by Jeff Wilson
“You know where the son of Aedan Elduryn is,” Feyd said once the doors had closed, not giving Aelsian the opportunity to control the conversation.
The navarch was not altogether surprised. He had already suspected the sovereign had been getting information from somewhere. This wasn’t an example of the Feyd being perceptive.
“He must not be allowed to ever set foot on Ossia,” Feyd ordered.
This reaction too was of no particular surprise to Aelsian. Wealth and influence were the instruments of power in many places, but nowhere more so than in Ossia. The Elduryn family had consolidated enough of both to be a serious threat to Feyd.
“For your sake as well as mine,” Feyd elaborated. “If Aisen were to take control of his properties here, you would be relegated to nothing more than his servant.”
Aelsian understood this reminder of his subordinate role in service to the Elduryn family, as an attempt—none too subtle in its purpose—to identify where his loyalties might lie. Feyd respected Aelsian, but he did not trust that their interests were well aligned.
Choosing his words carefully, Aelsian responded. “I can assure you that Aisen has no desire to claim the legacy Aedan left for him.”
Feyd nodded at Aelsian, prodding him to continue. Aelsian knew that he needed to be careful. He did not know how much Feyd Gerlin already knew.
“He was a lone survivor on the burnt out wreckage of a ship when I found him. I have no idea how he came to be there, and he did not divulge his identity. He was calling himself Edryd, but of course I knew him, even if my crew did not. You should not fear him. He is a coward in flight from his responsibilities and his identity. He will keep running. He has no interest in becoming enmeshed into the world of Ossian politics.”
“That is all very reassuring,” Feyd interrupted, “and I’m glad you had the sense not to bring him here, but where is he now?”
“He was fleeing from more than just himself when I last saw him,” Aelsian continued. “He was being pursued by a draugr. I am no longer sure where he is.”
“Where did you last see Lord Aisen,” Feyd said, growing impatient.
Aelsian thought Aisen beyond the sovereign’s reach, and doubted Feyd would do anything at all so long as he stayed away from Ossia. Regrettably, Aelsian failed to note that Feyd had shown almost no reaction to his inclusion of a draugr into the account, or he might have thought through the situation differently.
“He was put ashore near An Innis. He could still be there, either somewhere on the island or in the hands of the Ascomanni.”
“Are you certain?” Feyd asked after a momentary pause.
“No. He could easily be back in Nar Edor by now, or somewhere else entirely. I can make inquiries and confirm,” Aelsian replied.
“Do that, and return as soon as you learn anything,” the sovereign commanded. “We should meet again tomorrow,” he added as an afterthought.
Aelsian watched Feyd rise from his chair, and he remained standing at attention while the man exited the room. The Ossian Sovereign, flanked by two armored guards who had been waiting outside the doors, continued across the large audience hall to which the council room was adjacent, and disappeared down a hallway on the other side. The meeting had ended too abruptly, and Aelsian noticed something else that was wrong. He would have missed it if months of paranoia had not trained him to continually look for such subtle signs. A thick piece of carpeting, which extended a few feet through either side of the entrance, bore several marks. These included outlined shapes of rounded boots, some of which, freshly left by Feyd as he exited the room, had been partially obliterated by a smaller and heavier set of impressions where an unseen creature had followed.
Aelsian had only one thought. It did not involve concern for the safety of the sovereign, who, upon further reflection, seemed to be directly acquiring information from the draugar or their servants. Aelsian understood at once that he had committed a grave error; he had revealed to these undead creatures the location of their prey.
Following the deep narrow impressions, Aelsian was soon on the other side of the door, but where the carpet ended, the trail disappeared too. Aelsian looked around the audience chamber. Feyd had already left, and Tevair was nowhere to be seen. He spotted Seym near the entrance. Already a tense bundle of heightened awareness, what Aelsian saw then, or rather did not see, caused him to freeze entirely. Seym, dressed darkly in expensive silk, was nodding his head as if he was having a strange conversation with some figure that only he could see. That was of course precisely what he was doing.
Aelsian waited for Seym to leave the audience chamber before he too headed in the direction of the entrance to the palace. He could see where Seym was, but he had no idea where the draugr might be if it was still there at all. At a distance, Aelsian continued to follow the advisor, whose dark expensive clothing stood out amidst the whitewashed buildings and the brightly colored crowds of ordinary people. Aelsian’s worries continued to grow as he tracked Seym down a seemingly endless series of streets that wound through the Ossian capital.
Eventually, as they were approaching the harbor, Seym entered a tavern called the Water’s Edge. Aelsian kept his distance and waited patiently for Seym to re-emerge. It didn’t take long. Seym was joined by two rough looking men who wore plain clothing, blank expressions, and knives belted at their sides. After exchanging a few words, and a few coins, the two men parted ways with Seym, who headed back the way he had come, his coin purse now heavier than it had previously been. Making a quick decision, Aelsian ignored Seym, under the assumption that Feyd Gerlin’s advisor would simply be returning to the palace.
The two men hired passage on a small boat. By now Aelsian knew what to look for. After the two men boarded, but before the boat could push away from where it was moored, the vessel swayed a little and rode even deeper in the water as a substantial weight settled into place. The boat’s owners showed a little surprise, but they didn’t understand what had just happened and gave it little thought as they began to row, propelling the craft out into the harbor under more effort that they might have expected.
Aelsian watched as they ferried the two men, as well the third passenger of which they clearly were not aware, towards a cedar planked galleon with a worn marque that he couldn’t quite make out. As the passengers boarded the larger vessel it immediately pulled anchor, and raising the sails on its three masts, it began moving swiftly out to sea.
Aelsian was now in a race, one that he had to win. With all the energy his aging body could manage, Aelsian sped his way towards the berth where the Interdiction was tied up. As he pounded up the boarding ramp he began shouting instructions. He had a fleet of ships at his command, but only a few were here in Ossia, and none of them were any faster than the Interdiction. The entire fleet would do him little good now if he allowed that ship to sail out of view.
***
Ruach was pleased to find that his third journey at sea had gone better than either of the previous two. The short interval between the second and third trips could be credited for that, making it unnecessary to become re-accustomed to the rolling of the ship.
Three days at sea had, however, taken a toll on the other soldiers during their time aboard the Black Strand. A few of them were actually kissing the ground of the isthmus where they had come ashore. From where they stood just beyond the encampment, An Innis could be seen to the north, a tiny speck rising out of the waters which separated it from the forested lands on the coast. Ruach counted two dozen longboats sheltering in a pool created by a bend in the river that split this flat strip of land on which the raiding base had been established. A handful of larger warships and captured merchant vessels were anchored offshore.
Near the mooring points for the longboats were numerous fires, several of which were heating large iron cooking pots. Above a few others were butchered segments of deer roasting above warm coals. An entire area of the camp was dominated by racks of fish curing in the air. Logaeir was in amidst the crowd th
at greeted them as they approached a small collection of temporary shelters erected with little evidence of planning beside a newly built fire pit.
“Welcome to Darkpool,” Logaeir said to the band of Sigil Corps soldiers.
Logaeir led them to the tents that had been prepared and encouraged the soldiers to enjoy the food and drink that was soon brought in to them. Most of the men accepted with gratitude, but a couple of them, still queasy and unable to eat, retired to the tents to sleep off the lingering nausea that had been induced by the trip.
Oren and Ruach, joined by Neysim Ells, sought out Logaeir, who was observing the arrivals with interest from just beyond the fire in the midst of the soldier’s tents.
“If you will divide your men, we can start training them in the morning,” Oren offered.
“In the time we have, I am not sure how much that will accomplish,” Logaeir replied. “I think you will be of more use as a unit, rather than dispersed out and mixed in among our forces during the attack.”
Ruach was surprised, but he reasoned it out quickly enough. Logaeir was concerned that in the process of training his men, the Sigil Corps soldiers might begin to dominate the ranks of the Ascomanni, wresting control from Logaeir and shifting it to the real Blood Prince.
“I assume one or both of you would like to meet up with Aisen,” Logaeir said, referring to Oren and Ruach. “I need to see him myself. We can leave as soon as you are ready.”
“Oren is going to stay here with our men,” Ruach said, “but Neysim and I will go with you.”
“I will meet you in an hour at the moorings,” Logaeir said. “We will try to arrive on the island just before dark.”
Logaeir ambled off leaving the three officers of the Sigil Corps alone.
“Why am I being left behind?” Oren wanted to know.
“Because someone needs to be left in command,” Neysim said.
That was all the explanation Oren needed, his bolstered egotism banishing any sense of having been left out.
“Since it seems he does not want his men to practice with us any longer, you will have to make sure the men train as a group on their own in the morning,” Ruach said. “Make sure you choose a spot where everyone will see. Give the Ascomanni a show.”
Oren smiled. “I think I can manage that.”
The three officers joined their men, and after finishing their food, Neysim and Ruach separated from the group to meet up with Logaeir.
They found him conversing with Sarel Krin and a handful of his crew.
Krin looked pale as he listened to Logaeir.
“You are a liar, Logaeir,” Krin said, disbelief plain on his face. “I’ll not believe you attacked one of those things. If you had, you’d not still be alive now to speak of it.”
Logaeir produced for everyone’s examination, proof of his attack against Herja. “I looked her straight in the face, and stabbed her with this,” he said, holding out a thin metal knife with a broken point. “It stopped not even an inch inside. Didn’t draw blood, but it did leave some sort of tincture on the end of the knife.”
Krin accepted the knife from Logaeir and inspected it closely. “What is this, tree sap?”
“I think so, it looks and smells like pitch from a blister on a fir tree blended together with some kind of oil,” Logaeir said as he took the knife back from Krin.
“Why would you even try something like that?” Krin asked.
“I was following advice from Aed Seoras passed on through Irial.”
“That doesn’t make it better,” Krin complained. “I’d sooner have faced one of those creatures alone and on my own terms than listen to anything that sorcerer told me.”
“Those weren’t my choices,” Logaeir pointed out. “I was going to be confronted by Herja either way, and I had to trust that maybe Seoras does know a little bit about them. I was assured that I wouldn’t hurt her, and that she would barely care.”
“Who’s Herja?” Neysim asked, inserting his question into the middle of the conversation without taking the trouble of introducing himself.
“A very strange, very dead, draugr woman,” Logaeir replied.
Neysim, taken aback by this answer, looked towards Ruach, searching for an indication from his friend that the Ascomanni strategist was putting one over on him. If he was, Ruach’s reaction betrayed nothing.
“Is she still here?” Ruach asked.
“What was it doing here in the first place? And aren’t they supposed to be ghosts with armored skin?” Neysim asked before anyone could answer Ruach’s question. “You shouldn’t have been able to stab one.”
“Herja and her two thralls left several days ago,” Logaeir said, answering Ruach first. “And no, draugar are not ghosts with armored skin. Some are ghostly apparitions, and some have armored skin, but not both at once. Others, well Herja anyway, seem to have their armor on the inside.”
Neysim couldn’t tell if he was being taken seriously or not. “Forgive my ignorance,” he said with no sincerity.
“I would forgive the ignorance, if you could offer any sort of suitable excuse,” Logaeir criticized, the fullest extent of his winning personality on brazen display. “Why would a spirit creature even need armored skin?”
“You meet your first draugr, and suddenly you are an expert,” Krin said to Logaeir, mocking his friend’s tendency towards exaggerated pretensions. In a moment of unexpected genius, and looking very pleased with himself, Krin then treated Logaeir to the same sort of elaborate condescension that the strategist had so often dispensed to others. “If anyone demonstrated unforgivable stupidity, it is the brave little man who, rendering questionable the intelligence on which he has built his reputation, stabbed an immortal warrior on advice from an enemy.”
“Aed Seoras isn’t an enemy,” protested Logaeir. “He’s… well I don’t know what he is exactly.”
“A good deal more dangerous than any of your actual enemies, that’s what he is,” Krin said helpfully.
“My point is, that while this might have been the first I ever met in person, I have seen draugar often enough. They are in and around An Innis more often than anyone should find comfortable, and I would say I am more expert than most on the subject.”
“We have had encounters with them on Nar Edor as well,” said Neysim, “so do not think I am as ignorant as you might suspect. Their servants have been making inquiries in the cities, seeking out news of Lord Aisen. The draugar themselves, the ones you can’t see, still have weight and they take up space. I don’t see why they couldn’t be invisible and armored.”
“A fair point,” Logaeir agreed. “If you ever encounter one, take a swing at it and let me know what happens.”
“Let’s not argue this to death,” Krin said cutting off further debate. “We are not seeking a conflict with apparitions or immortal returned. Our enemies are flesh and blood.”
There were nods of general agreement from all of Krin’s men. Nobody, with the exception of Logaeir, seemed at all comfortable discussing the draugar.
“Let’s go,” Krin said, waving everyone on towards a waiting boat.
“Who exactly is this guy, and what is his problem?” Neysim asked Ruach as they were getting into the boat, referring to the Ascomanni strategist.
“Logaeir is the architect of the push to conquer An Innis. We tweaked his plans and he is holding a grudge. He wanted our help, just not under the terms Captain Aisen extracted from him.”
Neysim and Ruach helped man the oars as they pushed out into the river and followed the currents that would deliver them to the sea. After several hours of hard rowing they arrived under darkness on the banks of a small inlet on the southern shores of An Innis. Together with Krin and Logaeir, the two officers made their way up a steep embankment, leaving Krin’s crew behind with the longboat. It was not long before they could see the cottage in the moonlight.
Instead of heading directly for the building, they worked slightly eastward as they approached. Neysim discovered why they had di
verted when they came upon a hidden crevice, well concealed by the branches of bushes that grew around the sides. One by one they entered the opening, and walking by the light of an oil lamp carried by Krin, they proceeded down the length of a crooked tunnel.
Eventually they reached a ladder. Neysim, climbing up last, found himself crowded into a small room together with the other men. Logaeir took the lamp from Krin, who set about replacing the section of wooden planks that covered the hole in the floor behind them. When he was done, Logaeir doused the flame, leaving the group in darkness. Light from a fire leaked in through the gap between the door and the floor beneath it.
Neysim wasn’t sure why the feeling was so acute, but Ledrin had entrusted him with messages for a man who would be waiting on the other side of this door, and he felt nervous waiting in the dark for someone to open it. The voices of a man and a young girl could be heard arguing on the other side. Logaeir gave a firm series of knocks signaling their arrival, and pulled the door inward, flooding the darkened room with light from the main hall.
“Make sure you call him Edryd and not Aisen,” Ruach whispered in Neysim’s ear.
A thin man in a black coat, who Neysim barely recognized as Captain Aisen, turned to face them as they entered. A young girl with dark black hair ran around the table and began pelting Logaeir with a series of unusual questions. “Did you really see Herja?” followed by “is she a Huldra?” and “what did she smell like?”
Logaeir was momentarily staggered by the onslaught of rapid demands, but his confusion progressed to bemusement and he grinned as he begged the girl to slow down. “One question at a time, Eithne,” he said.
“Edryd says that there are two kinds, Huldra and Ældisir,” Eithne said, “and Herja sounds exactly like a Huldra.”
“And what would Edryd know about it,” Logaeir said.
“He has a book,” Eithne explained, “but he won’t let me have it.”
“Well I don’t know what a Huldra is or what’s in this book, but I’ve seen Herja and she definitely isn’t whatever it is Edryd said she was.”