Missing Piece

by Robert Priest

  Montither took the map excitedly from Moley’s hands and studied it. Many a time during his tenure at the Phaer Academy he had stood guard at the very spot where the line of zigzags leading to the tower began. And judging by where the tower was indicated on the map, he had seen it many times when he had scanned the eastern horizon with his glass.

  “And you’re sure the mage is there at this tower?”

  “She says the council is sure. She says they’ll soon be sending him a deputation to ask him to help defend the city with his magic sword.”

  “Do you hear that?” Montither said excitedly to his men. “I knew they would be reverting to their old ways. I knew they would be bringing spellcraft into this.”

  “Yes, sir.” Moley stuck his thumb in the side of his mouth and wiggled a loose tooth back and forth. Then he said, “Oh, and one more thing. I’m informed by my sources in Mr. Stilpkin’s hospital that this mage has a library of over a thousand books.”

  Montither took this in with great astonishment. “You’re sure?”

  “My source is sure.”

  Montither unleashed one of his rare smiles. It certainly did not make him any prettier. He could barely contain himself. He rubbed his hands together fiercely as though the sheer friction of his palms could start the fire he’d bring to those books right now.

  One of his other men who had been listening had a question. “Sir, if the mage has a magic sword that can’t be defeated, how are you going to finish off the maid?”

  “I have no fear of that sword,” Montither spat back. “It didn’t stop her getting killed last time and it won’t stop me finishing her off this time. That’s why we came.”

  “I know we did, sir.”

  “I have it in the will of the Magman to do this. And if fifty men must be slain to get one man, it will be done. This is the day.”

  “The equinox.”

  “Yes.”

  One more question, sir?”

  “What?”

  “If we’re going over the wall, how will we get the captive over the wall?”

  “We won’t. Now that we know where the mage keeps the maid, we don’t need him any longer.”

  “Turn him over to Vihata?”

  “You just wait and see.”

  Torgee was keenly conscious. Whatever concoction they had been drugging him with was losing its effect on him. He could tell he was much closer to Saheli now and the piece of her inside him was vibrating and alert. It kept knocking up against his insides and every impact released a little light into his mind. And when everything about him was a dead weight of darkness hanging over an abyss, the piece was like some single far-off fractured star that somehow still anchored him in this world. Standing in front of Montither, he felt alive, all his skin alert to the touch of the breeze. It wasn’t the best state to be in when you were about to be tortured.

  “We know where the mage and the maid are,” Montither said to him. A chill passed through Torgee’s body. Montither held up the sheet of paper given to him by Moley. “They are in this tower.” He watched Torgee closely as he said this and pointed to the tower on the map, and although nothing had made Torgee reveal much truth under torture, it was easy to see the recognition in his eyes.

  Montither took out his sword from his sheath. It was a polished steel blade with an ornate handle that curled over into a guard large enough to completely hide his hand. He reached into a pocket in his robe and removed his whetting stone. As he continued to speak, he sharpened his sword with long, accurate strokes along both sides of the blade.

  “I don’t understand your filthy love. But I made a vow, and it shames me to think that girl was cheated of her death.”

  “Of her cold-blooded murder.” Torgee spat.

  “She owes my blade a death,” Montither said, “and until that balance is paid, my blade eats but is still hungry.” Montither had now reached the tip of his blade and the long strokes became short arcs up to the point. “My blade drinks but is ever thirsty. In short, the world is out of balance, and every once in a while to tilt it back I must let the sword remember its dance.”

  He nodded to two of his men and in an instant they had the prisoner on his back on the ground. There was fear on Torgee’s face. He had been brave during the torture, but now he sensed that his death was upon him.

  “Open his shirt.”

  When they had done this and Torgee lay there panting, Montither placed the sharpened tip of his sword on Torgee’s chest; the point was right above his heart. Torgee thought once more of Saheli and closed his eyes.

  54

  Joust

  Watching her approach, a lithe black quarter horse prancing beneath her, the prince sat motionless atop his mount. Tharfen halted about ten feet in front of him. She wore shining black armour but instead of the usual large jousting shield she had only a small round infantry shield more suitable for deflecting arrows than bearing the force of a horse-driven lance. Her own lance was light and small compared to the prince’s and it was not yet even in her hand. It was positioned at a slant in the sheath at her horse’s side and projected upward at an angle into the air. A pointed helmet covered her head to the bottoms of her ears and had a flat guard to protect her nose.

  There was not a rustle from the one hundred and fifty mounted archers who were gathered in a single regiment four abreast about forty feet behind the prince. His horse was much bigger than hers. It was broad and high, but it strained beneath the weight of its rider’s full body armour, solid oak lance, and massive shield. Both riders also had their swords, but these they kept sheathed at their sides as they were not to be used in a jousting contest.

  The herald standing a few yards off signalled, and when he was assured both combatants were ready, lances in hand, he raised his red flag and quickly brought it down. Both riders urged their mounts forward, and the two horses charged at each other, their hooves digging into the soft sand.

  At first Tharfen sat high in the saddle, setting a course for direct collision. But if they collided head on, he would win this contest because of his sheer size. She would be propelled from her saddle and hurled to the ground at great speed. The prince knew this and smiled as they drew closer, hunching his shoulders forward for maximum impact. But at the last second, Tharfen leaned away and Icrix’s lance pierced nothing but air as the horses grazed each other.

  Quickly the steeds were brought around and the two charged at each other again. Both crowds cheered with excitement. Again the prince’s lance seemed destined to bury itself in Tharfen’s heart, but this time she swung her small shield into it at an angle, tipped the lance up and away from her. Her own lance she had lowered, but she now pulled it back to her side as her horse came round. The people watching from the clifftop cheered. Her plan was obviously to tire out his harder-working mount, but Icrix was ready for her this time. He shoved the end of his lance backward at her as she soared by, attempting to catch her with the butt end. He just missed, instead striking her horse’s haunches, causing it to veer sharply over to one side so violently that Tharfen was nearly launched off of the beast’s back.

  On the next pass, Tharfen once again charged at him straight on. But this time she held her course. Seconds before his much longer lance reached her, she skillfully deflected the tip away with a quick move of her shield while she positioned her lance and struck him straight on. Unfortunately, the weapon shattered like old kindling against his steel breastplate. The impact did rock him back in his saddle, but he was well trained and he held on to the reins tightly enough to reseat himself.

  Now Tharfen only had the stump of her lance, which was about three feet long, and her small shield. Her strategy to wear him out with her lighter, more flexible armour and mount was not working. The herald asked her if she was ready to lay down her remaining arms and surrender to Cyclopean justice. In reply, she laughed loudly and brought her horse round into position for a
nother charge, the stump of the lance tucked under her armpit, the shield firmly fastened to her right forearm.

  Three more times they charged and three more times she was able to duck or deflect his lance. But his horse was still fresh, and judging by the ease with which he kept his lance level in the charge, so was the prince. If she was going to unseat him, it had better be soon. She only had one small advantage left: her second eye. This surely gave her a wider view than he with his one-way gaze. The next time they charged, she risked all. Seconds before impact, as the two horses careened toward each other, she stood up in her stirrups and flung her shield so that it crossed his path and shot by the right side of his head. Instinctively, he leaned away from it and right into her path. She batted the oncoming tip of his lance away with her gauntleted right forearm and with her left she swung the stump of her lance hard at his helmeted head. The prince’s compatriots shrieked as he flopped with a sodden clank onto his back in the mud. Due to the weight of his armour, he remained there on the ground. Instantly Tharfen was off her charge and running at him with her sword up. In any honourable contest she should have stood over him, he should have yielded, and that should have been the end of it, but from flat on his back he was yelling like a maniac. “Kill her! Kill her!”

  In a flash she saw the others not so far away grabbing at their bows. This had now officially entered dishonourable territory. And that meant devolving to echelon two of her three-tier plan. Fleet in her much lighter armour, Tharfen dashed back to where her horse waited, and with a leap she was up on its back and spurring it forward. Behind her, as she made for the opening to the tunnel, the prince was lifted back onto his horse while the crowd on the clifftop booed and hissed and threw stones. Screaming with rage, the muddy, humiliated Icrix leaned forward in his saddle and shot off after her, his equine corps not far behind.

  The massive iron gate over the mouth of the cavern was still raised and Tharfen hurtled through it. The double-plated armour she’d had the good sense to wear stood her in good stead as a number of arrows struck her from behind. One of the arrows embedded itself in her horse’s flank, but it kept on galloping. Once its iron-shod hooves hit the muddy floor of the cavern, her horse leaped up onto the docks and continued sprinting up the pathway beside the track, the light from the exit at the top of the tunnel distant and dim. The people on the cliffs were screaming wildly, but Tharfen heard none of that. The clanging, jangling, shouting, snorting mass of Cyclopes behind her filled the cavern with too much noise.

  Taking care never to get too far in front of the prince, she kept her head down and urged the horse on, keeping her eye on the arc of light at the top. Knowing the Cyclopes’ reputation for oath-breaking, she had prepared for the possibility of this pursuit. If she timed her flight right, she should go galloping through the opening just enough ahead of the prince so that there was time to quickly drop both the gate at the top and the one at the bottom. Then she’d have them trapped. Unfortunately, about a hundred yards back from the gateway her wounded horse stumbled, throwing her off. She hit the ground hard and her sword was knocked from her hand. She scrambled to retrieve it but the prince was almost upon her. There was no time.

  “Drop the gate!” she screamed to her confederate up the tunnel. The prince galloped full tilt at her, his blade arcing at such an angle it would have taken off her head if she hadn’t ducked. He reared his horse around to come at her again. That was when she saw the stone alcove and backed into it. She knew what this alcove was for. This wasn’t part of her plan at all. She was now improvising.

  A cry came from the top of the tunnel. “It won’t fall. It’s stuck!”

  The prince quickly dismounted, a look of triumph in his eye. Gripping his long sword firmly, he closed in on Tharfen, now swordless in her stone enclosure. Meanwhile, the front rank of the other Cyclopes had caught up. Some galloped on toward the exit, but others stopped against the walls of the tunnel so they could witness the prince’s revenge.

  Icrix grinned as he drew closer to Tharfen. “I’m sorry this can’t be done more slowly,” he said, “but you do have to die.” He thrust his sword forward. Tharfen had trained for this specific situation. With a move quicker than the Prince could even have conceived of, she dropped to the ground and pulled out the small rapier she carried at her side. Even as the prince’s heavy sword clanked against the back of the stone alcove, she came up between his arms, the hilt of the rapier gripped in both hands as she quickly brought the point up under his chin killing him instantly.

  The horsemen who had passed them by were almost at the exit. They would be able to enter the city if she hesitated. She knew the escape tunnel had not been dug yet, but she reached for the lever anyway. She hated doing this. Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, she pulled the lever and let fall the massive tons of crystal from the ceiling of the cavern. Within seconds, she, the prince, and almost the entire remaining House of Ponerix were buried under tons of rubble, a trap that had been carefully prepared by Elphaerean architects long ago.

  As the dust settled and the mountaineers and the fjordsmen and the carpenters realized that the equine corps would not be returning to offer them any cover, they gave up on the idea of trying to scale the heights. Instead, with the crowd atop the cliffs jeering them, they fled back to the shore, where the smaller oar-driven boats were waiting to rescue them. Whether Tharfen had turned and fled in fear as some of the Phaer people thought, or with deliberate sacrificial courage, as most thought, her actions had succeeded in preventing the attackers from entering the city. The people atop the cliffs began to cheer “Victory! Victory!”

  But their cries were premature.

  Not far away, in Mr. Stilpkin’s infirmary, Drathis the one-eyed mage still held the hands of Ayeru and Zandra. As long as he kept that connection, the wind spell would hold. It didn’t take a lot of energy, but it took a little, and every moment, as the spellshock sapped his life away, he had less and less. There were many spells and cross-spells and contrary currents conflicting in him. But at that moment they all fell away from him like a thousand threads all pulled out of one needle eye at once. With a terrible rattling gasp, he took in his last breath, and with its expulsion both hands let go and fell to his sides.

  55

  Not Mutiny

  With all their one-eyed captains gone, the other ships of the armada remained equidistant from one another as effortlessly upon the glass sea as if they’d been on solid ground. It was a while before anyone saw the holes in the sails. They were not large holes, but when the sun shone through them as it did from a higher and higher angle throughout the morning, more and more of the mariners began to see them. One in every sail. The crews had already been in a rebellious mood. Stuck here in mid-ocean, hovering around some demon isle, going hungry, and being called “two-eye” by haughty one-eyed captains as though they all had the same name; they hadn’t signed up for this.

  They had been told that these windless days, these doldrums, were a predictable weather condition that Cyclopes science had foreseen, and that it was part of their strategy against the Phaer Isle. But it had gone on too long now, and many were sure it was, in fact, the stuff of spells. They had also been told that they needn’t fear dragons because it was not yet fireberry season and their ability to make fire would be weak. But last night many saw the dragon fire that swooped down on the prince’s ship. They had not consented to fighting dragons! Or spellcraft.

  Kagars and Nains, mercenary Thralls, all were thinking the same thing: Mutiny! There was urgent whispering amongst the crew, with many saying they could use the remainder of the smaller boats to get farther out to sea where there was wind so they could escape this haunted isle.

  It wasn’t the gruesome penalty for mutiny that had until now given them pause, but the riches they had been promised. They were all fed and watered for their labours, but their true payment was to be in booty — precious gems, slaves, blood. It was well known that the people of
these isles were ignorant and unarmed for the most part. It was the thought of not harvesting such easy loot that had done the most to keep their thoughts of mutiny at bay. But this morning, after the night’s dragon fire in the sky, and after the terrible thing the prince had done with the dogs, and then the departure of the four ships in the night, they were feeling unnerved and superstitious. In fact, several of the ships farthest from the isle that still had rowing boats in their hulls were already disgorging them into the sea and tying them up to the mother ship. In the course of this they failed to notice that something had changed. A very slight wind had begun to blow — hardly enough to fill their punctured sails, but just enough that the whole fleet had begun to drift very slowly toward Phaer Bay.

  It took some time before the excited call came down from first one crow’s nest and then another, like something out of an impossible dream: “Wind!”

  There was hardly enough of it to even feel it against the skin. “Wind!” The cry echoed across the water and was carried from one ship to another all down the great triangle of galleons. Soon the crews were jumping up and down on the decks so much the ships began to rock in the water. And many now had their swords and daggers and halberds out, and they were dancing in the late-morning sun. And suddenly there was not a thought of mutiny left among them.

  56

  Third Kiss

  The previous night, as the anodyne took effect, Saheli and Xemion had stayed awake, sometimes in silence, but sometimes talking, recounting more of the events of recent history. It wasn’t until close to dawn that Saheli finally fell asleep. By then Xemion was also tired, and as he began to drift off it occurred to him that something in him had changed as well. In all the time he had been here with Saheli, he hadn’t felt his thrall. And when he, too, finally fell asleep, there was no longer a fear that he might wake up and find himself sleepwalking, on his way to the Great Kone.