"I am prepared to follow your experience on land and in your forests, Commander," affirmed Van Reiver diplomatically, before adding, "providing you do not endanger my men, by foolish action or ill intent."
Mathyss crooked an eyebrow and looked at him for a long moment, before giving a loud snort of laughter. "That is as it should be; I can live with that." The commander sprang to his feet, unperturbed by the remark. He patted Van Reiver on the shoulder. "I'll arrange for your equipment and supplies for twelve days, for prudence. You need to eat well, I know the feeling well. With the healing, you will want to." Van Reiver also stood only more stiffly. He noticed he was a few inches shorter than the elf and gave a slight bow. Mathyss gave a polite smile. Then his eyes flicked to Carla. "About the woman... I heard third hand from Prince Methyn she is of a noble family? An important one?"
"Very. Her father was the backbone of our principality. Baroness Carla insists on coming along, was the curt response when I made the same suggestion. Twice." Van Reiver stated tonelessly and shrugged. Acting on instinct, he tried to give as little away as possible, and to impress Carla's status upon their allies.
"Could you order her to stay, or does she possess special skills?" Mathyss seemed curious, showing no preference.
Van Reiver shook his head, "She is not a member of my crew, so proverbially speaking, it ties my hands. Unless you wish her to remain in a diplomatic capacity, or fancy holding her a captive for our good behaviour?" Van Reiver gave an evil grin, holding both hands up, palms spread, "I won't object—if it keeps her safe."
"Ah, maybe not. Your magus and the Lady Synalavar may not like that. Little Sparkle has opinions, and they instructed me to be polite." Mathyss looked entertained at the suggestion and shuffled the conversation backwards. "That's the worst kind of situation to command. I'll see what we can do, as she will require suitable clothing and footwear. The going is straightforward, but we need to travel quick and quiet.
"My thanks, too, for all they are worth. My scouts are the missing ones and very important to me. It should have been me there, but the Aztexa intervened. We will discover their fate. I must." He held his hand out, and Van Reiver shook it, surprised how firm the elf's grip was from narrow long fingers delicate compared to his own.
"When this is all over we'll have a drink together, I fear we will need it." Mathyss grinned, winked at one of his men who approached and held out several tiny scrolls. "For your magus, from Lady Synalavar. He may appreciate the knowledge in them. Knowing our leader, it is a peace offering with how we greeted him." As Mathyss explained, his mouth twisted into a smug grin.
It was just a flicker of expression, yet Van Reiver had a rare glimpse into elven humour. Arid, more akin to a knife thrust in the kidneys than a beery-breathed exchange of insults as a precursor to a head-butting contest. Van Reiver hoped everyone would loosen up before mistrust came to a head. With Valant and Hadly, human suspicions and firm elven opinions of mankind, it might be easier said than done.
35
Hours later, under the pulsating heat of the later midday sun, Mathyss leaned on a long unstrung dark-brown longbow, almost as tall as he was, with fine engraved silvery scrollwork rolling along its length. The elf had a dark, confused frown on his face and asked Van Reiver, "Are they always like this?" They stood together beside the elves who'd neatly organised the crates of equipment and now stood scowling as raucous human hands disorganised them.
Van Reiver's men swapped helms, or dark leather boots. Tossing them from man to man with a birdlike chatter of incessant ridicule to discover each acceptable piece of equipment as Hadly stood on like a jovial shop keep. Mathyss' face was blank, but Van Reiver could sense the unspoken disapproval; it seemed the elf was using up a century of facial expressions within a single day of human contact.
"If you mean like oversized children squabbling at a market stall over sweet pastries; yes, it is normal." He nodded at their battered boat at the end of the cove. "The humour served us well with all the injuries and deaths. Laughter and anger might have saved us where our gods failed."
"Luck is something we all need, from time to time—often if one is an unbeliever in divine faith. I have this for you. It was my grandfather's, but he never wore it. The Aztexa won that one, and my family stored it as a keepsake in his memory." With an effort, Mathyss lifted a long case and passed it to Van Reiver. "He was big for an elf and it should be a suitable fit. The time feels right, as Eldur Stargazer would say, and I've adjusted the grip." He gestured at a surprised Van Reiver.
"I don't know what to say, Commander. I'm honoured." Van Reiver declared, humbled, embarrassed and uncomfortable at the gesture.
"Say nothing. Serve it well." Mathyss gave a companionable smile and raised a key into view between them and handed it across.
"Whatcha got? Whatcha got?" bellowed Dagmar, capering over in a drunken ape-like lurch. Several elves looked across in sudden alarm, hands moving on instinct to scabbards. The crewmen were no threat and laughed uproariously, pointing at the sunjammer's antics. Dagmar rolled his eyes to the now amused Mathyss, as Van Reiver gave him a long-suffering look.
The navigator unlocked the case and pried the tight-fitting lid open, with a tinny click of well-oiled catches. In an unknown wood, the case showed signs of use—but not for a while, judging from the faint traces of dust.
"What is this timber? It's gorgeous." Van Reiver ran a finger along the grain, tracing fine, complicated asymmetrical swirls in several shades. It felt faintly oily at his touch and left a smear of grease on his fingertip. Every carving and detail felt flush, as though smoothed to a near mirror-like finish.
"Alma tree, quite small, almost miniature compared to what you can see here, and rare. With expert care, an artisan can craft fascinating patterns, forms and shading, with laminates and dyes. We have farms growing it overland, but it is a laborious process requiring particular soils and irrigation."
"I don't think I've ever seen the like, is it stained?"
"No, polished with beeswax. That is one reason for the settlements overland. They are a resource we treasure, along with the honey. If, like my old friend Kandra, you have a sweet tooth." At Van Reiver's expression, the elf added, "Kandra assembled your weapons earlier."
"I can see why." It was an impossible concept to consider the grim-faced woman and 'sweet' in the same sentence. "Erm… would you like the case, returned; it's a work of art?" Van Reiver asked nonplussed, extracting a thick suit of heavy leather armour, dyed almost pure black with just a hint of blue, with riveted steel greaves and chest plates that strapped around the sides. Enamelled black plates, almost as dark as night to match the leather, stared back from the embossed images of dolphins.
"Elegant. Very nice, in fact. Now you can become a proper warrior. Ha! Awesome, look here—you've even got a pig sticker! Esteemed Knight Van Reiver, at the Kings' service," mocked Dagmar from over Van Reiver's shoulder.
"No, they belong together. It is a better fit than I expected," Mathyss murmured, almost to himself, oblivious to the byplay. He shook his head at the second mate's question while thudding Van Reiver in the stomach and cinched the silver buckle tight. Van Reiver grunted like a horse being saddled, feeling as though someone was crushing his chest and he expected his ribs to break in the next second. They didn't.
The elf handed a red-faced and relieved Van Reiver a similar dolphin engraved scabbarded longsword with a slight curve and widening to the last few inches of the point, which he strapped around his waist. Van Reiver half drew the blade, wondering how the scabbard worked. It seemed deeper than his old blade, and the hilt had a clever fitting to prevent the blade rattling. Mathyss squinted into the case and pointed at the narrow dagger's sheath with short straps and gestured to Van Reiver's arm or calf. Van Reiver nodded understanding and strapped it on his right leg just above the heavy boots the elves had provided.
Van Reiver's knife was somewhere aboard Tryphon, and his sabre had vanished in the boat—probably tossed overboard by Hadly, or
Valant. It made them welcome gifts. Despite their natural slenderness, the elves had come up with enough equipment, especially armour in wider sizes, to suit his men, including those of a bulkier stature; such as Grimm, Merizus and Harcux, along with Cephill's sizable stomach. Standing, Van Reiver stamped to get comfortable and flexed his knees to settle the armour. The leather armour was wearable, lighter and more flexible than he expected from hefting the weight, but unfamiliar. Just like his boots, it was tight in odd places.
"Comfortable?" The commander enquired, looking him over solicitously and glanced away back down the trail where a pair of elves Van Reiver had seen earlier carried a similar sized case to the one between their feet. The fresh case was of a plainer wood, but with a mirror-like shine in dark varnish, glittering star-like from sunlight through the canopy.
"Bedizened. I'm not used to wearing any of this. It feels restrictive to wear armour." Van Reiver bounced on his toes several times, settling the weight with a novel creak of leather as it compressed his balls and clasped his legs under the knees.
"You will get used to it. The leather will adapt to your body and keep out most weather. If you were elvenkind, it would have already." He grinned and waved to the newcomers and nodded a greeting. "We'll make a soldier of you yet." The elf showed his teeth. "I arranged for this, for your woman. In our lands, men and women serve in all roles. If we are taking her into danger, it is a wise precaution and better for blending in."
Van Reiver's face flickered at 'soldier' and 'your woman', but blending in sounded even more bizarre to his ears. Mathyss smirked, observing his expression.
"Blending in?"
"The greens and blacks merge with the forests and the shoreline." Mathyss pointed down the empty path leading to their cove and whistled. In an eye blink, four elves edged out of the treeline, two women with the huge longbows the elves preferred and another pair of men with wavy-bladed spears. Mathyss waved again, and they faded back, hardly rustling the foliage. He looked to Van Reiver, who nodded, impressed at the stealthiness. Running from here as Dagmar intimated wasn't an option. Shit.
Van Reiver looked again and saw vibrant vegetation tousled by the light breeze off the ocean where killers lurked unseen. "Point taken. We'll be quiet as sailors can be. I'll pass it on to the men."
Mathyss cocked his head and pointed at the second case. "Would you like me to sort the rest?"
"I think we can manage. I may need to persuade her to wear it." Van Reiver frowned at the case, wondering how he'd manage that. Perhaps he could set Merizus and Harcux on her? He winced at the cowardly thought.
"As you wish. I'll arrange for the supply packs and canteens while you finish here. We'll move inland in half an hour." Mathyss smiled reassurance at the sudden thought of wandering into the unknown.
"We will be ready. The sooner, the better, I presume?"
"Yes, if your men are up to it. We will have a daybreak start further down the line, and they can rest longer by the river after disembarking. They can eat and rest on the boats as the current isn't strenuous. Best bring lions rather than foxes to the wilderness, as we say. We have a knack for the route, so there will be little for you to do beyond enjoying the ride."
"Very well, what should I call you? It's the first time I've met elven-folk." Van Reiver admitted changing the topic.
Mathyss rubbed his nose, taking a moment. "It is the first time I have spoken to outlanders." Deep furrows appeared on his face before he cracked the irony with a lopsided smile.
"Usually you shoot arrows at them?"
"Usually." The hard face twisted into something wistful. "I have the feeling elf and human aspects are not as different as first thought. Those initial encounters soured perceptions in millennia past."
"Is that why your people are being helpful?" Van Reiver asked as Dagmar stifled a snort.
"In part, but we have lost hundreds of men and women in the last five years. Most this year. Their loss will take us centuries if not millennia to replace. Losing their spirits is a disaster. I feel lessened as a warrior, just thinking about it. It is difficult to explain." A grimace crinkled Mathyss' face.
"I'm sorry."
Mathyss shrugged it aside. "You would not know. My people have faced difficulty for decades. I hope yours will not endure the same distress and sense of failure."
"Oh, I doubt that. I know that one. We have forty men out of a crew of four hundred. This being the remnants. It's not what I'd call a success."
"Every life counts. Even one is worth it, worth the pain and sacrifice to justify the loss. I will return soon. Mathyss, or commander, suffices. Yourself?"
"Second Mate Lieutenant Edouard Van Reiver, navigation officer of his highness of Tregallon's flagship, Tryphon, at your command. Take your pick, Commander Mathyss, sir." Van Reiver grinned, flipping the question.
"Edouard, then. Unlike most, I prefer our forests to the ocean during this season. Formality can be excessive, and we leave that to land elves." With a casual wave, his men vanished, soon followed by Mathyss striding into the deepening dark of the forest.
Dagmar soon lost interest. Van Reiver watched him meander away to sort his equipment as the men equipped for the march. They had similar, but of light leaf patterned dark green leather armour with thickened breastplates. Each man had a modest backpack, with a matching longsword and a long dagger. Stacked in the cove's corner nearest their boat were thirty-four spears, just over ten feet long with a hardened undulating steel head and half a dozen ankhbows and double quivers.
Tryell returned almost soundless with her slippered feet, with an elaborate grey double backpack for Carla. It contained medical supplies, including several phials and personal equipment from what Van Reiver glimpsed as he checked over everyone. To Carla's obvious delight, it included a compact mirror made of coral, with matching brush and comb.
Only Dagmar differed. He wore a heavy dark green robe in a robust material, with a black silk trim to the hood. Like Tryell's dress, there was a glimmer to the fabric and sturdy black boots almost hidden under the triple stitched hem. Van Reiver had to turn and stifle a snigger when he saw Dagmar puzzling over the piles of weapons and pretending not to hear the mocking whispers. Mathyss' stern scowling deputy, Kandra, snorted and chopped a staff from a nearby tree. Using a blunt-tipped knife as wide as a human shortsword, she trimmed the worst of the knots and threw it to the sunjammer, along with a scabbarded belt knife. Several men stifled laughter at the ease as she severed the branch in a single strike. Seeing the magus' worried expression, Van Reiver burst into laughter. Through tears, he could see as the savage scar-faced woman glare at the humans as though she was the butt of the jest and stalk into the trees like a prowling panther. It was Hadly's own fault he stood nearby smirking at Dagmar when the woman passed and feigned a lunge while snapping her teeth. It may be cynical, but from the distance the men were now keeping from Hadly, his scrawny leathers may have been lubricated from the inside.
Van Reiver wiped his tears away and looked down at his few possessions. They could remain here, the memories of one disaster. Other than Bullsen's spyglass, his charts and navigation bag were useless, and he assumed he'd piss off Mathyss if he charted their island. Thoughts whirring at the sudden feeling of being lost, he placed his bag with Bullsen's charts and the battered logbook.
He considered the gunmetal handbow, could almost imagine the young fingers of Jimi caressing the steel barrel and inserting it into the leather satchel. Van Reiver clenched his jaw, feeling guilt writhe through his guts before he ripped his gaze away. Ramming the straps into the buckle, he stood, leaving the weapon. Fuck it. He had enough baggage: a lifetime of regret, and the urge to make someone pay.
.*.*.
Lady Carla of Pallach flushed a violent red when she opened the small chest Van Reiver deposited at her feet. Her breath caught as she fiddled with the small bronze key, wiggling it between her thumbs while thinking rapidly. "I can't wear that!" she announced in a thick strangled voice. The light leather armour w
as indubitably made for a woman. Tight and figure-hugging, it would flatter, if not be provocative, on someone with the right curvaceous body. It was browner than the leathers of the men, of a similar style, but differing cut, with pale stitching, almost ginger in decoration.
"Why not? you wanted to come along. Maybe it's an elven joke?" Van Reiver deadpanned, struggling to maintain a bland expression. She already knew he felt a pillock in his armour, and he was used to the frippery and discomfort of uniform. Her light armour would induce somewhat interesting thoughts to most men not blind, or on their deathbed.
Carla removed a light leather dark-ochre breastplate and tight leather matching trousers, a shade paler. She indicated the offending chestplate, with two well-formed bulges, as though wishing they changed through willpower. The elven women seen around the cove were slenderer than their human counterparts, enhancing the attributes on the armour. Longer legs, torsos and necks complemented slight chests and narrower hips while remaining feminine. Graceful and elegant, rather than womanly, Dagmar described earlier, his eyes flicking to Synalavar, as willowy as a blade of grass in her flowing dress.
"Do you expect me, in honesty, to wear that, in front of your men and the others?" She felt her face flush nightmarishly and struggled to look at him. Standing in his armour, he was almost of a height she would need to stand on tiptoes to kiss him. Where had that thought came from? Her eyes roamed everywhere, anywhere but meeting his, before settling on the in-offending grass while she controlled herself.
"Is there a problem, your ladyship?" He gave an impudent grin, making her flush darker as though he knew her thoughts. He tapped his chest with two fingers of his right hand and jerked his head at one of Mathyss' female scouts suggesting similar examples. Carla sighed, he was right. But he wasn't the one built differently to their allies.
THE TRYPHON ODYSSEY (The Voyage Book 1) Page 31