“Your Highness, we haven’t time for delay,” the captain began to protest. “Your father has entrusted me with your life.”
“My life may depend on the girl in that boat,” Taera responded. “All of our lives. If you’re in such a hurry, then get her on board quickly, and we can be on our way again.”
“Of course,” the captain agreed, and he hurried off to join the first mate at the quarterdeck.
When it became apparent to Parmo and Makarria that Pyrthin’s Flame had spotted them and was approaching, Parmo knew there was no sense in trying to hide anymore.
“Grab up that sail and start waving it,” he told Makarria. “When they get here, try to let me do the talking, but if anyone asks you, we’re from a little village south of the badlands. I’m your Uncle Parmo, and we were sailing to visit relatives in another village to the north before we got caught up in a storm three weeks ago. Our sail was ruined and we’ve been drifting in the trade currents ever since. Don’t mention anything about your parents or the farm or Spearpoint Rock, and certainly don’t mention anything about dreams or me being your grampy. What’s my name again?”
“Uncle Parmo.”
“Good,” he said and turned his attention to their belongings. There were an awful lot of things in the little boat, but he would claim they were family heirlooms for their relatives if anyone asked. He re-wrapped his sword in the burlap, then bundled the sword and everything else worth saving in the wool blankets. He didn’t like the idea of being unarmed, but he knew a sword would do him little good against an entire ship crew. We can only hope they’re not looking for us, and if they are, then let’s just hope they don’t realize it’s us they’re looking for.
The captain of Pyrthin’s Flame ordered his crew to drop sail thirty fathoms out, and the frigate drifted to a near-stop six fathoms from the skiff. Makarria happily waved to the crew of the much larger ship, now plainly visible on deck, and Parmo took up the oars of the skiff to paddle them to the brig’s portside. When they got close enough, the crew of Pyrthin’s Flame threw out a guideline, and Makarria grabbed it up out of the water and quickly tied it to the cleat at the bow of the skiff. The crew began towing them in, and moments later they clunked into the hull of the Pyrthin’s Flame, which towered above them. The crew lowered a rope ladder and Parmo helped Makarria get started before grabbing his bundle of belongings and following after her.
On deck, sailors helped Makarria and Parmo over the main rail. Makarria was so happy she couldn’t stop saying thank you. Parmo quickly spotted the captain and thanked him for his generosity, then began the quick rendition of the story he had concocted explaining their predicament.
A short distance away Taera stood staring at Makarria. She had seen Makarria’s face so often in her visions of late she felt as if she already knew her. “Hello,” she said, touching Makarria on her shoulder. “I am Taera. I’ve been waiting to meet you.”
Makarria hadn’t even noticed Taera at first, but she looked at her now and smiled. She had never seen a woman so beautiful before. Apart from her mother and the farmer’s wives at the few nearby farmsteads, she had not seen any other women at all.
“You’re a princess,” Makarria said in awe, her eyes soaking in Taera’s golden hair and her simple, yet elegant dress.
“Yes. I am Princess Taera Delios of Pyrthinia. What is your name, if I may ask?”
“Makarria.”
Taera bent forward and grabbed Makarria in an embrace. Makarria had no idea why a stranger would want to hug her, but she returned the embrace, and after a moment she realized she was crying and did not want to let go.
“It’s very good to meet you, Makarria,” Taera said, holding her tighter. “You’re safe now. Everything is going to be alright.”
The full moon rode high in the night sky, but beneath the canopy of cypress trees skirting the River Kylep it was utterly dark. Natarios swore and held up the hem of his black cloak to keep it from dragging in the puddles between the gnarled cypress roots and tripping him up. A chorus of bullfrog croaks reverberated through the stale air, punctuated by the occasional shrill cry of a nocturnal bird. It was enough to make the hair at Natarios’s neck stand on end, but he was thankful it was only frogs and birds he heard and not some predator.
At the bank of the river, the moonlight glimmered off the glass surface of the water, and at the far bank, a hundred yards distant, was another black wall of cypress trees. What caught Natarios’s eye though, was the ship sitting at anchor in the middle of the river. It was strangely umbrageous—somehow not catching a glint of the moonlight—and it appeared to be inverted to Natarios’s eye. The top half was long and cylindrical like the hull of a warship, but the bottom half was no larger than the cabin on a small fishing trawler. Natarios couldn’t begin to imagine how the thing stayed afloat in the water. Best not to worry about it, Natarios decided. It’s certainly no more bizarre than seeing a man turn into a raven.
Natarios opened the shutter on the small lantern he carried—twice in quick succession to signal the ship. Shadowy figures moved along the bottom half of the ship in immediate response, and a few short moments later Natarios could make out a rowboat with two people on board heading his way. When the boat reached the shore, Natarios helped the female passenger onto solid ground, but the giant of a man who held the oars made no effort to disembark.
“Mistress Roanna, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Natarios greeted the woman.
“Well met, Houndkeeper Natarios. I hope you were not followed? The Flying Wolf knows nothing?”
Natarios felt a sharp pain between his legs and looked down to see that Roanna was pressing the tip of a dagger into his groin. “No, no one knows,” he stammered.
“Good,” Roanna said, pulling the dagger back into one sleeve of her heavy cloak. “Tell me what you know of the Princess. Have you sensed anything from her?”
“Yes. Since Wulfram was last here, the scent-hound has been smelling much activity. I’ve been moving the hound around the city to pinpoint the exact location, and there’s no doubt: it’s coming from Castle Pyrthin.”
“Excellent. The renewed activity coincides with the return of her brother, it seems.”
“Perhaps. There was the firewielder the Prince killed, but there has been much other strange activity of late, even before that. We found something on the peninsula east of Pyrvino, and Wulfram has been off chasing that lead ever since. He seemed unreceptive when I suggested there might be a sorceress in Kal Pyrthin…”
Roanna spat. “Wulfram is a fool, more animal than man. It’s the Princess we’re after, I’m certain. Between what the dead brother told us, and the young one, and now your own hound, it has to be her. We’ll steal her away tonight before the Flying Wolf returns. We’ll need your help.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible,” Natarios said.
“You needn’t worry about any harm coming to you. I’m not asking you to get us past the gates—we’ll be entering from above. I just need information: what tower she resides in, how many sentinels are on watch, what their routine is…”
“No you don’t understand. She’s gone.”
“Gone?”
Natarios nodded and grinned, still rather smug with himself for having figured it all out. “Two days ago come morning the hound quit sensing anything. That very afternoon the Princess allegedly took ill and only the physician and the King have been allowed to see her since. Other members of the household staff have seen her from a distance, but none of them have gotten close enough to see that it’s not really her, that it’s a decoy. You see, there’s a classy brothel a few streets in from the harbor, and they have a young girl there who’s known for being as beautiful as the Princess herself. Courtiers and courtesans that find themselves lovestruck over the princess pay good money to—”
“What are you getting at, imbecile?” Roanna snapped. “Where has the Princess gone?”
“She’s sailed off on a ship, heading to the East Islands,” Natario
s grumbled, bristling at her dismissal of his story. “They used the girl as a decoy.”
“What ship is it?”
“Pyrthin’s Fire. It’s brand new, a two-master, probably the biggest ship you’ll find outside of the Sol Sea. I doubt you’ll be able to catch her in that ship of yours, and even if you did, it’s manned with every sailor in the Pyrthin navy worth his salt.”
“You needn’t worry yourself about it anymore,” Roanna said, turning to get back into the rowboat. “Return to your normal duties for the Emperor. This conversation never happened.”
“And my money?”
The big man in the boat flung a coin purse, smacking Natarios square in the sternum and knocking him backward over a root into a mud puddle.
“You’ll get the rest when we have the Princess and the Emperor is dead,” Roanna said as the big man pushed the boat off and began rowing toward their ship.
Good luck getting past Wulfram first, Natarios quipped silently as he opened the drawstring on the purse and counted his money. It was less than he had hoped for but more than enough to be worthwhile. He had no love for Wulfram and the Emperor, and as much as he’d like to see the both of them dead and get paid the rest of his money, he’d seen well enough what Wulfram was capable of. He was skeptical any sorceress could pose harm to him. In all likelihood Wulfram would return soon, and Natarios would have to tell him that the Princess had fled. Wulfram would go after Pyrthin’s Fire, and if Roanna got in the way, he’d kill her. Serve her right for not letting me talk.
Natarios pushed himself to his feet, intent on getting away from the river and trees and back to his tower as quickly as possible, but Roanna’s ship caught his eye, and he turned just in time to see it pull up anchor. He stood there staring in disbelief, because rather than drifting downstream, it drifted up into the air.
“An air-ship,” he marveled. “Even the Emperor doesn’t have one of those.”
13
The Bond
With the sun at his back, Parmo could see for miles on the eastern horizon: nothing but blue sea and a few puffy white clouds. They were heading east again, toward the East Islands, as luck would have it. Parmo could still hardly believe it. The captain of Pyrthin’s Flame had told Parmo that they would return to Kal Pyrthin afterward, and Parmo readily agreed to work on the ship in exchange for passage. He didn’t tell the captain that he meant to stay on the East Islands with Makarria. The man seemed nice enough, but Parmo didn’t trust anyone. It would be an easy enough task, and safer for everyone, for Parmo to slip away with Makarria once they were in port in the East Islands.
“Hey there,” one of the sailors barked, interrupting Parmo’s reverie, “those whippings aren’t going to finish themselves.”
“Aye, right you are,” Parmo said pleasantly enough, but inwardly he cursed the man. I know more about sailing than you and the rest of this fool crew combined. Still, Parmo took pride in his work, and he turned his attention back to the whippings he’d been at all day. There were nearly one hundred and forty lines on Pyrthin’s Flame, and the ship still being new, none of the ends had been finished. The captain had tasked Parmo with finishing them all, which involved binding the ends of the three-stranded ropes with an intricate combination of sewing and knotting to keep the ends from unraveling. Parmo was not yet even a quarter of the way done. He picked up his sail-needle with a sigh and tightened the leather palm he wore over his right hand. It was tedious work, but at least it passed the time he figured. He would have preferred to spend his time with Makarria, but the Princess on board had more or less adopted her. Parmo still could not fathom why the Princess was on board in the first place, but he knew better than to ask questions and arouse any suspicion. Just stay quiet and Makarria will tell me all about it when we get safely off ship in the East Islands, he reminded himself.
Makarria, for her part, was having a perfectly wonderful time with Taera. The Princess had helped her bathe the day before when they’d been rescued, then insisted that Makarria stay with her in her cabin. The cabin did not have a particularly comfortable bed by Taera’s standards, but to Makarria it was the most luxurious thing she had ever experienced, especially after sleeping in a skiff for the last week or more. Makarria still couldn’t believe that she had met a princess. Taera, with her long blond hair and clear blue eyes, was more beautiful than Makarria ever imagined a woman could be. By comparison, Makarria with her brown hair and dark-tanned skin felt like a wretched-looking whelp.
“You don’t speak much, do you?” Taera asked her.
Makarria looked up to see Taera staring at her from across the bed where she sat combing her hair. “I don’t?”
“No, you’re very quiet, and sometimes you’re not even listening when I speak. Your eyes see me, but you’re somewhere else.”
Makarria glanced away, embarrassed. “My mother says that too. She says whenever there’s work to do I go off into my own little world.”
Taera smiled and rubbed Makarria’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, I was the same when I was your age.”
“Really? Did your mother yell at you too?”
“No. I didn’t have my mother around much growing up. She died when I was very young.”
Makarria covered her mouth in shock.
“It’s alright, sweetie,” Taera assured her. “As I said, I was very young and I barely remember her. I was well taken care of. I imagine it’s quite different being a farmer than it is being a princess. No one has ever depended on me to milk goats or tend to a garden.”
Makarria shrugged. “It’s not so bad. If I work hard, I’m usually done with all my chores before dark, and then I can hike around by myself or go out on the skiff to help my grampy get the crab traps.”
“Your grandfather or your uncle?” Taera asked.
“My grandfather. Parmo is my…” Makarria caught herself and remembered the story she was supposed to tell. “Parmo is my uncle, not my grandfather. A different skiff. They each have their own.”
Taera stood up and placed her hairbrush in a drawer of the tiny dresser secured to the far wall of the tiny cabin. “I want you to know that you can trust me, Makarria,” Taera said. “You don’t have to keep secrets.”
“I’m not keeping secrets. It’s just, I’m nervous, you being a princess and all.”
“I don’t think that’s it. You’re scared but not because I’m a princess.”
Makarria averted her eyes and adjusted her tunic.
“Can I tell you a secret?” Taera asked. “You can’t tell anyone, otherwise my life will be in grave danger, but I trust you.”
“Alright,” Makarria agreed.
Taera sat back down on the bed and leaned in close to Makarria. “I can see things before they happen,” she whispered. “I’m a seer, Makarria. My father is sending me away so that the Emperor can’t kill me. I’m to hide away on the East Islands and hope Guderian and Wulfram never find me.”
Makarria’s eyes went wide. “The Emperor is real, then? And Wulfram? They’d really want to kill you because you see things?”
“Yes, very much so. And I think you are running from them too, Makarria. I’ve seen you in my visions. Our fates are tied together somehow. It’s not clear to me yet, but you are a very important young woman, and I swear to you, I mean to do whatever I can to keep you safe.”
Makarria nodded. She knew that Parmo would be mad at her for talking, but she couldn’t help it—she trusted Taera. “I can make things when I sleep,” she blurted out. “Grampy says I’m a dreamwielder.”
Now it was Taera’s turn to go wide-eyed. “A dreamwielder? You’re sure?”
“Yes. Grampy was taking me to go hide at the East Islands, just like you, but a storm came and ruined our boat.”
“Parmo is your grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“But he’s far too young to—” Taera stopped mid-sentence as a vision of Parmo’s face transforming from old to young flashed through her mind. “You changed him,” she said, hardly believing
it.
“Yes,” Makarria admitted. “It was an accident, and I killed a lot of fish. It’s alright though. Grampy says when we get to the East Islands he’s going to help me try to learn to control my dreams. And if you’re there too… we’ll be safe, right?”
Taera closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Yes, we probably would be safe there, but I have a bad feeling we’re not going to the East Islands, Makarria. I’ve not seen the islands in my mind. Our fate lies elsewhere I’m afraid.”
King Casstian Delios rubbed his eyes to get the bleariness out of them. The stack of documents on his desk was a cluttered mess, and Casstian hardly knew what to make of it all. He had been King of Pyrthinia since the age of fourteen when his father was killed, and in all that time Pyrthinia had never been at war. There’d been a few naval skirmishes with pirates from the Old World and the squelching of a small uprising in Tyrna when two stormbringers riled up the townspeople against the Emperor, but Pyrthinia had not fully mobilized for war since the Dreamwielder War, a year before Casstian was even born. I’ve spent my whole life trying to forge peace between Pyrthinia and Sargoth, Casstian mused, and now here I am—an old man—considering rebellion.
Casstian had been meeting with his most trusted advisors and looking at numbers and reports all day. As it stood, Pyrthinia did not have anywhere near a large enough standing army to march on Col Sargoth. There was also Valaróz to consider. Don Bricio would be the first to come to the Emperor’s aid, and the Pyrthin navy simply could not compete with the Valarion navy. The best Casstian could hope for would be for the Pyrthin navy to blockade Kal Pyrthin Bay and keep the Valarion ships out, while ground troops marched on Sol Valaróz. That would mean fighting on two fronts though. Even if Casstian marshaled every able-bodied Pyrthinian into service, they would still be undermanned. At best, Casstian could hope to surprise Sol Valaróz by attacking there first, but the casualties would be massive, leaving them with too few troops to march on Col Sargoth. Plus, attacking Valaróz first would give the Emperor too much time to prepare, and give Lorimer, King of Golier, time to send reinforcements. And then there was Wulfram to contend with, whom Casstian had no answer for. The odds seemed insurmountable. Casstian knew he had to do something though. The Emperor would find out sooner or later that Casstian had sent Taera away, if he didn’t know already, and that would be reason enough for the Emperor to come after him. It’s either strike first or give up and surrender myself, Casstian decided. Is my life worth the lives of thousands of Pyrthinians?
Dreamwielder Page 9
