Van Reiver chuckled. "I'm very sorry for your loss, Lady Carla. If I can call you that. Please let me know if there is anything that I can do—or any of the others—if you wish their help. I am sorry that we cannot confirm whether it was deliberate, or an accident."
Carla nodded, words absent, then sniffled for several seconds into her kerchief. Dabbing her eyes, she said in a tone still husky from her rescue, "Just Carla. You saved my life, which goes beyond formality. Twice, if I recollect, with getting us to safety in the boats. Have you accepted the elf proposal?"
"We do not have many alternatives, Lady. We will accept, as the ship is too great an opportunity to pass upon. My thanks also, for the nursing to get me here."
"It wasn't much. You must be careful, Edouard. We know little about these people. Their leaders may be genuine, as your friend suggests, but my father never mentioned cordial relations with elves of either kind. Of anyone in our principality, he would know. On their terms, sounds very much like the long-lived people. I would like to know whether he died before meeting the elves, or after." Tears formed in her eyes, but her gaze remained steady. He realised that, while grieving, she tried to help him. To help them. Not for herself, but for everyone.
"I am always careful. That's why I joined the navy and not the army," Van Reiver deadpanned, forcing humour into an uncomfortable conversation considering what was at stake. Her mouth gaped at his bare-faced lie. She must recall with perfect clarity the thwack of the arrow and his impromptu swimming lessons as they departed Tryphon. Carla glared through drying tears, her eyes hardening like chips of glass. Without changing expression, she thumped him on the leg with a balled fist. He winced, but grinned.
"That is not funny!" she snapped peevishly. "How could they not miss shooting you? What were you thinking standing up and waving in plain sight of archers?" Then, unable to help herself, she began laughing. Her head dropped to her knees as she shook with mirth. When she recomposed herself, she looked over her shoulder, tears streaming down her face.
"You bastard! Gabriel and you should become travelling performers. You could excel at poor jests, badly timed banter and outrageous tricks. I can see it now, in seedy roadside taverns, as you both travel from town to town."
"Not jesters? Bah, Lady, you wound me," he jibed, unable to keep a straight face as she wiped the tears away.
"You are not ugly enough to be a jester," she smirked with a mischievous twinkle.
"What about Dag?"
"Him? Hmm…" Carla pondered with fake contemplation, her smile broadening, the wary cast dropping away. "Him, I could imagine as one. I can see him with rouged cheeks and a curly purple wig." She giggled, unable to help herself. The laugh brightening her heart-shaped face. Van Reiver squeezed her shoulder and, feeling ravenous, crunched into the sweet fruit.
"Despite everything I've seen, all the horrors, all the death, the misery and loss," she whispered, barely audible over the hiss of the sea over the nearby shore, "I don't think I have ever felt anywhere so serene. If this is a life they treasure, I can understand their motivations. As much as I mourn my father, he has a perfect peaceful place to rest. Somewhere unsullied by civil war and Spires factionalism."
Van Reiver nodded, allowing her to talk while devouring the last pear. "I can see why they'd fight for these lands. The sea is so serene. Everything within its perfect natural place. Ordered and untouched. Maybe that is why they dislike humans. Another invader, more random and devastating.
"Will you stay with Onvice and the elves when we leave? There's every chance it's a risky gambit, or they would have resolved it already. Prophecy or not, there is no certain outcome. As a baroness, would it be best for you to be our ambassador and break the proverbial ice with them? Gaining a new ally would benefit the principality and recoup Tryphon's honour? Maybe you can find out more about the Aztexa and the elven motives? They seem certain, but I'm unconvinced. I hope too much with the reward they dangle."
Carla shook her head, face resolute throughout his counterargument. "No. I do not wish to remain. I will help with the expedition and speak to their healer for advice. It concerns me whether they will follow through with their promise, and if their intentions are honourable. If they are, then perhaps we can discuss options to take back to the Prince's council. I also need answers for my father, if nothing else. I will not find them here if you all leave."
He frowned as she continued without pause, as though giving him no time for thought. "You have no doctor, not even an apothecary, Edouard. I'm tutored in the basic principles of aiding the injured. I studied your doctor as much as I could in the boat, and who else will do it? You need all your men to fight, including your parasite, the quartermaster. After the rescue, it is the least I can do to repay my debt to Tryphon. I also have responsibilities. I need to find out what is going on in the Western Ocean and Tuvala Sea. I'm not a swordswoman, but I can defend myself, and have other skills. Let us be clear. You will command the mission, and I will assist when I can, and converse with their leaders to ensure we all get home."
"Do you wish to do it, Carla? I would prefer to spare you from further horrors. You have seen a lot in one trip. I doubt many nobles—women or otherwise—have experienced what you have and want to venture into the wild unknown. Maybe you could discover more here?"
At the last comment, her eyes went tight and as though she'd arrived at a decision, her face smoothed. Carla's reply had a brittle snap. "Want, no. Necessity, yes. The horrors are all around, and my rank means nothing to your crew. They may see me as a woman, even a pampered one, but like you I have a duty to my station. However, we must stand up to the situation as my father used to say, and as you do." She added.
"Me? I am a simple sailor? I journey on the tides of time, in terrible company," Van Reiver scoffed. "I get put in charge by Bullsen and look how we end up. A lost boat, a botched mutiny, and a third of those who fled survive in one knackered boat with no food. That was because of the crew's initiative, self-reliance, bad temper and pure dumb luck, not me. A glorious crusade in farce. I couldn't master my families' trade and it looks like this career is beyond me."
"You are not simple, sir, which is why I enjoy your company. Even with the crudities." Her forthrightness surprised Van Reiver, and he felt a warm glow form at her candid statement. He managed to keep a stupid grin off his face with her down-to-earth attitude compared to other nobility he'd encountered. "I appreciate the candour. With most people I meet there are so many hidden meanings, if not outright lies, or abysmal flattery. I loathe piecing snippets of conversation together, to comprehend the intimation and inference of every remark."
"Me too. Every naval officer has a closeted desire to rescue a pretty noblewoman through happenstance, receive a dashing minor wound on a glorious quest, and require nursing back to health. Very well, Lady Carla," Van Reiver declared, unable to keep a smile from his face. "I won't argue on your inclusion, but you must follow instructions, for your safety, and the men."
"Edouard, that goes without saying. I am not stupid, and my father was never one for pampering. I will appreciate your chain of command and I hope you will appreciate sensible suggestions."
"Do you have any practical suggestions? I'm making this up as we go along, and I'm sure you can help?" He glanced over his shoulder at the men forcing the worry from his face, but they were out of earshot of the others. Dagmar winked, then closed his eyes. Some surprise knowing the bastards' twisted humour.
"You are? I'm suppose I can think of something." Her smile had a haunted, yet impish look. The first since he found her looking down on the still body of her father, gaze stricken, but unsurprised. The death had dampened jubilant celebrations when men expecting to die had woken up alive and fighting fit, bar a residual weariness and ravenous hunger from the healing.
.*.*.
In the trees several yards away, Dagmar's spirit form crouched. Two of the three elven leaders appeared to exchange a long look of deep satisfaction at having observed the discussions on
the shoreline. They departed on silent feet along a footpath hidden inside the treeline and headed towards their overland settlement in a nearby clearing. Prince Methyn smiled and slipped his arm around Synalavar, hugging her close through the thin fabric of her dress.
"Now we have hope. Our men and women heading north should arrive in time. The issue to the south is in their destined hands," She whispered into his chest, before looking up at him. Dagmar slipped closer and peered around a bole.
"Who would have considered turning to humans would happen in our time? In our lifetime? An irony of fate of mythic proportions given their arrival and spread on Sanctuary." The corner of Methyn's mouth quirked in a bitter-sweet smile. "It is within the hands of the pattern of existence, as always, Little Sparkle." Was that a pet name? Methyn's voice was calmer than Synalavar seemed to Dagmar. Her mood stayed sombre as they returned to their encampment. Now almost deserted, it was silent, with faint illumination for habitation in the evening's chill.
"We can hope, dear one, for there is no-one else. Not all of us have Stargazer's faith in the heavens, and she took centuries to persuade the council to accept the validity of these ancient prophecies." His smile seemed twisted with irony.
"She has never been incorrect. If they prove her correct—which I suspect they will—we have time to attack. Maybe Valindal can regroup and act decisively. The Old Fox and his force are our last gamble. That is all we can do. Play for time and rebuild. Again. I will arrange for Tryell to speak with her; it is an unexpected opportunity with their leadership triumvirate."
"I know. Like ourselves, I wish they had more warriors." Methyn's face became a bitter-sweet, and he hugged her tighter. It seemed to Dagmar that Methyn relied on her strength and renewed hope as their prophecy became into action. It was then Dagmar saw her starting at him over the prince's shoulder. Dagmar thought to flee as she winked. Slow and deliberate. Shit, how out of their depth were they? Dagmar fled.
34
Synalavar, Tryell and several sea elves of both sexes were in the western part of the cove on a trapezoidal plateau above the beach the following morning. Edged on two sides by pale-grey weatherworn outcroppings speckled with orange moss, it formed a natural amphitheatre. The older of the two now familiar elven women waved everyone to sit when Tryphon's crew, equally tense and curious, ambled in behind an armoured guard.
Synalavar and the elves knelt on the lush green carpet without formality. Carla and Tryell moved to the forested side, where they began a quiet, yet animated discussion. The healer showed her several items from within a large rectangular pack she had brought and explained their usage.
Unlike the previous meeting, none of the elves bar their escort wore armour, which seemed a positive sign. Instead, they wore long dresses of lush close-woven fabrics in elegant pastel shades, or tight-fitting blouses and trousers. To Van Reiver's eyes, it was as though this remote community were attempting to appear sociable, or at least non-threatening to their 'guests'.
"Do you know anything that might have happened to your people, Lady Synalavar?" queried Van Reiver, asking the first of the questions he'd discussed earlier with Dagmar and Merizus, while Hadly, Grimm and Hatch supervised the men. Despite exhaustion and healing, the seamen were rowdy, invigorated by the simple joy of being alive. Van Reiver agreed with them—albeit minus the whooping; he felt the same sensation, the rush of life zinging through his veins and jangling every nerve fibre. The proximity to death had made its impact on every man. It made them appreciate life, whatever their future.
"No." She shook her head and sat back on her ankles. "We sent scouts, then a small company, to reconnoitre weeks later. There has been no word since the companies' departure a month ago. Allowing for the unexpected, we should have received some communication. The terrain is easy to traverse, but sparsely populated. There are only a few hundred of us ashore scattered around the isle. We heard nothing from the settlements for six weeks, which prompted our initial investigation."
"I see. How far will we need to travel?" Synalavar side-stepped Van Reiver's question to an unknown, well-built man, two along to her right. The man was taller and stockier than the other elves and must stand at a good six-foot-four inches. He had short, sandy coloured hair and a more rectangular shaped face compared to the others. His features contrasted with the slanting eyes and eyebrows of a sea elf, which seemed out of place. He wore a dark brown doublet, with baggy shoulders and tight-fitting green trousers, a shade paler than the grass they sat on.
"Commander Mathyss is one of our most experienced scout leaders. He will command the overland expedition and answer any specifics." Van Reiver nodded, glanced askance at Dagmar, who twitched a noncommittal shrug at their revised chain of command. Awesome help, the red-eyed caster sat there, picking a thread on his sleeve. Twat.
"Half a day by riverboat upriver, and for your people, four to six days by foot after disembarking to our closest farmstead. Depending upon encounters, of course, and the larger hamlets are a few days beyond that. There are well-marked paths so we will make expeditious time southwards once inland, even with your recent injuries." Mathyss stated.
"Even if we are careful, sir?" Merizus asked, his dark skin colouring when the elf's emotionless eyes flicked to him. Studying with intelligence and without mercy. Van Reiver saw Merizus shiver at the strangeness of the non-human stare.
"We are always careful," Mathyss stated, before his eyes crinkled at some hidden meaning.
"Can you approximate what we might encounter from your experience?" Van Reiver asked, causing the mirth lines to fade to something grimmer.
As if seeking permission, Mathyss' eyes rotated to Synalavar, who nodded with a small encouraging smile.
"Aztexa raiders, undead, or human interlopers are possibilities. The former use small boats in clement weather to raid our western coastline and attack the overland settlements on that side of the island. Realistically, they are unlikely, being poor sailors. Your pirates we find on our northern and southern coastlines after your shipping, but are easy to eradicate. Atlanteans were more persistent in crossing our territory, but now honour their treaties with us. The Blighted Ones, while far from their lands, have on very rare occasions tried to ravage our lands. Beyond that, we must wait and see." He shrugged. "We don't know. The island interior is untamed and mountainous on the west. We have more trouble with its denizens than anything else overland."
Tryphon's crew glanced around, uneasy at the common reference to the undead Greeks roaming overland—as the sea elves called their isle—cursed for eternity by Zeus as he fell to earth with the arcane backlash of the fabled Proteus Stone. Hadly looked sick, and Van Reiver had the strange sensation of wanting to agree with him. Who knew what could lurk in the shadowy depths of this ancient island until it was too late? Tryphon's party had hoped that the issue was smaller than suggested but now realised along with Van Reiver that was a dream. It might cost more lives. Van Reiver felt his heart sink. Anything but undead.
Synalavar broke into the brooding silence and exchange of uneasy glances with diplomatic pragmatism. "What equipment will you require, Lieutenant?"
"We use the sword, pike and ankhbow. Our marines also use chain armour, steel breastplates and helms. Not knowing what we're getting ourselves into, I think we could all do with whatever you can provide."
Synalavar looked at Mathyss, who frowned for several seconds, as though testing possibilities, before answering in a softer-spoken voice than his stern face would suggest.
"Longswords and spears we can furnish with ease. I judge them akin to your human weapons. Ankhbows—crossbows as you term them—we do not possess, unless as old plunder. We need to check."
He glanced sideways to a lean, scarred elf woman beside him with cedar coloured skin and short hair like illuminated mercury. They built her in a similar mould to Mathyss, and unlike the other elves, she all but glared at the humans. Unlike all other Elven women, she wore a tunic and tight trousers. She flattened her expression to something less
feral and raised an enquiring eyebrow to elongate her scar. Mathyss jerked his head, and she rose in a smooth untangling of limbs and departed while chuntering about pirate scum and their shoddy weaponry. She seemed to Van Reiver to be as tall as the scout leader and more solid around her shoulders despite her thin waist.
"Armour?" Van Reiver pressed, thinking from the generosity that they might yet depart the island without a knife in the back.
"Helms we have. I can supply scout armour from our stores, which is light, adaptable, and will allow fast movement. We consider it more practical than the chain you humans use and just as protective from tests."
"Thank you, Commander." Van Reiver shrewdly ignored the reference to fighting humans. One enemy at a time might ensure they would return home to tell the tale of the elven-foretold alliance.
Rising with enviable grace, Synalavar looked around the tense faces of her new allies and stated without pretence, "Please see to their wishes, Mathyss. I give you our thanks, gentlemen. May the spirits of the divine be with you, and the blessings of your own deities."
Van Reiver turned from watching Synalavar's departure after exchanging a few words with Carla and found Mathyss' pale-blue oval eyes giving him a frank appraisal. He forced himself not to react, making the elf speak first.
"Are you prepared to follow my instructions, Mr Van Reiver?" Mathyss took care to pronounce the name as though testing unusual syllables upon his tongue. Strange words for the strangeness of enforced companionship. He sounded to Van River like an instructor at the Naval Academy—a place he'd been glad to leave, having felt an outsider by cadets and instructors.
THE TRYPHON ODYSSEY (The Voyage Book 1) Page 30