.
“Looks like we have arrived,” said Weasel, joining him at the bow of the River Dragon to get a better view. “You look like shit, by the way.”
“Lady Asea keeping you busy at night, is she? You lucky bastard,”
added the Barbarian.
Rik did not want to tell them how drained and empty he felt. Strange words drifted up from his unconsciousness and he had to all but force his hands not to move through the ritual gestures associated with certain spells. He could see now the dangers this method of teaching posed. His whole brain felt bruised and his thoughts were foggy. The drugs and the rituals were taking an unholy toll. He hoped that it was all worth it.
He shaded his eyes with his hand, for the estuarine light seemed too bright, and forced himself to look in the direction in which the others were gaping. It was clear that they had indeed arrived.
Ahead of them the river widened as it met the sea. Along the banks lay a scum of cheap housing that grew more solid and respectable as it rose up the hills on either side of the river. Dozens of piers lined the water’s edge. Hundreds of boats were moored, but it was not the houses on the riverbanks that commanded the attention. In the river itself were several large islands. Towers crowded them, leaning together in places like drunk men clutching each other for support. Bridges leapt from tower to tower. Strange wooden carriages moved along pulleyways between them, sometimes spanning the gap between islands in what from a distance looked like an enormous cobweb of ropes.
Massive thick walls surrounded each island. The river itself provided a moat. Rik studied the city with a cautious eye. Each island was a fortress that could provide covering fire for every other island like the bastions of a fortified town. Tall-masted ships crowded the waters between them. Messenger birds flocked in the skies.
Asea strode on deck. She looked none the worse for their long nights of teaching. “We are early,” she said. “We must have made better time than the captain thought.”
“Maybe it just seems that way because we have been studying so hard.” Her warning look told him he had made a mistake mentioning this where others might hear. He was tired. It was not an error he would normally have made. Fortunately nobody appeared to be paying the slightest attention.
“Those islands would be almost impossible to take without a superior fleet,” said Rik.
Asea nodded. “Even with one, so long as Harven is allied with the Quan. Fortunately no one is talking about taking the city.”
“Getting ready to be diplomatic?” he asked. She nodded.
“And so should you,” she said.
“What are those islands called?”
“The nearer one — with the huge black central tower is the Island of the Sorcerers. The largest one with the white painted walls is the Island of Gold where the richest of the merchant prince’s dwell. The one furthest out is the called simply Temple although there is no temple to any god we worship on it.”
“That is where the Quan come ashore then?”
“Indeed. It is said that in the main Temple there are numerous pools connected with the sea, and that the Sea Devils emerge from those to communicate with the Intercessors, the priests who deal with them. There are other tales of human sacrifice that it would be wise not to repeat when we get to shore.”
“You’ve been here before?”
“On numerous occasions. The Book Market is famous.”
“What are the Quan like?”
“Look for yourself — down there in the water.”
Rik looked down over the wooden railing. There was something in the water, a shadowy sinister shape that made his flesh crawl. It was about the size of a man and looked as if it was of roughly human mass. There was a suggestion of a human-like head at the front but the whole body undulated bonelessly in the water, a mass of writhing tentacles streaming out behind it. Even as he watched the thing seemed to become aware it was under observation. Twisting like an eel it dived down out of sight into the murk.
“What was it doing?” Rik asked.
“I don’t know. Probably just scouting the ship. Maybe it had business of its own.”
It did not seem like a good omen to Rik but he kept the thought to himself, as he watched the massive buildings come closer. Looking beyond them, out into the estuary, he realised that for the first time in his life he was seeing the sea. A strange thrill of fear and fascination and something else passed through him and he knew with utter certainty that he was now a long, long way from home.
Chapter Nineteen
The River Dragon dropped anchor in the waters of Nearshore, the area of land on the bay closest to the islands. Draymen unharnessed the towing wyrm and roped smaller ones to the ship to pull them into dock. Rik’s pulse quickened as he studied the bustling wharves. He recalled the tales of the place he had heard as a youth.
Harven was one of the world’s great port cities, famously wealthy and famously corrupt. Impregnable, with the sea as its moat, and its allied monsters lurking in the waters, it went its own way in the world and paid tribute to none of the realms that surrounded it. It was a place where people went to make fortunes, where humans and Terrarchs mingled in a way that was not possible anywhere else, where money counted more than birth and the merchant was king.
Perhaps it was something else that stirred within him — ambition. As a youth, before the army and before Asea, he had sometimes dreamed of coming here and making his fortune. Death was easy to find on the streets of Harven they said, but so was gold. In another life, this place might have been his home and his testing ground. Koralyn, his first master, the man who had taught him thievery, had come from here or so he sometimes claimed, and his stories of the place had excited Rik.
He sniffed the air. It stank of money and life and something else; fish, tons of it, brought in by the hundreds of small fishing boats who trawled the Sea of Dragons, and who followed the cod far out into the Western Ocean.
He smelled bubbling fat and a sickly sweet perfume coming from a great ship that held its distance out in the harbour. Seeing the direction of his gaze Asea said; “Whaler — they hunt the great fishes and wyrms of the sea for blubber and ambergris and whalebone and other things.”
There were other ships, vast prison hulks floating half-submerged in the waters. These had featured in many of the more horrific tales he had read as a boy, with unjustly imprisoned men watching the sea roll in through the stoved-in side of the hulk, unable to escape because of the weight of the chains that bound them. Those had been particularly vivid images that the Old Witch had, for some reason, delighted to read aloud.
Ships from dozens of nations filled the harbour. Fat merchantmen from the Isles of Greed; great ocean-going galleons from the far colonies of the Lost Continent; low sleek ships of an alien design from the Midworld Sea. Enormous wyrms moved between them, towing them, bearing cargoes loaded on howdahs. Some carried important visitors. He could not recognise more than half a dozen of the hundred flags he saw here. But he resolved that given time he would. The cold winter wind cut at his cheeks like a knife. Unease, fatigue and excitement warred within his soul, clashing their swords, making his heart beat faster with their bugles.
The Barbarian bellowed and then pointed to the docks. Women and painted boys lolled amid longshoremen heaving exotic cargoes onto carts bound for the massive warehouses close by. Rik eyed those enormous structures with the calculating gaze of the professional thief. Within them lay the ransom of kings — everything from wines and whiskeys and furs, to spices and tobacco and chests of silver and gold. Those fat, fur-robed figures must be the owners and masters of such places, for he had read that, according to the sumptuary laws of Harven, only merchants and Terrarchs could wear fur.
As the ship came closer to the docks, he began to appreciate the true massiveness of those buildings. They were huge, greater by far than anything he had seen in Sorrow. It seemed like they could hold all of the world’s wealth, a significant proportion of which poured through this bustling city. He could hear voices now, the shouts of hawkers and gang-foremen, the calls of the whores, the bellowing laughter of a great fat merchant. The stench of frying food and fish, always fish, smacked his nostrils.
The soldiers looked at each other and smiled in ant
icipation. Most of them still had some money in their pocket from the looting of Halim, and they were going to spend it here. Sardec moved along the deck, shouting orders, trying to assert some form of discipline. Sergeant Hef and Corporal Toby assisted him. Slowly, a bit at a time, the Foragers made ready to come ashore.
The Barbarian rubbed his huge hands in glee. He had noticed some women from his frozen homeland, standing on the dockside. A Terrarch surrounded by half a dozen soldiers waited for them. Several carriages with the dragon banner of Talorea painted on them stood nearby.
“That will be Ambassador Valefor,” said Asea. “I see he got Lord Azaar’s message.”
The Talorean Embassy sat high on a hill overlooking the sea. It was a huge place, almost a palace, built around a central square. A whole wing had been prepared for Asea and her bodyguard, and as ever they spent the first few hours there setting wards, and sentry patrols. Sardec was weary enough when he finished the process of making sure all the major entrances were guarded and all the windows sealed shut.
He joined Asea, her half-breed lover and the Ambassador in one of the embassy’s many reception chambers. A fire burned in the hearth. Paintings of sea and ships and the city of Harven looked down on them from the walls. Quiet servants brought trays containing the brandy for which the city was famous.
Ambassador Valefor was short for a Terrarch. He dressed splendidly in a fur-trimmed robe. His hair and short beard were well barbered. His eyes were watchful. His tongue well-guarded. He was Sardec’s distant kinsman on his mother’s side but he could see that the Ambassador did not expect to be pressed for favours on that account.
After they had all sipped the brandy, and sampled the tiny flakes of salted fish on thick coarse bread, a local delicacy, the Ambassador spoke to Asea. “I am delighted you could come. The Council will be delighted.”
Sardec listened to the well-layered flattery and took another slight sip of the brandy to hide his distaste. The flavour of cherries was in it, and the warmth of the summer sun.