"You forget yourself, Tristandor. We stand on sacred ground, and I will not tolerate insolence. Nimoni is alive and well, just in shock. She has seen something forbidden...probably by accident."
"But how can you tell?” the Elf-Lord asked.
"By the subtle burn marks on her face. They're magical burns, which can't be seen by just anyone's eyes. I saw them in the vision. There's only one explanation. Plus, they brought her from the Library of Songs; the three who stood over her were talking about it. Their conversation alone told me what happened. Just because you couldn't hear what their lips were saying didn't mean it couldn't be interpreted. Pux and I also found evidence of more at work here."
"Then please, by all means, tell us!” Tristandor shouted, his lower lip quivering.
For the first time in many long years, Aeligon saw the flame of emotion in Tristandor's eyes. The years of ruling a nearly immortal people, years without war, and years of boredom must have numbed his feelings and emotions, quelling the memories of a former life. After all, the life he had led for so long wasn't his own. It was always someone else's, and the thoughts nearly drove him mad countless times. But, the vision of Nimoni lying ther helpless while he was leagues away had pushed him to the brink, releasing the pent up psychology of another time and place.
Aeligon understood this, knew all too well what went on inside the mind of his old friend. The tortuous knowledge Aeligon possessed surely had wreaked its havoc on the Elf-Lord, but the elixirs and potions of the wizards were potent enough to subdue the memories. Now that Tristandor was released from his charge as the holder of the Throne of Lythardia, they were wearing off. Aeligon hated his role in the deception of his old friend, but it had to be done for the good of Vaaluna, for the good of their goddess. “Sometimes the paths we choose do not lead to greatness,” Sheevos had told Aeligon once in a vision. “Tristandor will be used for a purpose in the future, to what end I do not know."
"Aeligon?” Tristandor was still staring blankly at the wizard.
Aeligon cleared his mind and his throat. “Ashinon once possessed a book of great power. It contained information so secret that he put a spell on it before his disappearance many years ago. The spell forbade anyone who did not possess the blood of the worthy from reading it. If such a person did read it, the book would vanish, leaving behind only ash and dust. There was a riddle regarding the path the book is to take when it vanishes from one point to another. There are three locations: the Library of Songs in Mynandrias, Ashinon's secret library in Lunathar, and somewhere in the seaport town of Drameda. Therefore, I believe the book is now in Drameda, the place where the ‘blood of the cursed’ runs thickest. The book wasn't here, Tristandor, so someone unworthy tried to look inside. Nimoni has suffered the same fate, so the book is no longer in Mynandrias."
"And now you want us to travel to Drameda and find it? Are you positive our path leads there? Nimoni is in trouble, our city may be in grave danger again, and you want us to walk into a snake pit?” Tristandor was sweating, and Aerinas could see the concern in his eyes. “I find your decision a foolish one at best, Aeligon."
"You must trust me...all of you,” Aeligon said, looking to the others. “I have certainly assessed this correctly. The hand of Ashinon even told me so. After I worked out the riddle with Pux, a message was written on a blank sheet of paper by an unseen force, assuring me we've indeed solved the riddle. This is our path, and we must make haste if we are to figure out what's going on. I feel a troubling evil swelling every minute we waste squabbling amongst ourselves. I need to prepare a few things before we go. I want everyone to make ready. Apparently, whatever happened here only concerned the inhabitants, not their possessions. We leave at dawn."
The wizard turned to Tristandor and rested a hand on his shoulder. “Nimoni will be all right. If you can't go with us, I will understand. I leave it to you."
With that, Aeligon left the Elf-Lord standing on the terrace slate-walk, alone. Aerinas looked back at his father, silently praying he would go back to Mynandrias. Tristandor's shoulders were slumped, and his once powerful stature seemed lessened there amidst the ruined splendor of Lunathar.
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Chapter 7—The Broken Isles
Cap'n Mortwar, Cap'n Mortwar!” Buck shouted, pounding on the door to Mortwar's quarters. The door opened in a hurry. Mortwar was already dressed.
"Yes, what is it?"
"You've got a visitor. Said it was urgent.” Buck was panting.
Mortwar looked at him. “What were you doing that you're so out of breath?"
"Ah, well,” Buck began. “We thought we was under attack er somethin'. People approachin', sneakin’ up on us an’ all. Then, they called fer ya’ by name."
Mortwar closed the door to his quarters, but not before fetching his weapons, which he fitted properly into his belt and overcoat. “Tell the men to stand down. I'll deal with this myself.” He hurried up to the main deck, to the Captain's bridge. From a vantage where they wouldn't see him, he cautiously peered over the aft railing at the trio of visitors on the shore.
It was Lucas Yitman, but he had two others with him. The shoreline was a considerable distance away from the rocking ship. Mortwar guessed that Yitman had brought the other two men with him just in case he fell in the water. Satisfied that no immediate threat of danger lurked in the surrounding rocks, he stood up and waved to Lucas.
Lucas waved back, then raised his thumb into the air. The signal. Mortwar waved back, signaling the same to Lucas. It was the sign the Demoron was approaching Dalen from the south. Lucas and the other two men turned and hurried back up the embankment toward the town, leaving the north shore barren.
Mortwar whistled to the crewmen. “Gather ‘round men. Hurry it up!"
With the mast already down and securely fastened to the deck, most of the work was already complete for the crew. They hustled along the deck and gathered around their captain.
"All right men, this is it,” Mortwar began. “The Demoron is approaching the south side of Dalen. We'll see which way she turns. If she continues east, we plot a course to follow her using the Lenthan crystal energy to track by day, the sails by night. I have specific knowledge from our employer back in Drameda indicating this ship is traveling to Dunandor, where one of its crew is going to attempt to deliver the stolen Elfstone. To whom and for what, I don't know, but such is our mission. Now you know what we are chasing and the severity of this mission. It's in your hands now. If we deliver the information about this stone's delivery accurately back to our employer, a handsome purse awaits each of you.” A roar of approval rang from the crewmen. “Nothing more will be asked of you beyond this task, and I assure you we'll be home again very soon. Let's do this."
The crewmen all nodded enthusiastically, then raced back to their positions. Buckets, mops, and brooms were put away, wood polish and rags were taken below deck, and the hands donned their heaviest winter garb. They were all going to be subjected to the harsh sea winter weather in the coming weeks of travel. The mast operators stood ready with heavy-laced gloves, ready to raise it at a moment's notice. With the strong winter winds, even losing the power of the Lenthan crystals wouldn't mean sacrificing the ability to move swiftly across the open sea.
Mortwar made ready with his monocular scope, watching the eastern edge of the island for Demoron's emergence. He silently prayed to the gods that she wouldn't go to port in Dalen, and would just continue on by. The crew was at its ready stations: men prepared to call up the power of the Lenthan crystals with their spades, men standing by at the maps to plot a course when the target passed by, and men keeping a watch around the main deck. Everyone was tense and waiting, the cold penetrating to the very core of their bones. The mist lifted, darkness fell, but the moon hung like a giant crystal ball in the night sky, illuminating the turbulent waves of the Arthean.
The darkness couldn't hide the Demoron while she sliced through the water and into view. The moon kissed the black sails and shim
mered off the polished silver railings. Cabin lanterns were lit, casting their amber light out open windows in her hull. Mortwar could see the captain standing on the bridge, and the crew working the masts and sails. They were completely oblivious to the Arunir's presence, Mortwar thought. The ‘Demon of the Sea’ turned sharply eastward, put Dalen to her rudder, and sailed off into the night.
Mortwar, relieved his plan had worked, collapsed the monocular scope and hopped down from the bridge to the main deck. “Gents! Follow yonder she-demon in silence. All communication must be held to whispers, bearing in mind how water carries our voices faster and farther than on land."
The ship groaned and creaked when the crew poled it away from the rocky shoals of Dalen's north face. Then, once it was clear, it lurched abruptly into the night; the power of the Lenthan crystals was released. Lenthan crystals couldn't be touched by the hands of men, so the crew working the reactor had to use a special kind of shovel to first pick apart the crystals into smaller pieces, and then to heave them into the reactor's core chamber where they were converted into the energy needed to turn the propeller mechanism—no waste, no byproducts, just raw energy. This, of course, baffled the alchemists of the day, but they brushed it off as some silly form of magic.
While the Arunir picked up speed, Mortwar took Buck into the map room, where they and the navigators plotted and debated the best course of action. A strategy had to be formulated for both day and night travel. Each had their own pros and cons, but each had to be given equal floor time. Mortwar didn't rule like brash pirate dictators, who were known to waylay their crewmen's talents in favor of their own reckless agendas. He wanted to steer clear of mutinies, which were often the result of such a mindset. However, Mortwar had earned the respect required to still lead with dignity and integrity, more qualities long abandoned by the pirate code.
After hours of deliberation, they developed two distinct strategies for tracking the Demoron over the open waters of the Arthean. The Arunir was not a warship, and, therefore, was not easily identifiable as a threat. During the day—contrary to Mortwar's initial plan—sails were hoisted to mimic those of a merchant vessel, so from the lengthy distance Mortwar planned on keeping, it would appear as though nothing was out of the ordinary...at least for the first leg of the trip. Fortunately, after the first week of travel, the ocean became more treacherous and less forgiving. Islands dotted the map east of the inlet feeding the Tunin River, and sea creatures were said to dwell in the depths near the land of Dunandor. Mortwar had faith in the notion of Callaway and the crew of the Doom Vessel being more concerned about what lay ahead than what was behind them. If not, then the whole mission could very well be put in jeopardy. Night would be the time when the Arunir could get closer to the Demoron to watch what was happening.
Monocular scopes came in handy, especially under the intense moonlight they were experiencing. Poor weather could ruin their plans and nothing was guaranteed, but they agreed their strategy was the best possible one available. The navigators would stay below decks to work out the details, and one engineer was assigned to planning the Lenthan crystal store's usage.
And thus began the chase. Mortwar's crew was prepared. The coming weeks would be the toughest they had ever faced. Winter was upon them, a war was brewing, the lives of every family in Vaaluna were in jeopardy, and the Elfstone fragment was in the clutches of a madman. Their chances for success did not look good, but Mortwar did not take jobs based solely on their odds of success. Payment was often achieved because the objective was completed. Mortwar had to keep his men focused on the objective: get the information regarding Callaway's theft, and try to recover the stolen fragment. The crew knew of the former objective, but Mortwar's knowledge of the other was secret. Once the crew reached Dunandor the choice would be made.
He shuddered to think of it.
Aboard the Demoron, Callaway kept to himself as much as he could. He seriously doubted the crew would want much to do with him anyway. Senantor Pirate crews were the most superstitious of all, or at least the scum he'd seen. They would stay away from him because of what happened back at Drameda's port, thinking an evil power was always in their presence.
Of the crew, only the captain could tolerate Callaway's presence. So, Callaway found himself going to the captain's quarters to discuss the plan for the next few weeks. It was a straight shot to Dunandor, but Callaway knew treacherous waters lay ahead; he needed to know the captain's plan for navigating them.
"Enter,” the captain barked when the rapping on his cabin door startled him.
The door opened and in stepped Callaway, soiled and stinking. He smiled at the captain. “Just want ta’ discuss the plan, if ya’ don't mind."
Few people ever shook the nerve of Captain Sakreega; fewer still lived to tell the tale if they did. But, Callaway was different. The evil didn't come from within him, but surrounded him. Sakreega could sense it. He knew killing Callaway, or trying to, would prove futile, which frightened him more than he had ever been. The only thing he could do was to entertain the bastard's frequent visits.
Without offering Callaway so much as a response, Sakreega stood and walked to the wall map on the far side of his chamber. He pointed to some colored strings pinned along the map in patterns. They represented courses plotted by the navigators—three of them.
"We have three choices in our path, each with its own set of pros and cons,” the captain began. He pointed with his finger to each one in turn. “This one is the longest route ‘round the dangers, but we risk coming too close ta’ the land of Tugnarth. This route is shorter, doesn't bring us close ta’ Tugnarth, but ya’ know this channel is famous fer its monsters. This last one is the shortest route to Dunandor's main port, but we have ta’ pass through the Broken Isles. None of the routes is safe or easy, so we just have ta’ weigh them accordingly, savvy?"
Callaway stepped close to the map, examining each route in detail. Sakreega put a finger to his chin and watched the filthy drunk curiously. Callaway looked up at the ceiling, twisted his face, then nodded, mumbling something.
"What'd ya’ say?” the captain asked, leaning in to hear what Callaway had mumbled.
"Nuttin', nuttin’ important,” he answered. “I was just thinkin’ out loud, ya’ know? I reckon we take the route through the Broken Isles. If anyone is followin', they'll be a fool ta’ follow us through such a cursed passage.” He tapped his finger on the map and nodded again. “What do ya’ say, Cap'n?"
Sakreega rubbed his chin thoughtfully, pacing in front of the map. “Well, it would be an easy way ta’ thwart anyone who would come callin’ on us uninvited, but do ya’ really reckon anyone is followin’ us out ‘ere?"
Callaway balled up his fist and shook it at the captain. “That bastard Mortwar was waitin’ fer me at the Dew Drop! Don't suppose he was there fer nuttin'. Someone sent him afta me, someone who knows what I carry on this journey. Just because I ran ta’ yer ship and bartered passage outta Drameda don't mean he ain't crazy enough ta’ track me way out ‘ere either."
"More like forced passage, let's be clear. Ya’ never bartered nothin'. Fer all I know, ya’ stole yer trinket from this man ya’ speak so highly of."
"Where I'm from, Cap'n, yer life is worth more than any purse.” Callaway smiled evilly.
"I doubt ya’ even know what happened back in Drameda, which puts you an’ me on the same level. Maybe a rogue wave of magic gutted my crewman. Just so as ya’ know, I ain't afraid of ya'. Ya’ offered my life in exchange fer a ride ta’ Dunandor, fair enough, but know this: if we break upon the shoals of the Broken Isles, I'll leave ya’ fer dead, understand?"
"Perfectly."
"Good, ‘cause I ain't in this fer yer cause. I have business ta’ tend to in Dunandor an’ I don't want no trouble. Ya’ leave me and my crew alone, an’ we'll leave you alone. We have no interest in whatever mess ya've got $yerself into with this Mortwar fella."
Callaway wheezed, then laughed, pounding the table with his fist. “It sure is a
hoot, Cap'n. Mortwar ain't no ordinary pirate. He's the son of Milon Brendain. You know him, don't ya'?"
"Can't say that I do."
"Ah, well just let me tell ya', Mortwar thinks his father is a simple farmer in the southern lands, but I found out otherwise during my commission.” He chuckled again. “Since ya’ don't know nuttin’ about either of them, I'll just leave it go at that. No use wastin’ yer time talkin’ about tings of no concern to ya'. Mortwar will have more reasons ta’ chase me down afta he learns what I know."
"Either way, if this Mortwar tries ta’ snatch my ship or the cargo she carries, I'll burn him down and bag his ashes with or without yer consent."
"Fair enough,” Callaway said with a smug look. “I meant ta’ ask ya', what business have ya’ got in Dunandor, if ya’ don't mind me askin'."
"We got a message in Drameda. Said ta’ come ta’ the Underground City, ya’ know the one I mean?"
"Trunith? But why there?"
"Ever hear of the legend of the Heart Essence?"
"Nah, I don't bother with faerie tales all that much."
"Ain't a faerie tale, Callaway. The Heart Essence is said ta’ belong to Sheevos herself, if you believe in that sort of thing. I don't know who the message was from, but it said help was needed ta’ go get it. A handsome purse is being offered ta’ whoever thieves it."
"So ya’ got a message in Drameda sayin’ some mythical essence thing was there, an’ they wanted you ta’ get it fer them?"
"Yah, got a problem wit that?"
"No, just wonderin’ what possessed ya’ ta’ pick up an’ go on a mere whim is all."
"Travelers be growin’ thin on the sea these days. We need ta’ find our loot any way we can get it."
"An’ riskin’ passage ta’ get there is worth it fer this purse that ya’ don't even know exists?"
Sakreega became a bit livid at the comment. “We wouldn't have left without more help if ya’ hadn't thrown yer temper tantrum back in Drameda, ya’ bastard!"
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