The Realms Beyond (The Reinhold Chronicles Book 2)

by Bo Burnette

  Philip rowed back towards shore on the lone longboat, his arms pumping as he neared Arliss. This might be his last load of crew and cargo. With a gentle crunch, the boat scraped onto the beach, and he leapt out. “We’re about ready to cast off. Where are those three chumps hiding?”

  As if at his words, the three chumps came clambering down the hill, Ilayda’s arm hooked in Brallaghan’s, and Erik’s arm hooked around his longbow.

  Ilayda called cheerily, “We’re here! And what a lovely morning it is. In fact—”

  “Get in the boat, Ilayda,” Philip ordered crossly.

  Arliss frowned at him. She, too, was a bit annoyed with Ilayda, but his grim manner with everything was starting to wear on her.

  “I think he means please get in the boat, Ilayda, once you’ve said your goodbyes.” Arliss stepped back, her boots rasping through the sand.

  Ilayda’s parents, Lord Adam and Lady Elisabeth, along with her brother Arden, had come to bid her farewell.

  Philip stood with Erik, embracing his aunt, uncle, and young cousins.

  Arliss stole another look down at her new outfit. Her mother really had outdone herself. The oceanic blue fabric dripped down past her knees, but still offered a full range of movement due to five slits all around the skirt, making it resemble petals around a flower. A thin leather jerkin served as a bodice with pockets and straps for everything. She even had stuffed one of the pouches full of Lasairbláth.

  And, of course, the moon necklace hung against her chest.

  Footsteps approached her from behind, one set of thick, hard treads and one of gentle, gliding footfalls. She squeezed her eyes shut once before swiveling around. They’d come to bid her goodbye. For the first time in their lives, she was leaving Reinhold.

  “Mother. Father.” She managed a smile. “It’s time.”

  Kenton nodded, his hands clasped.

  Elowyn stepped closer. “My dear, dear Arliss. How I will miss you. But I cannot hold onto you forever. I know that you were born for such a time as this.”

  “I love you,” was all Arliss could say as Elowyn gently kissed her forehead. Then came Kenton’s turn to bid her farewell.

  He came close to her, holding both her hands. “That song you sang last night—my brother sang it before he left. Before he died. He was an explorer, just like you. Since I lost him, I must trust you to carry on his work. Reinhold needs an explorer.”

  “I will. I will.” Arliss clenched his hands even tighter.

  Behind them, Elowyn had just finished speaking to Philip. He called, “Arliss, it’s time.”

  She turned back to her father. He lifted from the ground a long, tubular horn. The bronze mouth of the horn was engraved with the shape of a lion’s head. Kenton handed the instrument to Philip. “This is called a carynx—one of the few treasures that was rescued from the isle. May it be your voice when you are in trouble.”

  Philip accepted the gift and turned towards the longboat.

  Arliss bit her lip. “I wanted to tell you that I don’t begrudge you holding back all those secrets. They were your secrets, not mine.”

  “Some were yours.”

  “Now they are. But I am not bitter towards you. I love you.”

  “I love you as well.” He encased Arliss in a long embrace.

  Then he released her, and she stepped away. Philip began to row away as she climbed into the longboat.

  Arliss pulled herself up the rope ladder onto the ship as Philip made fast the longboat to the port side. When her feet finally found the deck, she wobbled a moment. The solid wood beneath her felt as if it was undulating with her every step. She took a few careful steps as her legs began to meld with the rocking vessel.

  “Princess!” Lord Brédan called. “Have you thought of a name for her?”

  Arliss paused. She hadn’t considered it. “What do you suggest?”

  “Why not The Sea Swan? After the legend.”

  “The one where the princess is turned into a swan and has to cross the sea to break the spell?” Arliss grinned. “Perfect.”

  He nodded. “Are we ready, then?”

  “Yes, we are!” she hollered back.

  His face lit up as he shouted a slurry of orders. “Draw up the anchor! Hoist the mainsail! All hands at attention!”

  Philip jumped over the side of the deck. If the ship’s seesawing perturbed him, he didn’t give any outward indication.

  The crew, consisting mostly of guards whom Brallaghan and Arliss had selected, dashed around the smallish deck, tying down ropes and untying others. Philip helped another sailor (for that was what they now were) tug the iron anchor up and onto the deck.

  No one gave Arliss instructions, so she darted through the laboring crew, straight for the aft deck. A set of outward-curving stairs led up to the side which overhung the ship’s deck. The other side protruded over the ocean itself.

  She hung over the edge, looking down at the water below. Beyond, the shoreline shrank away as The Sea Swan moved out. Her parents were waving. Everyone was waving. She waved back, but the heavy sorrow had evaporated from her heart. An impossible thrill now filled her spirit as the ship skated across the water, picking up speed. The late autumn winds blew in their favor. God approved her mission.

  She didn’t notice Philip had also mounted the platform until the Cliffs of Aíll lay almost out of sight. He leaned over the edge next to her, his voice soft and steady.

  “Well, we’ve said farewell to Reinhold. Time to greet the realms beyond.”

  Chapter Thirteen: The Flag of the Dragon

  THE MOMENT REINHOLD HAD PASSED COMPLETELY OUT OF sight, Philip turned to Arliss. “All right, time to fill me in. We’re stuck together for at least a month, confined to either a lone ship or a lone isle, so you can’t keep mum all that time. What was on that paper? You’ve hardly let me even peep at it. What’s the significance of the gifts? And why the Isle?”

  “I’m better at keeping silent than you give me credit for.” Arliss stood up in the tower-like poop deck, teetering only slightly on her newfound sea-legs. “But I will answer you, anywise. We’re going to the Isle because, as I think you already know, that is where the gifts are presumed to be hidden.”

  He also straightened. “Presumption. Of course. Brilliant—please continue.”

  “The gifts given to the clans long ago consisted of three things: a sword, a crown, and a ring. I thought I’d told you all this already.”

  He nodded. “Bits and pieces. But what about the paper? What was on it?”

  “Everything I just told you.” She brushed her hair behind her shoulder. “Yet there is more to it. Apparently, there were other gifts—powerful treasures formed in secret, yet crafted to fit into the other gifts.”

  “Fit into?”

  “Like a lock and a key. You could only unlock the secret gifts if you had the known ones. Unfortunately, I don’t know the exact location of any of the gifts—secret or not.”

  “Aren’t they all a secret at this point?” he asked.

  That wasn’t a question she could comfortably answer, considering the unrest with Thane and his assassin. She sighed. “I certainly hope so.”

  Below them, Brallaghan called up. “My father wants a word with you, Arliss. And Philip—he wants you and me to ensure the armory is well organized. Apparently the guards we assigned to it didn’t do the best job.”

  Philip nodded and vaulted over the side of the deck, not bothering to use the stairs. His boots thudded on the wood below. Arliss raised her eyebrow. If he could do it, so could she. The railing proved a little high, but she managed to swing herself over it.

  The force of her landing rammed up through her knees, and she winced. Thankfully Philip wasn’t looking. She kept a careful watch as he descended to the lower deck and she limped over to the helm.

  “How goes it, captain?” she asked once she reached Lord Brédan.

  His gray eyes flickered. “I haven’t sailed a ship like this in…well, in forever, really.” His eyes
searched a distant time before he looked over at her. “P’raps you’d like to take the wheel a moment?”

  She held up her hands. “No, you’d best stick with that. I’d hate to wreck this lovely ship.”

  “Very well.” He chuckled, but his eyes were concerned. “We’ve been sailing near three hours now.”

  “Goodness! It doesn’t feel nearly that long.”

  “We’ll reach the Isle of Light well before sundown. As long as these dratted conditions don’t get any worse, that is.”

  She looked all around the ship. Brédan was right—the amber morning sun had all but disappeared in a cloak of clouds and fog. All around the ship, a dense haze misted from the ocean, cutting off most of the forward view. With this murk, they wouldn’t even know when they were coming upon land.

  Brédan must have seen her worried gaze. “Don’t worry, princess. The Isle’s almost always covered in fog, especially after a storm. I remember.”

  He had stories in his eyes—more stories than he had time to tell. She started to ask him about the Isle, about life before the flight. Then something tall and dark poked out of the fog. She could not speak for several moments. Her throat felt blocked up inside.

  She finally managed to swallow just as Brédan saw what had transfixed her attention.

  “What the devil…” His voice faded out. But Arliss knew what it was.

  The tall form of a ship’s mast towered above the fog. From its pinnacle, a black flag flapped lazily in the wind. On the flag, a purple dragon devoured a green tree. The mast stood alone as Arliss gripped Brédan’s arm to assure herself she wasn’t dreaming.

  With a sudden crash of waves, the hidden ship cut through the fog, its nose pointed toward the starboard side of the Reinholdian vessel. The ship was easily twice the Swan’s height and breadth.

  Brédan’s voice erupted with a volume Arliss had never heard out of him. “All hands on deck! Arm yourselves! All hands on deck!”

  She rushed to the side of the ship to get a better view. She tugged her bow out of her quiver and stuck her leg over it as she gaped over the side of the deck.

  The enormous ship pressed towards them, its prow ready to stab the Swan right in the heart. She slipped the string over the top edge of her bow. Nocking an arrow, she carefully scanned the still-distant deck of the massive ship. Clouds of fog obstructed her view, but a few things she could make out clearly. The flag of the dragon she recognized from some books she had read. It had been the flag of the clan of Anmór many generations ago.

  And then she glimpsed a flicker of burgundy at the ship’s brow. Excellent—him again.

  The last thing she noticed sent chills down her spine. Her fingertips tingled on the bowstring. There, commanding the ship at its helm, stood a tall man in shadowy clothing. The inside of his oilcloth cape was lined with golden silk. His very bearing, the way he turned and moved, betrayed his identity.

  “Thane,” she whispered. She squeezed her shoulder blades together, leaning forward as she forced her lungs to fill with air. She called back to the crew. “Thane! Thane is upon us! To arms, Reinhold!”

  Brédan’s face emanated panic. “What do we do? We can’t hold ‘em off in this tub!”

  Arliss clutched her bow. “Just don’t let him crash right into us. I…” She glanced at the dry torch sconces which hung, unlit, from the forecastle. “I’ll handle the rest.”

  If Brédan doubted her words, he didn’t indicate it. He nodded, his face pale but determined.

  Philip and Brallaghan burst up the stairs from the lower deck, both with sword drawn. “Who’s upon us?” Philip demanded.

  Arliss ignored his question. “I need your tinder box. Get a fire going in those torches right away.”

  “We’re under attack?” Brallaghan gaped for a moment before turning on his heel and rushing back towards the armory.

  Philip faced the oncoming ship. “Is this who I think it is?”

  “Yes.” Arliss took a step towards the prow. “Now hurry—I need those torches lit!”

  He huffed but sheathed his sword and darted for the forecastle.

  If she was going to do this, she needed to be as high as possible. She scanned the ship for a decent vantage point. Unlike most ships in stories she’d read, the Swan didn’t have any sort of lookout tower—the narrow mast couldn’t support it. She surveyed the ship back and forth. The highest point had to be the forecastle.

  Beside the front platform, Philip had just managed to coax a flame out of the twin torches.

  Arliss drew an arrow, one of the ones she kept prepared with a cloth wrapped around its tip. She strode toward the prow, mounted the forecastle, and—after feeding it to the flame for a moment—readied an arrow on her bow.

  Thane had turned so that the stern of his ship aligned with the prow of theirs. Thus, none of his crew was currently focused on the Reinholdian forecastle. Arliss let the arrow fly from between her fingers. It struck the rear of Thane’s ship, the smoldering blaze picking up little by little.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Philip shouted.

  “Fending off Thane’s ship, of course.” She thrust another arrow into the near torch. Why was Philip so ratty today? She’d done plenty with fiery arrows in the past. Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t forget that.

  “You can’t fend off one ship all by yourself, and you know it.”

  “Who says I can’t?” Arliss grinned. Of course she couldn’t, but did he have to go dumping water on her attempts?

  “I do, you cocky princess.”

  “Well, I didn’t not ask for your help.”

  He ran back amidships and focused on a spot on Thane’s vessel. Arliss followed his eyeline to what had captured his gaze. Thane was turning his ship about to come exactly parallel to them. As he turned, the aft of his ship came within a few yards of the Reinholdian deck. In the split second where the ships almost touched, a muddy red shadow streaked across the gap and landed on their deck.

  The shadow stood, unfazed from the leap, and looked behind him as if he expected to be followed. But Thane’s ship had already turned too far for any of his comrades to join him.

  The burgundy-cloaked man stood, surveying the near-empty deck. Most of the sailors had rushed below to properly arm themselves. Only Arliss, Philip, Brédan, and Ilayda still remained above deck.

  Arliss released her second arrow. It struck the ship’s rear with a burst of flame. Her heart thudded within her chest. The assassin was here. They were both here, within fighting distance. How had Thane known she would be traveling to the isle?

  Brandishing his pair of knives, the burgundy-cloaked assassin threw his weight towards Philip. Philip swung up his sword to block.

  Arliss shot two more arrows, but her glance kept flitting to the fight on the deck. The four tiny flames dotted Thane’s ship by the time it had turned all the way around. The vessel slid forwards alongside their own—wood scraping splinters from wood.

  Arliss readied another fiery arrow and scoured the ship for a good place to put it. Thane’s heart seemed as good a place as any. Her mother had told her that only a child of a king could kill him. She was the only royalty here.

  But Thane no longer stood at the helm. Where had he snaked off to?

  Then she saw him standing at the prow of the boat, letting his gold-lined cape streak out behind him in the wind, looking like both a king and master of the situation. He stared straight at her. And he smiled, one hand raised.

  Her fingers constricted around the bowstring. He wanted to talk. She couldn’t kill an enemy when he wanted to parley. She licked her lips as she sent her arrow streaking towards the curved prow of Thane’s ship—a few feet in front of him.

  He hadn’t spotted her other arrows, but this one fetched his attention. He met her gaze with a smirk. The two ships sailed only feet apart now, and soon he would practically be standing right beside her.

  On the deck below, Philip and the assassin raged on. Every once in a while, the assassin would shove
one of his knives back in his jerkin and trade it out for something Arliss couldn’t see.

  Half a dozen grappling hooks came flailing down from Thane’s ship, biting the edge of the Reinholdian ship. Over on the enemy deck, sailors readied to board the smaller vessel. They tugged at the hooked ropes, pulling the two ships closer together. Thane looked on as his warriors collided with the rush of Reinholdian guards who suddenly erupted from the armory. The fight began in earnest.

  Thane stood only three arms’ breadth from Arliss.

  Chapter Fourteen: The Prisoner

  “GOOD AFTERNOON, ARLISS!” THANE’S VOICE BOOMED ACROSS THE narrow crevice between the ships. “It’s been some time, has it not?”

  “Not long enough.” Arliss’s voice sounded thick in her own ears. Her hand tightened around the bow grip to keep from trembling.

  Thane released his laughter which she so hated. “I take it you’re not as pleased to see me as I am to see you?”

  Arliss tugged back the fiery arrow on her bow and aimed it at his heart.

  He stopped laughing. “Still playing that game, are we? You really need to find a new trick—everyone’s going to see the fiery arrows coming a league away.”

  “Stop it, right now. You’re stalling—don’t think I don’t know it!” She relaxed the string slightly. “I will not miss, and I will kill you. You are a usurper and a murderer.”

  “Are you anything less?” He turned slightly, and she saw the side of his jaw. It boasted a nasty scar. “But you’re right. I am circling the point.”

  On the deck below, Reinholdians clashed with Thane’s men. Over on Thane’s own deck, more warriors prepared to start a second wave of attack. Philip was still fighting, but not with the assassin. He and his cloak had vanished.