by Terry Brooks
The highlander stared. The old man was not wearing his coat, either.
Dar exhaled sharply. What is wrong with these people? He reached down and shook Tindall awake, worried for a moment when he did not respond that he had frozen himself. But finally the old man stirred and opened his eyes.
“Just resting. What’s wrong?”
Dar helped him sit up. “What are you doing back here in the first place?”
“Making sure Annabelle is safe and sound.” He sounded defensive and irritated. “Some of her components can be damaged when it’s this cold, you know. I had to wrap them in protective insulation.” He grinned. “Worried about me, were you?”
“I shouldn’t have to be! You should be worrying about yourself. Where’s your coat?”
“I took it off and left it near the canvas opening. It was too hard to work in, too confining. The work is very precise, very unforgiving.”
“Unforgiving, is it? You and Shea Ohmsford are too much alike. Old or young, you are objective proof that it’s possible to be foolish at any age.” He reached down and pulled Tindall to his feet. “Get your coat back on and go down the hatch to your quarters.”
The old man yanked himself free. “I don’t want to go inside! I need to go back to work. Let me be!”
“It is well below freezing out here, and the wind is blowing with enough force to send you over the side. If something breaks the ties that bind your machine to the decking, it could fall and crush you. So either you go down on your own right now or I will carry you down.”
For a moment they were nose-to-nose. Then Tindall nodded. “I’m going. But I’m coming back!”
He moved past Dar, grabbed his coat, shrugged into it, and was passing through the gap in the canvas when the Blade called after him. “You come back when I tell you it is safe and not before. Otherwise, I will have you bound and gagged!”
Tindall stomped away through the snow and cold. Dar gave him a moment before following. Once outside, he watched until the hunched form reached the hatchway, fighting hard with every step against the force of the wind and the rocking of the huge transport. Stubborn old nut. Dar began searching for Shea, half expecting to see him coatless again, but instead he found the boy forward with Brecon, standing inside the pilot box, his coat securely fastened. The pair were huddled against the back wall, staying well out of the way of the two Rovers who were wrestling with the thruster controls and steering. He climbed the steps to join them, brushing snow from his coat and stomping his boots to warm his feet. Both crewmates gave him a curt nod without breaking off their efforts to manage the airship. He nodded back and took a place beside the boy and the Elf.
“Tindall wasn’t below, but when I came to tell you, Brecon said you’d found him,” Shea announced, a bit defensively.
“Did you get the old man out?” Brecon interrupted.
“All the way out and safely belowdecks, although he’s threatened to come back up again.” He gave Shea a stern look. “Old fool had his coat off, too, trying to work on his machine. Wonder who taught him that?”
Brecon was staring at Shea, too.
“All right, I know not to do it again,” the boy muttered grudgingly. “But Tindall has reason to be worried. Some of what makes Annabelle work is very fragile; the controls and measuring devices need to be calibrated to just the right levels. The cold could throw all that off!”
Dar brushed the snow out of his hair. “I understand. But he also does no one any good by freezing himself or catching a sickness that might kill him. He needs to be careful, and you need to help with this, Shea. You have to watch out for him—even if he doesn’t choose to watch out for himself.”
He turned to Brecon. “We must be getting close to where we need to set down. Have you used the Elfstones yet today to determine exactly where we are?”
The Elven prince laughed. “I don’t have to. The princess knows the way. She has been guiding us ever since we first sighted land. This is her country, and she needs no help from me. But you might want to go forward and ask her what she plans now that we’re here. She’s more likely to open up to you than she is to the rest of us. I know it’s unlikely, but even in weather like this we might be spotted from the ground. So no need to risk showing ourselves if we can avoid it.”
Dar agreed. “Give me a minute to get warm and I’ll have a word with her.”
Brecon laughed. “Why bother getting warm? As soon as you go outside you’ll get cold all over again!”
Dar shook his head and went back out into the weather. Pointless to argue with reasoning like that.
He stumbled and lurched his way forward to the bow, where Rocan and Ajin were deep in conversation. Even though their words were lost in the wind’s howl and the ocean’s deep roar, he could tell by their animated hand movements and intense expressions that they were arguing about something.
“The princess wants to hug the shoreline and turn up a river channel to reach her home city,” said Rocan angrily as Dar approached. “But I think going inland is too risky if it takes us that close to the Skaar and their weapons. Don’t they have airships?”
Dar had to agree. “Why not find a cove along the shoreline and take flits inland?” he asked Ajin.
“Too dangerous.” The way she said it suggested she was not exaggerating. “Look at this ocean. Even an inlet or cove would offer little protection against weather like this. The ocean is unforgiving, as I know too well. Staying out on the coast is far riskier than anything we might encounter going farther inland. What we need to do is just what I suggested: follow the river toward the capital city.”
“Just sail inland, right up to their docks?” Rocan was growing exasperated. “And you think they won’t notice?”
“I didn’t say anything about sailing up to their docks. If we enter the river channel, either sailing or flying in, we can put into any number of natural ports along the way. The city is a hundred miles upriver, so Skaar soldiers don’t guard the entrance; they don’t need to. The river is a mass of riptides and shallows, with rocks that will tear out the bottom of your hull if you don’t know where to go. But I do know. I can get us close enough to walk in. I also know where to shelter the Behemoth so no one will see us after we’re anchored. Doesn’t that sound safer to you?”
Dar looked at Rocan. “I think she’s right. It will be night by the time we start in. And in this weather, even if we fly above the cliffs, we won’t be seen unless the skies clear. And that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen.”
“It hasn’t happened for more than a dozen days a year in four years,” Ajin affirmed. “It won’t happen tonight, either.”
“So we anchor where the Behemoth can’t be seen and go from there. And no one will stumble over the ship once we’re at anchor?”
Ajin shrugged. “I won’t say there isn’t any chance, but it won’t be any greater than what we would face by anchoring on the coastline. And it will be safer.” She paused. “But it’s your decision, Captain Arneas.”
“Let’s consider what we plan to do,” Dar said quickly, intervening. “We need to test Annabelle to see if she can effect a change in the weather. That is the first and most important reason we’re here, isn’t it?”
Rocan nodded. “And we need to get started on that right away.”
“Other than that…” Dar looked expectantly at the Skaar princess. “What do you intend to do, Ajin?”
She gave him a long look, her blue eyes narrowing. “I think you already know. I will go into the city to find my mother. I need to determine if she is still safe from the pretender.”
“Will you come back to the airship afterward?”
Suddenly she was angry, her face flushed and twisted. “I will do whatever I have to do, Dar Leah! I don’t have to answer to anyone here. I will do what I must, and it will be my choice. If I don’t come back, you can feel free to
leave me behind when you go.”
“But you will help us in the meantime?” Dar kept his voice calm and steady. He was pressing things, but he needed to know exactly what they could expect of her. “We might need your services.”
Ajin shook her head. “I got you here and I will get you safely anchored. But I owe you nothing more.”
“I think maybe you do,” Rocan interrupted. “We gave you free passage home. We helped you escape your father and your enemies in the Four Lands. You owe us for that, and doing nothing more than helping us anchor is not sufficient.”
She gave him a furious look, then glanced at Dar. He nodded slightly. She exhaled sharply and looked away, her lips tightening. “I am a Skaar princess. I owe nothing to anybody who is inferior in station!”
Dar almost laughed at such a wild proclamation, but he understood the cause. She had been stripped of everything, so she was clinging to the small claim she still had on the Skaar hierarchy. She was frustrated, and she was worried. Her mother was in danger, and she felt compelled to act.
“You are an exiled Skaar princess,” Rocan pointed out quietly. “And while you are aboard my airship, you are beneath me in station. This is my command, not yours. But perhaps we might both be satisfied if we continue doing whatever the situation calls for. I will not hold you to more than your promise to help us in any way you can. Fair enough?”
She glared at him a moment, then nodded. “Well said. I lost my temper. I will help you so long as it does not prevent me from going to my mother.”
Dar gave her a smile, but she barely glanced at him.
“We need some sort of map to find our way into and about the city, in case you do not return,” Rocan said. “Will you provide us with one?”
“I will draw you one,” she promised.
And then she stopped speaking entirely except to give them instructions on where to fly to reach safety.
* * *
—
They flew north for the remainder of that day and far into the next, hugging the coastline without putting the Behemoth in danger of being dashed into the cliffs. The wind continued to blow steadily with occasional sharp gusts, the temperature continued to fall, and the snow increased. By the time night arrived, they were engulfed in a virtual whiteout. But Ajin d’Amphere continued to guide them, clearly confident in her knowledge of where to go and how to get there. Even when Dar and Rocan could see nothing, Ajin’s instincts and experience seemed unerring, so they let her take command. She kept them flying, dismissing a suggestion from Rocan, who said—once and only once—that it might be safer to seek anchorage until morning.
“It would not be safer to anchor out here. It would be safer to get past all this weather and inland to where we can anchor and sleep. Surely you know your crew is exhausted, Captain. Once at our anchorage, the winds will diminish to almost nothing. And while the cold and the snow remain, we should be able to sleep. Keep flying, please.”
So they did, pushing on until Ajin took them through a pair of towering cliffs that bracketed a broad river, flying into the river’s mouth at five hundred feet and then ascending to one thousand and a bit more when the cliffs heightened and the passageway narrowed. She had suggested that staying aloft would be safer than attempting a water landing and navigating the treacherous river when visibility was so poor. So they stayed airborne as they traveled, and before long she took them down into a spacious bay that was well inland and surrounded by heavy forest.
Once landed on the bay’s much quieter waters, they put out their anchors and secured their vessel. A watch was set while the rest of the passengers and crew went to sleep.
Dar watched Ajin start away without him, reconciling himself to a night of sleeping alone, but then she turned around and came back, taking his hand in hers and towing him after her. He did not resist. They went below to her cabin, where they had slept during the entire voyage to Skaarsland, and she led him inside and closed the door behind them.
“Do not try to pin me down like that ever again,” she said softly when they were inside.
“I apologize,” he said at once, aware by now of his misstep. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
She studied his face intently, almost as if trying to find or understand something that was hidden. He stood quietly in front of her, the smokeless lamp at the doorway providing the only light available, playing off her exquisite features as her eyes locked on his.
“My concern is for your safety,” he said finally. “Do you not know me well enough by now to see this?”
She smiled suddenly, warm and promising as she stepped close. “I think I will need the rest of my life to know you as well as I want to,” she whispered. Then she squeezed his hand and pulled on it gently. “Come to bed.”
TWENTY-THREE
Ajin d’Amphere rose before the sky was light and dressed in the darkness of her cabin. She was careful to make no sound, so as not to awaken Dar. She had already determined that she was going into the city alone. He had told her he wanted to accompany her the previous night, and she understood why he felt compelled to offer his protection. Dar meant well, and she knew that he loved her by now—as much as she loved him—but Ajin was still her own person and quite able to handle whatever came her way. And she had no interest in being watched over—not even by him.
So even though she had known how right they would be together and how much she wanted him at her side for the rest of her life, she also knew she needed to maintain her independence. She had relied on herself for too long, careful to keep a measured distance from everyone else—her various lovers, comrades, and friends included. Loving someone meant giving them their independence to whatever degree they required it. She didn’t think Dar understood that yet, but she hadn’t survived her harsh life as the daughter of a man who had cast both his wife and her aside by clinging to others for help. She had made her own way in the world, and she intended to keep doing so.
By loving Dar as much as she did and letting him know it, she had given up more than she had before. She had let him get closer than anyone save her mother, but she could only go so far before she had to draw a line. So she was drawing that line here. Going to her mother was something she would do alone.
The fire in the little stove had been reduced to ashes, and the cabin was very cold. Once dressed, she grabbed her weapons and a backpack of supplies she had gathered up the night before, and went out the door silently. She did so without making even the slightest sound. She left her boots off until she was outside and well down the hallway. Once at the steps leading up to the hatchway, she slipped the boots on and went topside.
It was snowing again. She watched the heavy flakes fall in a broad curtain of white, breathing in the crisp night air. The sky was overcast, and there was no sign of moon or stars. Ambient light from the distant city and a quartet of muted watch fires fore and aft on the Behemoth’s decking provided enough light to let her see where she was going. She moved over to the watch and told him she was leaving for the city, should anyone ask, but would be back in a day or so. And would he be willing to convey her to shore in one of the flits so she could begin her journey?
He agreed, of course. She knew how to ask, and she knew how he would respond. She knew how she affected men. She was Ajin d’Amphere, after all, and she was seldom denied anything she wanted.
She told the Rover sentry that no one was to follow her, but she was thinking primarily of Dar Leah. He would be irritated, but he would come to understand. She would walk the ten miles to where the city was nestled on a bluff along the riverbanks and go in from there. She would find her mother and then decide what else needed doing.
She boarded the flit with the sentry sitting at the controls, and they lifted away from the transport and turned toward the distant shoreline. The waters on which the Behemoth rested were black and depthless. White snowflakes tumbled out of the sky, landed on their
surface, and disappeared. Of wind, there wasn’t a trace, but the air was still and bitter where it touched the skin of her face. She wore her heavy winter coat and gloves, but she was cold nevertheless. That would change once she started walking; her body heat would protect her. The ten miles would pass quickly enough, and she knew the journey would be easy. She was used to walking. She had marched the length and breadth of countless countries in Eurodia.
Memories of childhood came back to her, and for a moment she thought she might cry. But the moment passed and her eyes stayed dry. It took a lot to make her cry these days, and it had for a long time now. She thought about the child she had been and the woman she was, and found herself astonished to think how far she had come in her short life. But how you grew and what you became were not always choices you had control over. They were as much the result of fate and chance as they were of free choice, because all too frequently you had to adapt to what life threw at you.
When the flit landed, she thanked the sentry and started walking into the trees. She did not turn to watch as the flit lifted off for the return flight, her thoughts of what she intended already racing ahead of her. It had seemed the matter was settled. She would find her mother, prepare her for leaving the city, then kill the pretender. That she could accomplish both was not something she had questioned, but now she was wondering if the latter was needed. As much as she despised her father’s new wife and queen, she no longer felt a white-hot urge to destroy her. In part, it was because she was in love with Dar and saw a future for herself that she had never seen before. In part, it was because she simply no longer cared about the woman. Her father had made the choice to cast off her mother and herself in favor of this scheming, ambitious witch, so maybe he should be left to live with the consequences.
As she walked, the sun rose above the horizon—an invisible presence behind the heavy blanket of clouds covering the sky—lightening the darkness and giving the new day a brighter cast. She tromped through snow that was only a foot deep and feather-light—a recent covering that offered little resistance to her passage. Her breath plumed the air before her as she exhaled, and she felt her body heat expanding beneath the heavy coat. She studied the familiar landscape; she had passed this way hundreds of times before. The trees surrounding her were coated with a mix of ice and moisture, and they had the look of soldiers after a long march and a battle. Everything was dying in this country, she thought suddenly. The world she had known as a child was gone, and what was left was going to disappear if nothing changed.
