Dreamwielder

by Garrett Calcaterra

  “Should I do it?” Makarria finally asked of Talitha.

  Talitha sighed deeply. “I cannot decide for you, Makarria. My heart and hope was that I might be able to teach you the ways of Tel Mathir. With knowledge and maturity, your powers would grow and you would be better equipped to face the Emperor if you chose to do so. But this war changes everything. My only advice to you is to disregard the prophecy, all of you. Forget you ever heard it. Caile, if you believe you can aid your father in warning him, then you must go. Makarria, if you believe you can defeat the Emperor and stop this war, then go. Know, however, he has killed sorcerers mightier than you. Though not a sorcerer himself, he has the ability to stint magic right when you are on the cusp of using it. Wulfram may very well be at his side, too. Together, they have defeated all who face them. If you think you can somehow do what others have not, then go. Otherwise, stay here with me. You will be safe for the time being.”

  “Whatever the rest of you are doing, I’m not staying,” Caile said.

  Makarria nodded. “I will go too, though I don’t know the way to Col Sargoth.”

  “You can’t, Makarria,” Taera pleaded.

  “I have to.”

  “If that is your decision,” Talitha said, “then I will guide you and help you as I may. What is it you think you can do to stop Guderian?”

  “I don’t know,” Makarria admitted. “I have to meet him first, then I’ll know. Hopefully.”

  Talitha closed her eyes and nodded but said nothing.

  “Then what of me?” Taera asked.

  “I want you to stay here,” Caile said. “If Father and I die, you alone carry the Delios bloodline.”

  “Your choice is yours,” Talitha said. “Stay, join Makarria and I, go with your brother, or do something altogether different if you think it best.”

  “I will go with Caile,” Taera decided. “My place is with the Pyrthinian people. Perhaps my visions can help us win this war.”

  “Very well then,” Talitha said. “Everyone is decided.”

  Siegbjorn cleared his throat. “If these are the choices you would make, time is of utmost importance. Let me take you on the airship. There will be danger with armies on the march, but we can sail by night and travel quickly. Perhaps I can get you to the Emperor before the fighting even begins, Makarria.”

  “You can take us as far as Arnsfeld,” Talitha said. “From there it is best she and I travel by foot, I think, so as to arrive unnoticed in Col Sargoth. From Arnsfeld, you can take Caile and Taera south to wherever they wish to go.”

  “It is done,” Siegbjorn agreed. “Let us leave tomorrow. Already the snows have started, and we cannot tarry if we hope to make it over the mountain passes.”

  29

  Converging Paths

  Natarios Rhodas’s chest heaved and his thighs burned as he tromped up the stairs to the Emperor’s private quarters. He had been summoned from the houndkeeper’s tower, and that meant walking down some four hundred stairs to the main keep and then back up again into the Emperor’s tower. Now I know why he created his steam lift, Natarios thought, idly wondering if the Emperor would allow him to use the lift next time. When he finally reached the top of the stairs and the doorway to the Emperor’s study, two guards opened the doors and stood to the side to allow him entry.

  Wulfram and the Emperor were waiting for him. The Emperor motioned for Natarios to sit beside the heating stove, and Natarios did so wordlessly.

  “I have a task for you to perform, Houndkeeper,” the Emperor said. “You are to go to Pizer with all due haste and be my eyes and ears. You are to keep a lookout for a girl.”

  “Of course, Your Excellency,” Natarios agreed. “Who might this girl be? How will I know her?”

  “She is young. No more than thirteen or fourteen years old. She will be coming from the northeast, beyond Ulmstadt, perhaps by airship, but more likely she will be on foot so as not to attract attention. She may have one or more sorcerers from the guild with her. She may also be accompanied by the Pyrthinian prince, Caile, or his sister, Taera. You should be able to recognize them, no doubt. You will take with you gold to pay for information. Bribe innkeepers, farmers, whoever you deem useful to pass on what they may see to you. She must not get by you unnoticed.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “You will take with you three ravens,” the Emperor continued. “Send me word the moment they arrive in Pizer. Then follow after them in secrecy if you can and send the other ravens if you are able to learn anything more from your spying.”

  “There is a chance,” Wulfram added, “that she may not come at all or come by another route.”

  “No,” the Emperor said. “You have gathered the pieces well, my wolf. It is a complex puzzle, but a puzzle that is becoming clearer. The guild has found this girl and has hidden her away from us beneath the Barrier Mountains, but she will come to me. Who comes with her I cannot say, but she will come. I have a sense for these matters. It is in my blood.”

  “As you say,” Wulfram conceded. “Still, I wish you would allow me to stay here with you. You may need my assistance.”

  “No, your job is to lead my army against Pyrthinia. I will stay here and await the girl. I fear not the prophecy of my childhood. I have done much to change the face of the earth we walk upon. This is not the same world which that seer saw. And besides, you have brought me a great gift, a token of insurance that the girl will surrender herself to me. We cannot fail. Go now, both of you. It is time to bring forth the Sargothian Empire to its true glory and strength.”

  It was still dark, some hours before dawn, and the wind was cold on the deck of the airship. Caile bundled his cloak tighter around his shoulders and gazed over the bow at the lights far below them.

  “There lies Kylep,” Siegbjorn said.

  Caile could still hardly believe how quickly the trip had gone. They had left the cavern of ice at first light three days before and traversed the mountain passes in the safety of the daylight, then continued on throughout the night and left Makarria and Talitha several miles east of Arnsfeld with a few short goodbyes and well wishes. It had been hard for Taera to let Makarria go, but she was strong and smiled for Makarria as they flew away. When dawn approached, Siegbjorn set the airship down to anchor in the highlands to the south and east of the city. They stayed anchored throughout the day, then when the cover of night came again they took to the skies and continued southward, only to stop again when the sun rose. Now on their third night, Siegbjorn, Caile, and Taera approached the city of Kylep. It was a journey that would have taken three weeks by land, even if they had horses and pushed their mounts hard. The world is changing, Caile mused, thinking of the airship, the steam wagons he had seen in Col Sargoth, and the war machines Talitha had spoken of. And not at all for the better.

  He left Siegbjorn at the helm and went into the cabin to join Taera. “We’re almost there,” he told her. “You’re sure you want to do this?”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” she said, looking up at him.

  She had shed her dress back in Issborg and adorned herself in the attire of the Snjaer Firan women: fur cloak over a skirted leather tunic, fur leggings, and soft leather boots. At her belt, she wore a long skinning knife. She looked more a savage warrior woman than a princess. She could sense Caile’s reticence at leaving her behind.

  “I’m tired of being afraid, Caile,” she told him. “I’m tired of feeling powerless. I want to fight back. At the very least, I can warn Father as well as you can. You go on to Kal Pyrthin and carry out your plan.”

  Caile frowned. His idea had seemed better to him the night before when the prospect of leaving his sister behind wasn’t at hand. Still, she’s right, he told himself. His idea was simple enough. Makarria’s grandfather, Prince Parmenios, had made his claim for the throne of Valaróz, but it was an empty claim as long as Don Bricio controlled the Valarion navy. Caile meant to remedy that. He knew the ways of the usurper.

  “Let’s get you out there, then,” he
said to Taera, grabbing her hand and leading her outside to join Siegbjorn.

  Siegbjorn hardly noticed them walk onto the main deck, as his attention was focused on landing the airship without being noticed. He skirted the ship well around the eastern edge of the city and across the River Kylep as they slowly descended, and then at last set down at the edge of the high road to the south of Kylep. Caile helped Siegbjorn with the gangplank then walked Taera down.

  “Identify yourself to the first Pyrthinian soldier you come across,” he told her. “Command them to take you to Father straight away.”

  “I know what I’m doing, Caile.”

  Caile frowned. “I know, it’s just…”

  “I can take care of myself,” she said and kissed him on the forehead. “You do the same.”

  She turned and ran off down the road then, and Caile walked back up into the airship. Siegbjorn wasted no time in pulling up the gang plank and getting them back into the air and away from the city.

  “These are Pyrthin lands still,” Caile said, hoping to keep an eye on his sister a bit longer. “We needn’t be so secretive anymore.”

  “The Emperor has eyes even in Pyrthinia,” Siegbjorn replied. “If you wish for your mission to be kept secret, then we must hurry for cover.”

  Caile said nothing, and they turned east, following the river. When the first hint of the sun peeked over the horizon, Siegbjorn set them down again to anchor in the treetops along the northern shore and wait the day out. The two of them retired to the cabin, and though Caile knew he should sleep, he found himself restless. The danger of the task before him weighed heavily on his mind. Don Bricio was a dangerous man, both devious and manipulative. Caile found himself reliving countless memories of his time in Sol Valaróz and trying to remember every nuance of Don Bricio’s ways—how he turned conversations his way with sophistries and leaps of logic, how he kept his men loyal to him by turning them on one another and punishing treachery with death, how he forced women into his bed and threw them aside when he grew bored of them, but mostly how he taught Caile to fight in hand-to-hand combat. During his time in Sol Valaróz, Caile had daily private lessons with the master-at-arms, but on several occasions—usually when Don Bricio was drunk—Don Bricio took it upon himself to teach Caile a few of his personal tricks: sleight of hand maneuvers to distract the opponent, feigned injuries, and a whole slew of tactics most warriors would find dishonorable. Caile knew many of those tricks now, but he knew Don Bricio had not shown him everything.

  Caile eventually did fall asleep, and Siegbjorn let him sleep through sunset and on into the night to pilot the ship by himself. When Caile awoke and joined him late that night they said little to one another. They had to anchor again the following morning, still almost a hundred miles east of Kal Pyrthin, and again Caile was left to his own thoughts. When night finally fell, they set off and passed over Kal Pyrthin a few hours later to head out across Kal Pyrthin Bay. Caile stood at the rail and watched his home city recede behind them. He couldn’t help but wonder if he would ever see it again.​

  It was still several hours before sunrise, but Parmo could not sleep. It figures, he thought. Now that I’m finally away from the war councils and have some time to rest, I can’t sleep. He got up out of his bunk and exited his quarters up onto the main deck of Pyrthin’s Valor. It was quiet on deck but for the steady breeze flapping the sails and the prow of the ship cutting through the water. The few sailors on deck at this hour tended to their duties and left Parmo to his own thoughts. He’d had much time to ruminate those thoughts since setting sail from Kal Pyrthin two days prior, and yet he still didn’t know what to make of it all. He had acted foolishly taking Makarria from her parents, he knew. He had been intoxicated with the vigor of youth when Makarria remade him and had acted the part. His rashness had likely cost Makarria her life by his reckoning, but there was no going back now. If Makarria was alive, she was on her own, and Parmo had declared himself the heir to the Valarion throne. King Casstian and all of Pyrthinia were counting on him, not to mention his own countrymen. It’s time you act like a prince for once, borrowed time or not.

  He walked to the bow of the ship and gazed to the east. Come midday they would pass by Spearpoint Rock and his farm. That was, assuming they didn’t run into the Valarion fleet first. If time allowed it, he would go visit Prisca and Galen, tell them what he’d done, and warn them of the impending war. He owed them that at least, he decided, as much as it would hurt.

  A shadow crossed over Parmo, almost imperceptible in the pre-dawn darkness, but he sensed it nonetheless. He looked up and saw high above him the silhouette of the airship passing overhead. A surge of hope and anger washed over Parmo. The airship was heading in the same direction they were, likely to join up with the Valarion fleet he guessed. It was too much to hope that Makarria was aboard the airship, Parmo knew, but still, having found the ship after all this time validated his decision to lead the Pyrthin fleet and strengthened his resolve. Makarria may not be on that ship, but whoever is onboard knows where she is, and Tel Mathir help me, I’ll have it from their dying lips.

  30

  The Long Belated Claim

  “We have an hour at most before the sun rises,” Siegbjorn said. “If we don’t spot them soon, we’ll have to take cover on shore.”

  Caile nodded. They had passed Spearpoint Rock an hour before and turned south, skirting the Pyrthinian shoreline, but still had seen no sign of the Valarion fleet. Caile suspected the fleet was not far off but could not be certain. Don Bricio was sometimes unpredictable. If he suspected much resistance from the Pyrthin navy, he might have waited to set sail, or he might have led the fleet farther to the north, far from sight of the coast, to turn around and enter the bay at its northern end. Caile kept his eyes peeled regardless. Don Bricio was also an arrogant man, and with any luck he would sail in the most direct route toward Kal Pyrthin.

  The minutes passed, and still they saw nothing. The eastern horizon brightened, and Siegbjorn looked toward shore for a suitable place to hide.

  “Not yet,” Caile urged him. “A few more minutes.” The thought of waiting another day to finally face Don Bricio was more than Caile could bear. Where are you, you bastard? he muttered beneath his breath.

  They traveled onward and just when Siegbjorn was about to insist on landing, Caile spotted dark shapes on the horizon.

  “There!”

  Siegbjorn followed his gaze. “Indeed, there they are. But it is nearly light now. We would not be able to approach unnoticed.”

  “Yes we will. Drop down low and turn dead east. We will wait and use the rising sun to come at them in their blind spot.”

  “Of course,” Siegbjorn agreed, disappointed he had not thought of it himself. He dropped the ship low, no more than twenty feet over the rolling waves, and turned eastward toward the sun. A mile out, he stopped the propeller and brought them to a halt. “Now we wait.”

  Caile nodded and wordlessly prepared himself. He took off his boots and shirt, rolled up his trouser legs, and removed his sword and scabbard from his belt.

  “What plan do you have?” Siegbjorn asked.

  “Stay low as we approach,” Caile said. “I will jump into the water on their starboard side and climb aboard as you sail past. Once you’re past them, stay low so they see you. The sight of the airship will distract the crew so I can get aboard unnoticed.”

  “Those ships will be under full sail and moving fast,” Siegbjorn pointed out. “How do you mean to get aboard from the water?”

  “I’ll need a short length of rope, something to hook around the anchor, and this won’t do me much good,” Caile said, throwing his sword into the cabin. “Have you got something smaller I could have? Something easier to swim with?”

  Siegbjorn took the skinning knife from his belt and gave it to him, then unwrapped one of the anchoring ropes from the rail of the airship.

  “I just need a loop, five or six feet long,” Caile said. “The anchor hangs no more than a few
feet from the water line on the portside of Don Bricio’s ship.”

  Siegbjorn looked at him skeptically, but tied the rope in a loop nonetheless, then tied a wide knot at the free end of the rope. “You are in for a sore surprise, you will find, if you think you will be able to pull yourself aboard a fully rigged ship.”

  “Trust me,” Caile told him. “Let’s go.”

  The fleet was parallel to them now to the west. Siegbjorn reengaged the propeller and they turned toward the Valarion ships. With the sun at their back, they were completely invisible to the Valarions. Caile tucked the knife into his belt and looped the rope over his head and one shoulder, then went to stand at the bow of the airship in front of Siegbjorn.

  “You’ll want to board the flagship, yes?” Siegbjorn said over the wind.

  “No, the one at the rear. Don Bricio never sails in the flagship. He commands the fleet from the rear.”

  “He commands the fleet from that tiny caravel?” Siegbjorn asked incredulously, spotting the ship at the rear.

  “That’s the one. She’s maneuverable and fast—easier for Don Bricio to escape if things go wrong. Cut us right across her prow, then make a good show to keep them all distracted. Maybe yell some curses at them in your tongue just to really get their attention.”

  Siegbjorn couldn’t help but laugh in appreciation of Caile’s brazen confidence. “As you say, Prince.”

  They were approaching now at a fast clip. Caile climbed up onto the railing at the bow and stood at a crouch. He could see the water speed by below and realized they were going faster than even the fastest horse could run. This is going to hurt, he told himself. And it’s going to be damned cold.

  The brunt of the fleet had already passed before them, and they were on a near collision course with Don Bricio’s caravel at the rear. Caile waited until the last possible moment, then dived forward off of the airship. The impact was violent, but he cut into the water as best as he could hope. Still, his head was ringing when he surfaced, and he had to gasp for breath. He spun in the water to catch his bearings and saw that the caravel was bearing down right on him. He kicked and backpedaled with all his might, and then suddenly the surge of water at the prow of the ship hit him and pushed him clear. He scrambled to get the rope from around his neck and took the loop in one hand, the knotted free end in his other. Meanwhile, the ship was zipping by before him. He spied the anchor hanging from a porthole racing toward him. You’ve only got one shot at this, he told himself, then kicked with his feet to push his upper body up out of the water and heaved the rope.