Nightchild

by James Barclay

Hirad pushed his mug and plate away and leant forward.

  “Ren, let me tell you the way,” he said. “We are all very pleased you're with us. And we respect both your knowledge and what you've already done for The Raven and particularly Erienne.

  “But we are The Raven, and we've succeeded by always doing whatever it takes. That will not change because Jevin is a bit sensitive, all right?”

  Ren'erei opened her mouth to reply but Ilkar placed a hand on her arm.

  “Don't,” he said, managing to smile. “I'll explain later.”

  “Tell you what,” said Denser. “I'll tell you now, elsewhere. I want to hear all about my wife and daughter.”

  Ren'erei smiled. “I would like that.”

  Hirad watched them go, avoiding Ilkar's eyes and choosing to refill his mug and plate instead. Outside, the force of the wind had dropped, or perhaps it had backed again since the ship's progress was distinctly smoother.

  “Excellent tact, Hirad, well done,” said Ilkar, when the door had closed.

  “What?”

  “You and your ‘we are The Raven’ lecture. Doesn't work any more. All you've done is irritate her and we need her on our side.”

  “She needed to know how it is with us.”

  “Belligerence in the face of desperation is not how it is with us,” said Ilkar sharply. “Doing what it takes is right but there are ways and ways.”

  “And you think I took the wrong way.”

  “Strangely, yes.” Ilkar sighed. “Still, it's not like you've become different overnight, is it?”

  Hirad smiled, knowing the gentle chiding was over. “No. Sorry, Ilks, it's just that this isn't how it's supposed to be.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Us. The Raven. Gods burning, Ilkar, we're a complete mess. The Unknown's crippled, Erienne's a captive, there's Thraun…But the worst of it is that Denser's about to sacrifice his life and there's nothing we can do. It's wrong.”

  Ilkar pursed his lips. “I know. But we can still win this thing.”

  “It won't feel like winning. Denser will be dead.” He shrugged, the words he'd just spoken sounding strange, like they came from someone else's mouth.

  “It won't be like death, though,” said Ilkar, his words hollow but reflecting his sincere hope. “A part of him will survive inside Lyanna.”

  “He'll be gone,” said Hirad. “That's all I understand.”

  They fell silent, listening to the creaking of the ship, the sounds of feet overhead and the muted rush of the wind. Hirad felt tired. He hadn't slept properly for days. His body ached, his lower back and shoulders particularly. It hadn't always been like this but days of sleeping rough in the barely sheltered open, and eating only what he could catch or pick had brought home to him the reality of his age. He had come off the peak of his fitness and that meant long fights would be a struggle. Grudgingly, he had to admit that their enforced inactivity might be a blessing though his mind would continue to churn.

  To his left, Darrick had maintained a studious silence for much of the discussion, contenting himself by listening and, by and large, avoiding Denser's potentially caustic tongue. Hirad smiled inwardly. The capture of Erienne hadn't even been his fault.

  “Hey, Darrick, cheer up,” said the barbarian.

  “If you don't mind, I don't think I will,” said Darrick, not lifting his head.

  “We know it's not all your fault, all this mess. So does Denser, when he thinks about it.”

  “But it is,” said Darrick. “I should have listened to my heart before I ever rode to Arlen. If I'd let you go, you'd be on the Elm and sailing now. The Unknown wouldn't be injured. I'm a fool and I could have stopped the worst of it. I should have refused to take you.”

  “I don't think so,” said Ilkar. “Any hint of insubordination and you'd have been replaced.”

  “Can we talk about something else?” Darrick's tone was sharper than he probably intended. His mouth tugged up just a little. “What about Thraun?”

  It had been Hirad's next burning question. Thraun. More extraordinary than anything he had seen for a very long time. He nodded and looked across expectantly at Ilkar. The Julatsan sucked his lip and sat back in his chair.

  “He's in a bad state too. He's been a wolf a long time now. Too long to be returning to human form, that's clear. You've both seen the hair on his face; well, it's all over his body. But that's the simple part. He's lying like an animal. His arms are locked straight, his legs likewise but bent in at the knee. His musculature is unbalanced, his feet still have claws and his heart is far too large. And those are just the effects we could detect easily.

  “The point is that he may look more like a human but, frankly, he's not. Not yet, anyway. Now we're hoping that his physique and organs will revert further but we don't know they will.”

  “Can you keep him alive?” asked Hirad.

  “That's no problem. All we have to consider is what sort of life it's going to be. Gods falling, but his mind'll be a complete shambles. How much of his human psyche and memories he's retained is anyone's guess. He's going to need a lot of help.”

  “Then we'd better make sure that some of us stay alive to give it,” said Hirad.

  “That we had,” agreed Ilkar.

  “It's unbelievable isn't it?” said Hirad. “Thraun back amongst us. Like it was always meant to be that way.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Ilkar.

  “For weeks now, we've been reforming The Raven very slowly and in a lot of ways it feels like we never went away. But I never thought we'd see Thraun again and he followed us from Thornewood, he must have done. And now he's changed back. Hard to credit, isn't it?”

  “You said it,” said Ilkar. “If only I could offer you good news about him. Or any of us for that matter.”

  “No,” said Hirad, and his momentary lightness disappeared. “So what's to do now?”

  “Well, I don't know about you, Hirad, but it's the middle of the night and I'm shattered,” said Ilkar.

  Hirad nodded. Despite the movement of the ship, he felt he could sleep anywhere. The very thought made him yawn broadly.

  “I see you concur,” said Ilkar.

  “Yep,” Hirad said, rising and stretching. “C'mon General, you too.”

  “Good idea.”

  As Ilkar passed by him at the door, Hirad grinned, a sudden thought striking him. He grabbed on to the chance to change the mood.

  “Tell you what, Ilks, that Ren'erei. Not bad looking, eh?”

  Ilkar stared at him. “Not bad,” he agreed.

  “You could be in there. Y'know, good-looking elf like you, famous, head mage in Julatsa. Could make the trip south more entertaining for you.”

  Ilkar shook his head. “Only you, Hirad Coldheart,” he said. “In a situation like this, only you could think of sex.”

  Hirad shrugged and moved along the corridor to their cabin and bunks.

  “Sweet dreams, Ilkar.”

  Throughout the next day, the Calaian Sun struggled against strong winds whipping up the sea into a swell that reached almost thirty feet at its peak. Carrying more sail than he should, Jevin didn't leave the wheel deck all day, his eyes searching the lightning-lit, roiling dark cloud for clues, scrutinising the sails for trouble, or worrying at the wind which had precious little direction.

  Ren'erei had been with him much of the time, cajoling and encouraging. Darrick was lost in his own thoughts, a lone figure on deck or lying on his bunk in the forward area originally set aside for the Dordovan command. Of the Protectors, there was little sign. The Xeteskians stayed in the hold, only one ever appearing to ask for food or hot water. For them it was a time of rest.

  It was the middle of the afternoon. Hirad gripped the forward rail with one hand, his other arm supporting Ilkar who was leaning out again over the side of the ship, retching, his body shaking with exertion, his face wet from spray and sweat. It had been a miserable day for the Julatsan but the worry wasn't his immediate condition. The elf had al
ready voiced his concerns about the effect this would be having on his mana stamina and on his ability to concentrate and cast effectively. And they couldn't do without him if they were to stand any chance of rescuing Erienne.

  For Hirad, it was just one more problem on a mounting list. His idea that Ilkar and Denser would be able to assign ShadowWings to Protectors had already been dismissed. Even without Ilkar's seasickness, the drain from keeping Thraun and The Unknown alive and asleep was high. At best estimates, the two mages could cast their own wings for the journeys to and from the Ocean Elm and cast limited shield or offensive spells during the rescue attempt. But that was it. They were left relying on Erienne and what condition she was in was anyone's guess. Hirad wasn't getting his hopes up.

  The Sun pitched into another wave, the impact shuddering through her hull and sending a wash of spray over the foredeck and soaking them once again. Despite the constant drenching, it was where Ilkar said he felt most comfortable, though that was clearly a relative term.

  Hirad stared at the sky. On the far horizon, lightning sheeted across the heavens, illuminating the black of the clouds and the angry, white flecked, dark grey of the ocean. Above them, the thick, unbroken ceiling of cloud stormed by at frightening pace, driven by a wind which, had it come down to sea level, would have driven them straight to the bottom of the sea. There was no longer any land in sight behind them and he felt a shiver of anxiety down his back because there was no certainty they would see any ever again.

  The barbarian could understand the superstitions of the sailors all too easily. He had been sceptical of them at first but now the desire to have something to hang on to that settled the mind was one with which he could sympathise.

  All over the ship, the signs were there. Every cabin had a shrine to one of the Gods of the Sea or the Skies. Figurines, dried flowers, candles and tiny models of boats floating in water-filled, carved wooden bowls were common. And by the head of every crew bunk, prayers were carved into the wood, or pinned up, painted in garish reds and yellows. Not one of the crew was without a talisman, either fish or bird and always metal, around his neck.

  But the most curious superstition surrounded the cat. Hirad knew ships commonly kept a cat on board to kill rats and mice but on this ship at least, it went much further. The animal had a luxurious basket, plenty of meat and biscuit and a bowl of water was always full. One of the crew, he had been told, was duty bound each day to see it safe, examine it for splinters, sing it songs of the sea and place it in its basket at the start of the first night watch. Naturally, being a cat, it would sleep elsewhere but the tradition could not be ignored. Whatever kept them happy was fine with Hirad.

  Ilkar straightened a little and turned his dripping, ashen-white face to Hirad.

  “Let's go back, I've got to lie down.”

  “Jevin said it was worse if you stayed below deck,” said Hirad.

  “He also said I'd get my sea legs by tomorrow and I don't think that's possible either. Help me below.” He gagged suddenly again and spat bile over the side which whipped away.

  “Come on then, walk on my inside.”

  Hirad kept a hand on the rail and the other arm around Ilkar as the two friends walked slowly to the forecabins. As he opened the doors, he heard a shout and turned to see Ren'erei hailing them from the wheel deck. She made a shrug and pointed, presumably at Ilkar. Hirad shook his head, indicated himself and pointed back at the wheel deck. Ren waved her understanding.

  Ilkar and Hirad were sharing a tiny cabin which looked out over the port side of the ship. Ilkar had the bottom bunk and Hirad helped him take off his cloak, lie down and then wiped his face with a towel. The ship rolled and pitched. Hirad stumbled.

  “Oh Gods, I wish I was dead,” groaned Ilkar.

  “Just try and sleep. I'll see if there's anything that can help you.”

  “A knife in the heart should do the trick,” said Ilkar, closing his eyes briefly and putting his hands over his face.

  Hirad patted his shoulder. “I'll bring one for you. See you later.”

  “Get the Captain to find us a millpond, would you?”

  Hirad chuckled. “Keep it up, Ilks.”

  He closed the door and walked back up on to the deck. Funny. He'd hardly ever been aboard ship either but felt absolutely fine. Balance wasn't difficult except when the ship drove down into a wave and he'd slept long, eaten a good breakfast and, in complete contrast to Ilkar, felt more refreshed than he had in days. Climbing the ladder to the wheel deck, he wondered if he hadn't missed his calling.

  Captain Jevin and Ren'erei stood behind the helmsman, all three elves looking alternately at the flag riding atop the main mast and at the compass to the right of the wheel. Jevin's face was set severe and he barely nodded acknowledgement as Hirad came to stand by them.

  “How're we doing?” he asked, his voice raised above the roaring of the wind. Rain started to fall again, heavy and punishing. He drew his furs closer.

  “Well, we'll be faster than the Elm,” said Jevin.

  “How come?”

  “Because they are a smaller vessel, less broad and long. Their skipper'll be running minimal sail in these conditions. She wasn't built for this.” He turned to look at Hirad. “Mind you, neither were we.”

  “Will we catch her?” asked Hirad.

  Jevin licked a finger and held it up as if testing the wind. He scowled. “Gods, man, how the hell should I know? I don't know how far they are ahead, in which direction they are going and how fast they are travelling. It's all guesswork. This weather should not be possible. The wind comes from three directions, the swell ignores them all and I'm trusting my compass but don't know whether I should. I know we're heading south but that's about it.”

  Hirad nodded. It had been a daft question.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Please do everything you can. So many lives depend on you.”

  Ren looked at him in some surprise but there was a smile on her lips. She touched his arm and mouthed her thanks.

  “My crew are brave and I am too young to die this voyage,” said Jevin, his voice a little softer. “Best you tend to your sick and leave the wheel deck for sailors.”

  Hirad turned to go but the Captain hadn't finished.

  “Go to the galley. Ask the duty cook for some Lemiir powder. Tell him I sent you or he won't give it you. Dissolve it in water. That should soothe Ilkar's head and stomach. Help him sleep.”

  “Thank you.”

  Jevin nodded curtly and turned back to the sails.

  Night was coming again, though the day of lowering cloud, buffeting wind and sometimes torrential rain had been so dark it would hardly seem to make a great difference.

  On the Ocean Elm, the skipper patted his helmsman on the shoulder. It was a small gesture but the elf knew what it meant. He nudged the wheel very slightly, bringing the ship four degrees into the wind. With the pitching and yawing of the vessel in the storm, there was no way Selik would discern the change in direction nor the reduction in speed. He was no sailor.

  Indeed, the skipper could see him now, clutching at the starboard rail, his face feeding on the wind, his stomach hopefully churning. He had already seen the man vomit half a dozen times as the storm worsened. He would be weakened and inattentive. It was a pity that some of the mages with him were not. Particularly the old one.

  Berian, his name was, and he spent altogether too much time peering over the skipper's shoulder. It was he who had determined the course and he whom the skipper watched for before indicating that course could change. There was something dangerous about this Dordovan. He knew a good deal about the sea and watched the compass closely when on the wheel deck, waiting for it to settle between pitches before nodding acknowledgement that all was well.

  But he had not been there through the early hours of the morning and his deputy had no idea what he was looking at. They had strayed far off course in that time and bought any pursuit precious hours. The skipper had not started looking back yet. Perhaps on the
third day he would but even that might arouse suspicion.

  He knew there would be pursuit. He had great faith in Ren'erei and her capacity to get aboard another elven ship. He prayed The Raven would be with her but the battle he had left behind on the docks of Arlen left those hopes severely dented. He needed to know that, as he approached Herendeneth, he wouldn't be leaving the Al-Drechar helpless. If another ship followed, and could match them through the tortuous waters of Ornouth, they still had a chance.

  Below him, on the main deck, Erienne had been allowed a brief walk in the fresh air. He had managed to catch her eye as she was ushered back below by a mage guard and had smiled in what he hoped was encouragement. But she had the air of the condemned and he found it hard to disagree with her mood.

  “Captain?” His helmsman indicated the starboard rail. Three mages were talking with Selik and, among them, Berian gestured behind him more than once at the wheel deck. It was an angry conversation and the skipper bit his lip.

  “Come back to heading, lad,” he said, his lips barely moving. “And keep yourself calm.”

  The helmsman nodded, waited for the next pitch and edged the wheel away from the wind. The skipper felt the take on the sails, which were as light as he could argue, drive through the timbers at his feet. The four men left the rail and headed for the helm.

  “Keep looking forward,” whispered the skipper, his face down looking at the compass.

  “Aye, skipper.”

  Footsteps rattled on the ladder and thumped across the wheel deck. The Captain was shoved aside and managed to assume an air of indignant surprise as he found Selik's sword resting on his chest.

  “What have we done now, oversweetened your tea?” he asked, looking past the Black Wing at the mages who gathered around the compass.

  Selik backhanded him across the cheek and he stepped back, rolling with the blow.

  “You are testing my patience, elf,” drawled Selik. “Berian?”

  “Our direction is correct,” replied the old mage.

  “But it wasn't always the way, was it Captain?” Selik pushed the point of his blade a little closer, the skipper aware that a sudden roll could end his life.