by K. C. Herbel
“Captain, will you take me to King Finvarra?”
Again, the captain nodded.
Billy couldn’t shake the idea that the captain, despite his horrid state, was grinning at him. He swallowed hard. “Then that settles it.”
“Settles what?” Elzgig asked.
“We need a ship, right? We must leave as soon as possible, right? Well, here is a ship and a captain willing to take me to Finvarra.”
“I wouldn’t trust him, Your Highness.”
“What choice have I?”
Elzgig clasped his hands behind his back and walked in circles, mumbling to himself. He was clearly frustrated with not only the situation, but also finding a solution.
“Ah!” he said, at last. “We will ask the Witan.”
“We haven’t the time, Elzgig.”
“Aye. Time is wasting.”
Billy turned to watch Sylvys walk up the pier. Much to his surprise, the satyr’s horns and feet could not be seen. He wore a long robe, tied at the waist, which covered most of his body, and a small helmet on his head. Over one shoulder he carried a sack, and in one hand a short spear with a broad, leaf-like head. The oddest facet of his appearance was the movement of his steps. At a glance, he looked like someone trying to cross some ornery, sticky mud.
Billy scrutinized the area below the robe and caught sight of some boots. He imagined himself a stranger, seeing Sylvys for the first time, and came to the conclusion that he would pass for a man to anyone who didn’t look up his robe—granted, a very hairy man, with a gimpy walk, but nevertheless, a man.
Sylvys smiled and tried to act as if nothing were irregular at all. He came to stand before Billy and bowed his head. Billy could see now that the satyr’s short horns protruded through the helmet and appeared like horns attached to the outside.
“Good morrow, Your Highness.”
“Good morrow.” Billy had to chuckle.
Sylvys caught him examining his weapon and helm. “What’s wrong?”
“Is that bronze?”
Sylvys grinned sheepishly and looked at the planks beneath him. “Well …” He chuckled. “It’s been a long time since I did anything like this.”
Billy noticed Sylvys’ occupation with something on the ground. “What’s the matter?”
“Oh, nothing.” Sylvys turned his head and looked even more embarrassed than before.
“No, tell me.”
The satyr looked from side to side, and then leaned forward to whisper. “You probably didn’t notice, but I’m having a bit of trouble, and I was wondering: How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
Sylvys hiked his robe up to reveal his boots. “Walk with such big feet.”
Billy laughed.
“Did I say something funny?”
“Well … I never looked at it that way before.”
Billy waved to his elfin guard, and they ran to the pier. As they approached closer, they drew their weapons, and he could see their intense alertness. They showed no fear, but a great deal of caution.
“Shaldra. I’m taking this ship to Lyonesse. I will understand if you don’t wish to come along.”
The hurt shone in Shaldra’s eyes.
“Where you go, I go also, Your Highness.”
“Please, Your Highness.” Elzgig stepped forward. “I beg you to reconsider this course of action.”
Billy looked down into the tiny wizard’s troubled eyes. He knelt before the gnome and gave him a smile. “I’ve made up my mind. I know you are worried. I’m going on a dangerous mission, but I’m more worried about what will happen here while I’m gone. You’ll look after Tirn Aill for me, won’t you?”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
“Hey, I’ll be back. I promise.”
With that, Billy rose and started for the gangplank. He sized it up and was about to step onto it when Shaldra thrust his hand in front of him.
“Wait, Your Highness. I will go first.”
Billy watched as Shaldra climbed the plank. The nimble elf’s foot hovered above the deck as he eyed the silent skeletons on either side of the gangway. Finally, he set his foot down.
“It seems safe, Your Highness.” Shaldra turned around.
“I’m next!” Sylvys stepped onto the plank.
When both of his questing companions were on the rickety deck, Billy proceeded up the plank. Just as he got to the top, he heard hooves striking the planks of the pier. He stopped with one foot on the plank and one on the railing of the ship and looked back.
Malkry and her last mounted warrior had left their comrades on the beach and rode up the pier to the dock. Their black capes fluttered in the wind, imparting the illusion of flight. They kept their spirited animals tightly reined.
“Come to say goodbye, Malkry?” Shaldra said. “How touching.”
“Not quite.”
“What do you want?” Elzgig moved forward. “You’ve never shown any support for his highness’s quest.”
“Quite the contrary. I applaud Billy’s courage. But what a tragedy it would be if something were to go wrong and I could have prevented it.”
“Prevent it? Ha! You mean, cause it.”
Malkry snapped a burning look at Shaldra and held it for a moment. “I wasn’t speaking to you.” Then she turned to the leader of the quest. “Billy, I know we’ve had our disagreements, but let’s put that behind us. I would like to send Drif, my finest warrior, with you.” She motioned to her companion. “You may need someone who can fight.”
“Malkry—!” Shaldra’s face turned red.
Billy threw up his hand. “Yes, we have had our disagreements, Malkry, and I’m sorry, but this is one of them. If I thought I needed more warriors with me on this quest, I would have taken my guard.”
The elves of Billy’s bodyguard straightened with pride.
“Then please, take Drif for my peace of mind.”
Billy glanced at Shaldra, who shook his head. His eyes traveled to Elzgig. Like Shaldra, the mighty little wizard was fervently shaking his head. Finally, Billy’s eyes came to rest on Malkry’s warrior.
There was very little one could tell by looking at the filigreed, midnight-black armor. There was no face to look into, nor hands, nor even eyes. Even the warrior’s scant movements betrayed nothing, except perhaps strength and patience.
Elzgig’s head wagged from side to side, and Shaldra whispered “no.” Billy looked again at Malkry. He could discern little from her face. Her violet eyes and the haughty turn of her brows told him nothing he didn’t already know.
“Yes. Drif is welcome.”
“What?” Elzgig and Shaldra said in unison.
Malkry batted her eyes and nodded. “Thank you. Now I know my people will be served. … Drif.”
Drif handed Malkry the reins and dismounted, then removed the saddle and tack and placed them on the dock with practiced speed. The caped warrior turned to Malkry and bowed.
Billy noticed that, like Drif, the elegant black armor made no sound. Before he could reflect on this any further, the dark elf marched up the plank with bags, saddle, and weapons in hand. Billy stepped onto the ship and out of the warrior’s way.
He looked at the few items Drif had brought on board. “You will need nothing else?”
The warrior’s helmet inclined slightly.
Billy scanned the dark elf’s equipment again. It consisted of armor, war saddle, crossbow and bolts, javelin, dagger, sword, and the most meager of saddlebags. There was no sign of personal effects or even a bedroll. Only the tools of a warrior, or an assassin. Chills tickled his spine.
“You have no one you wish to say goodbye to?”
Again, the answer was silence.
And nothing to lose. But what have they to gain: reign over Tirn Aill—an entire kingdom frozen in perpetual winter? They don’t know what I know of Tirn Aill’s future. Perhaps it was a mistake to keep my visions secret.
“What is it?” Shaldra asked.
Billy shook his head. “Nothing.�
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Drif secured the battle gear—save sword and dagger—to a post, and walked to the bow of the ship.
Shaldra now stood next to Billy and leaned down to whisper in his ear. “I won’t take my eyes off that one, Your Highness ... and you would be wise to do the same.”
Billy turned to his protector. “We have a hard journey ahead of us, Shaldra.” He grinned. “I guess this will make your life a little more interesting.”
Shaldra returned the smile.
“Good. We have enough gloom and doom around here from Elzgig without you adding to it.”
The fiery little gnome grunted. “I heard that!”
Billy looked over to see Elzgig standing on the end of the gangplank. “I thought we agreed that you would stay here.”
“Aye, Your Highness.” The wizard stared sullenly at what Billy had conjured from the sea. “I hoped that I might be able to prevail on you to do the same, at least until we have come up with a more suitable transport for you.”
Billy smiled.
“I thought not.” Elzgig raised his sheepdog-like eyebrows. “You certainly inherited your mother’s ways. Well, as long as I am not accompanying you, allow me to give you something you can carry with—”
“Honestly, Elzgig.” Billy indicated his pack. “I don’t think I could carry another thing.”
“It’s not heavy, Your Highness.”
“Well, all right. What is it?”
“A word of advice ...”
Billy rolled his eyes.
“All right.” Elzgig sounded somewhat put off. “If you don’t want my advice, then take my blessing.”
Billy held out his hands to the tiny wizard, who placed his hands within them. So much had happened since the two first met. It felt wrong that they should part company so soon. Billy said so, and Elzgig’s wrinkled face lifted into a welcomed smile. Beyond this, the wizard’s birdlike eyes searched for something that would bring him peace.
“‘Twill be all right, my friend.”
Elzgig nodded. “You have only to tell me so, my king, and I will believe. Good journey to you, and … hurry home.”
Elzgig’s words brought little comfort, for Billy had no faith in them. He had seen a bleak future for Tirn Aill that no amount of words could erase. What’s more, he had no visions to indicate that his quest would succeed. The daunting journey ahead, with so many unknowns, loomed before him like a great black wraith awaiting the foolish to enter its sacred graveyard.
Smile, Billy told himself as he released Elzgig’s hands and watched him walk down the gangplank. Smile.
Once Elzgig was on the dock, Billy turned to the skeleton behind the Gyldan Mene’s wheel. He stared at the fish-cleaned bones a moment, wondering whether he was being brave or foolish.
“Captain.”
The captain’s grinning remains shifted, and the empty eye socket regarded its new master.
Billy did his best to take on a commanding voice. “Captain. Take us to Finvarra.”
The captain nodded. With a great creaking and clattering of bones, the skeleton crew began to move. They withdrew the gangplank and mooring lines, then scurried up the ropes with uncanny ease, despite the fact that some of them were missing limbs. They deployed the tattered remains of the sail, and the ship surged forward and turned into the wind.
Billy, Shaldra, and Sylvys went to the stern of the Gyldan Mene while she swung into the bay. They stared across the growing gap at Billy’s elves, who stood still and somber as elms. Elzgig and Malkry were likewise motionless, except for what animation the biting wind provided. The dark, rocky shore and hills behind them seemed a thousand miles away, pressed down by the leaden sky. The wind quieted. The entire scene crystallized in Billy’s memory.
Just then, a single snowflake floated into view before Elzgig. Curious, the wizard held out his tiny hand and allowed it to land in his palm.
“The first snowflake,” Billy muttered as Elzgig closed his hand.
He remembered that, as a boy, growing up in the Valley of the Yew, he would anxiously await the first blessed snowfall of winter. Now, for the first time, he saw it as cursed. At that moment, another snowflake drifted into view, then another and another, until there were too many to lay eyes on separately.
“What is it?” Shaldra gripped Billy’s arm.
“Snow.”
“So that’s what it looks like.”
“Aye, that’s what it looks like.”
“Seems harmless.”
Billy nodded.
The three original questers stared back at Tirn Aill as snow blanched its remaining colors. Voiceless, they watched as the gentle hills, ancient forests, and lonely mountains of their home shrunk further from sight. The mysterious dark elf never once looked back, but stood in the bow and stared ahead into the vast, dark waters of the sea.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The Dogs of War
Ergyfel awoke with a start. He cast about at the dim, dirty laboratory, then sighed. Gone. Billy had taken the horde of unspeakable monsters and deformed beasts that he commanded in Ergyfel’s dreams and vanished. From the day he had sent his mind into the future, Ergyfel's named demon had plagued him.
The sorcerer-king wiped his wet brow and lit one of the brass lamps hanging from the dark oak beams. He leaned forward and examined the experiment in the clay jar before him. He had discovered that the magic flowing through his body when casting spells was feeding the arcane cancer that spread painfully up his arm. Unless he gave up magic completely, the cursed thing would eventually engulf his entire body. But how could he? Spells were food and drink to him. What’s more, since he learned of Billy’s coming, he had a growing sense that he would need every bit of sorcery he could muster. For this reason, he had started his experiments to find an alternate method to fuel his spells.
Ergyfel had started in the early morning, worked through the day, and now—judging by the darkness—it was night. He had labored like this for several days and nights. Now it was taking its toll. Falling asleep on his stone table was not a choice, but a necessity. He could still feel the impress of its cold surface on his cheek.
He flung his arm out and swatted the clay vessel off the table. It shattered against the far wall, sending shards and yellow sticky ooze in all directions.
His anger sated, Ergyfel muttered, “Another failure.”
Hungry. I need food … and solace. … I need Maeven.
Still feeling exhausted, but hopeful, he turned to leave his private sanctum. When he reached for the door latch, he felt a magical disturbance. He closed his eyes and concentrated on this feeling.
“Ergyfel. Ergyfel!”
The king’s eyes snapped open, and he pulled out the simple medallion that hung from a gold chain around his neck. He concentrated, and a bright spark jumped from the medallion to his forehead.
“What is it, Hengest?”
“Brother, we battle the Gwythies.”
“But it’s night!”
“Aye.”
Through his brother’s ears, Ergyfel could hear the thunder of hooves and roar of angry hosts, the mighty clash of steel, and cries of pain as men and animals collided in bloody carnage. Then, through his brother’s eyes, he looked about and saw the flash of swords and armor and the momentary dance of silk banners in the moonlight.
“What has happened?”
“My scouts spotted the enemy earlier today. There were only one thousand of them, so we waited for them here, at a place Cairmac calls ‘Amaranth Heath.’ When they came into the open, we attacked. So far, we are winning, but these Gwythies are a difficult lot.”
A Gwythian soldier broke through the line in front of Hengest and charged at him. He stopped talking to engage the warrior. The Gwythian came rapidly to his death when Hengest ducked his blow and riposted by cutting off the man’s leg. Once down, the man’s head came away with one strike.
Ergyfel found himself squatting low on the floor of his laboratory, his fist outstretched, the smell of blood in his
nose. It was only then that he realized he had been mimicking his brother’s actions. Even the sensations of the night air, the sword in his hand, and the hot pulse of battle were present. It was as if he were in Hengest’s body. This was unexpected. What if Hengest is killed? How would that affect me?
Another voice came to Ergyfel through his brother’s ears. It was that of Earl Cairmac.
“We’ve been duped! Look to the trees! Look to the trees!”
Hengest’s eyes scanned the tree line around the huge clearing. The pale bluish moonlight reflected off hundreds of helmets. Cairmac’s army was surrounded. At that moment, there came a shooshing sound, and Hengest looked up to see the moon shuttered by a dark cloud of arrows.
He held up his shield. The first volley of arrows fell like the rain of hell. Cries went up from all quarters of the battlefield as the unholy hail struck down friend and foe alike.
Ergyfel called out. “Hengest, you must get out of there!”
“I have one more task to complete, my brother.”
“No, get out of there now!”
At that moment, Earl Cairmac and his bodyguard came into view. The earl was down on his side, holding his leg where the shaft of an arrow protruded. Three of his guard lay dead beside him.
Another swarm of arrows took flight, and the last man of the earl’s guard was struck in the neck. He collapsed onto his lord’s body and expired with a gurgle.
Ergyfel’s view shifted and became more intimate. He now heard Hengest’s thoughts, and for all intents and purposes was right inside his head.
Hengest appeared above the Earl of Wyneddhamshire, who struggled to free himself from the corpse of his fallen guardsman.
“Oh, thank God. Help me get out of here.”
Hengest remained motionless and stared at the prostrate man at his feet.
“Help me. For God’s sake, man!”
“For God’s sake?”
“Yes!” Cairmac pushed at the heavy armored body, which lay on his.
Hengest smiled, and in the dim light, his face took on the aspect of Ergyfel. “You’re far more valuable as a martyr, milord. The people of Lyonesse will remember your heroic death.”