Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 03] - The Ancient Legacy(V1.0)

by Mitchell Graham

  The Daedalus was moving sluggishly, but she came around and began her ran toward the mouth of the bay. All the while, Mathew, Brown, and Maddox worked fever­ishly to reposition the gun. When he was satisfied, he shook hands with both men and ordered them over the sides. Warrenton and Caukins had already gone.

  Through the billowing smoke near the entrance to the harbor, Mathew saw that the commander of the sloop had positioned his ship to block their escape. He watched the flames run up the mizzenmast and consume the sails. In a matter of seconds they spread to the yardarms, climbing higher still. The smoke billowing from the hatches was making it harder and harder to see.

  The box Warrenton had gotten for him was sitting on the coil of rope where he had placed it. Mathew stared at the lock for a second and closed his eyes. Four distinct clicks followed in succession as the locks sprang open. He had not wanted to use the rose gold ring's echo again be­cause it was dangerous to do so. Shortly after he had first put on his ring, he had learned that an affinity existed be­tween anyone who wore them—it was possible to feel their minds. To the world, Mathew Lewin was dead, and each time he accessed the echo, he had no idea whether it reached Teanna. He doubted it, because it was so weak, but better not to take any chances. Under other circum­stances he might have let the box go, but a man had died trying to protect its contents, and his instincts told him it might be important.

  He found a sheet of parchment wrapped in oilskin, opened it and noted the writing in surprise. It didn't look like any language he had ever seen before. After a few more seconds of study he concluded that he was looking at a code of some sort, but this was not the time or place to try and break it. A burning spar crashing to the deck jerked his attention away from the parchment. He quickly wrapped it back in the oilskin and tucked it into his breeches.

  Barely a hundred yards separated the two ships now. Flames were leaping from the hatches of the Daedalus and smoke was pouring from its gun ports. Behind him, fire was gradually inching its way from the bow in his di­rection, devouring anything capable of burning. It was then that Mathew realized there was no way he could reach the bow chaser and scuttle the ship. The heat on his neck and back was already too intense.

  "Marvelous," he said under his breath.

  He looked at the sloop again and quickly reached his decision. Through the smoke he could see men running back and forth on her deck, pointing at him. If what he in­tended was going to work, his timing would have to be perfect. Their commander had made a fatal mistake. He had succeeded in trapping the Daedalus inside the bay, but now he had a fire ship bearing down on him at full speed and precious little room to maneuver. Behind him the Re­venge had put on more canvas and was closing fast.

  Let them come.

  Mathew let the ship fall another point then secured the wheel in place with a rope.

  Fifty yards, he said to himself.

  When he turned to check on the Revenge again, he was forced to shield his face from the heat, so close were the flames. He shrugged out of his coat and tossed it aside.

  Twenty yards.

  At the mouth of the bay he saw Delain's ship move past the point.

  Close enough.

  Mathew ran to the starboard rail and dove over the side. The last thing he heard before he hit the water were the sounds of men screaming, lumber breaking away, and the awful crash of two ships colliding with one another.

  12

  Corrato, Nyngary

  Teanna d'Elso knew the instant Mathew accessed the Ancients' machine. The contact had only been mo­mentary and exceedingly weak, but there was no doubt it was him. Impressions of fire and a ship flashed into her mind but disappeared so quickly she questioned whether they were real. The Guardian's refusal to answer her ques­tions about whether Mathew was still alive was further confirmation. She'd had enough experience with politics and politicians to know when someone was avoiding her questions. She transported out of the cavern and returned to her apartments.

  To her surprise, there were two notes waiting for her. One was from her cousin Eric, asking her to join him on the veranda in an hour. The other was from their spy in Garivele. She read the second note quickly and tucked it away in her book safe. She would deal with it later.

  Her father had made no mention of Eric's arrival. It was an annoying interruption; nevertheless, she composed herself and went to meet him. Showing emotions in public was something her mother would never have done—and neither would she.

  Typical of Eric, she thought.

  He had a tendency to pop in unannounced. He was the younger of her two cousins, and far more cunning than his brother Armand, who had assumed Alor Satar's throne following their father's death. A brilliant general by all ac­counts, Armand now devoted the majority of his time to strengthening the country's military forces. He was appar­ently content to leave running it to his younger brother, as Regent. Where the complexities of politics bored Armand, Eric excelled at them.

  Teanna was still angry with Eric for invading Sennia without her knowledge. Despite the fact that it was her fireball that killed—or was supposed to have killed— Mathew Lewin, in her mind Eric bore the lion's share of responsibility by forcing her into such a position. At least that was the way she had rationalized it. But Mathew was alive, she just knew it. Family would always come first—it had to. When time permitted, she would find him. She would explain to Mathew why she had acted as she had. It was desperately important to her that he understand.

  The veranda was lit at both ends by flickering gas lamps. It was not quite dark yet, and there was a mist in the air that created haloes around the lamps. The recently redis­covered electric lights were certainly more efficient and less costly than gas, but the illumination they provided was hard on the eyes and Teanna preferred to remain with what she knew. She supposed she would give in eventu­ally.

  Eric was seated at a table, waiting for her. He got up as soon as she entered the room and embraced her. When the hug lasted longer than it should have, Teanna gently dis­engaged herself and sat down. Eric did the same.

  "It's good to see you again, cousin," he said.

  "And you. What brings you all the way to Corrato?"

  "Do I need a reason to visit my family?"

  Teanna smiled at him with her lips together.

  "At any rate," Eric continued, "I was in Umera and thought I would stop by to see how you're getting on."

  "I'm fine. Why the concern?"

  Eric took her hand. "I've always been concerned about you, Teanna," he said. "Is that so unusual?"

  Teanna took a deep breath and met his eyes.

  Eric made a dismissive gesture and sat back. "All right. A month ago I visited the Lirquan royal court. You know that Humphrey's wife passed away a little over a year ago."

  "And . . . ?"

  "Humphrey has always been fond of you, and I thought the two of you might hit it off."

  "He's five years younger than I am and he has pimples."

  "He's only seventeen, for God's sake," Eric protested.

  "So?"

  "He won't have pimples forever."

  "Humphrey is a pimple," said Teanna, "and he doesn't bathe, at least not as far as I could tell."

  Eric took a deep breath and looked over the railing at the fountain below them. Three magnificently carved horses rose out of the water while men struggled to hold them back. Around the perimeter of the sculpture were a host of small cherubim with water spouting from their mouths. A bearded pagan god stood in the middle of the pond holding a trident.

  "Don't we have one like that in Rocoi?"

  "I believe so," Teanna said. "I saw it when mother and I came for Uncle Kyne's funeral."

  "Really?"

  "I asked Father to have the sculptor come here and make one for us."

  "Hmph," Eric said, his eyebrows going up. "Honestly, Teanna, you've not shown the slightest interest in anyone who's called on you. What's the problem?"

  "There is no problem. I'll marry one day, but
it will be someone I choose. Why is it so important for us to form an alliance with Lirquan?"

  "You make it sound so venial."

  "Isn't it?" "No, it isn't. It's the way things have been done for thousands of years, and I see no reason to change."

  "I'm not a piece of baggage you can simply ship off to the other side of the world because it's convenient," Teanna told him.

  "No, no, of course you're not. But an alliance with Lirquan would go a long way to strengthening our posi­tion in that part of the world."

  "Leave me out of your plans, if you don't mind. I have enough to do right here."

  "Such as?"

  "Such as running a country. In case you hadn't noticed, Father leaves most of that up to me. He's done so ever since I turned twenty."

  "I see."

  "We are putting in a new road from Danover to Cirella, and a delegation from Bajan will be here next week to dis­cuss the new trade agreements. There are also a number of schools and universities that need to be completed this year."

  "Obviously, you've been very busy. Wouldn't it help to share these burdens with a partner?"

  Teanna sighed mentally and looked out the door, wish­ing that Eric would get to the point. All the verbal fencing was tiring. "It would," she said. "We've been at war in one form or another since I was a child. I thought our people might enjoy a change. I'd like to do something to make their lives better."

  Eric considered the concept for a moment, or appeared to, then abruptly changed the subject. "Did you know that Siward Thomas escaped three weeks ago?" he asked.

  Teanna swung around to face her cousin. "Are you seri­ous?"

  "It seems he killed one man in the process and severely injured two others. We think he's headed back to Oridan to find Delain and his people."

  "What difference will it make if he does?" Eric shrugged. "Perhaps some, perhaps none. The fact is, Thomas is a dangerous man, not to mention an ex­tremely competent general, priest or not." "A general without an army." "Delain not only has an army, but the beginnings of a

  navy. The Vargothans have been hunting him for two years without success. Unfortunately for us, Delain is getting stronger rather than weaker. We need to put an end to him once and for all. If the reports Vargoth has been sending back are accurate, he has better than forty thousand men at his command."

  Teanna's eyes opened wider. "Forty thousand. The last I heard he had five thousand men."

  "That was two years ago, dear. We have every reason to believe there are other parts of his army hiding in the mountains over the western border in Mirdan."

  "But—"

  "That's not the worst of it. That fool Edward Guy has been so nervous about an uprising by Gawl's supporters, he took it on himself to announce another trial—this time for treason. Two days after the news became public, the coun­try erupted in civil riots. Fourteen commanders from Sen-nia's Southern and border armies promptly defected along with their troops and crossed the border into Elgaria."

  "That's insanity," Teanna said. "The Orlocks control the lower third of the country."

  "Apparently, their general, Arteus Ballenger, is not un­duly worried about the Orlocks. He took upward of ten thousand men with him when he left."

  "I begin to understand," Teanna said. "Marry me off to Humphrey and you cement relations with Lirquan and gain an ally in the south."

  Eric smiled at her. "You should have been a man, cousin."

  "If I were, we'd probably have a bigger mess than the one you've created. How did you let things get so out of hand?"

  Eric made an annoyed gesture. "I can't be every­where. That's why I need to know my back is being de­fended. Three weeks ago I made contact with Shakira. I believe it will be possible to forge an alliance with the Orlocks."

  Teanna's mouth dropped open. "You want to form an alliance with the creatures?"

  "Why not? My father did, and I honored the bargain he made. They've fought with us before. 1 don't see why they wouldn't do so again. War is looming, cousin. We need to act now."

  Eric's news about wanting to form an alliance with the Orlocks caused a knot to form in Teanna's stomach. She forced herself to consider the possibilities one at a time. "Have you ever asked yourself why the Orlocks went along with your father in the first place?"

  "Obviously, because they wanted a country of their own," Eric answered. "As long as we keep them confined, they're controllable. It's better to dance with the devil you know than the one you don't."

  Teanna looked at her cousin for a moment before re­sponding. It was probably as good a time as any to tell him what she had learned in Henderson and about the note her spy had sent back. "Well, here's something you don't know, cousin: Your friend Shakira has one of the rings."

  The pleasant smile evaporated from Eric's face.

  "How do you know?" he asked, his tone suddenly cold.

  "Let's just say I know and leave it at that. We have a man close to Seth. I also received a message from him just a little while ago. It seems King Seth and Shakira recently met in Garivele.

  "Seth and Shakira? Why? To what purpose?"

  "I don't know. Let me ask you this ... If Shakira wanted to raise an army, do we know how many Orlocks she would have?"

  Eric thought about it and shook his head. "No, not re­ally. I was only an infant when they fought in the Sibuyan War, but my father told me there were upward of six thou­sand of the creatures present during the final battle. I imagine it would be somewhere around the same number; perhaps a little more."

  "And the size of Seth's army?"

  "Vargoth has between fifty and seventy thousand," Eric answered, "but thirty thousand of them are in Oridan at the moment. You won't believe the cost. Are you thinking that Vargoth and the Orlocks are trying to develop a pact with each other?"

  "I have no idea what their plans are," Teanna said. "I only know they met. My source is a reliable one. Interest­ingly, our man didn't know about the meeting until the last moment, which is also strange. More interesting still is that according to him Seth and Shakira met by themselves. When it was over, Seth sailed straight back to Palandol."

  "This is disturbing," Eric said. "I need some time to di­gest it."

  "Good," Teanna said, getting up. "We can talk about it over dinner. Father often has good insight into these things."

  During their conversation, Teanna had considered telling her cousin that Mathew Lewin was still alive, but she decided against it. Thinking about it later while she lay in her bath, she was uncertain why she'd chosen to keep the information to herself.

  13

  North Sea

  Mathew was dimly aware that hands were pulling him from the water. The last thing he remembered was a blow to the back of his head when the Daedalus blew up. Seconds after he broke the surface, he found himself in the grip of a strong undertow, being pulled out to sea. Dazed, he struggled against the powerful currents until he was nearly blind with fatigue. Even so, he watched the land moving farther and farther away. He tried to swim and hold his sword at the same time. His father had given it to him, and he was not about to lose it.

  Minutes turned into an hour and he lost track of time. Images of his father came and went in his mind, and of Collin, Lara, and his other friends. It was funny how his mind worked, he thought. Eventually his arms grew heavy and his breaths came in ragged gasps. It was all he could do to avoid swallowing the saltwater.

  He was more than a half mile offshore. In the mouth of the bay the Daedalus and the sloop were still burning. Through the billowing smoke he could make out the shape of the Revenge, trapped in the bay. At least he could derive satisfaction that his men had gotten away.

  Despite his efforts, he was aware that he was making no headway against the undertow. Somewhere in the back of his mind he recalled seeing a notation about it on one of his charts. Of course, that was why the Vargothans wanted him. He was such a fool—a navigator who forgot about

  northern Elgaria's treacherous offshore curren
t. It would have been laughable if it wasn't so pathetic. The only rea­son he didn't drown was because he grabbed part of a spar that had broken from the sloop and was floating nearby. For another hour he tried swimming toward land, until his arms and legs wouldn't work any longer. He wanted to rest, needed to rest, but that would only let the current pull him farther out to sea.

  Suddenly, hands grasped him under the arms and were pulling him into a boat. He was still clutching his sword when someone took it from him. He was too weak to stop them. There were voices, muffled and indistinct, and he was having trouble making out the words properly. Des­perately he clung to consciousness.

  A shape loomed over him and Mathew tried opening his eyes. The moment he did, sunlight blinded him. In­stinctively, he raised his arm to shield them and tried to sit up. Strong hands restrained him. The voices were clearer now. He heard the words fire and explosion. Then his right hand brushed against the dagger in his belt and his heart leapt. They hadn't taken it. The shape was still in front of him. Mathew's fingers closed around the hilt and with all the strength remaining he pulled it free and struck, shout­ing as he did.

  The man easily blocked the blow and pushed him back down again.

  "Rest easy, Mathew. You're among friends." Those were the last words he remembered before dark­ness settled over his eyes and he passed out. He awoke an hour later and looked around. Still alive, he thought.

  He was lying on a cot in the cabin of a ship, and from the gentle rocking motion he could tell they were at sea. Incredibly, seated at a table across from him were Father Thomas and Delain, talking in low tones. "Father?" Mathew said uncertainly.

  Both men got up and came to him. The priest brought him a cup of water and supported the back of his head while he sipped it. Delain smiled and gripped his shoulder.

  "It's good to see you again, Mathew," the king said.

  "Thank God, thank God," Father Thomas whispered.