by William King
Far below him, Teclis waved. Tyrion leapt out into space, grabbed a dangling rope and slid down it with dizzying speed, laughing aloud until his feet hit the deck. He sprang forward exuberantly, performed a handspring and landed upright beside his brother.
‘What were you looking for?’ Teclis asked. He lounged on a wicker deckchair, looking even sicker than usual. Despite all the good Lady Malene’s potions had done him, the voyage did not agree with him. He still suffered from seasickness worse than any dwarf.
‘I don’t know,’ Tyrion replied. ‘But whatever it is I think I will have trouble finding it. There is some enchantment on these waters, stronger than the glamour that covers the Annulii.’
Teclis laughed at him. ‘Perceptive as ever, brother. You are looking on the effects of one of the most potent and far-reaching spells ever cast. Bel-Hathor and his mages wove magic here to hide Ulthuan from the humans. Believe me, any confusion you are feeling would be increased a thousand-fold if you were one of them. When they enter the weave of this spell they get lost and turned around by a labyrinth of spells and eventually, if they do not starve, or run aground, they find themselves back out on the open ocean.’
‘I believe you.’
‘Good. You ought to.’ He made a face and for a moment looked as if he was going to be sick again. Somehow he controlled the impulse. ‘By all the gods, I hate this.’
‘You are not enjoying this voyage?’ They had been at sea two days now, and Tyrion was growing concerned about his twin’s health. His seasickness had not improved over the long days of their sailing. The smell of stale vomit hung constantly over their cabin. They spent a good deal of time on deck, as they were doing now.
‘Let us say I cannot wait to begin my magical studies so that I can learn a charm against seasickness,’ Teclis responded.
‘I am astounded by your towering ambition. It is nice to know I have a brother who aims so high in life. Seven thousand years of elf magic to learn from and the biggest thing driving you to master this ancient and terrible lore is your desire to avoid seasickness.’
‘If you had been as sick for as long as I have you would understand why I feel that way. Lady Malene’s potions had only just helped me get over my last illness.’
Tyrion immediately felt guilty about his joking manner. He had never endured a moment’s illness in his life. Seasickness did not affect him in the slightest nor had he expected it to.
For Teclis things were different. Perhaps they always would be. He himself had spent most of the voyage learning the ways of the sea from sailors who looked at him as if he were a young god when they were not giving him superstitious looks. Teclis had spent his daytime sleeping on deck, trying to keep from vomiting and being looked down on by everyone who passed him, save the few among Korhien’s riders who also suffered from the same malady.
‘You always wanted to go on a ship,’ he said eventually.
‘I still do,’ Teclis responded. ‘But only once I have achieved immunity to this vile plague. In the few brief instants I have not been heaving what I have eaten over the sides I have greatly enjoyed this voyage.’
‘Do you think we will see pirates?’
‘I was just starting to feel better. Why did you have to say that?’
‘Because I have heard stories that these are dangerous waters, full of Norse raiders and human pirates and dark elf sea marauders despite all the spells that are supposed to keep them out. We might meet some that have gotten lost.’
‘This might seem like an adventure to you, Tyrion, but what I am I supposed to do if we are attacked by pirates – be sick all over them?’
‘That might prove to be a very effective defensive strategy.’
‘There are times when I doubt that you understand military matters quite as well as you pretend you do.’
‘Don’t worry. If we are attacked, I will protect you.’
‘And who is going to protect you?’
‘I think I can manage to protect myself, brother. Never doubt it.’
‘Look over there.’ Tyrion followed his brother’s gesture. Korhien and Lady Malene strolled hand in hand across the deck towards them. It seemed Tyrion was not the only one enjoying this sea voyage.
‘Greetings, young princes,’ said Korhien, sounding more than usually amiable.
‘Good afternoon to you both,’ said Teclis.
‘It is,’ said Lady Malene. ‘There is something to be said for the fresh sea air, I always find.’ She looked at Korhien as if sharing some secret joke. Korhien smiled.
‘It is invigorating,’ he said.
‘I find it so,’ said Tyrion, wondering why the two of them looked as if they wanted to laugh at him. They had just spent a long time in their cabin below. They had not been enjoying a lot of the fresh sea air. Suddenly he realised what they had been up to and looked away.
‘This is a wonderful ship,’ said Teclis. ‘Very fast.’
‘It is one of many House Emeraldsea owns,’ said Lady Malene.
‘How many?’ Teclis asked. He always liked to pin things down exactly.
‘Thirty or so. They sail and they trade and explore. Sometimes we use them to raid the coast of Naggaroth.’
‘Thirty ships, is that a lot?’ Tyrion asked.
‘It is,’ said Korhien. ‘A significant contribution to our fleets in wartime. There are very few Houses in Lothern who can match that number and only Finubar’s House exceeds it.’
‘Well, he is the Phoenix King,’ said Teclis.
‘We were just talking about pirates,’ said Tyrion. ‘Do you think we shall see any?’
‘My brother is keen to try his hand at fighting them,’ said Teclis sardonically.
‘There is no need to worry my young friend,’ said Korhien. ‘If we are attacked, Lady Malene will protect us.’
‘She will?’ said Tyrion.
‘Oh yes, like many a mage of Lothern she started her career of wizardry aboard ship.’
‘Is that true?’ asked Teclis. As ever, mention of any aspect of magic got his attention instantly.
Lady Malene nodded. ‘Most mages of Lothern spend half their lives aboard ship.’
‘Why?’ Teclis asked.
‘Summoning winds, protecting them from monsters, blasting enemy ships with spells when the need arises and preventing enemy wizards doing the same to our vessels.’
To Tyrion that sounded like just about the most exciting use of wizardry he had ever heard. It almost made him want to study it himself, despite his total lack of any gift for the Art. ‘You can summon winds?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Why not do it now?’
‘Because there is no need,’ Malene replied. ‘We have a fair wind driving us as fast as we can sail naturally, and I see no need to tire myself out to make us go faster. If any pirates do show up, I will need my strength for then.’
Tyrion saw it at once, ‘Of course,’ he said.
‘Of course, what?’ Teclis asked.
‘Better to bind the winds then than for travel. With a mage aboard capable of doing so we could sail against the wind, or increase our manoeuvre speed.’
Korhien beamed like a teacher proud of a prize pupil. ‘I told you he was quick on the uptake,’ he said to Lady Malene.
‘Show my brother the military possibilities of anything and he grasps it instantly,’ said Teclis. ‘Unfortunately he is not so quick on the uptake for anything else.’
‘He is quick about all he will need to be quick for,’ said Korhien. ‘Nothing more need be asked of him.’
‘I would not be so quick to make such statements if I were you,’ said Lady Malene. ‘Who knows what Prince Tyrion’s destiny will require of him?’
Tyrion laughed. ‘I doubt it will be anything too exalted.’
The others looked at him as if they did not believe that. He noticed the pretty young sailor girl had been listening to all of this from nearby. She looked away when she saw him notice her. He wondered if she was really as shy as
she pretended or whether this was simply a way of getting his attention.
He resolved that before the day was much older, he would find out.
‘What is this called?’ Tyrion asked, pointing to the large sail above them.
The sailor girl smiled. They stood alone high on the central mast of the ship, perfectly balanced as was the way of elves. They swayed slightly with the motion of the ship, but both of them were perfectly at ease, as if they were standing on dry ground, not above a drop that would shatter their bodies if they were to accidentally fall to the deck sixty feet below.
‘This is the topsail,’ she said.
‘And what are you called?’
‘Karaya.’
‘I am Tyrion.’
‘You are Prince Tyrion,’ she said. ‘You are the nephew of Lady Malene. We were sent all this way to pick you up. You must be a personage of some importance.’
‘Really?’
‘A trading Eagle is not normally dispatched to a small fishing port in Cothique for matters of no consequence. We should be sailing to the Old World or Cathay. Instead, we are off the coast of Ulthuan carrying a cargo of warriors and horses.’
‘I had not realised I was so valuable,’ said Tyrion.
The girl smiled at him. ‘House Emeraldsea thinks so.’
‘You have a pretty smile,’ he said.
‘And you have strange and lovely eyes,’ she said. He found the intensity of her look somewhat disturbing. It reminded him of a question he had been wanting to ask for a while.
‘Why does everyone look at me so oddly?’ he asked. The girl looked startled. It was obviously not what she had been expecting him to say. The mood of the moment was broken.
‘You really don’t know?’
Tyrion shook his head.
‘I hate to strike such a blow to your vanity but it is not just because they are overwhelmed by your sheer physical beauty.’
‘I do find that hard to believe,’ said Tyrion.
Karaya smiled.
‘It’s because you look like a statue.’
‘Are we talking about my chiselled good looks?’
‘No. We are talking about the fact that you look like the statue of Aenarion in Lothern harbour. That’s why the whole crew spend so much time staring at you.’
‘No!’
‘Yes. The resemblance is uncanny.’
‘You mean aside from the fact that the statue is six hundred feet tall and I am not.’
‘You will have a chance to judge for yourself soon. We will arrive in Lothern in the next few days if the winds are fair.’
Tyrion noticed dark clouds gathering in the distance. He wondered if a storm was coming in.
From below an officer bellowed an order and Karaya jumped to obey.
‘Perhaps we can continue this discussion later,’ said Tyrion.
‘Perhaps,’ the sailor girl replied. ‘There are other things I would like to discuss too.’
N’Kari felt his storm being birthed. He felt like howling with glee. The first part of his plan was under way. The weather was shaped to his will. Now he needed to make sure the other elements were in place.
Carefully, with infinite patience, he extruded tiny filaments of himself through the waystones. He was not yet powerful enough to break out physically but he could send out a message to every elf with even the slightest sensitivity to such things and blend their dreams with his own. He would prepare the world for his coming and make sure the first recruits were ready for his army.
Mages across the face of the world would sense something, for their gift would make them sensitive to his magic. That would not be such a bad thing. Some of them would provide him with excellent recruits.
He invoked the name of Slaanesh and sent thistledown splinters of dream out from the waystones into the night. Borne by the winds of magic, they floated over Ulthuan and touched the dreams of those they were drawn to.
In southern Cothique, a group of orgiastic cultists was touched by magic. As they lay naked and spent from their ritual lovemaking, they felt an odd desire enter their minds, to go to a certain place at a certain time and make themselves ready for the rise of a new prophet who was about to enter their world.
In the Shadowlands, a group of dark elf infiltrators learned that if they headed eastwards, they would find something of great use to their master. It seemed to them that Morathi herself had appeared naked in their dreams with the instructions and promised them the ultimate reward of her person if they obeyed.
In Saphery, an archmage who had long dabbled in the ways of the Dark Prince of Pleasure dreamed that he would learn a great secret if he ventured to the western waystone of the realm.
In Lothern, the greatest assassin in the world dreamed of rebellion against his master and a life of luxury among the enemies he had been raised to hate. He woke beside the sleeping wife of a friend and covered his stolen eyes with a hand covered in the flayed skin of elves.
All across Ulthuan, the dreams of wizards and the sensitive were troubled, and visions entered their mind that carried the promise and the threat of the power of Slaanesh’s greatest follower.
Teclis hauled his painful way up onto the deck, one shoulder rising, the other falling with every step. It was dark. The night sky was full of stars and the beams of the moon fell on his face. The sound of the waves lapping against the sides of the ship was oddly relaxing. The wind was cool on his skin. At night, he felt stronger, and he suffered the seasickness less. He felt more able to limp around and less self-conscious about his infirmity with most of the crew save for the nightwatch and the officer in charge asleep.
His dreams had been dark, troubled things, full of images of walls closing in and four-armed daemons stalking innocent elves and flaying them alive while they screamed in what might have been agony or ecstasy or some combination of both. In any case, the image was disturbing enough to make him want to leave the little cabin and come up into the fresh air.
There was a splash and a plopping sound and he saw something silver wriggling on the deck in front of him. At first, he was startled and a little scared but he saw it was a flying fish. It had leapt from the water and was now spasming on the deck as if drowning in air. He felt a stab of sympathy. He knew what that felt like. He lifted the fish, ignoring the slimy wriggling between his fingers, limped to the edge of the deck and dropped it back over the side into the ocean.
He looked out onto the black waters and saw the moon reflected in them. He saw his own reflection as a shadowy, broken outline in the rippling waves. It made him look even more ill-made than usual.
He heard someone moving behind him and turned to see the girl who was always following Tyrion about. He smiled at her. She looked at him oddly for a moment, and he thought she was going to speak but she walked away, unwilling to meet his gaze, receding into the night.
He turned away himself so as not to show his hurt. He schooled his features to cold composure and told himself he did not care anyway. It was a hard thing to be ugly and a cripple among the elves. They did not like to look upon things less beautiful and less perfect than themselves. In his father’s villa, with only his family and Thornberry, he had been shielded from that, but he was starting to realise how isolated his life was going to be among what were supposedly his own people. He wondered for a moment whether that was why his father had retreated there.
Tyrion was going to have it easier now. He was good-looking even among elves and he was good-natured, easy going and charming. His sunny disposition would always win him friends and admirers.
What is going to become of us, he asked the Moon Goddess. What is going to become of me? There was no answer. The waves rolled on. The sea was empty, a vast dark mirror to the sky.
It was a long time before he slept and, once again, his dreams were dark.
chapter eight
The wind grew stronger, ruffling Tyrion’s hair with invisible fingers and making the sails crack as they fluttered. The sea was choppier, white caps
of foam appearing atop waves that grew larger and larger. The ship rose and fell more as it cut into them. From the east, purple clouds streamed across the sky, covering the sun and overhauling the ship with surprising swiftness.
Tyrion watched with interest. The sailors reacted with practised discipline, tying things down, making sure everything was in place. In the hold, one of the horses whinnied in fear, catching something in the air. The rest of the steeds became uneasy. Tyrion could hear them moving restlessly. One by one the soldiers went down into the hold and began to whisper softly to their animals, calming them.
Slowly it dawned on Tyrion that there really might be something to be uneasy about. The wind was blowing ever more strongly. The gulls perched on the masts were taking to the air. The Eagle of Lothern turned slightly, setting a new course towards the coast. Tyrion was no sailor but he wondered at the wisdom of this. A storm might drive them onto the rocks, run them aground, break the ship up.
‘What is going on?’ he asked Korhien. The White Lion stood near him on the prow of the ship watching the onrushing clouds. He turned to face Tyrion, stretched ostentatiously as an elf without a care in the world. He looked as if he was contemplating simulating a yawn.
‘Big storm coming in. The captain is looking for a safe harbourage although I doubt she will find one on this stretch of coast.’
‘Is that wise? Might we not run aground?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. I am just going with what Malene told me. I think it’s because you are here. Normally they would run before the storm but they don’t want to take any chances with the Blood of Aenarion being onboard.’
Tyrion was not sure whether Korhien meant they were not taking any chances because they valued the lives of himself and Teclis or whether they feared the curse. Perhaps it was a little of both.
‘What should we do?’ Tyrion asked. Korhien laughed.
‘Not a lot we can do, doorkeeper. Neither of us are sailors. We can offer up a prayer to the sea gods and trust in the fact that the captain knows what she is doing.’
