by Morris, Dave
Altor tore up thick clumps of ferns and brought them over. ‘Cover yourself with these. They’ll help keep you warm.’
Caelestis continued to stare off between the trees. ‘Get soil and sap all over my clothes?’ he grumbled. ‘I’d sooner freeze to death.’
Altor shrugged. ‘Suit yourself.’ He sat down and draped the ferns across him like a blanket.
Time passed. Altor suddenly found himself awake, fully alert. It was still dark. Green Flame, now close to setting, cast a ghastly light through the woods that made the branches look like gnarled fingers. Beside Altor, Caelestis was curled up fast asleep with his head pillowed on the roots of the tree.
Altor rose and looked around to see what had roused him. Suddenly something burst from the undergrowth. Altor reached for his sword, and smiled when he saw it was just a rabbit. It sat on the snow in front of him for a split-second, a little knot of quivering tension, then bounded off between the trees.
Altor went over to where it had appeared. He peered into the deep gloom, but could not see anything that might have scared the rabbit. ‘Probably an owl...’ he said to himself.
He walked back to the tree. Caelestis yawned, stretched and turned over in his sleep. Altor grinned, a little shamefaced that his friend was able to sleep soundly while his keen warrior instincts had woken him merely because of one frightened rabbit.
There was a cold tingle down his spine. Altor spun around and found himself staring into a face of alien white bone with eyes like disks of jade.
He jumped back and felt its clawed fingers rake the air just next to his cheek. He half-stumbled over Caelestis, who woke with a curse and sat up angrily.
‘What’s going—Great God in heaven!’ Caelestis jumped up, rebounded off the tree trunk, and reeled aside as the creature leaned towards him. Its hard fingers speared the bark of the tree, instantly spreading a patch of deathly white frost.
‘Don’t let it touch you!’ shouted Altor as he drew his sword.
‘No kidding,’ said Caelestis, snatching up a broken branch to parry the thing’s claws. Where it struck the branch, the wood became brittle and sheathed in ice.
Altor gave a battle cry and lunged towards the creature. It turned, skinless jaws gaping to spill loamy soil over the frosty ground. The wave of intense cold emanating from it made his skin tingle. The silver sword slid between its ribs, but this time it did not vanish. Instead the lambent eyes only glowed more fiercely. Altor swayed backwards to avoid the icy clutch of its claws, bringing his sword up and striking at its face. The sword bit a shallow groove across its brow, but that was all.
‘We’d better beat a retreat!’ said Altor.
Caelestis was quick to agree. They turned and ran pell-mell into the forest with him leading the way.
The net of branches enfolded them. They ran without looking back. Boots crunched on frosty grass, ragged gasps punctuated the silence. An owl with eyes like silver coins took flight from a nearby tree, beating noiselessly off into the darkness.
The forest was hushed, serene. If not for the taste of adrenaline in their mouths they might have thought they were still asleep and dreaming.
They stopped when they could run no further. Altor slumped breathless against a tree and stared back through the woods. The creature was nowhere in sight, but Altor wasn’t fooled. He could sense it, out there somewhere, stalking them through the night.
Ahead lay a lake with a boat moored at its edge. Caelestis, leaning against a boulder, pointed it out to his friend.
Altor was dubious. ‘It seems too convenient. Green Flame is sometimes known as the gift star, but the gifts it brings are always unlucky.’
Caelestis’s cloak had been ripped to tatters by brambles as they ran, and his face was scratched where branches had whipped painfully across it, but for once he didn’t care. Sucking the cold night air into his lungs, he had neither complaints nor quips to make. He could think only of the creature striding after them, green eyes lighting the darkness, hands of bone outstretched to suck the warmth from their bodies.
‘We stay here, we’re dead,’ he decided.
They climbed into the boat and pushed off from the shore. Altor took up the oars. Caelestis sat in the prow and looked back at the wall of tree trunks encircling the lake.
At that moment the skeletal creature burst from the bushes. Caelestis tensed as he met its unhuman stare. It loped down to the edge of the lake and stopped.
Caelestis relaxed and began to smile. ‘It seems our friend can’t swim...’ he said to Altor.
But Caelestis’s grin soured when he saw the creature bend and thrust its hands down towards the water. Instantly a path of ice formed across the lake, angling towards the boat and completely encircling it.
Altor tugged at the oar and realized it was stuck fast in the ice. He turned to look back. The creature was advancing across the ice towards them. ‘How about the Faltyn?’ he suggested.
Caelestis looked at his ring. Mistrusting the sorcerous creature it contained, he normally wore it with the stone facing inwards. Turning it around on his finger, he called to the Faltyn, coaxing it to appear with a mixture of promises and threats.
It appeared, as ever, reluctantly—a wisp of a figure drifting like mist above the water of the lake. Its face was a mask of otherworldly tranquillity, but when it spoke there was a tremble in that lilting voice: ‘Do not expect me to stand against the True Magi’s powers on your behalf, o mortal. In a twinkling I am gone again.’
It began to fade. Caelestis held up the ring. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘First tell me how we can escape from this creature.’
The Faltyn lingered, unable to resist the magic of the ring. ‘You cannot. It has been sent by the Green Flame and it draws its power constantly from the earth and stones of Krarth. It cannot be avoided, cannot be destroyed.’
‘What do you mean, sent by Green Flame?’ demanded Altor.
The Faltyn ignored him, staring transfixed at the approaching creature until Caelestis waved the ring in front of its face and repeated the question.
‘You have angered the dead lords who dwell in the sky,’ said the Faltyn hastily. ‘The five comets that move above Krarth. Your quest is contrary to their interests, and therefore Green Flame has decided to dispose of you just as Blue Moon’s servants disposed of the harpist who originally had the pommel stone. If Green Flame fails, the others will take their turn. Now let me go. I can do nothing to help.’
Caelestis dismissed the Faltyn, which vanished as soon as he had spoken the words.
The skeleton creature loomed over them, leering horribly. It seemed bigger now, filled with terrible power. The green radiance flowing from its body made a crackling sound as tiny ice crystals formed in the air. Without much hope, Altor swung his sword at the thing’s body. The coldness that instantly swept up along the blade almost made him drop it. This time it had no effect on the creature.
Caelestis stepped forward. He was holding the other oar. He smashed it down—not at the creature itself, but at the ice on which it was standing.
The creature looked at Caelestis, gave a soundless snarl and lashed out with its bony hand. Altor parried the blow.
Caelestis struck again, heaving down with all his weight. The ice cracked. The creature lashed out, this time knocking Altor’s sword out of his numbed fingers. It fell into the bottom of the boat and he scrabbled to retrieve it.
Caelestis shoved the oar into the creature’s midriff. It shifted its weight, and in doing so placed one foot on the crack in the ice. The crack widened and water rushed up around the creature’s ankles, instantly beginning to freeze as it lapped against the creature’s exoskeleton. Caelestis smashed at the ice a final time and this time it shattered. With dreadful slowness the creature toppled, trapped on the ice like a statue on a pedestal. They watched without pity as it sank into the black water. For a moment the green eyes remained visible, baleful glimmering sparks, before vanishing into the murky depths.
On the horizon, the co
met called Green Flame flared briefly as it sank out of sight over the edge of the world.
Four:
The Questing Beast
Port Quag, on the eastern coast of Krarth, was a bustling town that smelt of tar and fish and salt spray. Caelestis and Altor reached it at noon, having pressed on through Misdren village without stopping, and were so weary that no sooner had they found a pallet in the common room of The Sun in Winter inn than they were deep in slumber.
When they woke it was evening and the tap room of the inn was filling up with revellers. Caelestis examined his tattered clothes sadly and then stumbled to the bar.
The innkeeper fixed him with a suspicious scowl. ‘I hope you’ve got the money to pay for your lodging,’ he said. ‘This is a reputable inn, not a doss-house for beggars.’
‘The blanket you gave me was full of fleas and the pallet is as hard as a grave stone,’ retorted Caelestis blearily. ‘No self respecting beggar would choose to sleep in such conditions.’ Nonetheless he reached into his pouch and paid the innkeeper a couple of florins.
The man’s scowl was unchanged. ‘If you’re expecting a meal you’d better find a few more coins to keep those company.’
Caelestis paid him two more florins. ‘My friend and I will have roast beef, steamed cabbage and turnip mash, with perhaps a few nutmeg cakes as dessert. See that the beef is not overdone. Also bring a flask of Asmulian red wine.’
The innkeeper somehow managed to look amused without losing the scowl. He pushed two wooden plates across the bar and nodded towards a trough of gruel beside the fire. ‘There is your supper. To wash it down we have Krarthian bitter ale or water. The water is free of charge, but I advise against drinking it.’
Caelestis raised a disdainful eyebrow. ‘Why?’
‘Have you ever suffered from the Brown Flux?’
‘No.’
‘Best keep it that way.’
Caelestis went to wake Altor and the two sat beside the fire eating their gruel. ‘It’s bad, Caelestis,’ said Altor at last.
‘Bad? It’s revolting.’
‘Not the gruel. I’m talking about that thing that attacked us in the forest.’
Caelestis groaned. ‘I’d hoped it was just a nightmare...’
‘The Faltyn said that Green Flame sent it to hunt us down. You remember I told you about the harpist who gave me the pommel stone? The werewolves who killed him were under the influence of Blue Moon.’
Caelestis nodded. ‘The comets are supposed to be the spirits of the five greatest of the True Magi. Those are ‘The Five’ that the harpist mentioned.’
‘So we must expect attacks from the others. What can you tell me about them?’
‘Green Flame and Blue Moon you already know about. Also there is Red Death, which astrologers take as the symbol of wanton carnage and terror. White Light I believe represents secrecy and arcane knowledge. Lastly there’s Yellow Eye, which stands for fever and decay.’
‘I see that Krarthian astrology has its morbid streak.’
Caelestis gave a bleak laugh. ‘No question of that. It’s a national characteristic in fact.’
While they were talking, a scar-faced sailor had rolled in off the street and greeted the landlord with a jovial curse. In short order he downed three glasses of the local firewater, a potent liquor brewed from seaweed. After this feat he inspected the room with large bloodshot eyes, his gaze soon coming to rest on the two friends.
‘Ah, the travellin’ sort, if I’m not mistaken,’ he barked. ‘Lookin’ fer a spot of work, are yer, lads?’
Altor saw that Caelestis was about to respond to this with some uncomplimentary remark. To prevent trouble, he quickly said: ‘It’s possible. We are trying to get to Wyrd.’
The sailor made a short mirthless sound. ‘There’s no chance of passage there ‘til next spring. The whole coast around it will be solid pack ice this time o’ year. Course, you could go north and walk across, if yer care to.’
‘Very droll,’ said Caelestis. ‘Now, why don’t you take your paunch and—‘
‘You have a ship?’ said Altor hastily. ‘Where’s she bound, may I ask?’
The sailor glared at Caelestis but had not yet drunk enough to become aggressive. ‘North a ways, to Dourhaven. A bit nearer to Wyrd, for all the good that’ll be.’
Altor leaned towards Caelestis’s ear. ‘Don’t offend this fellow for goodness’ sake. We could get passage to Dourhaven and save ourselves the trek overland.’
‘We’d be expected to work our passage! Do you think I intend to submit to the drudgery of a deckhand’s existence?’
‘With barely more than a dozen florins left, I don’t think we’ve any choice.’ Altor beamed at the sailor. ‘We’re your men.’
The sailor laughed and drained a last glass. ‘Not mine. ‘Tis Captain Lazarus I work for. So come along an’ see if yer faces fit.’
He reeled out of the door leaving Caelestis and Altor to snatch up their belongings and hurry along behind. They caught up to him at the end of the cobbled street where he was shoving his way through the seafront crowds. No-one seemed anxious to pick a fight with him when they turned and saw his tough scarred face.
Altor put out his hand as they walked. ‘Brother Altor of Ellesland,’ he said. ‘My friend is Caelestis.’
The sailor looked at the proffered hand but did not shake it. ‘Grogram’s the name. My ship’s the Questing Beast.’
‘Curious,’ said Caelestis. ‘I assumed it might be named the Drunken Sot.’
Grogram looked at him with hooded eyes. ‘You want your lip bust, do yer, lad?’
Caelestis returned a disdainful look. Before he could reply, Altor moved across so that he walked between them. ‘Which is your ship of these two fine vessels?’ he said to Grogram.
Apparently Grogram was not interested in pursuing his quarrel with Caelestis. He pointed to a large whaling ship tethered to the quay and led the way swaggering up the gangplank.
Altor fell back and grabbed Caelestis’s arm. ‘Why are you trying to antagonize him?’ he hissed.
‘He’s not the captain,’ grumbled Caelestis, ‘he’s just a sozzled sea-salt. I can’t abide an underling with airs above his station.’
They stepped up onto a deck stained with the blubber of slaughtered whales. The smell was of grease and rancid bilge water. The captain, whose face seemed almost to have been crushed at some point so that it had the appearance of a bruised melon, exchanged a few words with Grogram and then walked over. He had a limping gait and used a stick carved from narwhal ivory.
The crew looked on darkly. Altor threw them a broad smile that had no effect. Caelestis just stood glowering.
The captain surveyed the two with eyes that burned with an strange inner fire. ‘Ah yes. You’ll be ready for a spot of whaling, I shouldn’t doubt.’
‘Almost correct,’ said Caelestis, ‘except that my friend is opposed to the senseless slaughter of animals on religious grounds and I prefer not to get myself drenched in gore. Therefore if you have openings for executive officers or something of the sort—‘
The captain roared with laughter. ‘Ho, you’re a flaunty fellow!’ he said. ‘You’ll amuse the men with such choice witticisms.’
His crew did not look amused. On the contrary, they remained ominously silent like wolves behind their pack leader.
‘We’re prepared to work in the rigging, if you’ll let us learn the ropes,’ said Altor. ‘We only need passage as far as Dourhaven.’
‘As you like it. I’m Captain Lazarus. You’ve met my first mate, Mister Grogram. So, come along below decks and I’ll sign you lads up.’
He pointed aft to his cabin and they followed him. As they passed the hold, Lazarus paused and gestured with obvious satisfaction. ‘Down there is where we store the flesh and bones after boiling up the fat and salting what’s edible.’
‘We’ve eaten, thanks,’ said Caelestis dryly.
‘Hope you like whale meat,’ said Lazarus chuckling. ‘There’s no
t much else but that and ship’s biscuit aboard.’
He led them down to a cramped cabin that smelled of stale pipe smoke. There he opened a vast leather-bound ledger. Sharpening a quill, he dipped it in the inkwell on his desk and offered it to Altor.
Altor took the quill and wrote his signature in the ledger. Caelestis, by force of habit, signed on under a false name.
Lazarus blew on the page to dry the ink. ‘Educated men, I see. Few of those dogs working topside can write their names.’ He gave a wheeze of laughter. ‘It’s that and little else that keeps ‘em from signing away their souls!’
Caelestis looked around the cabin. ‘The accommodation seems... cosy, shall we say. Are the other cabins like this?’
Lazarus flung his head back. ‘Hah! You should have been a professional jester, my lad.’
Caelestis frowned. Altor said under his breath, ‘I suspect our own quarters will be even more basic.’
‘Grogram will provide you with hammocks and find you a space below decks,’ said Lazarus. ‘Now I have a few things to attend to up on deck. We’ll be casting off in one hour, so see you’ve got yourselves stowed before then.’ As they were going out he called after them: ‘Oh, lad. Not you, monk, your dandified friend...’ He glanced at the signatures in the ledger. ‘Skrymir, is it? Why don’t you drop by my cabin for supper later on? I’d like to hear some more of your jokes.’
They went up on deck to find Grogram ready with mops and a pail of water. ‘The deck could do with a scrub,’ he growled.
Caelestis nodded. ‘I thought the very same thing when we came aboard. Still, the odd patch of grime and dried blood just adds to the general air of quaintness, doesn’t it?’
He turned away to talk to Altor. Grogram put a meaty hand on Caelestis’s shoulder, swivelled him round, and thrust the pail into his hands. Dirty water sloshed over Caelestis’s boots, much to his annoyance.
‘Be careful, you oaf! These boots cost me twenty-five florins.’
Grogram leaned over to give the boots a good look, putting his face so close to Caelestis’s that the hard stubble on his chin scratched against the youth’s cheek. ‘It’s you who should be careful. They look like dead men’s boots to me.’
