by K. C. Julius
Great rollers rocked the ship, and both sky and sea were so bled of color that Borne could barely discern where they met. The temperature plummeted and rain pounded down with a fury. The storm was fully upon them.
Visibility diminished to a few dozen meters; if they were nearing the coast, only the lead would reveal it. The bow of the ship was pointing into the waves, and Borne timed his throw to match her rise.
He pulled up the lead and wiped the water from his eyes as he took the reading. His heart lurched when he saw the sounding, then lurched again as, straining to see through the mist, he caught sight of the unmistakeable whitecaps of breakers.
With a curse, he drew his knife and slashed his bonds. The ship pitched, and he lost his grip on the rail. For a dizzying moment, he hung in the air, his arms flailing, then his stomach struck the rail, driving the breath from his lungs.
Greyston was shouting from the helm. With a force of will, Borne heaved himself onto the deck and staggered toward the captain.
“What are you doing?” Greyston cried. “You’re supposed to be taking readings!”
Borne wrenched the tiller from the captain’s hands, ignoring Greyston’s howl of outrage, and dragged it hard right. The Balarin lurched to starboard, coming broadside to the wind, her sails slackened. A wave crashed over her stern, then another, sending floods of water surging across the deck. If they were to pitchpole now, they would all end in a watery grave.
The ship shuddered and groaned, and men were cast to the deck as she heaved about, Greyston among them. Borne stumbled, but he managed to keep his feet as he wrestled with the till to hold course, while the Balarin fought against the waves driving her.
Greyston lurched to his feet. “I’ll have you keelhauled for that!” he roared. He sprang at Borne just as another wave slammed the hull.
Borne straightened the tiller, then stepped back to surrender it to the captain. On Greyston’s orders, Negbarth jerked Borne’s arms behind his back.
The Balarin had completed her pirouette, her bow now angled sweetly through the chop, her sails billowed. As the fallen rose to their feet, one of them gave a cry and pointed beyond the swell, at the breaking waves. Looming to port fanned the submerged reef they had narrowly avoided, its treacherous coral teeth rippling just below the surface.
Greyston swore savagely, then turned to Borne. “You brilliant devil!” he cried, throwing his arms around him. “You saved her!”
A cheer rose up from the men, and Borne, released from Negbarth’s hold, submitted to an exuberant pummeling.
Once the commotion died down, Glinter called them all to order. “There’ll be a keg or two broached once the storm is past,” he proclaimed, “but for now keep to your posts.” Then, taking Borne aside, he said, “That was quick thinking, sir.” Borne noted his pointed use of the honorific. “The captain owes you his ship, and all of us our lives.”
“I only did what any of the men would have.”
“Except that most of them wouldn’t have known what to do,” Glinter replied. “I thought you said you’d never sailed before.”
“I haven’t. But I’ve read the works of some of the greatest sailors of our age. I recognized the signs of the reef from an account in Malett’s Voyage of the Falcon.”
“A learned man,” Glinter observed. “Despite what you’ve told me about your origins, it appears you’ve had all the advantages. Why have you then decided on a soldier’s life?”
“Perhaps for the same reasons as you have yourself,” said Borne. Before he could elaborate, he spotted Greyston waving him over. “It appears our captain would like a word. Do you suppose he still plans to drag me under the keel?”
Glinter snorted. “It was hardly an act of mutiny to save the bloody ship. I think it’s more likely he wants to crown you.”
Borne flashed a dimpled smile. “With his fist?”
Glinter laughed. “You’re too clever by half, lad. Now go receive your just deserts!”
* * *
As quickly as it had begun, the storm died. Blue began to seep back into the slowly churning sea as the wind dropped, and patches of sky appeared between the dissipating clouds. Once Greyston had found his bearing, the Balarin scythed through the gentling waves. Gradually the mist lifted, revealing the darker sea skirting the reef, and beyond, a thin line of coast to the east.
Borne felt his spirits soar. He had crossed the sea to Gral, where a new and challenging life awaited him. With luck, here on the continent he would be able to leave his ill-starred past behind and move forward. And he was determined to form no attachments here; he had learned the misfortune these brought. The memory of Maura came to him unbidden—standing at her window, holding Roth’s letter to her heart—but he ignored the ache that came with it. At least she would come to no harm because of him.
With the mewls of seagulls heralding imminent landfall, Borne raised his face to the sun breaking through the translucent clouds. The gods had granted him a new lease on life, and he planned to make it one of distinction.
Chapter 39
Leif
All the way to Fairendell, Leif had fretted over Maura’s decision to remain in Drinnkastel, but his spirits lifted now that they were riding into Mithralyn’s golden summer light. It felt like a homecoming, as did Elvinor’s sincere welcome amidst the chatter and laughter of elven friends. Leif didn’t even mind when Master Morgan and his father disappeared almost immediately to discuss recent events. He’d had more than his fill of affairs of state over the past few months.
Rhiandra’s reception was decidedly cooler. Her displeasure over his long absence was evident by the dark color of the smoke streaming from her nostrils.
Leif had learned that a dragon’s feelings were sensitive in the extreme, and a perceived slight required painstaking placation. “I couldn’t leave Drinnkastel any sooner,” he explained under her reproachful gaze. “The High King commanded us to stay. But I’m back now, and I won’t be separated from you again, not ever, if I can help it.”
When this didn’t seem to appease the blue, he drew on his recent observations of courtiers bent on currying favor at court.
“I’d forgotten the brilliant sheen of your scales in the sunlight,” he said with admiration. “And I’ve missed your wise guidance more than I can say.”
The color of the smoke lightened, and after a few more compliments, Rhiandra allowed him to stroke her snout. “At least you have returned,” she sniffed. “Ilyria is most pained that you came alone.”
“Where is Ilyria?” Leif asked, scanning the grove.
“In seclusion,” said Rhiandra unhelpfully. “She will appear when she chooses. Hopefully soon, for we have something of great importance to discuss with you.”
The dragoness lowered her head to allow her ears to be scratched, reminding Leif fondly of a great cat. “I suppose you want me to take you flying,” she said indulgently.
Rhiandra’s mention of “something of great importance” piqued Leif’s curiosity, but the renewed novelty of flying, particularly now that he had conquered his fear of heights, was enough to distract him. With a grin, he clambered onto her back.
They were soon skimming over Mithralyn’s verdant forests and shining lakes, Leif whooping with joy. After months in attendance in Urlion’s stifling sick room and the vigilance of watching every word, he was free again at last.
Rhiandra veered northeast toward the border with Branley Tor before skirting the coast, the sea glittering off to the east. Leif caught a glimpse of the Mynnd Range through the hazy light. Somewhere in the north, his gran would be watering the garden or collecting Gertrude’s eggs.
He felt a pang of sadness—and guilt. She would be missing him.
At least Rhiandra had forgiven him. He only wished he could share with her Master Morgan’s revelation that she might soon once more have the freedom of the skies. But he knew too little o
f the wizard’s plans, and didn’t dare to raise the dragon’s hopes prematurely.
“I’ll come first thing in the morning,” he promised before leaving her in the sheltered grove. He was rewarded with her warm breath full in his face, a dragon’s greatest gesture of affection.
* * *
That evening’s banquet more than lived up to Leif’s hopeful expectations. Not even the High King’s fare could hold a candle to Leif’s father’s table. The boards groaned under platters of game, succulent late-summer fruits, and delicate dishes made from wood mushrooms and savory roots. Fine mead, wine, and music flowed freely.
Leif found himself the center of a fair bit of attention, for although the elves were not particularly interested in the affairs of man, in days of yore they had loved to travel, and they were eager to know what Leif had seen during his time away.
“Well, I was at the Twyrn,” he said. “There was some terrific jousting.”
“Ah, jousting,” said Vrillen, without much enthusiasm. “But did you see the star showers above the Tor after the waning moon? The skies there were ever alight at this time.”
Amkissra, a willowy maiden with silver-grey eyes, laid a delicate hand on Leif’s arm. “Did you pass through the Old Wood between Fairendell and Brenhinoedd? The tilia are in blossom this time of year. How I miss their fragrance!”
“What of the waterfalls on the Tor?” Haleno asked. “With all the rain, they must have been magnificent to behold, plunging over the rim of the plateau.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t see any of these wonders,” Leif confessed. “We traveled on the river, then up the coast by sea.” Seeing their disappointed expressions, he added, “But there were dolphins—whole fleets of them—following our ship!”
“Dolphins!” Galen, a fair elf-maiden with russet tresses, clasped her hands over her heart. “Did you swim beside them?”
“Well, no,” said Leif. “But I sang with them!”
Delight replaced the elves’ regret. Pressed for more details, Leif taught them the sea shanties he’d learned from the sailors. One song led to another, and the stars were wheeling low before he felt the presence of the wizard at his side.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” said the wizard. “Leif, might I have a word?”
“Oh—yes, of course.” Reluctantly, Leif rose from the table and bid goodnight to his elven friends. It was good to be back in Mithralyn.
The wizard moved a discreet few paces away, then asked, “Did you find your secluded friends in good health?”
“Only Rhiandra was there,” said Leif. “Ilyria is upset that Maura chose not to come back.”
“Yes, I can believe that. We must accept Maura had her reasons, but it does complicate our plans. Still, we shall forge ahead. Come to my rooms after the evening feast and we can speak then.”
And before Leif could ask any questions, the wizard had moved on to speak with Frandelas.
* * *
Later, in the wizard’s chambers, Leif became aware he was being studied.
“You seem quite at home here,” Master Morgan said after a long moment. “I’m sorry that I must ask you to come away with me again once our travel arrangements are made.”
Leif gave a small shrug. “I knew we weren’t going to stay.”
He tried to sound unconcerned, though in truth he was sorry to leave so soon after returning. The company of elves suited him, for where humans saw clouds, elves glimpsed the sun beyond.
Then he remembered his vow to his dragon. “What about Rhiandra?” he asked.
“Elvinor and I agree that our need requires her to come with us, even at the risk of her being seen.”
Leif’s heart leapt. “That’s splendid, master! So the dragons will be free to rove the skies again, without fear of harm?”
The wizard’s expression remained somber. “I cannot promise this, Leif. I want to be sure we are clear on this. If Rhiandra agrees to help us, she will most certainly be in danger, not only from humans but also possibly from her own kind. I would not ask her to take this risk if the fate of Drinnglennin, and perhaps the Known World, did not hang in the balance. Our quest concerns the one true king.”
Despite the warmth of the room, Leif felt a sudden chill. He couldn’t bear to imagine Rhiandra hurt. Still, he knew the wizard wouldn’t ask for Rhiandra’s help if it wasn’t essential. “I understand,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “Can you tell me more about this quest, master, so I’m better able to explain it to her?”
The wizard lowered his voice, although they were quite alone. “Only your father knows what I am about to tell you. I had hoped that Maura would be present to hear it as well for she too has sworn to defend the next rightful High King.”
“It looks like she’s chosen to do more than defend him,” grumbled Leif.
He was surprised to see alarm flicker across the wizard’s face. “That makes our charge even more urgent,” Morgan said. “You see, Leif, I’ve learned that Urlion may have sired a lawful heir.”
“An heir? I thought the old king had no children!”
“It’s possible he had one. Before his death, Urlion himself confirmed this.” The wizard’s expression grew grimmer still. “Before I tell you more, I must remind you I will hold you to your oath.”
“I haven’t forgotten my vow, master.”
Master Morgan nodded. “Very well. The one true heir, should he or she still live, resides among the Helgrins.”
“The Helgrins!” Leif cried. “As a captive?”
“I can’t say. This child was born there.”
Leif found himself on his feet. “The heir to the Einhorn Throne is a Helgrin?”
“Keep your voice down, lad! Then sit, and I will tell you all I know.”
Leif listened in shocked silence as Master Morgan related his tale. His astonishment was undiminished when the wizard moved on to detailing the part he wished Leif and Rhiandra to play in helping find the Helgrin-raised offspring of the late High King. And through it all, one thought remained forefront in Leif’s mind: he and his dragon may have dedicated their lives to serve and protect a Helgrin barbarian.
“Aetheor, the Helgrin yarl, led the last raid on our soil,” the wizard said, “so it stands to reason that if the Helgrins took Georgiana, it was north, to his main settlement, Restaria. It’s puzzling, though, that Aetheor never tried to ransom her. A daughter of nobility would fetch a high price, and as the lawful wife of the High King, she’s worth her weight in gold. Perhaps she didn’t survive long enough to reveal this.”
He sighed. “At any rate, we’re getting ahead of ourselves. This venture won’t be possible unless Rhiandra agrees to be a part of it.”
“Why wouldn’t she?” said Leif. “She’s bound to help me honor my vow, and I know she wants to fly free. Despite the risk to her, I think she’ll agree to carry us.”
“You, yes,” said Master Morgan, “but do you remember what I told you about dragons and wizards?”
Leif nodded. “Chaos.”
“Indeed. Which means you may have a difficult task convincing Rhiandra that I can be trusted to travel with you on her back. And you have precious little time to do it.”
* * *
To Leif’s dismay, Rhiandra flatly refused.
“Do you really know so little about our kind, to ask this of me?” she growled. “No dragon would carry a wizard.” Her jewelled eyes narrowed. “How do you know that I won’t be tempted to drop him into the sea, like the nefarious Rendyl?”
“Because he’s my friend and mentor?” said Leif hopefully.
Black smoke streamed from the blue’s nostrils. “No.”
“I truly understand your objections,” Leif said. “I do know about dragons and wizards. But couldn’t you make an exception, just this once? I wouldn’t ask if our journey wasn’t essential to the security of the realm. It
has great bearing on the oath I swore, the oath that binds you as well.”
He felt a flicker of hope as the smoke from the dragon’s nostrils paled to green. She was at least giving his request consideration. He quelled the urge to press his arguments; the dragon would speak when she had decided.
“I might do it…” Rhiandra said at last. “But only because your vow binds me as well, and because Morgan once did a service for dragons at the close of the Before. However, we would need to take precautions to ensure he doesn’t do away with you mid-flight, then try to force me into a binding…”
Leif gaped at the suggestion that Master Morgan would ever consider such an act. But he held his tongue, and after an interminable silence, the dragoness spoke again.
“Very well. I will consent to carry your wizard—on one condition.”
“Anything,” Leif promised rashly.
“I’ll do it, provided that once we return from abroad, I can return to Belestar—without you.”
Leif’s heart felt as if it had been pierced once more. “You wish to leave me?”
Rhiandra shot him a fond blast of air. “What I wish has nothing to do with it, child. But Ilyria sees things that others cannot. Last night, she had a vision that our kin in the north are close to consensus on a grave matter. We must go to lend our voices, to discourage those who would choose to do harm in the world.”
“But Master Morgan said you could be in danger from the other dragons!”
“Highly unlikely,” she said disparagingly. “And even if this were so, we have an obligation to try to dissuade our kin from a disastrous course of action—an obligation that is only strengthened by your and Maura’s oath to the next High King of Drinnglennin.”
