by Ian Irvine
Tali snatched another bolt. “It – it’s trying to kill us…”
“Like I said, gauntlings aren’t predictable. And there’s a powerful psychic bond between gauntling and rider…”
Tali slammed the bolt into its groove and wound the crank. “What are you saying?”
“That when it saw its rider killed, and the psychic bond between rider and gauntling snapped, it went renegade,” said Holm. “It’s disobeying its orders; it’s bent on revenge.”
“I’ll give it something to think about first.” Tali aimed and fired.
“Well shot!” said Holm, running for a bucket. “Straight up the tail vent.”
The gauntling’s wings faltered and it curved down towards the sea, streaming blood from its rear. Had she killed it? The flow of blood stopped. It skimmed the water and laboured up again, then she lost sight of it in the fog, heading towards the distant shore.
“Not well enough,” she said darkly.
“It’s mighty hard to kill a shifter, but you’ve certainly hurt it. Give us a hand.”
He tied a rope around the handle of a bucket, tossed it overboard then hauled it up and hurled the water at the flames. Tali did the same, but after a minute Holm put a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s no use. The water’s just spreading the oil.”
“There must be a way to put it out,” said Tali, imagining their fate when they ended up in the water. Either the sea beast that had taken Lizue, or the icy cold. At least it would be quick.
“There isn’t,” said Holm.
“Can we reach the shore?”
“No, it’s miles away.”
He heaved up his largest sail, turned to port and lashed the wheel so the boat would run true. “Come on!”
She followed him down into the cabin. “What are we doing?”
“Gathering everything we’ll need to survive on an iceberg. Assuming we can reach one.”
They heaped warm clothes and blankets into sacks. Holm tossed in a case of balms and bandages, a pot and a pan from the little galley, and the food in the cupboards. There wasn’t much. His boat was not stocked for a long voyage.
“Carry it up.” He began to pack tools and other gear into a haversack.
Tali lugged the sacks to the deck and put them down near the stern. The boat was moving swiftly under the larger sail, but the wind was fanning the flames on the front deck and driving them against the cabin. The smoke was thick and black, and the varnish was bubbling.
“Holm, hurry.”
He came up, swaying on the ladder, carrying a square, heavy-looking box under one arm and a rucksack over the other shoulder.
“What’s that box?” said Tali, feeling a familiar prickling and throbbing in her head.
“A heatstone stove.”
“I don’t like heatstone.” Her father had died a terrible death slaving in the Cythonian heatstone mines.
“On an ice floe, it could mean the difference between life and… the thing we’ve been trying to avoid all day.”
He ducked through the door into the cabin and went down the ladder.
“Come back!” Tali yelled.
The roof of the cabin was aflame now, and the inside could catch at any moment. If he were trapped below, if it fell in on him…
He came staggering up, coughing, his eyes watering, carrying a brown leather case.
“What’s that?” said Tali.
“Memories.”
“Are they really worth risking your life for?”
“Are yours?” said Holm, putting the bag down between his feet and turning a key in the lock.
Clockmaker, master mariner, expert in everything, and man of many secrets. What else was he?
The roof collapsed and in seconds the cabin was ablaze. Holm was peering out to the starboard side, sighting on the iceberg he had aimed for. It was a couple of hundred yards away and Tali didn’t see how they were going to make it.
“We have a small problem,” he said, in the conversational tone he used to make light of the gravest problems.
“And that is?”
“As soon as my wheel lashings burn through, the course we take is anyone’s guess.”
Tali squirmed. If they had to jump into the sea, she would die even if the iceberg was only ten feet away. She could not swim a stroke and knew she would panic in the frigid water – assuming the shock did not stop her heart.
“Actually, there are two problems,” Holm went on, watching the flames roar ever higher. “As soon as the sail catches…”
The prospect seemed to amuse him. He went to the stern and began lashing spars to an oar. Tali wondered if he had lost his wits. She could not focus on anything but the blaze and how soon it would consume everything.
The iceberg was a hundred yards away when something broke in the cabin and the boat began to turn to port. Holm thrust his oar over the other side. He’d lashed some cross-pieces to it and a large square of canvas to the cross-pieces. He shoved it under and heaved.
“Makeshift rudder,” he said. “Not near as efficient as the boat’s rudder, but it’s a darn sight bigger.”
He heaved again. The boat turned back on course, then too far. He heaved the oar the other way. The iceberg was only sixty yards away now. Now only fifty… forty… thirty.
Whoomph! Flame leapt to the sail, and in seconds it was ablaze from bottom to top.
“We’re goners,” said Tali, thinking that the boat would stop dead in the water.
“It takes a little while for a heavy boat to lose way.”
But it was slowing rapidly, and the bow was lower than it had been. “Water’s coming in. We’re sinking!”
It must have burned through the planking at the waterline and water was pouring in, though not quickly enough to douse the flames.
Fifteen yards. “We’re not going to make it.”
“I’ll try to swing her alongside,” yelled Holm. “Get ready to chuck everything onto the ice.”
He wrenched out the makeshift rudder. The boat began to turn, very sluggishly. He ran to the other side and paddled. Ten yards. The boat slowed, but kept turning. Five yards… four. It was almost parallel to the rough side of the iceberg now. Three… two.
The bow dropped sharply. “Get the gear over. She’s going down.”
Tali heaved the bags across, then Holm’s rucksack. He came hurtling back, tossed the leather case onto the ice, then picked up the heavy heatstone stove.
The gap started to widen again. “Jump, jump!” he roared.
Tali hesitated, sure she was going to end up in the water. No, better the water than the flames. With the boat tilting down steeply, the flames were licking around her. She dived for the ice, landed hard on her breasts and belly, then began to slide backwards towards the water.
Holm sprang, landed badly and dropped the stove, which broke apart, scattering slabs of heatstone across the ice. He scrabbled around, caught Tali’s outstretched hand and yanked her up onto flat ice.
“Move the gear up.”
He began to gather the pieces of heatstone, which were melting square and rectangular depressions in the ice, and wrapped a tattered blanket around them. They carried the gear up another ten yards, well out of the way of the breaking waves. When they turned around, the beautiful little boat was gone.
“Twenty years ago I built her, with my own hands,” he said, holding them out before him. “I cut every plank, shaped every nail and peg by hand, and sailed the seas for many a year with her my only companion. And I didn’t even see her go.”
Tali put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“Ah well,” he said. “It doesn’t do to grow attached to things that can’t last. Nor people, either.”
CHAPTER 30
“What happened to the gauntling?” said Holm.
“I don’t know. Lizue leapt off onto the deck and it flew away.”
Holm picked up the head bag and stretched it between his fingers. Tali tensed. Had he been at the crapper? Or had he absented himsel
f while Lizue did the gruesome business? He might well have betrayed Tali, for a fortune. It did not mean that he would want to see her head cut off.
“What’s this for?” said Holm.
“No idea,” Tali lied.
He tossed it overboard. Tali tested Lizue’s blade on her forearm; it shaved the tiny hairs off like a razor. She swung it through the air. It was heavy enough to take her head off with a single blow, but well balanced. And she needed a weapon.
“The gauntling can’t have gone far,” she said. “It would have come back to pick Lizue up once she killed me.”
“Then I dare say it’s up there somewhere, watching for her signal.”
He looked up and Tali did too, but during the battle they had sailed into a fog bank and only small patches of sky could be seen through it. “It could be anywhere. Or gone.”
“Either way, we can expect to be harried all the way across the straits until we get to Esterlyz, the furthest that the enemy’s writ currently extends. Or so I’m told.”
“You seem remarkably well informed for a humble clock attendant.”
“It does seem odd, now you mention it,” he said cheerfully.
“Are you planning to tell me how you know so much?” And who you really are, and what you want of me.
“I don’t believe so.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to.”
She had no answer to that. “Where are you taking me?” she said waspishly. “I’m entitled to ask that, aren’t I?”
“You can ask whatever you like.”
“Well?”
“I’m taking you somewhere safe – assuming I can find such a place.”
“Where?”
“I haven’t decided yet, but probably the Nandeloch Mountains.”
“I don’t know anything about them,” said Tali. “My tutors in Cython were a little hazy on geography.”
“Come inside.”
In the cabin, he withdrew a map from a chart drawer, spread it on the little table, and circled his forefinger around the north-eastern corner of Hightspall.
“These are the Nandelochs,” said Holm. “Hundreds of little valleys separated by high ranges. Brutal frosts and heavy snow in winter; torrential rain in summer. The people there are fiercely independent, and the Nandelochs are the best place in Hightspall to hide.”
“How do we get there?” she said warily.
“I haven’t worked that out yet —”
The distinctive shrieking whistle raised Tali’s hackles. As Holm ran to the cabin door, a round, glass object the size of a large melon smashed on the front deck, spilling a thick yellow fluid everywhere.
“What the hell was that?” said Holm.
“The gauntling,” said Tali, darting back for the crossbow.
It came around again. She aimed for its round yellow eye, but missed. Before she could reload, it dropped a blazing, pitch-covered brand onto the front deck and kept going. The yellow fluid exploded in flame.
Tali snatched another bolt. “It – it’s trying to kill us…”
“Like I said, gauntlings aren’t predictable. And there’s a powerful psychic bond between gauntling and rider…”
Tali slammed the bolt into its groove and wound the crank. “What are you saying?”
“That when it saw its rider killed, and the psychic bond between rider and gauntling snapped, it went renegade,” said Holm. “It’s disobeying its orders; it’s bent on revenge.”
“I’ll give it something to think about first.” Tali aimed and fired.
“Well shot!” said Holm, running for a bucket. “Straight up the tail vent.”
The gauntling’s wings faltered and it curved down towards the sea, streaming blood from its rear. Had she killed it? The flow of blood stopped. It skimmed the water and laboured up again, then she lost sight of it in the fog, heading towards the distant shore.
“Not well enough,” she said darkly.
“It’s mighty hard to kill a shifter, but you’ve certainly hurt it. Give us a hand.”
He tied a rope around the handle of a bucket, tossed it overboard then hauled it up and hurled the water at the flames. Tali did the same, but after a minute Holm put a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s no use. The water’s just spreading the oil.”
“There must be a way to put it out,” said Tali, imagining their fate when they ended up in the water. Either the sea beast that had taken Lizue, or the icy cold. At least it would be quick.
“There isn’t,” said Holm.
“Can we reach the shore?”
“No, it’s miles away.”
He heaved up his largest sail, turned to port and lashed the wheel so the boat would run true. “Come on!”
She followed him down into the cabin. “What are we doing?”
“Gathering everything we’ll need to survive on an iceberg. Assuming we can reach one.”
They heaped warm clothes and blankets into sacks. Holm tossed in a case of balms and bandages, a pot and a pan from the little galley, and the food in the cupboards. There wasn’t much. His boat was not stocked for a long voyage.
“Carry it up.” He began to pack tools and other gear into a haversack.
Tali lugged the sacks to the deck and put them down near the stern. The boat was moving swiftly under the larger sail, but the wind was fanning the flames on the front deck and driving them against the cabin. The smoke was thick and black, and the varnish was bubbling.
“Holm, hurry.”
He came up, swaying on the ladder, carrying a square, heavy-looking box under one arm and a rucksack over the other shoulder.
“What’s that box?” said Tali, feeling a familiar prickling and throbbing in her head.
“A heatstone stove.”
“I don’t like heatstone.” Her father had died a terrible death slaving in the Cythonian heatstone mines.
“On an ice floe, it could mean the difference between life and… the thing we’ve been trying to avoid all day.”
He ducked through the door into the cabin and went down the ladder.
“Come back!” Tali yelled.
The roof of the cabin was aflame now, and the inside could catch at any moment. If he were trapped below, if it fell in on him…
He came staggering up, coughing, his eyes watering, carrying a brown leather case.
“What’s that?” said Tali.
“Memories.”
“Are they really worth risking your life for?”
“Are yours?” said Holm, putting the bag down between his feet and turning a key in the lock.
Clockmaker, master mariner, expert in everything, and man of many secrets. What else was he?
The roof collapsed and in seconds the cabin was ablaze. Holm was peering out to the starboard side, sighting on the iceberg he had aimed for. It was a couple of hundred yards away and Tali didn’t see how they were going to make it.
“We have a small problem,” he said, in the conversational tone he used to make light of the gravest problems.
“And that is?”
“As soon as my wheel lashings burn through, the course we take is anyone’s guess.”
Tali squirmed. If they had to jump into the sea, she would die even if the iceberg was only ten feet away. She could not swim a stroke and knew she would panic in the frigid water – assuming the shock did not stop her heart.
“Actually, there are two problems,” Holm went on, watching the flames roar ever higher. “As soon as the sail catches…”
The prospect seemed to amuse him. He went to the stern and began lashing spars to an oar. Tali wondered if he had lost his wits. She could not focus on anything but the blaze and how soon it would consume everything.
The iceberg was a hundred yards away when something broke in the cabin and the boat began to turn to port. Holm thrust his oar over the other side. He’d lashed some cross-pieces to it and a large square of canvas to the cross-pieces. He shoved it under and heaved.
“Makeshift rudder,” he said. “Not near as efficient as the boat’s rudder, but it’s a darn sight bigger.”
He heaved again. The boat turned back on course, then too far. He heaved the oar the other way. The iceberg was only sixty yards away now. Now only fifty… forty… thirty.
Whoomph! Flame leapt to the sail, and in seconds it was ablaze from bottom to top.
“We’re goners,” said Tali, thinking that the boat would stop dead in the water.
“It takes a little while for a heavy boat to lose way.”
But it was slowing rapidly, and the bow was lower than it had been. “Water’s coming in. We’re sinking!”
It must have burned through the planking at the waterline and water was pouring in, though not quickly enough to douse the flames.
Fifteen yards. “We’re not going to make it.”
“I’ll try to swing her alongside,” yelled Holm. “Get ready to chuck everything onto the ice.”
He wrenched out the makeshift rudder. The boat began to turn, very sluggishly. He ran to the other side and paddled. Ten yards. The boat slowed, but kept turning. Five yards… four. It was almost parallel to the rough side of the iceberg now. Three… two.
The bow dropped sharply. “Get the gear over. She’s going down.”
Tali heaved the bags across, then Holm’s rucksack. He came hurtling back, tossed the leather case onto the ice, then picked up the heavy heatstone stove.
The gap started to widen again. “Jump, jump!” he roared.
Tali hesitated, sure she was going to end up in the water. No, better the water than the flames. With the boat tilting down steeply, the flames were licking around her. She dived for the ice, landed hard on her breasts and belly, then began to slide backwards towards the water.
Holm sprang, landed badly and dropped the stove, which broke apart, scattering slabs of heatstone across the ice. He scrabbled around, caught Tali’s outstretched hand and yanked her up onto flat ice.
“Move the gear up.”
He began to gather the pieces of heatstone, which were melting square and rectangular depressions in the ice, and wrapped a tattered blanket around them. They carried the gear up another ten yards, well out of the way of the breaking waves. When they turned around, the beautiful little boat was gone.
