by Markus Heitz
“In the old days every child in Weyurn could swim,” tutted Loytan disapprovingly.
“That must have been a really long time ago. I’d say about a hundred cycles, at least? And anyway, I’m not from Weyurn,” Rodario returned, sharply. “There was never any need for me to get to grip with the waves. A stream is quite sufficient for a good wash, and for rivers there are always bridges and ferries.”
“This time we don’t have a bridge to offer you,” laughed Coïra. “It’s only a short boat-ride. But, of course, if you can walk on water, please go ahead.”
“Very funny, Princess,” said Rodario, sounding hurt, though whether he really meant it or was just pretending it was impossible to tell.
They rode to the top of a sand dune, the sparse vegetation of which waved in the wind. There was hoarfrost on the grass stems, giving the appearance of glass; they rustled against each other, shimmering in the sunlight.
“Oh, how beautiful!” said Rodario, enchanted. “I wish I had pen and paper right now to write about it!”
Loytan groaned. “If you write stuff as bad as that act you did in the market square, give it a miss, for goodness’ sake.”
Coïra threw her companion a reproving look but said nothing.
Rodario’s eyes narrowed. “One of these orbits you’ll get a surprise when you see what I can do, Count Loytan,” he prophesied. “And I bet you’ll come running to apologize.”
As he spoke, something in the actor’s gaze brought Loytan up short. Was it a sudden manliness? Probably just imagination. “And you’ll probably save my life and then marry the princess, I suppose?” He laughed, startling the seagulls.
“Why not?” The actor grinned at Coïra and rubbed his ungroomed beard. “Do you find me so ugly, or may I dream of a life at your side…?”
She raised a finger in warning. “You are speaking out of turn, Rodario the Seventh! Consider who it is that you are addressing.” She rode down the dune, heading for a narrow quay where a skiff lay moored, its small sail furled.
Rodario looked over to the island. It had to be a good mile from the shore.
But island was not really the expression to use. Ever since the water level in Weyurn’s lakes had started to drop, cycle after cycle, many of the islands stood high above the surface, while others had been left completely isolated, far from the waterline. The inhabitants had installed pulley lifts and built flights of stairs to enable them to leave their islands. Fishermen had been forced to become farmers, turning the lakebed into agricultural land—not always very fertile land, at that.
The situation for Lakepride was not so critical. It seemed to float above the lake maybe sixty paces up, balanced on a stone pillar, resembling a tulip flower on its stem.
Rodario noted seven barges, three ships and eighteen smaller vessels moored at a landing stage below the island; the landing stage was secured by heavy chains and there was a precarious-looking spiral staircase leading up to where the people lived. He could see windlasses and pulleys among the equipment on the landing stage. The residents of Lakepride had made the best of their predicament.
“The island looks as if it might break off at any moment and come crashing down into the lake,” said Rodario to Loytan, who nodded.
“Yes, you’d think so, but the pillar of stone it rests on is volcanic rock. Nothing can bring that down.” He urged his horse onward down the side of the dune, more sliding than walking down. Rodario followed suit. “The people of Lakepride are lucky; at least they can still work as fisherfolk.”
They waited by the low-slung sailing barge for the ferryman to emerge from his little hut. He wore a long dark-blue garment that did not disguise the strong shoulder muscles rippling beneath the fabric. Round his neck he wore the white kerchief of his guild, and his wrists were protected by leather supports to aid in the heavy work of propelling the boat. He recognized Coïra immediately and bowed low. “It will be an honor, Princess, to take you back to your palace,” he said respectfully, inviting her onto his boat.
As always she attempted to pay for his services and as always the payment was declined. She smiled at him. “If any orcs turn up looking for us…”
“I’ll tell them I haven’t seen you,” said the man. “And if they want to cross I’ll tell them the boat has sprung a leak.”
Coïra stepped into the boat and patted her horse’s neck. “Don’t put yourself in danger on my account. Ferry them over if they insist, but I don’t think they’ll dare. The island is my undisputed realm. They know they can’t harm me there.”
Rodario and Loytan dismounted, as she had done, and held their animal’s reins tightly while the ferryman hoisted the sail and started the crossing.
He had to tack against the wind, so they reached the landing stage in a wide arc. It brought huge rusty iron walls into view rising from the water below the island and a little to the east.
Rodario had noticed the structure and craned his neck to see more. “What is that? A groyne to protect the island?”
“No. It’s a bulkhead.” Coïra instructed the ferryman to change course so that they could inspect it.
“Bulkhead? What’s that when it’s at home?”
“It’s to support the sides of a shaft. It’s where we’re heading first, so you’ll have the chance to admire the dwarves’ engineering skill,” she explained. “The fifthlings built it at my great-grandmother’s request.”
“A shaft. In the middle of a lake. But… what for? And how deep does it go?” He was so excited that he walked forward to the bow. The breeze lifted his brown hair and played through his beard.
The ferry headed straight for the structure and Rodario could soon make out the dwarf-runes on the walls. A single iron plate was four paces wide and one pace thick. Ten of these placed side by side formed one wall, and hefty steel girders braced them diagonally. Algae and barnacles covered the outside and there was a metallic smell.
“But it’s…” Rodario was at a loss for words to describe this impressive structure.
“It goes down two hundred paces below the keel of our boat,” said Coïra, amused at the man’s childlike enthusiasm. She took her scarf and tied it round her hair to keep it back. “That’s how deep those metal walls go. At the bottom you can walk about without getting your feet wet, but I shan’t take you with me when I go down, so you won’t be able to see.”
He turned to her. “Go down? You’re going down there? What for?”
“Have a think and see if you can work it out for yourself.” She raised her hand in greeting to a helmeted figure and called out three words that Rodario could not understand, an answer coming back in return. “I was giving the password. If they don’t hear it the guards will sink any ship that approaches,” she told him.
“So there’s something down there that’s very precious, very valuable to you…” He paused. “But of course! A magic source!”
“The last magic source in Girdlegard that can still be accessed,” Loytan corrected. “Most of the others have dried up and only a few new ones have formed. There’s one in the land of the älfar, and one in the Blue Mountains, of course, where Lot-Ionan has set up his realm and is training his famuli.”
“As if I didn’t know that,” snapped Rodario.
Loytan grinned maliciously. “Obviously not. Or you wouldn’t have had to ask.”
The boat went round to the side of the shaft and moored at a floating landing stage where four guards stood waiting. They wore only light armor, in case they fell in and had to swim.
Coïra and her companions disembarked and climbed the iron steps to the narrow door at the top. Behind it was a walkway. Huts stood at the four corners of the shaft so that the guards could rest, or shelter in inclement weather.
Rodario could see a number of plaited wire ropes going from here to the top of the island, with cage-like gondolas attached. That would be how the guards, and their food and weapons, would be transported.
“There’s a second level beneath the walkway,” said Loytan, taking off
his cap. “They’ve got catapults down there. No ship can withstand their fire.”
“You’re really prepared for anything.” Rodario ventured closer to the inner parapet to take a look down. The wind tugged at his clothing, blowing it this way and that.
The shaft was a vast black hole down to nowhere. A damp moldy smell rose up from the depths, a bit like a cellar where metal had been stored.
“Not quite the type of accommodation for a princess, though, is it?” he said, holding tight to the edge. “Couldn’t they have made it… a little more attractive?”
“That’s never been a priority,” laughed Coïra as she greeted the commander, who bowed to her. “Get the gondola ready to go down,” she told him and the armored man hurried off. “It’s kept over there in the eastern corner,” she told Rodario. “You and Loytan will wait for me there.”
“I’d love to see the magic wonder with my own eyes,” he confessed. “Couldn’t I watch?”
“It’s quite unspectacular. Just a few sparks.” Coïra went ahead. “Nothing worth seeing.”
“You didn’t tell him you bathe in the source naked,” interjected Loytan, eyeing Rodario.
“Naked?” The actor blushed. “Oh, now I understand why I can’t go with you. Though I envy whoever accompanies you.”
“You don’t know what is concealed under my clothes,” she replied, embarrassed in her turn. “Your compliment is somewhat premature.”
“It wasn’t a compliment. I was talking about being able to see the source…” he went on, but noted that Coïra’s expression had turned icy.
Loytan laughed out loud. “Oh, a true descendant of the Incredible Rodario. You certainly know how to charm a woman and wrap her round your little finger.”
“Hold your tongues,” she said sharply. “You’re both making me very uncomfortable.” She entered the little hut, where a gondola with a wire cage stood at the back. It was secured by two ropes through a loop at the top.
Coïra went over, stepped in and closed the door behind her, nodding to the guard. She moved a lever and the cabin dropped quickly down through a hole in the floor.
“Naked!” Rodario shook his head and sighed, going over to the hole and looking down. If he was not very much mistaken, the princess had already slipped out of her mantle and was unbuttoning her blouse. “I’d have been so glad to hold her clothes for her.”
“You’re not the only one, but there’s only one man she cares about: The unknown poet,” said Loytan crossly, helping himself to tea. “Do you want a cup? To warm you up?”
Rodario looked down again and thought he could catch sight of shimmering skin. One’s imagination could play such tricks… “Something to cool me down, rather,” he replied, and his rejoinder was met with laughter.
“Good one!” the count laughed. He handed over a cup of hot tea regardless. “I think the unknown poet’s days are numbered,” he continued. “Now that we know who he is.” Loytan’s expression became thoughtful, the stubble giving him an older, manly look. “The Lohasbranders will wipe out his family and village.”
“But they won’t be able to destroy the dreams of freedom,” Rodario replied as he sipped his tea, his eyes never shifting from the bottom of the shaft. “Impossible.”
In the depths there came an azure shimmer, illuminating the bottom third of the shaft walls like blue jewels in the sun. He could see the silhouette of the young woman, and in his mind’s eye he could imagine her naked. Unclothed and desirable.
He gave a deep sigh and turned away. “She will never love a man such as me,” he murmured, downcast.
Loytan raised his cup in salute. “That makes two of us, my actor friend!”
He glanced at the nobleman. “But you are married!”
“Of course,” he said awkwardly. “I just wanted you not to feel so alone.” Loytan drank his tea. “As for being alone, what about your own family? You’ve been seen at the side of a notorious rebel—is there someone that needs to be protected from the Lohasbranders?”
Rodario shook his head. “No. My parents are long dead and there’s no one else. Apart from the descendants of the Incredible One, and I don’t think the Dragon would go as far as to kill all of them.”
“You never know.” Loytan sat down. “You’ve been up for the contest eight times now and came last again. Why don’t you give up?”
Rodario smiled sadly and fiddled with his beard. “I promised someone I’d keep entering until I won.” He emptied his cup. “I know what you’re going to say: An impossible endeavor. But one day, I swear…”
Loytan raised his hand. “You said that before and I still don’t believe it. Especially now they’re looking for you. You won’t be able to return to Mifurdania and go on stage.”
“Except maybe for my own execution,” he joked. “And that would be a performance… Nobody could steal that show.” He tossed his hair back theatrically.
“Hear, hear! Another flash of wit. And coming from you! Respect, friend. You’re improving. I agree.” Loytan placed his feet on the table, folded his hands and prepared for a nap. “It may be a long time before the princess gets back up.” He closed his eyes. “Help yourself to more tea. And think up something appropriate to say in greeting to the rightful queen of Weyurn. Unlike her daughter, she’s a stickler for etiquette.”
Rodario drank his tea, placed the empty cup on the table and wandered over to the spy-hole again. The lighting effects in the shaft were still in full swing.
He looked over to Loytan, already snoring, then studied the ropes going down into the depths of the shaft. “You’re a descendant of the Incredible Rodario,” he told himself, screwing up his courage and pulling his gloves out of his belt and putting them on. He discarded the mantle; it would get in the way. “Here we go. Try something that would have impressed the Incredible One. You’ve made a fool of yourself often enough, even though it was in a good cause.”
With one bound he reached up and grabbed the wire cables. Then, with more agility than he’d ever shown on stage, he went down the rope, hand over hand, letting himself down toward the bluish light.
In some places gaps between the iron plates were allowing trickles of water through; elsewhere, regular mini-fountains shot between corroded elements in the structure. However, the walls were holding solidly, despite the rust that had formed in thick layers. The structure had presumably not been intended for long-term use.
Rodario could not assess whether the Weyurn folk had the necessary skills for the upkeep of these iron walls. And the dwarves certainly had more pressing things on their minds than to come round and carry out repair work. They were battling away in the mountains, fighting for their very existence. Against dragons. Against the kordrion.
The bottom of the shaft was only about ten paces below him now. Planks had been laid across it so that the princess would not sink in the mud.
Rodario took a sharp breath and clung fast to the cable.
Loytan had told the truth: Coïra was indeed naked—apart from the leather gauntlet on her right arm.
She was floating in the middle of the shaft in the blue light, her long black hair drifting as if under water. The young woman had her eyes closed and was smiling. She was enjoying her energy bathe.
Rodario looked his fill, wondering when he was likely ever to see such a perfectly formed female body naked again. But how strange that she had not removed her glove.
Suddenly he was overcome with shame. What he was doing just was not right.
I shall win her for myself, he vowed, and then looked away, embarrassed. He started the upward climb, inching his way up the wire rope.
The next time he saw Coïra without her clothes, he thought, she should be undressing for his eyes alone and doing so willingly. “Stand tall,” he told himself. “Attitude is everything.”
At that moment he heard someone shouting excitedly at the top of the shaft.
Hot and cold shivers ran down his spine. The guards had discovered him committing this inexcusable
indiscretion!
VI
Girdlegard,
Protectorate West Gauragar,
Topholiton,
Winter, 6491st Solar Cycle
Down in the brick-built cellar four lamps shed a faint light over the score or so people gathered.
Most of them were glad not to be obviously recognizable. Simple clothing concealed social status or provenance, and they wore hoods to keep their faces in shadow.
They were meeting under the house of the sheriff, who was asleep two floors up, reluctant to know anything about what was going on here. His courage amounted only to leaving the iron-clad door to his cellar unlocked.
Mallenia, surrounded by her co-conspirators, could not believe what Frederik was telling her. “The thirdling is still alive?” She forced herself to take a deep breath. The air down here was stale and smelled of sweat and food. The group had been there for some time arguing and planning, as they sat among smoked hams, sauerkraut barrels, jars of jam and bottled fruit and tubs of salted meat.
Frederik nodded. He was a local butcher of good reputation and no one would have thought him likely to rebel against the vassal ruler and the älfar here in Topholiton. In his early thirties, he had a face that seemed much too nice for the butchery guild he belonged to; and certainly too nice for revolutions. “It is so, my lady. Hargorin heads the Black Squadron once more and is riding out collecting the tribute. It is said his warriors are more brutal than ever.” He took a folded paper out of his sleeve and handed it to her. “Read for yourself. The price on your life has been increased. Whoever brings your head to Hargorin may select what they like from his treasure store.”
Mallenia looked at the sketch of herself on the crumpled paper and was dismayed how true to life it was; underneath the picture was the number 1,000. That was a great deal of gold. “They say that Hargorin’s treasure hoard contains objects of breathtaking value,” she said pensively.
Frederik looked enquiringly around the circle. He took off his cap, revealing short black hair. “My lady, I know you don’t want to hear this but we think you should halt your activities. You have provoked the älfar and their henchmen to intolerable lengths and with rewards like this…”
