The crew muttered amongst themselves. Maxim took a step forward. "What's this 'Burning Eye?'" he asked.
Rastalak knelt. It placed its spear aside and scratched at the ground with a long talon. A rough oval took shape, cross-hatched like a faceted egg. Or a cut gemstone. "Like this," said Rastalak. It then held both hands together, closed into fists. "And so."
"The Governor's Lantern!" exclaimed Fengel.
His heart was leaping in his chest. This was better than he could have hoped. He'd just known, known, that following the fires would lead him to the Lantern. Fengel took a calming breath and forcibly regained his composure. "Excuse me. But let me see if I understand you aright. You have the gemstone, this 'Burning Eye,' and you want us to take it away?"
The little Draykin nodded. Fengel felt a stupid grin crawl its way onto his face. He covered it with a cough into his fist. "Well," he said. "It's been a little out of our way, but I think we can accommodate you."
Rastalak pulled back the skin of its jaw in a strange smile and nodded furiously. It stood, grabbing up its spear. "This is most good," it said. "Come. The way will be difficult, and my people most hostile. But if we move quickly, and quietly, we will succeed."
The Draykin turned back to the jungle. Fengel blinked in confusion. He raised a hand to stop it.
"Sir," said Henry Smalls. "I don't think he has it on him."
Fengel scowled at his steward. "Hold on there," he said to Rastalak, waving his hands at the creature. "Hold on. I may have been hasty. Where is the Lantern at? And what did you mean by your people being 'most hostile?'"
The lizard-creature glanced back. It waved a claw at the eastward jungle. "The Burning Eye is ensconced again in its place, within the greatest temple-manse of Old Yrinium. The way is not far. But my people would resist its removal with claw and spear. They are under its sway, and the power of the Burning Eye is a fell one. We must be cunning, and quick. We sneak in, steal the Burning Eye, and you fly off never to return, yes?"
Rastalak eyed Fengel speculatively. Fengel knew a sales pitch when he heard one, even if it came from an upright lizard. Still. He'd known that the Lantern was close. And now it was; the solution to so many of his problems. And then I'll have truly beaten Natasha.
"How many people are your tribe?" he asked.
Rastalak shrugged, shook his head. "Not many."
"How many is many?" asked Maxim.
"Not so much," said Rastalak. "Few hundred."
The pirates all clamored dissent. Rastalak held out his talons. "Please to be quieting! Some of them might hear you."
That got their attention. "Wait," said Henry Smalls. "There are more of your hostile tribe nearby?
Rastalak gave them a flat look. "Your wondrous sky-barge is to be seen many, many, many leagues distant on clear day. Signal fires are also to be seen. Most of the Mauvengy are back in Yrinium, celebrating the return of the Burning Eye with new sacrifices. But hunters and scouts remain in the jungle. Fires could be worship fires, as lit on the path of the Burning Eye during its return from the wrecked water-barge. The sky-barge? Not so much. We must be going, and going quickly."
Maxim turned to Fengel. "This is madness, Captain. Let's get back aboard and get clear. I don't know what these Draykin are, but they don't sound friendly. And do we really need that gemstone?"
Fengel considered, tapping his chin. "Right you are. The locals don't sound very friendly at all. And here I am, going to do them a service, even." He turned back to Lina Stone. The young woman stood with her awful pet a short distance away watching the proceedings. "Miss Stone. Get back up aboard. Bring a message to Lucian."
She blinked at him. "Captain?"
"Mister Smalls, Gunny Lome, Oscar Pleasant, Geoffrey Lords, and Maxim are all with me and this Rastalak. We'll make our way over to the city on foot during the dark of this evening. A small group is less conspicuous. Tell Lucian to get aloft and drift on over to the city, this Yrinium. Do it as quickly as you can, then hold position. Be showy about it. I want all these Draykin busy watching you, and not us. Once we've got the Lantern in hand, we'll return here and light a fire. Then just swing back and pick us up." He rubbed his hands together. "We've plenty of coal still in our stores. It's a perfect plan. Utterly foolproof."
Henry Smalls stared at him in dismay. "Sir, you can't mean to do this. That gem is cursed, and held by a bunch of angry, violent savages. We've already got a hold full of treasure, and the Dawnhawk. Why are we even considering this?"
"There's no such thing as curses," said Fengel. "And this order is not open to debate. I mean to have that gem. Miss Stone, get back aloft. We should have the stone by noontime tomorrow."
The steward stared at him. Then he shook his head.
"Captain," said Lina. "Why can't I go? Me and Runt—"
Fengel held up a hand. He was fond of Miss Stone and she had proven useful in a pinch. But this was going to be truly dangerous work. That, and her new pet revolted him. "I've no room in the party. And docile though that thing may be, we cannot risk it. Better it be left aboard, and as it is your responsibility to look after it, you must stay aloft too." He turned back to Rastalak without meeting her eyes. "Now. You say that time is of the essence? Let us move on."
The Draykin nodded. It turned to the press of greenery and disappeared. Fengel gave one final nod to his steward and moved to follow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Miss Stone. She glared at him, then muttered under her breath and started the long climb back up to the Dawnhawk. It was for the best, really.
The ferns warding the jungle were a green wall into darkness. Fengel took a breath and pressed through. They brushed his face and caught at his jacket for a moment before giving way to a space where the last vestiges of twilight disappeared entirely. Thick underbrush fought with low-hanging creepers for space, and the wide trunks of trees stood like silent sentinels, their columns supporting the green canopy high above.
Rastalak moved like a ghost ahead of him. Its small form and scaly hide was perfect camouflage. It walked at a good speed, neither talking nor looking back at the pirates. Fengel chased after it while his crewmen followed, almost blindly. Sometimes he lost it entirely in the gloom. He would then all but run into it, waiting patiently for the humans behind to catch up.
Fengel didn't entirely trust the creature. It had lured him to their meeting via trickery and subterfuge, and with its reptilian mannerisms, he found he couldn't read the thing like he could a normal man. It was an iconoclast, though, if not an outright criminal, apparently going against the wishes of its tribe. Still, it knew where the Lantern was, and more so, wanted his help in stealing it away. Fengel was happy to oblige.
The Governor's Lantern had preyed much on his mind of late. All the night before he had dreamed of it. Today he'd had Lucian recount all that he'd heard of its initial appearance, and had then spent most of the afternoon shut in his room with the logbook. Fengel could almost see it in his mind's eye; larger than an apple, egg-shaped, milky light shining from its facets. Maybe I could sell all the treasure, and just keep the gem?
He tripped on a fallen log and almost went sprawling. Fengel regained his balance with a curse, made sure his hat was on properly, then called out to their guide. "I say. It's getting to the point I can barely see my hand in front of my face. Haven't you a torch we can light?" Maybe we should go back and gather lanterns?
Their Draykin guide paused only half a moment. "No. Too easily seen." It half-turned back to face him. "Can you not move more quietly? Your noise is great."
Before he could reply it turned back and moved onward. Fengel glared at the little creature until someone behind him stumbled. Looking back, he spied Henry Smalls cursing in the dirt.
Fengel offered a hand and hoisted his steward to his feet. "Thanks, Captain," said the little man. As he brushed himself clean of the dirt, Fengel made to turn back for their guide. Henry grabbed his elbow. "Captain?"
Fengel looked back. "Yes, Mister Smalls?"
The gloom of
the nighttime jungle made it difficult, but he saw the concern on Henry's face. "Are you feeling all right, sir?"
Fengel frowned at the other man. What an odd question. "Pardon? I'm feeling perfectly fine, Mister Smalls. Why do you ask?"
Henry shrugged, uneasy. "Well sir, you have to admit this is a little odd. Do we really need that gemstone so badly?"
Fengel stiffened. "I have made my orders clear, Mister Smalls. You may either help carry them out, or return to the Dawnhawk."
The little man sighed. "Yes, sir. Never mind, sir." He peered into the gloom ahead. "But...do you trust this creature?"
Fengel followed his gaze. "I have never heard of its kind before, these Draykin. But we all know the rumors; strange things populate this land. To answer your question, Mister Smalls: as much as I need to. It speaks Perinese, and wants to help us steal the Lantern. That is enough for now."
Sarah Lome tripped on the log and let out a curse. Henry turned back to help her up. Fengel moved on ahead to catch up with Rastalak. Their odd guide waited impatiently ahead. Without a word it led them deeper into the jungle.
Night reigned. The space beneath the canopy lightened a little as the moon came out, silver shafts of needle-thin luminescence descending to the loamy forest floor. What had seemed a strange and alien world changed yet again. The plant life seemed to writhe with their passing. Hanging vines were mistaken for snakes, and hanging snakes for vines. Insects chirped a singsong rhythm, falling quiet as the pirates passed them. A big cat growled, eyes flashing gold in the undergrowth for only half a moment before it slunk away.
Rastalak led them onward. The creature would move quickly through the jungle, pausing to wait impatiently as Fengel and his Men caught up. Other times Fengel would stumble over the Draykin, stopped somewhere ahead, squatting on its haunches and listening quietly to their surroundings.
That was how he found it now. Fengel pushed aside the last of the fronds between them and halted, panting. The air down here was thick and muggy, deeply contrasting with the cool breezes blowing above the jungle.
"What are you listening to now?" he asked.
The Draykin held up a hand for quiet. It cocked its head, as if straining to catch a sound. Fengel quieted, listening as well. The only noises he heard were his crew, swearing and stomping through the jungle after him.
"What?" he asked. "What do you hear this time?"
"Please to be quiet," said Rastalak. It listened a moment longer, then shook its head. "Nothing. Thought I heard something. But no, nothing." It straightened. "Please ask your men to be speaking little."
Fengel frowned. "I don't understand. Do you think we've been noticed?"
"No," said Rastalak after a moment. "But we have come to a sacred place."
It pressed into the greenery. Fengel frowned and hissed a call for quiet behind him. Then he pushed after their guide.
To his surprise the ferns parted to reveal a wide, rectangular space. The canopy above opened to a starry sky and a gibbous moon rising in the west. Moonlight shone down on old ruins, the remnants of a squat, pyramidal building dominating the clearing. Its peak had long ago fallen in, and most of the walls along with it. What was left were four partial walls slanted toward the open center, a stretch of flat earth both bereft of foliage and weirdly smooth.
"Follow," hissed Rastalak.
Their Draykin guide avoided entering the ruins, turning to the left to follow the exterior wall. Regretfully, Fengel did as instructed. Though the clear floor of the ruin was free of jungle, the exterior was not. The ferns brushed him, the ground was full of unstable roots, and bugs fell to crawl in his hair or along his jacket. Low-hanging vines constantly plucked at his hat. In all, it was annoying.
Rastalak turned to follow the wall up its western side. Fengel did as well, almost tripping over an especially thick root that seemed to grab at his boots. He cursed under his breath and fought for his balance before moving on. Grumbles and startled yelps echoed up from behind as the others met it.
Fengel thought to turn back, say something to bolster their morale, but stopped. A noise had sounded out in the jungle to their left, out beyond the immediate border. It was unclear— he noticed it only because of how out of place it was.
"Confound this!"
He whirled back to his crew. Henry Smalls stood behind him, sweating and exhausted. Past him stood Gunny Lome. Past her lay Oscar Pleasant, face-down on the earth, having been tripped by the root.
"Enough of this traipsing," growled Oscar. "We want to cross to the other side right? Well then, we're just wasting energy by going around!" He climbed to his feet and clambered over the wall.
Fengel didn't like Oscar. The man was boorish, crude, and perpetually disheveled. There was something almost... ratlike about him. Still, he was a member of the crew, and had been almost since the beginning. "Mister Pleasant. Get back in line this—"
Oscar took three steps into the open ruin. He glanced back at the tone in Fengel's voice, then sank. The smooth ground beneath his feet turned liquid as the pirate fell into it, splashing murky water all about. Oscar yelled out in surprise.
Fengel cursed. He called a halt behind them. Then he moved up to the wall and put his hands on it. "Quit thrashing around, you fool," he hissed. "It's quicksand." Breachtown tales abounded about this sort of threat; Fengel was mildly interested. He had never expected to see it in real life.
"But I'm sinking," wailed Oscar.
"Yes," replied Fengel, "that's the point. Now hold still while I figure this out."
His crewman stilled, panic written across his face. He had sunk to his waist and as Fengel watched, slipped an inch in the course of a minute. The problem wasn't unsolvable, however. His pirate was only a few feet past the crumbled wall.
Fengel directed Lome and Henry Smalls to cut free a long vine to use as a rope, and then ordered him pulled out. They bent to the task while Fengel stood back to watch. Rastalak appeared beside him from out of the jungle. Only long practice kept Fengel from starting in surprise.
"This noise gives us away," hissed their guide.
"Yes," admitted Fengel curtly. "Oscar is an idiot." He was vexed. The actions of a crew reflected upon the captain. "But frankly, it's surprising that something like this hasn't happened before now. We are not exactly locals."
"I have been keeping us out of most trouble," said Rastalak.
"Hmm."
They watched the rescue process. Lome found what looked like a suitable vine, only for it to rear up and reveal itself as a long snake. Calmly, Sarah broke its neck, shrugged, and then tossed the other end over the wall at Pleasant. The trapped pirate screamed.
Rastalak sighed beside Fengel. Fengel winced. He turned to the Draykin. "So," he said casually. "I have been wondering. How did you come to lose the Lantern originally?"
The guide was quiet a moment. "Your kind exist in these lands. Your tribes war and trade with the Draykin, each to their own. I have wandered far from Yrinium, to escape the effects of the Burning Eye, and to seek a solution. It was not long ago that I came across other men, from a tribe much different, a tribe such as yours.
"I followed them for a time, learning this tongue. They were travelers, scouts. Their chief was a man called Silas of the Thorn, and they were strangers to all in this land. They sought treasures, to return them to their tribe beyond the Curtain of Winds. I was gladdened; they were perfect. I approached Silas of the Thorn. After some...misgivings...we came to an agreement. In the dead of night we crept into the great temple-manse of Yrinium, and stole out with the gem. Silas of the Thorn fled back to where he had come, and I thought that the end of it."
Rastalak covered his face with one hand. "Woe! The curse of the Great Masters has proven strong, however. The Burning Eye has corrupted those hands I trusted, bringing itself back to blight my people."
The Draykin guide quieted. Fengel frowned. A kernel of discouragement had taken root as Rastalak spoke. Fengel shook his head, clearing it. Silas Thorn stole in and took it
away without a hitch. No reason why we can't do the same. And then he'd have it, and Natasha wouldn't. Though these Draykin would likely be more alert this time. He shrugged away the concern.
His crew recovered their companion. Fengel forbore from a withering chastisement. They were short on time and his disapproving stare should have to prove sufficient for now. With Rastalak leading the way again, they were back into the jungle, a seemingly endless expanse of thick foliage, biting insects, and creeping vines.
The moon rose high, and then sank low again. They encountered several more ruins along the way. Rastalak steered them around each time. Now properly warned, Fengel and his crew encountered no further issues. The Draykin treated each ruin oddly. It requested quiet as they passed, be they monolith, ruins, or simple statue. Fengel thought at first it was simple prudence, avoiding detection by the others of his tribe who would be presumably angered at their approach. It occurred to him that the cause might be something different, however; Rastalak hissed in displeasure when they would touch the stones, even just by accident.
It was obvious to Fengel that the ruins were not built by Rastalak's people. The Draykin was short, but there was something else. The dimensions were too strange, the archways too tall, the stairs too deep. Bas-relief decorations could be half made out, and though weathered and shrouded by the dark, the beings they depicted were unlike any other people he had ever seen or heard of. For all its obvious inhumanity, Rastalak was closer to man that whatever odd race were responsible for the construction of these monuments. He wondered what their relation was, these builders and the Draykin.
The answer came quite unexpectedly.
During their travel the sky had darkened to blackest night; now it lightened again into the rosy glow of pre-dawn. As they walked the jungle became lighter and more sparse, both easier to see and traverse. Though they'd walked all night, Fengel was filled with a kind of restless energy. The gem, the Lantern, was nearby. Soon it would be his.
The underbrush thinned. Fengel moved across flat, warm ground after their guide, his trousers soaked by sweat and condensation. Up ahead Rastalak stopped at a thick banyan tree, beyond which Fengel didn't see any others, or any other growth, for that matter.
Chasing the Lantern (The Dawnhawk Trilogy, Book One) Page 22
