Sword of Fire and Sea tck-1

by Erin Hoffman

  Ariadel had awakened quietly and now sat up in bed, frowning at Endera, but there was fear and respect in her eyes. She had not, and perhaps would never, recovered from the personal betrayal of her mentor's manipulation, but she knew, as Vidarian did, a survival order when she heard one. “The Company,” she said only.

  Endera nodded. “I don't know what you told them,” she addressed Vidarian sternly, “but the guard is moving as we speak.”

  “We have to get to Ruby,” Vidarian said.

  “Out of the question,” Endera replied.

  “She'll die,” Ariadel said, an entreaty and a warning in her voice.

  Endera looked at them for two long moments. “Fine,” she said. “But hurry, both of you.”

  They hadn't much in the way of possessions to begin with; Vidarian had purchased a new pair of boots more suited to their current land travel, but the rest of all his worldly holdings had burned with the Quest. In moments they were dressed, packed, and descending the inn's outer stairs into the cold night and the black carriage that awaited on the cobbles.

  “Thalnarra, Altair, and Arikaree are waiting at the north field,” Endera said, as the carriage rattled toward the west hospital. Ariadel shivered, and as Vidarian moved to wrap an arm around her for warmth, Endera pulled a thick black verali fleece-lined wool cloak from a satchel at her side and handed it across to Ariadel. She produced another for Vidarian. “For the altitudes,” she said, and Ariadel reluctantly accepted the gift. Vidarian did the same. “There will be more supplies for you at the waystation on the southern border.” Her voice was strained, and Vidarian knew it to be with the pain of being so distrusted by Ariadel. Vidarian's distrust she no doubt took in stride, but some part of her conscience still railed, it would seem.

  They tossed the cloaks across their shoulders as they stepped down onto the street outside the hospital. At the door were two cloaked fire apprentices who stood ready with baskets of supplies. They climbed aboard the carriage, clinging to the outside rails like footmen, as Viadarian and Ariadel rushed inside.

  Ruby was awake and waiting for them.

  “You have to take me to my ship, Vidarian,” she said, imperious even while half healed. “I can't die on land. You know that.”

  Vidarian walked straight to her, slid one arm under her legs and the other behind her shoulders, and lifted. He spoke while carefully maneuvering her out the door that Ariadel held open. “We can't go to your ship, Ruby. I'm sorry. And you're not going to die.”

  Ruby twitched in his arms, but wasn't strong enough to seize her own fate. “Please, Vidarian,” she said, turning her face toward him. Her face was hollow with the trauma of her healing, her eyes and cheeks sunken, if not deeply. Her entreaty, so far from the imperious Sea Queen who had commanded them mere weeks ago, tore at his heart. “You know you'd be out to sea if you had a choice,” she whispered fiercely.

  “I'm sorry,” he said again, heartsick but willing courage into his steps as he carried her out to the carriage.

  Once again the vehicle was clattering through the night, and Endera took them out to the open field behind the north dock, where they had landed so long ago. Ruby took one look at the flying craft-a proper one, this time, and no makeshift pram-and started thrashing again.

  “I'm not riding in that thing,” she declared, a bit of her old fire back, even if it was out of panic.

  “You are,” Vidarian murmured, watching the apprentices leap adroitly down from the carriage to load their supplies. When they finished, Vidarian took a step toward the craft, causing Ruby to struggle again. He almost lost his grip on her, and staggered. When he regained his balance, he shook her just hard enough to get her attention. Or, it was supposed to be. She ignored him and continued to thrash. Vidarian reached out with his water Sense and pushed at her, again gently, and this time she grew still as soon as the ripple passed over her.

  “I don't like gryphons,” she said quietly, though her eyes went to the tufted ears that flickered toward them at her words. Her face only hardened. It was an odd statement from someone with a gryphon's face entirely covering her right shoulder, unless you knew Sea Kingdom rites. Vidarian had never asked her where the gryphon had come from; usually the tattoos were symbolic, but the white gryphon on her shoulder was much too lifelike.

  “They're hardly all the same,” was all he could think to say, though even as he did so he realized he knew only five of them at all well.

  Ruby didn't struggle again, but said only, “You'll wish we'd sailed.” Then she closed her eyes.

  Vidarian lifted her up and over the rim of the craft, handing her gently into the waiting arms of the two apprentices who had loaded the supplies. They worked silently and efficiently, settling her into a padded and blanket-covered gurney directly on the deck.

  As soon as they finished, the apprentices hopped lightly out, making way. Vidarian held out a hand to Ariadel and helped her up the portable wooden stepladder, then over the rim and into the craft. He lost no time in following her, and even as he was throwing a leg over the edge, the apprentices were moving to clear the stepladder away in preparation for takeoff.

  Endera approached the basket, pausing only when one of the gryphons threw out a wing, stretching, to block her path. None of the three acknowledged her presence. “Your horses and supplies await at the Invesh Pass, as requested.” She rested a hard stare on Ariadel for a moment. When she found no response there, she turned to Vidarian and started to say something, then shook her head. “Safe travels,” she said only, and stepped back, leaving plenty of room for outstretched wings.

  In addition to being larger, this craft boasted padded leather seats and an admirable use of space reminiscent of a well-kept ship. A simple galley set into the pointed aft held all of their food supplies and a tiny cast iron cookstove mounted on sea-swing-like gimbals. Benches of polished wood and leather cushions with woven silk safety harnesses provided seating for nine, though Vidarian wondered how three gryphons could carry so many. A clear area just behind the bow provided enough space for Ruby's nest, while cabinets set to port and starboard carried a familiar array of navigational equipment, as well as a few additional tools Vidarian guessed were associated with altitude measurement. He wondered, briefly, how so much development could have been done for these crafts-enough of it was all too familiar, but much had been custom created specifically for flight. There were stories…Once again he was forced to assess sea stories and mythology, wondering what was exaggeration or fairy tale, and what was lost knowledge-but then they were lifting into the sky.

  As the gryphons exchanged a series of chirps and calls that Vidarian had come to realize were some kind of takeoff preparation signals, he noticed that his safety harness had an expansion belt. If he moved these two clips-yes-it seemed to be designed to allow a rider to stand up from one of the benches. As he adjusted the harness, then stood and took hold of a brass handgrip mounted in the side of the craft seemingly for this purpose, Ariadel reached out in alarm.

  “Vidarian-” she said.

  // It's quite safe, // Altair murmured, his voice like fresh-broken mint leaves in their minds. The craft lurched gently as the gryphons broke into a lope, headed for the cliff, but Altair's tone was conversational. // This is one of the safest crafts in the air fleets-from the days of the skyships. A treasure lent our cause by my people. // Just as he finished speaking, the three gryphons threw out their wings in perfect synch-and leapt out over the cliff. Vidarian's contemplation of Altair's casual reference to “skyships” was swallowed by the sudden view of the glittering sea hundreds of feet below them.

  The craft itself dropped, pulling a startled shout from Vidarian and Ariadel both, and suddenly they were seeing the undersides of the three gryphons-the chains and braided silk bindings that held the craft to the gryphons’ harnesses played out on pulleys, pulled by gravity.

  // A more efficient suspension system, // Altair explained, apology coloring his words. // I should have warned you. The longer bindings
allow us to maneuver with much greater agility than other styles of flying craft. // Even as his heart hammered, Vidarian could see that this was true-the three gryphons now each had a much greater range of motion for their wings and bodies.

  The gryphons climbed, their wings stroking strong and even. Wisps of cloud tore past their wings, beaks, and the sides of the craft-Vidarian reached out once to touch one, marveling as it broke across his fingers like steam from a teapot, leaving cold moisture in its wake.

  As they broke above the last layer of harbor mist, the night sky opened huge over their heads, studded with stars. On the eastern horizon behind them, the sun now crept skyward, staining the distant land-flat farm fields precise with rows of crops-with brilliant orange and gold, a pool of liquid fire. Directly below, the lights of Val Harlon flickered against the still dark hours of morning, glimmering through breaks in the clouds.

  When he wasn't in fear for his life, Vidarian observed, flying like this was actually rather beautiful. He and Ariadel exchanged a shared smile of wonder; she hadn't stood, but leaned out over the edge of the craft from her seat. Ruby, however, had not moved.

  “Ruby, we're-” he began.

  “Don't tell me,” she said, her eyes shut and mouth creased in a frown. “I don't want to know.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said, and returned his eyes to the remarkable panorama of city and coast below. Seemingly tiny waves crashed against the rocks south of the city, and the sea, which melted into darkness to the west, arced gently below them as the gryphons marked out a gradual curve in the sky, turning south. “Thalnarra,” he called, looking up and to port where she flew. One red eye tilted down at him for a moment, an ear swiveling in inquiry. “Does this craft have a name?”

  Mirth lent a cinnamon spice to her thoughts. //I thought you would have seen the markings on the bow. She's called Destiny. //

  “Of course she is,” he said, and sat back down.

  For five days they watched the sky in all directions for signs of pursuit. Logically speaking, it would take any Sky Knights-even assuming the Company's claims of such an alliance were legitimate-more than a week of fast flying to reach Val Harlon even from the closest outpost. But after so many surprises they weren't willing to leave anything to chance.

  // Arikaree has great mind-strength, // Thalnarra assured them. The gryphon could reach out with his mind for leagues in either direction, detecting the presence, if not the precision, of any thoughts near them.

  // Hurr, // the pelican-gryphon agreed. // None be following us, yet. // Even still, Vidarian couldn't help scanning the skies with the brass sighting glass every few hours.

  Two days into the journey, Ruby roused enough to sit up and look out at the afternoon sky. Her healing was clearly progressing-she complained with greater fervor every day as she downed the bitter draughts prescribed by the healers-but her expression as she gazed out at the sky was bleak. One night, after they'd made camp, Arikaree walked up to her as she stared out at the western sea.

  They stood looking at each other for a long time-the gryphon's eyes pinned and his head tilted at intervals, and Ruby's expression changed every few moments. It took Vidarian several moments of surreptitious observation before he realized that they must be speaking to each other-and that apparently Ruby knew how to speak mind-to-mind with a gryphon without also speaking out loud. More mysteries-but as Ruby's attitude lightened considerably after that night, he didn't pursue them.

  On the fourth day, the great southern Windsmouth Mountains rose up before them, and on the fifth day, they dominated the horizon. The weather turned, also, and they huddled under the fleece and wool cloaks Endera had provided as the twisting arm of a miniature blizzard washed snow across the craft. Altair, at the front flight position, deflected the worst of the stinging snow away from them, but this did little to warm the air. When they began to descend, gliding toward the glowing tower that marked the watchpost at the Invesh Pass, it was with relief.

  The rugged guards at the watchpost had less welcome news, however. Their supplies were present as promised-three fine horses and twice as many verali, three to carry the gryphon's flying craft and three to bear their gear- but rather than providing shelter for the night, the guards suggested- strongly-that they ride immediately through the pass.

  At the far side of the pass, they were told, was another traveler, and even with the gryphons’ protection augmenting their own abilities, another set of eyes and hands would be most welcome. Especially if, as the Invesh guards claimed, the traveler had been this way more than once before.

  // And a storm is coming, // Altair said, lifting his beak to the air and testing it with his tongue. The guards agreed, and after a warm meal of mutton stew, sent them on their way.

  The gryphons, for their part, were as at home on the ground as in the air, though they clearly preferred the loftier vantages of the heights, and a slight tenseness in their bodies hinted at their increased alertness. Each bore a ball of light-deep red for Thalnarra's, blue-white for Altair's, glowing green for Arikaree's-that led them through the deepening dark and the shadow of the mountains. Ruby took to her saddle bravely, but was exhausted by the end of their short ride through the pass; relief shone clear on her face as they emerged from the towering mountain walls.

  On this side of the pass was a break in the mountains, and a dark clearing. The guards had established an unmanned waypoint for travelers, and here, as promised, was the sleeping figure of the man who traveled the pass also. A line of verali and one horse stood sleeping at a rough hitching post at the camp's edge. The man's fire, banked, glowed softly and illuminated his shadowed form, and they moved quietly, though in exhaustion, to make a cold camp. The gryphons dug shallow sleeping pits in a loose triangle around the humans, and, after picketing and watering the verali and horses, they slept.

  Dawn at the pass came slowly, with pale light inching over the eastern mountains to brighten the thin and ever-present fog. Even at this low altitude the wash of meager daylight made the world seem dim and half asleep.

  The intoxicating smell of brewing kava, rather than the advancing light, pulled them from their bedrolls.

  Kneeling near the fire and tending the kava pot was the stranger who had been sleeping when they'd arrived at the waypoint. By day, his string of verali proved to be weighed down with sacks of-if their stamped labels were to be believed-kava, imported from across the entire continent.

  He looked up when they rose blearily from their blankets and waved them closer. Kava alone hadn't stirred Vidarian from sleep in years, but by its strange and complex aroma, this was no ordinary brew.

  “A personal favorite,” the man said, rising from the fire and nudging a small woven sack with a proprietary toe. His voice, eyes, and hair were dark like the kava, thick with some accent Vidarian couldn't quite place. He extended his hand, and Vidarian clasped it. “Luc Medicka, kava collector.”

  “Vidarian Rulorat,” he introduced himself, and held a hand out to Ariadel, “and Priestess Ariadel Windhammer.” Luc took her hand and bowed over it, a brief motion that spoke of foreign custom rather than flirtation. Nonetheless, the slightest heat edged Vidarian's voice. “Collector? You're traveling a long way with that collection.”

  The man followed Vidarian's gesture with his eyes, and waved his hands dismissively at the loaded verali. “A modest shipment. My clients pay handsomely for these strains of kava on the southern continent. To be honest, their tastes are rather ordinary.”

  “The southern continent?” Ariadel repeated, skeptical. “The mountains have closed passage for nearly a century.”

  “For caravans, yes,” Luc agreed. “If you know the way, there are cave systems that still connect to the continent.”

  // Quite dangerous ones, // Thalnarra rumbled, and Luc turned to her in surprise. If he'd never seen a gryphon before, he didn't show it; his eyebrows arched higher for just a moment, but soon he was bowing in greeting.

  “This is Thalnarra,” Vidarian said. “The
others are Altair and Arikaree.”

  “Northern gryphons,” Luc said, and Thalnarra's tufted ears flicked forward in surprise. “I've met your kin, though rarely, on the southern continent-if they can be said to be kin.”

  // They are, // Altair agreed, approaching and giving Luc a nod of his beak, a strange gesture that the man again took in stride. // If distant ones. A forest people. //

  “Brilliant colors, their feathers, like you wouldn't believe,” Luc said, then gave a dip of his head in apology. “Not that yours aren't, of course.”

  // Of course, // Altair said dryly.

  Luc turned to Vidarian, and at first it seemed to be in an attempt to change the subject. “You radiate, if it is not rude to say, sir, a most peculiar energy.”

  All three gryphon heads swiveled toward the man at this, and Ariadel smiled curiously. “You're quite perceptive,” she said, her tone lifting upward in a question.

  Luc bowed again, a habit it would seem, then bent to pour kava for the three of them-as he was pouring, Ruby approached sleepily, and they exchanged introductions. Quick, soft gestures of his hands inquired as to their tastes for sugar and verali cream; Vidarian and Ariadel took both, while Luc and Ruby kept theirs black. Luc gave Ruby a proprietary smile of approval at this.

  When they sat around the fire with their cups, Luc spoke again. “There is a word in Ishmanti: invael. It means truth's antithesis. The opposite of truth. Not a falsehood, which is a sliding-aside of truth, a dodging of truth with truth at its core, but a direct negation of the very fundamental nature of truth itself, the heart of truth. The antitruth that devours true things, that spreads into the world and undoes what truth we forge.”

  “Like the Starhunter.” Thalnarra's hackles raised as Vidarian said this, and Ariadel turned to him in puzzlement, but Luc was unfazed.

  “Yes, the Starhunter is invael. But she is also truth. She is truth and its antithesis. She is the differentiator.” He turned toward Vidarian. “She is choice.” He took a long draw on his kava, pausing as if in meditation as he savored it. “And that, sir, is what emanates from you.”