And when the Necromancer had seen the Warrow ready his sling to break the funerary urn, he knew that only the Shade could stop the intruder. And Nunde, at peril of his own life, had cried out a warning. Yet the Warrow had succeeded, and though Aravan was most likely slain, mayhap his trollop had survived. Nunde could not risk that whore of a Seeress discovering who he was, for she would send legions of Magekind to track him down, and he would spend the rest of his existence in flight.
And so Nunde had fled, and now he was back in his own body and wheezing for each feeble breath, while locked away safely in his chamber, locked away from Ghoki and Driki and Oghi and all other Chun, any of whom at an opportune moment might try to slay him, and he was oh, so very weak.
And it was a frail, greatly aged Necromancer who struggled up from his dark throne to totter to his bed and collapse. On the morrow he would slaughter many Drik and wrench their fire from them to restore his own youth and essence. But for now, totally spent, he needed rest, and he fell into a black and dreamless sleep.
51
Recovery
ELVENSHIP
MID TO LATE AUTUMN, 6E9
A ravan awakened in a drenching rain to the sounds of someone shouting in the distance and the whines of a fox nearby. Slowly he rolled to his side to see Aylis, lying as if dead. Up he wrenched and scrambled to her and took her form in his arms. She breathes. He looked about. Dwarves lay strewn like tenpins-sailors, too. But Brekk was stirring, as were some of the other members of the warband. Water runnelled everywhere, it seemed, and Vex whined and licked the face of Lissa, the Pysk not moving. And Aravan swung his gaze about, trying to locate and identify who was shouting.
Atop one of the towers, with water cascading from runoff slots, he saw Binkton standing at the lip of what looked to be a parapet, with a rope strung loosely from where the buccan stood to one of the high openings in the central tower. Aravan could just discern that Binkton called for Pipper, but the swirling wind and hammering rain drowned out what else he cried.
Aravan looked down at Aylis. Her eyelids twitched, yet she did not come awake.
Brekk heaved himself to his knees and took his war hammer in hand, the armsmaster glaring about, seeking foe. Yet there were only felled Dwarves and fallen sailors at hand. He glanced across at Aravan. “Captain?”
“See to the others,” said Aravan, yet cradling Aylis. The cold rain beat on her upturned face, and he leaned over a bit to shield her from the worst of it, though it was rather like trying to stem a flood.
As Brekk slowly moved among the crew, others came to.
And still the rain hammered down.
“Find us some shelter,” said Aravan. “One of these structures will do.”
Brekk looked about. “There is a door open to that tower.” He looked up. “And what is Binkton doing atop?”
“I know not,” said Aravan, rising to his feet, Aylis yet in his arms.
Nikolai regained consciousness and got to his knees.
Aravan paused at the side of his second in command and said, “See to Lissa, Nick.” Aravan inclined his head toward the Pysk. “Bring her to the tower where I go.” And, carrying Aylis, Aravan crossed to the door and in.
Nikolai got to his feet and stepped to where Vex whined over Lissa. “ Aylos Garlon!”
“What is it?” asked Brekk.
“See?” said Nikolai.
Brekk looked. The Pysk lay on a yellow jade pavestone laced with metallic streaks.
With a puzzled gaze, Brekk looked up at Nikolai. “I don’t-”
“Pysk brown hair now gold,” said Nikolai, even as he squatted and took tiny Lissa up. Cupping her away from the rain next to his chest and, with Vex trotting at his side, off toward the open door he strode, leaving an astonished armsmaster behind.
Still the rain poured down, and Brekk sent Bruki to discover just why Binkton was shouting. Occasionally Brekk would look up, and long moments later he saw Binkton shinnying along underneath the rope to get to the central tower. The armsmaster could see Bruki standing at the edge of the parapet, one end of the line cinched about the Dwarf’s waist.
“Pip, Pip, wake up, Pip,” urged Binkton, soaked to the skin, holding his cousin close.
Pipper moaned, but did not awaken.
“Come on, Pip. Come on.” Binkton patted Pipper’s face, and his cold hands seemed to rouse Pipper. So Binkton drew Pipper to one of the openings, where rain swirled in on the wind.
Pipper sputtered and wakened. “Oh, Bink, I was having the most terrible dream; there was this darkness and-” He looked about. “It wasn’t a dream, was it? Oh, my”-his face filled with alarm, and he struggled to get up-“we’ve got to get out of-”
“No, Pip, no,” said Binkton, pressing his cousin back down. “You killed the thing. It’s gone, wailing away on the wind.”
“Gone?”
Binkton smiled, nodding.
“Dead?”
“Blew away on the wind.”
“Good,” said Pipper. “Say, how did you get here?”
“The rope.”
“But there was nothing to tie it to,” said Pipper.
“Bruki is anchoring it,” said Binkton, releasing Pipper.
They both got to their feet, and Pipper asked, “Shall we get out of here now?”
“Aye,” said Binkton. “Beware, though, the rope is wet: slick as an eel.”
“Eight Chakka and five Humans, Captain,” said Brekk. “That’s how many the thing slew.”
“Where are they?”
“We bore them out of the rain and into another building, a low one with a roof.”
As Aravan nodded and glanced about at the survivors, Brekk looked at Aylis, kneeling at Lissa’s side. “Know you what the dark thing was?”
“A wraith, I think,” said Aylis. “Some call it a Shade.”
“ ‘Only shades and shadows now dwell therein,’ ” said Aravan, quoting the clay tablet they had found in the Caer Pendwyr archives.
Pipper and Binkton, now down from the roof, having shinnied across the line, sat shivering, yet cold from the chill rain. And Pipper quoted the writing from the statuette:
“Thrice I dreamt the dream
From the City of Jade I fled
Nought but shades now dwell.”
He looked at Aravan and said, “Perhaps we should have fled as well.”
Even as Aravan glumly nodded, Aylis shook her head. “’Twas an aethyrial presence who loosed the Shade.”
All of those within hearing looked in astonishment at her, and Aravan asked, “Aethyrial presence?”
“Aye. Just as did I assume an aethyrial form to explore the Black Fortress, so, too, did someone enter the tower and set the Shade upon us.”
“Who?” asked Binkton, an angry glint in his eye.
“The King,” said Pipper, and as Binkton turned to look at him, Pipper added, “the King of Swords.”
Aylis glanced over at the Warrow. “Most likely, Pipper. Most likely.”
“Kapitan,” said Nikolai, kneeling beside Aylis, both of their faces showing concern, “little one, she no wake.”
“We’ve got to get back to the ship,” said Aravan, “for warmth and food and respite. Once there, Desault can treat her.”
“In this rain, Captain?” asked Willam, one of the cargo men.
Aravan looked at the trembling Warrows. “We must. The forest is drenched, and even should we find wood, starting a fire is uncertain at best.”
“And impossible at worst,” said Binkton.
“And there be no wood in this city of stone,” said Tarley.
“It’s not that far,” said Pipper, “and perhaps the canopy will shield us from the worst of the downpour.”
Aravan looked at the others and said, “We will return when the storm has passed and take up our dead for decent burial.”
“Stone or fire,” said Brekk. “Nought else will do.” And he cast his hood over his head, as did all the surviving Dwarves.
And so, with Nikola
i carrying Lissa, and Vex following at his side, the entire band headed for the Eroean.
Pipper was right in that the canopy sheltered them from the worst of the torrent, though the path itself ran ankle-deep with water, and the noise of rain in the leaves above drowned all speech. It was a grim-faced, sodden group that came up the gangplank.
Counting Vex, thirty-five had set out for the city, but only twenty-two returned.
When all had been warmed and fed and dressed in dry clothes, Aravan had called the crew together and had told them of the dreadful events in the city, Binkton and Pipper relating what they had done to destroy the dreadful Shade. All grieved at the fate of their shipmates-sailors and warband alike-yet they knew that death was a risk they each faced, and though it didn’t lessen the sorrow, it somehow helped them to deal with it. Aravan then had held a meeting with his officers, and they decided what they would do in the days to come. Night had fallen, and still it rained, but the wind had slackened. And after making the rounds of the first watch, and having spoken to the wounded, Aravan entered his sleeping quarters. “Is she awake yet?”
“No, my love,” said Aylis, “and I am worried.”
Aravan sighed and looked at the wee Pysk, lying as she was in a soft bed of eider that had been stripped from one of the all-weather cloaks. “What says Desault?”
“That he cannot help her. And he says that he has seen others who have suffered harm, never to waken again. He deems that their spirits fled away. Oh, Aravan, mayhap the Shade has done permanent harm. Perhaps she will never waken.” Aylis began to weep.
As if she understood Aylis’s words, Vex whined, the vixen lying on the cabin floor at the foot of the tiny bed.
Aravan lifted Aylis up from the chair where she sat and embraced her and stroked her hair. Aylis returned his embrace and laid her head against his chest. After a while he asked, “Canst thou do ought with thy magery to find her lost spirit and waken her from this sleep?”
“No, I-” Aylis gasped and turned from Aravan and peered at Lissa. “Oh, love, you might have hit upon it.”
In question, Aravan turned up a hand.
“She sleeps,” said Aylis.
“Aye,” said Aravan, not yet following her.
“And I but pray she dreams. If so, I can-”
“Dreamwalk,” said Aravan, “and-”
“Mayhap find her soul,” said Aylis.
Concern filled Aravan’s features. “Wilt thou be in danger?”
“I don’t think so,” replied Aylis.
“Thy mentor, Ontah, was slain while dreamwalking, and thou and Jinnarin didst meet that same Gargon in Farrix’s dream. What if thou dost meet the Shade in Lissa’s sleep?”
Aylis pondered a moment and finally shook her head. “ ’Tis a risk I must take, Aravan, else she might be lost forever.”
The cabin was lit by a single candle. Lissa lay in her eider bed, Vex at the foot. Aravan sat in the shadows, silent but for his soft breath. With her back to a wall, Aylis sat cross-legged with her hands resting on her knees, her mind calm, her body relaxed. And she closely watched the Pysk. The moment Lissa’s eyes began whipping back and forth beneath her closed lids, “‹ Anu ›,” said Aylis softly, using one of Ontah’s dreamwalking ‹words› of ‹suggestion›.
Aylis slipped into a state of deep meditation and used another of the ingrained ‹words› of ‹suggestion› taught to her by Ontah, and she began to dream:
She sat on a rock high in the mountains. Far below, a waterfall tumbled and became a river winding through a vale. Yet this was a dream Aylis could control, and she muttered a ‹bridge word›, one that allowed her to slip into another’s dream. And she stepped through a crevice to cross over onto a flat yellow plain, for that was the ’scape of Lissa’s dream. The sky above was aureate, as if begilded, and glittering metallic strands floated all about, as of spider silk on the wind, but spun of gold instead. A topaz sun shone brightly down on the plain, which itself was made of precious stone-yellow jade, it seemed, and it ran to the horizon and beyond.
Nikolai said he found Aylissa on a yellow jade pavestone, one shot through with metallic strands. Mayhap the Shade drove her spirit down and within. Yet, where is she?
Aylis rose up into the auric sky and slowly turned ’round, her gaze seeking-
There! Movement!
Swiftly, Aylis flew to overtake the figure.
It was Aylissa, trudging across the jade-stone land and sobbing.
Aylis landed in front of the Pysk, and she and Aylissa were of the same size.
Yet weeping, Lissa looked up through her tears. “I am lost,” she said. “Can you help me?”
“Do you know who I am?” asked Aylis.
Lissa shook her head.
“Some name me Brightwing,” said Aylis.
In spite of her tears, Lissa managed a frown and then said, “My mother told me of someone named Brightwing.”
“I know your mother,” said Aylis. “I called her Sparrow.”
“Can you help me, Brightwing? I am lost.”
“Yes, I can and will. Take my hand.”
The Pysk took Brightwing’s hand, and together they rose up into the sky.
“Oh, my,” said Lissa. “I am flying.”
“Then I will call you Wren,” said Brightwing.
“Where are we going?” asked Wren.
“To see a fox,” said Brightwing.
“Where?” asked Wren.
“Just across a bridge,” said Brightwing. “But first you must learn a special ‹word›.”
“What kind of ‹word›?”
“A ‹word› of ‹suggestion›.”
“All right.”
And Brightwing spoke to Wren the ‹word› and had her repeat it several times. When Brightwing was satisfied that Wren had the nuances well learned, she said a different ‹word›, and a hole formed in the yellow sky. In they flew-
– to emerge in a candlelit cabin.
“There is the fox,” said Brightwing. “Her name is Vex.” And she pointed at the vixen, who looked up at them both and made a yip.
“And there you are, Wren,” said Brightwing, and she pointed at the Pysk.
“Is that me? Am I found?”
“You only need to say the ‹word› I taught you.”
And so Wren spoke the ‹word› of ‹suggestion› and vanished. .
. . And Aylissa opened her eyes.
Moments later Aylis opened her own eyes, and she wept to see Lissa sitting up and Vex bounding about in joy.
“What happened?” asked Lissa, peering into the small silver mirror held by Aylis. The Pysk pulled a tress of her hair in front of her eyes. “Why is it gold?”
“I don’t know,” said Aylis, shrugging. “Mayhap it had something to do with the pavestone you were on when the Shade, bloated with the ‹fire› of those it had slain, descended upon you.”
“Pavestone?”
Aylis nodded. “Yellow jade streaked with gold.”
“What would that have to do with ought?”
Again Aylis shrugged. “They say that jade is a special gemstone, yet what its properties might be, I cannot say. Those in Jinga call it ‘yu,’ and they attribute various powers to the different colors. I believe yellow jade is aligned with joy and fortune.”
“And my hair turned golden just because I was lying on a piece of yellow jade?”
“No. If I had to guess, I would say instead it was because your spirit was driven into it by all the ‹fire› the Shade had stolen.”
In that moment, Pipper and Binkton and Nikolai came bursting into the captain’s lounge. “Liss! They said you were awake!” cried Pipper.
“I give you hug, but it crush you,” said Nikolai.
“Something to celebrate,” said Binkton, smiling, and Binkton seldom smiled.
“I’m so glad you survived,” said Pipper.
“Me, too,” said Lissa. “-I mean, I’m glad each of you survived as well. And Aylis says you two saved us all.”
&nbs
p; Pipper grinned and said, “Not bad for a pair of chicken thieves, eh?”
The lounge filled with laughter.
The next day the rain stopped, and the jungle turned into a steaming tangle of growth. The slain sailors and Dwarves were recovered from the jade structure where they had been placed, and were brought to an area near the ship. Even as fellow crewmen laid the five slain sailors to rest in stone cairns, the Dwarves hewed dead wood into billets, though it was wet from the storm, and constructed pyres, adding dry wood from the ship’s stores. They poured lamp oil over all, and placed their slain atop.
All the wounded who could be were brought to the deck to witness the rites. The captain made a solemn speech at the cairns, and many wept, and then he spoke of the fallen resting atop the pyres. And he called out each of the names of the slain-comrades, shipmates, sailors, and warriors-each one to be entered in honor in the Eroean ’s log. Finally, at a signal from Brekk, members of the warband thrust torches into the wood. As the flames caught and smoke rose, Aravan and Aylis sang their souls into the sky, and not an eye was dry when they fell silent.
The river rose over the next four days as the upstream runoff found its way to the course, and throughout those same four days, sailors and warband laded precious jade into the ship’s holds.
The Eroean set sail on the outflowing tide of the swollen river the next morning.
She was on her way to Arbalin.
52
Homeward
ELVENSHIP
LATE AUTUMN, 6E9, TO EARLY SPRING, 6E10
James died of his wound six days after leaving the City of Jade behind. The Rucken arrow had borne a festering disease, and a terrible dark rot had set in. There was nought Desault could do to stay the dark putrefaction, though poppy juice held back the pain somewhat. Ere James became too weak to talk, he had said to Aravan, “Cap’n, I’ve spent nearly all of my life asea, and so let it have me when I am gone.” And so, when he died, they sewed James in canvas weighted with a ship’s ballast stone, for that was what he wanted, and they gave him over to Gralon, god of the oceans.
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