“‘Tis indeed,” the nymph captain confirmed, taking the device down from its hooks. It appeared to be a silver anchor, smaller than usual, with sharpened edges that glinted in the sunlight that streamed through a portal in the cabin wall. It was attached to a leather-bound handle, which ended in a polished chain several feet long. “It’s my own blade, scavenged from the first ship I e’er wrecked; a li’l punt I stole from th’ old Zainarch’s own dock.”
“Impressive. I don’t think I could wield it.” Gribly declined to comment on the theft.
“Aye, it’s been many a time since I wielded it meself. Been sittin’ in a chest aways back at ‘ome, it ‘as. But, seein’ as trouble’s brewin’ on the horizon fer me an’ all me mates, I’ve brought it out again.”
Loud shouting in the nymphtongue broke the silence that followed, addressed again and again to Captain Bernarl.
“We’re comin’ into range,” Berne told the two young Striders, hurriedly replacing the anchor-blade and straightening his longcoat. “I must be off t’manage th’ crew. Get yerselves outta the way ‘til we’re ready t’ lower th’ boats. I’ll be seein’ ye both off safely, that I’ll be.”
In a trice he was gone.
“Interesting fellow,” Gribly observed.
“Good. You’ll fit right in with him,” Elia remarked as she brushed past.
“Very funny. Oh, wait a moment.” She did. “What did you find out about… about the Grymclaw?” He wasn’t sure how to phrase the question about her Second Form.
“Oh.” She paused, cocking her head to one side thoughtfully. “It ought to work. There’s a river running parallel to our planned path that I should be able to return to whenever I feel the need to replenish my Inner Water… Also, he’ll give us waterskins Cleric Lithric has made to hold much more water than usually possible.”
“Oh. That sounds… like it’ll work. Alright.”
She just shrugged. “Let’s hope so. No matter what, I’m still in this hunt.” She turned and left in a whirl of blue.
“I wouldn’t dream of stopping you,” Gribly smirked. Then he followed her up on deck.
Chapter Four: Smoke Rises
It didn’t take long: just a short boat-ride to the cliffs of the forbidding land, then a shorter march up one of the steep paths that led to the top.
Berne saw them off, but he didn’t like it. There was trouble ahead for those two, he just knew it… and worse than the madmen and sorcerers riding demon-horses they’d already encountered, if he was right. War was coming. He was sure of it. He’d told them what they needed to know to stay alive, of course… but that hadn’t been everything, by a long shot; especially about Gram, the self-styled Thief Lord of the South. His old, piratical traits were hard to snuff out, and trust didn’t come easy to a pirate. Ah, well, it was too late now. He might as well let them go their own way. Aura protect them, especially if the Aura was truly alive and interested in them.
Berne finally turned his back on the shore and let his mates row him back to the Suthway. By the time he arrived, his mind was made up.
He would return to Mythigrad and confer with Varstis. Raitharch, indeed! That wily Reethe had always been a patient one, and now it’d paid off more than anyone could have foretold. His failure to report his success to the Alliance was troubling. But then, who didn’t like to get ahead once in a while? Wasn’t that what being a brigand was all about?
But Varstis had power now. If he was no longer part of the brotherhood, then fine. Berne had united the Zain- perhaps Varstis would help him control them. In any case, they would have to unite the tribes in order to withstand the conflicts that were likely to come. Vastion coming to pieces in the south, rangers appearing and being slain by hellish creatures from bedside fairy-tales… Aye, trouble was brewing. It could only be a matter of time.
Berne spent most of the return journey pouring over old maps and mementoes in his cabin, fingering the chain of his long-disused anchor-blade. If he planned his way right, perhaps he could profit from a war… and cheat the Alliance out of their share, too, if Varstis was willing to cooperate, and no bloody rangers showed their face. Rangers. They had always been a thorn in the Alliance’s side, and especially Lord Gram’s.
Hours later, shouts sounded outside his cabin, but Berne ignored them. His back hunched as he sat at the navigation table, the captain clenched and unclenched his fists in frustration. Then a thought hit him. Could rangers be the answer to his troubles? Could he use them to break free from the grip of Gram and the Alliance? Of course, he’d have to find them first… and they were said to have lairs in the Grymclaw…
“Captain! Smoke!” an urgent call in the nymphtongue sounded outside his door. It was Yan, the wheel-nymph.
The Grymclaw… Hadn’t Gribly and Elia met a strider on their way there? Weren’t they there now? This could be quite-
“Captain! Mythigrad is burning!” Blast. No rest for a weary soul.
Berne leaped to his feet, upsetting his chair and causing the cutlass at his side to rattle in its sheath. Slinging the anchor-blade carefully across his back, he made for the door. A twist of the rusted latch and it was open, Yan’s worry-creased face staring back at him. Hardening his features, he nodded curtly to the nymph and stomped up onto the deck.
In the distance, smoke was rising from the titanic iceberg which housed the Reethe capital of Mythigrad. Pulling a spyglass from his coat pocket, he put it to his eye and scanned the opening of the inlet.
Ships. Ships of metal like he had never seen, glinting golden-red in the dying sun. Flashes of fire as they assaulted Mythigrad.
Replacing the spyglass, he roared orders to his crew, gesturing animatedly and calling for more than the possible speed. Honor out of the question, they had to save the city!
“Full speed ahead! Show your courage, Fire of the South! To Mythigrad!”
Berne was a pirate only secondly. Today he was Captain Bernarl of the Zain, first and foremost, danger be forgotten, loyal to the end!
The anchor-blade would swing again, before this day was done.
~
Oblivious to the eventual fate of the Suthway Cath, Gribly and Elia watched the ship fade into the distance.
“It scares me to see him go,” Elia said, meaning Captain Berne. As she spoke, she donned the hood on the white robe and fur-lined cloak the Reethe had given her.
“And the Grymclaw doesn’t faze you?” Gribly joked half-heartedly. “Because I’m a little more worried for us than him.”
The girl just shrugged. “I’m used to it, after traveling with you for so long.”
“Thanks.”
“Any time.”
After a silence of several minutes, Gribly took Elia’s hand. She didn’t stop him, and he squeezed it comfortingly. “Let’s go. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and we’re not even sure what to look for.”
Without answering, she let him lead her away.
By the time the sun was beginning to set, they had walked until their feet were raw and sore through their boots. The Grymclaw was not so much frightening as dreary; a land of flat gray plateaus and mounds of rock that jutted up from the earth like domes of long-buried cathedrals. The sky was full of wispy clouds, and the sun’s light seemed to weaken as they neared the center of the enchanted land that was said to cause the wintery curse that held the Inkwell in its grip.
It’s not so different from Blast, Gribly thought, just darker… and not as sandy. Whatever else it was, the Grymclaw was certainly dusty.
As they walked, the sky grew darker and darker as the clouds thickened. After an inestimable time, the sun began to peek through in the West, sending scattered beams of bright red that smote the land and sent up little gusts of flame in the distance.
“Well that’s disturbing,” Gribly muttered. Elia just kept a little closer to his side. “What’s that?” he wondered, seeing something of interest not far from them. To their left there seemed to be a band of lighter gray in the dusty lead-color of the land.
It turned out to be a road, wide and flat, that seemed to have been abandoned long ago. There were little or no footprints, and a fine layer of dust lay upon it. The travelers started down it, and the day turned to night long after they had ceased to feel anything but the dryness of the air and the aching in their bodies.
~
The night was passed in uneasy rest. The Reethe had provided as well as they could for the two, but it was hardly enough to keep the stones out of one’s back while one slept. A quick, cheerless meal and the ensuing colder-than-death night were more than enough to make Gribly wonder at the madcap quest and ill-fated adventure that seemed likely to be the death of him.
The next day passed much as the first had. The light gray of morning was accompanied by a painful, forced march as the cramped muscles of both travelers re-acclimated to the ordeal. Later in the day, as the heatless sun found breaks in the clouds to light up patches of the land in yellow flames that died out almost as soon as they had begun, another cold meal was had, and the two Striders continued on their journey.
Just as the sun began to set in the cloudy sky above on their second day in the Grymclaw, the road they had been traveling on ended quite abruptly. It was an event of only seconds: Gribly climbed a hill only to discover that it ended in a cliff, dropping off into a chasm that opened up in front of them without warning. As he neared the edge, Gribly’s foot dislodged a pile of pebbles that went streaking down into the blackness below.
“What in the-!” he exclaimed, swaying backward. Elia pulled him away from the edge with a little yelp.
“That was too close,” she hissed in his ear, gasping for breath from the shock.
“Yes… far too close…” He sat down for a minute to think, and she sat beside him. “The land must have gone through some horrible upheaval years ago. Look around.”
In the light of the dying sun, the two Striders took in the surrounding country. It seemed to have changed in an instant.
The cliff where they sat dropped off hundreds of feet to the ground, but it was not part of a canyon, as Gribly had first supposed. There were lumpy formations of rock a hundred feet or more out from the cliff, but that was all. They were looking out over a whole new world concealed by the cliffs that ringed the real realm of the Grymclaw: miles and miles of gray grass and rocky hills poking up at random in the plains. Fires lit up the darkening evening, glimmering like fireflies in the farthest points of the Sand Strider’s vision.
People.
“Lights… a town… look, Gribly, there’s a whole country hidden down there…” Elia’s voice was soft with wonderment. “They’re fighting to survive, you can bet. How does anyone live here?”
“Well,” he answered, “I guess there’s only one way to find out. We need to get down this cliff somehow.”
“Yes… but there isn’t much chance of finding a path, like we did back on the sea’s edge. I think that’s why so few reports of this place come back with the people who’ve come here… there’s no way down.”
“Ah, but they didn’t have a Sand Strider with them then, did they?”
“There’s no sand here, Gribly.”
“But I can Stride rock, too, remember?”
“Oh.” It seemed she had forgotten, which annoyed the thief, though he couldn’t think why. They stood together, and he looked high and low for some idea as to how his powers with the earthy elements could help them get down. The sunbeams shining through the heavy clouds winked out, one by one, and in minutes it was almost completely dark.
“I think we should sleep on the problem,” he announced. Elia agreed.
“Just not here, so close to the cliff. Let’s move back… a long way… and see if there’s a more sheltered place to sleep.”
“Sounds good enough. Let’s go.” As he turned, a new thought struck him. “I wonder if Lauro had any trouble finding this place and getting down. We never did find his stolen Wave Chariot on the coast.”
“If he lived to make it this far, I doubt it gave him a problem,” Elia said softly, her musical voice muffled by the oppressive darkness that was descending all around the pair. “He can fly, remember?”
~
In a sort of natural overhang tucked away at the base of a rocky hill, the two young travelers made their meager camp. After setting out their bedrolls in opposite corners of the hollow, Elia set about preparing some of the rations of dried fish and pilgrim’s bread the Reethe had given them for the journey. Not tasty in the least, but enough to fill them and keep them on their feet, along with some water blessed by Cleric Lithric.
Gribly took a chunk of bread, then lay in his roll munching it. Elia began fiddling with some of the tinder from the tinderbox they had been too cautious to use until now.
“Careful, mmfh,” he told her through a mouthful of bread, “We don’t wanth to use it all up, (gulp)… in one sitting.”
“I’m trying something,” she whispered without looking at him, entirely concentrated on the pile of wood-shavings. The tone in her voice made Gribly perk up.
“Trying something? You mean striding fire, don’t you?” It was a wonder the matter hadn’t come up sooner, he realized. Elia had mysteriously been able to manipulate fire during their trio’s first encounter with the draik they had called Steamclaw, a monster who had demonstrated the ability of speech, given Gribly vital help in defeating the Sea Demon, and finally disappeared without a trace after the battle.
“Yes,” she kept her eyes on the tinder, closing and opening them time and again without any effect.
“Don’t squeeze those fists too hard,” Gribly cautioned, “Or you’re going to puncture your palms.” It was only half a joke- she really was clenching her hands, and her whole body was tensed with frustration. He sat up, sleep forgotten, and watched her. “Wait, Elia, stop. You won’t be able to do any good that way.”
She did. “Ugh. What do you think’s wrong? It was easy enough before…”
“Well, you had fire to work with already, then. Why don’t we see if you can Stride it when it’s already there?”
“I thought you didn’t want to waste anything?”
The thief just shrugged, crawled out of his bedroll, and struck flint to metal, causing a few sparks to leap into the mess of tinder, igniting a small, steady flame that grew until it had devoured the entire pile. “Now’s the time to try, before it all burns up.”
Elia held her hands close to the flames, as if to warn them. As she closed her eyes and relaxed her facial expression, Gribly could almost feel her reaching out into the void for that place that allowed her to Stride Water… and Fire, too, if the one time had not been a fluke. If she could do this… he shivered, thinking how unheard of it was, not just to Stride Fire, but to have the power over two such opposite elements.
For the first few seconds, nothing happened, and his thoughts drifted. Elia had told him of her conversation with Karmidigan during the battle with the Sea Demon, when she had joined forces with his Frost Striders to conjure an impressive thunderstorm to strike at the menacing foe. The master Frost Strider had explained a little of the history of Striders to her then, and more afterwards. In the distant past, there had been individuals who boasted power over multiple aspects of the world, though nothing quite like this.
Fire? It was unheard of. The only person Gribly had ever witnessed Striding Fire in some way was… was the Pit Strider.
His eyes snapped open before he realized they had even closed. For half a second he had seen the Pit Strider’s face again, the face that mirrored his own.
The sorcerer had been burning people alive… and he had been laughing as he did it.
~
Elia’s eyes slid slowly open, and immediately her gaze was drawn to her hands, now cupped together above the dying embers of the tinder-fire.
A tiny, writhing ball of flame, less than an inch across, was cradled in her hands.
Gribly stared slack-jawed at her, then seemed to come to his senses. “That’s… incredib
le,” he whispered. The night was now quite dark around them. “It’s unheard-of… You could be the most powerful Strider in the world!”
“Shhh,” she whispered, bringing her hands up closer to her face. The fireball was like a tiny burning lantern in her mind, a focused brightness in the farthest, blackest corner of her consciousness. Its feel was entirely different from that of Waves, or of the Storm she had controlled with Karmidigan’s help. Her mental focus was taken up entirely with that little ball of flame; with its heat, its light, its proportions and consistency…
With a curious, hungry gaze, she examined it in that place within herself that always felt connected to the sea, no matter where she was or what she was doing; the window looking out from her soul into the vastness of the Eternal Waves that constituted the source of her power…
Grym Prophet (Song of the Aura, Book Three) Page 4
