‘How will it know where to go?’ Caldason wondered. ‘The Resistance are hardly going to be using the same hideouts, are they?’
‘It’ll be attuned to a person, not a place. As I said, it’s a top-quality glamour.’
‘Who’s it going to search for? Karr?’
‘With the best will in the world, he wasn’t in good health when we last saw him. So I thought we’d go for someone younger, fitter; and in a position to pass on the message. Quinn Disgleirio seemed a good choice.’
Caldason nodded. ‘Makes sense.’
‘Ironic, though,’ smiled Darrok.
‘Why?’ Serrah asked.
‘I don’t think Disgleirio’s overly fond of me.’
‘He’s a traditionalist,’ Caldason explained. ‘Not the kind to approve of somebody with a reputation like yours.’
‘He wouldn’t be the first to think ill of me. It goes with the territory.’
‘So what are we waiting for?’ Serrah said.
‘Phoenix. This isn’t the kind of glamour anybody can prime. It needs a sorcerer.’
‘He’ll be here,’ Kutch volunteered. ‘He was finishing off his studies when I saw him earlier.’
‘Well, I wish he’d get a move on.’ Darrok shivered. ‘It’s damn cold out here.’
‘You won’t freeze,’ Caldason told him. ‘Here he comes.’
A wagon arrived, depositing Phoenix. He swept up to them with the vigour of a much younger man, robes whipping in the wind.
‘You have it?’ he said without preamble.
‘Here.’ Darrok held out a cube on the palm of his hand. The cube was reddish, and made of no easily recognisable material, though it most closely resembled a soft wood. Its surfaces were inscribed with intricate symbols.
Phoenix took it and cupped it in his hands, as if warming wax. When he opened his hands, it was malleable. He produced a thin black strand and began gently working it into the softened material.
‘What’s that?’ Caldason said.
‘A lock of Disgleirio’s hair,’ the sorcerer replied.
‘That was something you just happened to have, was it?’
‘I’ve quite a collection of body-sheddings from Resistance members–hair, nail clippings, flakes of skin–against an eventuality like this. It ensures the glamour homes in on the right target. I can see what you’re thinking, Reeth. Don’t worry; I haven’t got anything of you filed away.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘Now, if you don’t mind…’
They fell silent while Phoenix continued with his preparations. Once he had the strand of hair embedded, he conjured a spell with hand gestures and a short bout of chanting.
‘It’s ready,’ he said, holding up the cube between thumb and forefinger.
‘You’ve lodged the message?’ Darrok asked.
‘Of course.’ Phoenix looked slightly offended. ‘Just as you dictated it.’
‘Then let’s get it done, shall we?’
Phoenix went to the edge of the quay. The others followed, Darrok gliding in on his silver dish.
‘Ready?’ The wizard said.
‘Do it,’ Caldason told him.
Phoenix tossed the cube into the grey water lapping the dock. There was an eruption of bubbles, and colours flashed beneath the waves. Slowly, a bulk rose out of the water.
It proved to be the upper part of a marine creature. Blue-black and sleek, it had whiskers and an elongated snout, while its hands were paddle-shaped, and its eyes large and dark as coal. It vaguely resembled a cross between a seal, a dolphin and an otter. The pseudo animal stared at them.
‘Go!’ Phoenix ordered.
The beast sank and turned at the same time, flowing gracefully. It circled once, moving like a knife through the water, then swerved and headed out to sea. They watched until it dived and disappeared.
‘Gods speed,’ the sorcerer muttered.
Darrok floated his dish away from the water’s edge. ‘That’s that. It’ll either get there or it won’t. We may never know either way.’
‘That’s a cheery thought,’ Serrah said.
‘Just the truth. I suggest you forget about it. You’ve got plenty to occupy you this morning.’
Caldason glanced at the ships. ‘How’s the loading going?’
‘Let’s ask Cheross, shall we?’ Darrok directed his disc towards the crowd of stevedores. The others tramped along behind.
As they walked, Phoenix fell in beside Caldason. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask,’ he confided in an undertone, ‘how are the visions?’
‘I’m still getting them.’
‘Are they of the same nature?’
‘They seem more to the point, whatever the point might be, and they’re usually shorter. Why?’
‘I can offer you a draught that could alleviate their effect. Something that might put you in a deep, non-dream state.’
‘Could. Might. What am I, Phoenix, a rat for testing your potions on?’
‘I only make the reservations because we’re talking about you. An ordinary man would succumb to the draught. With you, there’s no telling, but it’s worth trying. It wouldn’t harm you whether it blocks the visions or not.’
‘Whatever I get isn’t dreams, so I can’t see how the depth of my sleep would make any difference. Besides, I don’t want them blocked.’
‘You don’t? After all you’ve done to be rid of them?’
‘Since they started changing in character they’ve become more interesting than vexing to me.’
‘And there speaks the man who loathes magic so much.’
‘Of course I’d rather be without them. But it seems there’s some kind of meaning in what I see.’
‘I thought you couldn’t understand the visions,’ said Phoenix.
‘I’m not saying I can, only that they’re trying to convey something. And they have an incredible vividness, as real as being awake.’
‘You know, there’s an old sorcerers’ adage that goes, “Who’s to know which is real, our waking lives or our so-called dreams?” The Craft has always believed that the realms of the unconscious communicate with us. So maybe these visions are telling you something.’
‘You make it sound as though I’m causing this to happen myself.’
‘Are you saying you aren’t worth listening to? That you’d turn a deaf ear to your innermost fears and hopes?’
‘None of it’s coming from me, Phoenix. This is from outside.’
‘Then I won’t try to persuade you about the draught. If you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure.’ Kutch and Serrah were walking well ahead, with Darrok in the lead, Pallidea at his side. ‘Right now,’ Caldason said, keeping his voice down, ‘I’m more concerned about the boy. Do you think he’ll be able to handle this voyage?’
‘Kutch’s young and inexperienced. He can be rash. But you of all people should know that he has heart and spirit. Above all, he has a natural affinity with the Craft. I think he’ll cope.’
‘It’s putting a lot on his shoulders.’
‘Weren’t you even younger when you had to face the world on your own account? Nevertheless I take your point, and to be on the safe side I’ve had glamoured detection devices installed on board. Kutch’s aware of this, and knows how to interpret them.’
‘What do these things detect, exactly?’
‘In essence they’re a crude form of the ability Kutch has naturally. They detect magical activity. That could prove useful in your search.’
They arrived at the crowded end of the quay at that point, ending any further questions Caldason might have. When he saw them, the packet’s skipper, Rad Cheross, hurried over.
‘How’s it going?’ Darrok asked him.
‘We’re not far short of being ready, which is a relief as I’d like to use this mist for cover while it lasts.’
‘When do we leave?’ Caldason said.
‘An hour, maybe two,’ Cheross reckoned.
‘Think we’ll have any problem slipping by Vance’s shi
ps?’
‘It’s a big ocean. They can’t be everywhere. Fortunately the packet’s fast, should we run into trouble, and having a couple of decoys helps.’
‘How much do we have in the way of provisions?’ Serrah wondered.
‘Enough for a month. A bit more if we ration. But that’s it, unless you like fish. There’s nothing else in the parts we’re going to.’
‘I’d hope to be nowhere near as long as that,’ Caldason told them.
‘Suits me.’ Cheross glanced at the loading work. ‘Excuse me, will you? I want to keep on top of this.’ He turned away.
‘Well, it seems to be going to schedule,’ Darrok said. ‘Anything we’ve overlooked, anybody? Speak now or it’s too late.’
‘My only worry’s leaving Kinsel so soon after his rescue,’ Serrah admitted, ‘particularly given the state he’s in.’
‘He’ll be fine with us,’ Phoenix promised. ‘The care he’ll get will be just as good whether you’re here or not.’
‘We’ll all be keeping an eye on him,’ Pallidea added.
‘Put it out of your mind, Serrah,’ Darrok chipped in. ‘Concentrate on getting the job done and yourselves back here.’
‘Thanks, Zahgadiah. We will.’
‘Right, I’m going to see if I can hurry things up.’
‘Anything we can do?’
‘Just don’t go away.’ He tilted his disc and stretched a gloved hand. ‘Pallidea.’
His lover deftly climbed aboard. The saucer rocked gently, then shot off.
Sensing that Caldason and Serrah could use a moment alone, Phoenix took Kutch aside for a last-minute pep talk.
‘What’s the cut-off point for this trip, Reeth?’ Serrah said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘We’ve never discussed how long it’s going to go on for.’
‘You heard Cheross. There’s only enough food and water for a month.’
‘That’s too long to be away from this place and you know it. And I wouldn’t put it past you to make us eat fish and drink rainwater if you had to prolong it.’
‘Phoenix has narrowed things down to a specific number of islands, which should save some time.’
‘Yes, about fifty of them.’
‘A little more than that, actually.’
‘What worries me is that if you don’t find what you want you’ll just go on looking indefinitely.’
‘I won’t do that, Serrah. There is a cut-off, and we’ll both know it.’
‘I’m not trying to dampen your enthusiasm. You know that, don’t you? I just don’t want you to be too disappointed if this doesn’t work out.’
‘I’m used to disappointment.’
‘Not in all things, I hope.’ She smiled.
Darrok returned at speed, alone this time, and hovered in front of them. ‘Seems they’ll be finished in under an hour, so be ready. And let’s have no tearful farewells, shall we? I can’t stand ’em.’
Two hours later they were well underway, far enough out to make the island a black ribbon on the horizon, with grimy white seagulls the only relief from steel-grey ocean and sky. The mist was clearing.
At the stern rail, Caldason, Serrah and Kutch watched as the two decoy ships disappeared around the island’s east and west headlands.
‘I can’t believe we’re actually going at last,’ Kutch said.
‘I should think Reeth’s even more pleased,’ Serrah replied. ‘Aren’t you, love?’
‘It’s good to be on our way,’ Caldason agreed.
‘You could be a little more enthusiastic about it.’
He smiled, mildly. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘You do look bushed. Take a nap. There’s nothing you can do here.’
‘Maybe I will. You’ll call me if–’
‘What’s going to happen in the next couple of hours?’
‘Vance could happen. We’re not clear yet.’
‘If we get our throats cut I’ll be sure to wake you. Now get some sleep.’ She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
Caldason nodded, heavy-eyed, then turned and made for their cabin.
It was part of the crew’s modest quarters below decks, and tiny. Once inside, he didn’t even bother kicking off his boots, simply unbuckling his scabbard, laying it aside, then stretching out on the bunk.
The second his head touched the pillow, he flew.
Far below lay the ocean, drab and choppy. The packet ploughed through it with ballooning sails, looking as fragile as a child’s toy in the vast expanse. He travelled at a greater speed than any seagoing vessel, so that in an instant he passed the ship, then left it behind.
Drawn northward, on the same course as the packet, his velocity increased. He soared into piercing airstreams, yet was untouched by them, as though invisibly cocooned. And he was unaware of the sting of ice crystals when he sliced into low clouds.
He covered an enormous distance but glimpsed no other craft. At least, that’s how it seemed. His speed was such that something as minuscule as a ship was easily overlooked in that immense ocean. He was likewise oblivious to land masses. Although he thought he saw, just fleetingly, a canopy of dark shapes hugging the surface of the ocean. Some were the size of islets, others no more than specks, and there was a profusion of them. They could have been the island group the packet was bound for; they were gone so quickly it was impossible to tell.
He began to slow, but not for any apparent reason. There was no land in sight. Beneath him, wind-driven waves caressed the sea with foaming fingers, just as before. Soon he moved no quicker than if he were swimming under his own muscle power.
At length he noticed something. In the sky, some distance ahead, there was what he took to be a black cloud, which appeared to be expanding, growing darker. Then he realised it was coming his way. As it approached he could see that it consisted of hundreds of individual dots, each moving of their own volition. The nearer the dark throng got, the more defined its constituent parts became, but it had almost reached him before he recognised what it was.
The cloud arrived and a world of frenzy engulfed him. All was wildly fluttering wings and ruffled feathers, beady eyes and spiky beaks, as a deafening, shrill cacophony battered his ears. He was in the eye of a storm, the centre of a blizzard of terrified creatures.
Suddenly it was over. The birds were well to his rear, a swirling miasma of flapping dots again. But more flocks were coming his way. And like the one he had passed through, they had an unnatural aspect: they were made up of different types of birds.
There was turmoil in the ocean, too. Huge schools of fish could be seen, swimming hard just below the surface. Fish of many kinds, from the smallest fry to large predators. Animals which, like the birds, would never normally group together, except in the face of some overriding common purpose.
This was no migration. The birds and the fish were fleeing from something.
A glint of light showed further north, against the far-off horizon. It grew in size and intensity until it replicated the rising sun. Then its flame spread to the sea, as though burning oil had seeped onto it. A fiery tidal wave rolled towards him, carrying shapes within it, Looking down from his elevated position he tried to make out what they were.
He thought he saw a glowing angelic host. Or perhaps a demonic horde. Then he came to see that it was a fleet, a thousand vessels or more, bathed in flame.
A man stood at the bow of the leading ship. A man he knew, though they had never met. A man who possessed an extraordinary power.
Their eyes locked, and he understood.
The warlord was coming.
20
It took several days for Darrok’s aquatic glamour to reach Bhealfa’s shores.
At the coast, the glamour nosed its way into the mouth of an estuary and entered the island’s river system. Other fish shunned it, or perhaps they couldn’t see it. And as it had no need for rest and sustenance, nothing obstructed its journey through the wintry waters.
Following its charm-
induced instincts, the glamour went unerringly to the branch of the river serving the capital. But having achieved Valdarr’s main port, it could no longer fulfil its mission in its present state, so a transformation was triggered.
There was turbulence, erupting bubbles and bursts of light. A different creature broke the surface of thewater and rose out of it, dripping wings spread wide.
The bird was something like a raven, though not enough like one to convince anybody. But as it was about to enter a city swarming with glamours it was unlikely to be noticed. Soaring high, the illusion circled, alert for psychic scent. Then it knew its path, and set off at speed.
The sector neighbouring the docks was mean, all narrow winding lanes and rowdy inns. Here the throb of magic was weak, and the militia patrolled in mobs. Acres of dour warehouses ruled the manufacturing district. The adjacent cattle-yard marked out its corrals with multi-coloured glamour orbs. Commerce shaded into residential districts, unremarkable suburbs lit by the prissy blush of respectable magic. They gave way to wealthy sectors, where the illumination of sorcery was at its most extravagant.
The pretence of a raven flew on.
Rich quarter or poor, the city’s infatuation with magic was unabashed. Emporiums of illusion catered for the well-off, while lesser clientele were served by humble charm shops and dubious street vendors. The glamoured gambling dens did brisk business, with hex-powered fortune wheels and cards that turned of their own volition. In the smart parlours of fashionable couturiers, living mannequins modelled the latest gowns. On the streets, the needy rummaged for scraps.
The raven homed in on a safe house, ready to tell its tale and die.
On the opposite side of the city, an hour or so after the glamour’s demise, wintry sunlight bathed the Pastures of Sleep. No such luxury existed in the catacombs beneath; only man–or magic–made light pushed back the gloom there.
A single charmed globe gently lit one particular chamber. Within, two sleeping children shared a cot, while Tanalvah sat on the only chair, head in hands. Had she sobbed, it would have been quietly, for the sake of the children, but she had reached a place beyond tears.
Teg and Lirrin were all that had stopped her from confessing. Her terror of what might become of them, and of the child she carried, was the remaining brake to her admission of guilt. But under the weight of the secret she carried, her thinking had changed. How could she subject them to life with a murderess? What kind of existence would they have when she might be exposed at any time? Above all, how could she live with herself after what she’d done? And loathe as she was to accept it, underlying everything was a growing acceptance that Kinsel was lost.
The Diamond Isle Page 20
