THE TRYPHON ODYSSEY (The Voyage Book 1)

by S. D. Howarth

  "I'm sure the elves could do something with it, if they aren't big enough."

  "Edouard!" she hissed. Even her ears glowed their embarrassment like newly forged steel. Unable to articulate coherent thoughts, she spluttered for seconds, which seemed like aeons.

  "Umm, they are providing cloaks. Wrap one around yourself." Van Reiver suggested as a cautious peace offering when he recovered from wiping tears from his eyes. Carla had to clench her jaws. After the rescue, the fight, the stress, dealing with his injury, it would be refreshing to laugh—just not at her expense. Few women in the Spires wore armour. Some might in mercenary bands or frontier town guards, but even the nobility avoided spending coin to a master armourer unless their position and life depended upon it. Her father had been blunt to her as a teenager, in telling her a well-designed dress was a more powerful weapon than anything in steel. It was only now she considered he might be right, as Van Reiver appeared from his posture to have strained himself through restraint.

  "Thanks," she grumbled, still feeling herself glow with a magma-like intensity. Carla glanced at the ruined pair of dresses and shifts in her battered case and kicked the lid shut. She sighed at the lack of options she'd backed herself straight into, like the arrow into his shoulder. The elves had less store in decorum and modesty than a typical human—noble or otherwise. She had to admit, it wasn't the place for a dress, it really wasn't.

  "If you don't want to wear it, remain here, as no-one will hold it against you. The scruffy cadets' uniform and your dresses lack stealthiness for what the elves demand. Mathyss was specific, I am afraid, and he makes sense to be blunt. If you go, I would feel better knowing you have the best protection possible. It is comfortable when you wear it for a while." He shrugged, to show it wasn't personal.

  "Oh, he was, was he? Thanks awfully," Carla snapped, fuming at him as he loomed several inches over her, alien looking in the elven armour. It suited him well—she noticed, to her annoyance—even with his random fidgeting and the creaky knee bending. One of his thoughts came to her, pulled free on her tide of anger, frustration and remorse. 'Fuck it'. Carla straightened, clenching her father's heavy signet ring in her hand until she felt the bite of the seal into her flesh. Making her mind up, she threw the thick red blanket she'd slept upon at him.

  "Hold this up. I need to change if we're to leave on time. I'd prefer not to prance around all bushel bubby to your men, before you smirk again."

  .*.*.

  Van Reiver stood, feeling henpecked and sensing more than sarcasm from Carla with the way she snapped. He saw many glances aimed in envy in his direction as a dress flapped over the blanket, almost catching his right eye. He surrendered to the inevitable, blowing the material away. It may not be a custom in West Spires, or what they had signed up for, but everyone would need to adapt. Van Reiver realised he had a profession he could excel at: to stand feeling an idiot depriving a remote village of his esteemed presence. He hoped she wouldn't take long. He needed to go soon, the sensation niggling incrementally behind his leather belt as the seconds rolled by, forced him to adjust which leg he had his weight on every score second or so.

  "Very flattering!" Dagmar quipped, pulling his attention back when she emerged from the blanket. The light leather legs and boots fitted her lower body and calves perfectly. Her upper torso was well supported. The leather tunic was looser at the waist, but snug where needed under the bosom and around the small of the back. Carla scowled at the magus in pink-faced embarrassment. A minor mercy as Dagmar held up both hands and shuffled back, bowing as though at court. Dagmar consummately timed seeing Carilon gawking and dragged the man to the others before Van Reiver could bark at him. The magus deposited the seaman with Hatch and Hadly by the backpacks, containing their trail rations and blankets. The quartermaster had restrained himself from his usual acerbity and applied his organisational skills in a manner Van Reiver had to admit the man excelled at.

  Van Reiver passed her a dark-green cloak, then retrieved the helm Mathyss had left for him. It looked weird, but at least it was open around the eyes and not a prison to wear. He considered putting it on, but decided against it. Everyone looked different wearing elf armour. Dagmar looked the part, and so did the seamen. Merizus looked shorter when standing near the elves, but his bulk was unmissable. He turned back to Carla and blinked. With the backdrop of trees, she looked like any other member of the crew once he picked her out. If she hadn't sported a flush from her anger and embarrassment, he could easily had looked past her.

  "All sorted?"

  "Yes, everyone looks like true warriors. Very impressive."

  "On the outside," he said, taking a last look at the boat that had got them here.

  "Just pretend you know your role and listen. I hope this boat trip is better than the last one."

  "That won't take much beating. Lady Carla, would you like to inspect the men?"

  "Really?" Carla raised an eyebrow.

  "Oh yes, it is only fair we make them feel as uncomfortable in their new togs as we do."

  Carla grinned.

  36

  A little over half a day later, Commander Mathyss loosened his bow, allowing the evening air to chase the sweat on his neck and shoulder. He wandered around the camp off the main track near the unloading jetty, eyes scanning the ground and low foliage. Glancing over the river they had spent several hours on, he gave a self-satisfied nod: they remained unobserved. To the unknowing, it was a patrol of diligence; to the knowing of elvenkind, it was an uncomfortable display of agitation they kept to themselves. Mathyss' small detachment knew they were under close inspection by the outlanders and were under orders not to inflame tensions. To work with and befriend the humans. To their fortune, it had been a peaceful journey. Or almost so.

  The narrow, top-heavy elven longboats had proven far more stable than their appearance suggested to Van Reiver's men from the comments. The elves had to stifle their amusement at the universal looks of terror when navigating a fast stretch of river and narrow, intricate rapids. Propelled at stunning speeds by combining elven arcane art and a sea elf equivalent of a sunjammer crystal involving enchanted shells, that any sea elf could use. It had entertained their magus, Dagmar, for an hour trying to decipher the mechanism. The elven cox'n knew little beyond a rudimentary incantation that frustrated the magus' interest. Mathyss was glad Van Reiver had quelled the magus' carping as it prevented him from throwing Dagmar overboard in the second hour.

  "Did you want me, Commander?" enquired Kandra, the slash on her face glowing a vivid amber with the fading suns and with long shadows highlighting the deepness. Stoically enduring the company of more humans in the second boat had exceeded her patience. The clenching of her jaw was a bounty of expression, and difficult to miss. He'd seen those same expressions too often of late and the suspicion in her eyes.

  "Yes. I want you to set off two hours ahead of us, say, rest until mid-watch, then depart." Kandra nodded and thumbed the base of her chin.

  "Any problems with that, my friend?"

  "None. It takes me away from the sullen human with the porcine face who places his fat behind on ant nests." Kandra ceased her nervous habit and snickered. "He is begging for one of my arrows, or my blade, to put him out of his misery. I digress, do you require me to halt at a particular place?"

  "Yes, the crossing on the trail before the first hamlet. You recall it?"

  "As you well know. Anything else with them?" Kandra jerked her head at the humans while rolling her eyes. Her tone showed her thoughts of their leadership better than any argument he could muster.

  Mathyss shook his head. "No, it's under control despite your boorish behaviour. They are learning, but take no chances. Stop earlier at anything unusual. Am I clear? I mean anything. Our people would not disappear. No chances, play it safe. If we engage, it is with numbers and you take too many risks when it suits you."

  "Ha! You are in no position to lecture me, Mathyss. We both know who is missing and why you volunteered. I hope misplac
ed loyalty doesn't kill us all, and I hope they are both alive and you three make up. You owe your sister and cousin an apology and I will hold you to it. I mean it, my friend, and don't look like that. I'll leave orange markers at the usual intervals. Do you think their magus will be any use? We lack archers." Kandra's expression showed her contempt about their new allies' and dismissed any objection he could make.

  Mathyss nodded, what else could he do? He grieved with her. He had been with her when she suffered anguish at the hands of the Aztexa. He had pulled her from the jaws of death when her fury overcame her self preservation and in an irony of all ironies their roles had flipped on the fulcrum of fate. Kandra had experienced loss to humans—the love of her life—and now they formed a prophetic alliance with a traditional foe. If his sister lived, her face would be a picture when they met—she had opinions on humankind. He sighed and dragged his mind back to the present and studied the woman. Kandra stood tense. A drawn bow to which he lacked the luxury of having the time and ability to relax. Kandra had the right to rebuke him, and now the others watched their every conversation, listening to each word. Waiting for sparks to fly and the excuse for weapons to be drawn. He grinned, appreciating that he was trapped in the situation as much as the humans washed up on their shores. Led to their shores, his conscience screamed, twisting his mouth.

  Scratching his nose, Mathyss hid a grimace and reset his expression. He was more relieved at maintaining her support and loyalty than worrying over what they lacked. "Your guess will match my own. Lady Synalavar expressed hopes they can adapt to that path. But we will see. Desire and reality are different, eh? Go with the blessings of Tellerenlla."

  "You too, sir." Kandra flicked a casual salute, checked her quiver and squinted at the suns. Checking the higher second sun, the scout returned to where she had doffed her pack under the broad leaves of a shrub and draped a cloak over her head, dismissing everyone, including Mathyss. Sir, ha!—how to tell strangers surrounded them—or was she still mad?

  Mathyss shook his head and wished he could suppress stress in the same manner. Shut everyone out. Being ambassador made him almost scream with frustration. Everything cost precious time. Too much talking. Too much time when lives were at stake. He spent hours fretting, thinking, and being polite. Why? It complicated things. A poor omen, prophecy or otherwise.

  Continuing his circuit around the camp perimeter with an easy stride, Mathyss found the outlanders had sprawled at the side of the compacted earthen trail, with his scouts split on each side, just inside the forest on either side of the humans. Amused at the division, he stepped around stacks of backpacks and propped spears, before being approached by the hulking human warrior. He was a fraction shorter than the tallest elf but double the weight of his people, little of it fat. The man's bulk had tasked the armourers for hours the previous evening as they adapted two back panels. Despite their best efforts, the close-fitting leather armour strained in its fit with seams creaking on his shoulders as he moved.

  Acknowledging the man's crisp salute, Mathyss raised a questioning eyebrow. Would the skilled leatherwork split by the time they returned to displease their armourers? They could whine louder than a storm through the forest, and a rare smile crossed his face.

  "Excuse me, Commander. I have three fit marines and can use several experienced crewmen as necessary. Would you require help in maintaining guard around the camp, or perimeter?"

  "Your idea, Serjeant Merizus, isn't it? or that of your officer?" Mathyss asked. He considered the magus separate to the chain of command, as was the regular order of things. As it should be.

  "Correct, sir. It was a mutual idea." Merizus nodded at the pronunciation, but gave nothing away to the elf.

  Mathyss considered and gave a diplomatic smile. "Tonight, we keep watch. You need the rest. From personal experience, healing will tax you for several days. Double rations for at least two days. Tomorrow, we have more need for care, so arrange for a pair of experienced men every watch cycle for the camp. A pair of mine will take the outer perimeter."

  "Very good, sir." Merizus saluted and excused himself, leaving the elf to listen to his creaking for several seconds, before continuing towards the head of their party.

  Mathyss nodded to Van Reiver and Dagmar in passing and sprawled by his pack to check his equipment in the firelight. He took a locket from an inside pocket and glanced over the miniature painting of a young elven couple. They sat, hands clasped, their eyes held each other, snug within a giant shell highlighted by rays of light from above. He ran a finger around the rim, studying it for several minutes before snapping it shut with a harsh click. If only memories could be closed off with such ease.

  With a last check on his men and the noisy gaggle of humans, he sipped from his water-flask before strapping it to the back of his backpack. He leant back, lacking an appetite, and adjusting the pack under his shoulders, settled to look upwards. He observed several stars in the gap between the trees over the trail and moments later detected the greenish glow of one moon. Watching it, he hoped Hinsharamit would offer inspiration. Hearing nothing and feeling nothing, Mathyss dismissed the thought he should be sociable and allowed sleep to overcome him.

  .*.*.

  On the other side of the camp, several men sat huddled, studying the elves with an equal suspicion. Tall, fast moving and reticent, the reclusive humanoids had rebuffed several attempts at conversation beyond basic generalities, shrugs or hand gestures, an additional complication being that only Mathyss and Kandra had a grasp of Latos common, or fractured Spires, making conversation difficult beyond gestures.

  "What'd he say?" Grimm hissed as Merizus thumped on the beaten earth beside him to tug open the chestplate. He grunted with relief, bearing a sweat-riven hairy chest, before fidgeting back. The armour gave an alarming overstressed groan, dragging the gaze of several more men and one elf woman to him.

  "The man said he'd cope. Said to rest up and set two men per watch from tomorrow."

  "Happy with that?" Grimm's said, raising an eyebrow to suggest otherwise. His eyes skittered around the men and the darkened trunks and graceful boughs surrounding them. Like many professional seamen, he disliked tramping through forests. Protracted walking in this fucker of an oversized hedge had weird glows and bugs caressing every tree. Every fear and superstition a man held, even his own, made them jump or peer into each shadow with terror a breath away.

  "Not really; they think they're in a safe area. Mathyss is right about the healin' though, I could eat through our principality on my lonesome." Merizus looked uneasy as he stared at the dancing yellow flames and rubbing his bald pate where something had chewed on him earlier.

  Harcux glanced across and propped himself up on one arm. "I wonder if their villages and missing troops said the same before they got in the shit? If their concerns are right, how many of 'em are countin' worms out there? I get workin' with us humans is new, but they look tense. 'Specially that hard-faced bitch. She's pissed at everybody, an' that's comin' from me. I fear we're looking for an ant's bollock on the beach and no mistake." No-one replied, but the looks they exchanged suggested more than a passing fear of the unknown, and Harcux may have the right of it.

  Grimm broke the brooding deadlock and tossed the stick he'd twirled between his fingers into the flames. He watched it fizzle and sighed, spitting to the side. "Fuck it. How about you have a word with Trevir, and I'll chat to Jenkans, and we'll sleep soft? They had light healin', an' an extra pair of eyes won't hurt. We can see how they work, huh?"

  "Fine, tell him?" Merizus hooked a thumb at Van Reiver.

  Grimm squinted past the thumb. The navigator sprawled eating fruit beside another small fire chatting to Carla. Dagmar brooded in silence, hunched under a cloak behind them, staring at a small scroll with the firelight, the hood of his cloak almost covering his face. Asides from the burst of humour when they equipped themselves, the magus had spoken a dozen sentences in the last half a day since he'd first scanned the parchments. For some inexplica
ble reason, the man's trying personality had vanished into his cowl and was yet to re-emerge. When that would occur would be the source of more betting—if anyone had the coin. Grimm could wait, as could the others. It would be less stressful on his nerves wondering what the fuck would happen next. The tension made him want to swear, but he suppressed it to avoid upsetting the men. He sighed and spat into the fire, making it hiss some of his frustration away.

  "Nah, let the guy rest. It's the first day in a while he hasn't had a kickin' from anyone. At least Cep's hooves are on this side of the camp, and Hadly is sulking yonder with the packs. Let them keep the woman out of our hair. Hey, you ever seen trees this big? I swear those dark-green spade leaves on that huge cross-shaped fucker of a tree were the size of Harcux. Monstrous buggers."

  "Nope, giants, aren't they?" Grimm replied, mind elsewhere. He looked over the men, clumped together in groups of fours and fives, cautiously chatting or sleeping like the dead, the sole exception being Valant and his friend Lukas in animated discussion a few paces from Hadly. Despite pulling together in the boat before the botched mutiny, Grimm knew the deckhand had been born bitter and twisted. Harbouring an abiding dislike and distrust of his fellow man even before any personal conflicts came along. He was trouble and always fuckin' would be, and it still surprised Grimm he had sided with Hadly. With a coward, Grimm's mind howled. The cox'n scratched one greying sideburn and wondered for the thousandth time why Bullsen had kept Valant aboard, and how no-one else had killed the gobshite. Deckhands were as common as nails—why keep him? Damn, he missed Claus. If his friend had known, he'd taken the secret to the afterlife with him. Carilon was easily led. He at least had the excuse of being an idiot compared to Hadly. There was spite, or a demon in the man. Closing his eyes, he feigned sleep, hoping sleep would catch him unaware.