Captain Mikhal’s curiosity was not satisfied as he continued on, this time along the river’s edge. But for now he turned his thoughts away from it to more pressing concerns. The day was half gone; a time for decision was upon him and afterwards Mikhal commanded his men to return east. The ride out was not as slow as the careful, watchful pace they had taken inward, and quickly they found themselves looking upon the plains from the foot of the mountains.
A short respite and light meal did little to erase the captain’s concerns. He had been quite sure this would be the pass the others used. The river forged a profound trail and it was mostly level, providing a firm surface for sure footing. He knew of two other passes along the range, but they were narrow, steep, and treacherous. He knew of another far to the north, where the mountains shifted east. Teren had taken him there once, and if he recalled correctly it was many days’ travel away. They had no time for such a journey, so he decided to continue towards the coast.
He was sure that evening would find them back in camp with nothing special to report. His fears were finally put to rest. He had promised Valam his riders would return this day, and he meant to keep the oath. The afternoon air held a chill as it swept across the frozen lands, and cloaks that had been worn loosely with hoods tossed back were now drawn tight.
Reins were pulled tight, hearts were pounding, and thoughts were suddenly churning as riders appeared from the north. They were pushing their mounts hard, racing them with all the speed the animals could manage. Their numbers were such that even across the snow-covered ground, the muffled sound of hooves rolled across the plains.
Captain Mikhal turned a complete circle as he watched, unsure which way to go or whether to flee. Should they wait in the safety of the pass until the others passed hoping they had not already been discovered, or did they run east, or did they face-off and charge? He made a rough estimate of the numbers against his own and without delay he dispatched two of the fastest riders east.
His face turned stoic and poised as he circled a second time. He was very sure they had been spotted and were the object of the charge. He would give them something to concern themselves over other than the two that fled. He did not have to speak a word or break the patient silence for his fellows also to react. Many of them had served under the captain long enough to read the signs upon his face. They charged, spreading out in a single wide column, and while Captain Mikhal led them, they followed not because they had to, but because they wanted to.
Chapter Seven
The gentle baying of the ship soothed Adrina in her dreams and carried her through them. She awoke clutching her feather pillow with both hands. It was her constant companion in her sleep, accompanying her to the world of her dreams. The place where he lived and breathed and talked to her. In her eyes he was yet a hatchling, though she knew he was not. A loud noise caused her to stir, though only momentarily. She was quick to roll over, touching a hand to her belly. She whispered quietly to herself, telling Tnavres, the dragon that slept within her, to calm himself.
Nijal watched her sleeping form as he had been instructed, with contempt for her in his thoughts. He was losing sight of the urgency and the purpose of the endeavor towards which they charged. He was also still sulking and had been sulking for a considerable amount of time. He had been thoroughly berated by both Xith and Noman, and not only once. Xith still brooded over the matter himself.
Nijal turned a glum stare at Shchander, who had also been sentenced to maintain the watch over Adrina. Shchander returned a wry look, saying he was enjoying the idleness just as much as Nijal was. Although being confined below deck to remain with Adrina during the day had not been meant as a punishment, the two saw it as such. Shchander was also upset because he had parted with the last of his gold on Nijal’s advice, as had Nijal. The two were quite penniless now, having even advanced the few bits of wealth they normally maintained on their persons at all times, a golden belt buckle which had been a gift, a silver blade which, although it had no edge, was somewhat of a family heirloom, a polished stone that Nijal had kept for luck, and a small gem fixed within a locket.
Shchander was also troubled and saddened over Trailer’s death. He had been a good man and a valuable companion. The dark tidings could not be ignored. Noman had explained many things about the happenings, which Noman himself said he had also only begun to comprehend. How much did those that sought them out know now, he wondered, and how much would it cost them in the end?
Nijal couldn’t take the silence anymore and the bottled-up energy within him was about to burst. He had to do something. For a time, pacing back and forth in long strides appeased him, but the pleasure was short-lived. “All right! All right!” he exclaimed “I am sorry about the damned pendant! I promise I will buy it back for you, no matter the cost!”
His bellowing was so vocal that it woke Adrina, and she opened sleep-filled eyes to the dim light of the cabin. She listened to the two argue for a time, thinking it was quite comical. Thoughts of her dreams were far behind her. She was hungry. The galley was fairly well stocked and so her meal was hearty.
Nijal was delighted when Adrina wanted to take a stroll above decks. Pleasant seas would not last long; very soon they would be beyond the safety of Statter’s Bay, and rough waters lay ahead. The night drew in as they watched with the wind in their hair. The sun cast golden hues along the waters and in the sky. Xith had also been above decks. He marked the skies in his mind, for he feared he would not see them again for some time.
The early hours of the second day did, indeed, find them in open waters. They appeared unruly at first after the calm of the Statter, but the captain promised that they were nothing compared to what was ahead. By the third day, seasickness abounded even in the strong of stomach. The winds they met were powerful and direct from the north.
Amidst the torment of the seas, Xith felt safer than he should. He even touched a wisp of energy to the tips of his fingers. It seemed so long since he had been in the dark city, Tsitadel na Magiyu, the fortress of magic, home of the Priests of the Dark Flame. He procured a wooden walking stick that had been carefully wrapped in thick cloths. He remembered the fellow he had taken it from, the small flame emblazoned just above the heart. He loosened his tunic and scratched his right shoulder, fingering the outline of an old scar.
The eve of the fifth day found them in gale-force winds. The ship was almost floundering, but it held above the water line. Two Hands had been below decks with them for two days. Only the captain and his sailors dared to venture above decks now. Xith had been coaxed into a game of King’s Mate, which had been the main object of intrigue for the better part of the day.
Adrina stayed tucked away in her small cabin, though now Amir sat with her. She yearned to run the halls of the palace in her bare feet as she had done not long ago. A feeling of joy flowed to her, and she returned it. Reluctantly she stretched out onto the bed and fell asleep as she tried to fight her weariness.
A squall blew in and the wildness of the sea became unsettling even to Two Hands. His face was ashen, and perspiration streamed from his forehead. The ship bobbed to and fro in sweeping arcs, sending everything not nailed down crashing about. By morning, water had found its way into the bowels of the ship, standing several inches deep in most places, and whether it was from leaks in the hull or from the overhead seals no one knew, but either way it was a matter for grave concern. Taliltan seemed farther and farther away, even as it theoretically drew nearer.
Eight days out, lookouts spotted the Stone Mountains. This was grim news, as it meant they were days behind schedule. The seas ahead appeared even worse than those behind. Two Hands knew these waters well. He had been a captain for years before he had purchased his own ships. And he was the most frightened of all. The storms were undeniably upon them, and they were too far out to turn back for Krepost’. High cliffs and scarce inlets prohibited them from finding a landing place within many days of their position. Continuing north was their only choice, and they
opted for it.
All free hands turned to bailing water, basically a futile effort since the water quickly returned, but it occupied time and prevented a complete flooding. Their supplies were the first tragedy of the flooding. Food was despoiled and water became contaminated by the salt. The end of the second week found them without rations of any kind. Rainwater was gathered to sustain them, although it provided no real nourishment.
Noxious odors of mold, mildew, and decay began to overcome them. Sleep was difficult and managed only when one reached the very edge of exhaustion. There was no way to get rid of the dampness. Clothes constantly wet against the skin began chafing and causing sores. Beds were wet and soggy, as were blankets. The only source of warmth was the press of bodies into a small space.
Above decks things were worse. High seas and strong winds prevailed. Waves continually washed over the decks. If the rain was not a heavy, unrelenting downpour, then it was a light, irritating drizzle. The mainsail had torn twice now and been repaired at a high cost. One man had lost his life saving the sail, and another had been injured. The rear mast was cracked and most of the forward jib sails were damaged beyond repair.
As seas permitted, the captain fought to keep the sails raised, but the weather was not as gracious as he would have hoped for. Squalls blew in suddenly and were slow to dissipate. The demise of two more sailors prompted him to ask for volunteers to replace those lost. The crew had been light to begin with. Now with three gone and several injured, there was little hope without additional manpower.
Two Hands had not ventured above deck since the storms had hit, as Noman had surmised. He had grown too fond of wealth and too fat. Although Noman believed that Two Hands had at one time been strong and fearless, this was not the case now. Noman was glad the others were not cowards. Shchander had proven the bravest of them all. He had elected to act as the lookout when seas permitted. Four times he had climbed to the precipice on top of the center mast with little to show for his bravado save that he was still alive.
Mutiny was avoided only by the graces of the Great Father and perhaps due in large part to a certain mark upon two fellows of the strange company. The hope of reaching Taliltan safely faded, so the ship turned toward the coast. The intention was to find an inlet where the ship could be moored safely. A high rock wall along a serpentine coast was all they found. Unsure how far they had come or an approximate distance back to a safe point, they pressed on, still keeping a close but lengthy distance from the rock line, as was necessary to maneuver in the changing gales.
A miracle happened the eve of the next day when the rear mast snapped in heavy seas. In a desperate attempt to turn the ship about before it capsized, the captain mistakenly turned inland instead of towards open waters. A rock prominence leaped out at them like a great tongue. Settled atop its summit was a white tower, and while its light was extinguished, it was distinct enough against the black backdrop to be discerned. An elongated channel led to the mouth of a canal leading into a small harbor, which was nestled amidst a set of rolling, lowland hills. In a westerly course cutting through the tallest of them was a road. The city of Taliltan was tucked just out of reach beyond the crest and trough of those two hills.
Their stay lasted only long enough for recuperation. The road north was an arduous one, so they didn’t delay. All felt the sense of urgency now—the destination seemed so close but just out of their grasp. They also had to make a quick escape before Two Hands discovered their ploy. Noman took hefty pains to stall payment until they were almost ready to leave the city, making sure he had a full complement of horses ready to go at any hour.
The time came quickly enough on its own. Noman only hoped he could maintain the illusion long enough to slip out of town. Now that he had had plenty of time to consider his deed, he honestly felt bad for swindling the old shipwright. The bargain had been kept, after all. They made a hasty departure after payment, nonetheless, without giving it much further thought. It had been a necessity.
Chapter Eight
Two frantic riders raced southward, paying little heed to the sky overhead as they approached the coast; and when they came upon the army amassed there, they did not stop. They drove on until they came to Prince Valam, who rode proud and tall even though his clothes were soaked and his snarled hair still dripping. The two conveyed their message just short of the onslaught, but fortunately the chase had staggered the wave of attackers with the fastest riders reeling in, hovering just short of advancing, waiting for their comrades to catch up. The men and those of Seth’s kind had waited too long for a contest and even the weariness of their spirits did not slow their retaliation as King Mark’s army swept in from the distance.
The chill was cast off as the kingdomers and East Reach elves advanced in column formation. Their only advantage was the fact that they had formed up just a short time ago and were preparing to move out again when the two scouts had returned. Those with swords were quick to ready them. They made the first push, and they cut a deep gouge into the midst of the oncomers. Spears were raised in the wave following the swordsmen. Bows were rapidly notched with arrows as the archers spread out in a wide circle and fell to the rear.
Chaos spread as spirits soared. The columns were all mixed; soldiers charged en masse. Many were toppled by their eagerness and then trampled by their own mounts. The first voice raised above the confusion of the field was Ylsa’s. Her words were commanding and dominated. Her section rallied around her. Pavil was next to gain control of his men as the two sides faced off, seeming to pause for a moment while both adjusted.
Willam would gain the name Willam the Black this day, both for the color of his eyes and for the scowl upon his lips as he charged his lancers and pikemen into the heart of King Mark’s riders. His charge ended the lull and it would not return for a long time to come. The first thoughtless advance had cost them dearly. As a whole they had far fewer on horseback than the others. Willam sent his lancers forth wisely, advising them not to get mixed too deeply in the midst of the enemy, but pikemen on foot were also of great use against riders and he sent them to form a shield wall against an enemy push.
Valam surveyed the field of battle from a distance, careful not to be in range of enemy arrows, which dropped in great barrages. Seth rode beside him. Together they studied the turmoil, searching for the weak points in defenses and bolstering them as the need arose. They looked for the enemy commanders, who, unlike their counterparts, were maintaining a great distance from the melee. For the most part, Valam’s lieutenants were acting on their own.
Tsandra waited beside Liyan. Her riders offered their mounts to others who needed them more desperately than they did. Their fight would be much different from the others. It would not be fought with blades or arrows or hands. It would be carried upon the wind, pulled from the forces of nature around them, and unleashed upon their opponents, who, like them, gathered, waiting.
The bows of Ylsa’s forces were raised, waiting. She followed with precise timing, slowing the advance down, then ordering the archers to drop back and cover the flanks. She was also waiting on arrows, which were spread out amongst the supplies. She ensured that the volleys were directed only at thick clumps along the front and rear lines, trapping the forces in the middle.
The only one who watched without action or contemplation was Teren. Anger marked his face; this was the exact scenario he had wanted to avoid, and they had almost made a clean escape. Evgej was beside him, his sword drawn and his horse prancing eagerly to join the fray; and so he did, joining a charge of Eran’s long swordsmen.
Dark shadows spread across the land. Many thought the rains were returning, but it was the night arriving. The day was coming to an end. A shield barrier was finally raised in front of the pikemen. The siege was full at hand from both sides. The enemy seemed to stream toward the battle in ceaseless droves drifting down from the North.
S’tryil guided the only force that was entirely on horseback and his men were seemingly tireless in their assau
lts. He managed to keep a large portion of his men out of the direct melee, dancing in and out of a tower shield wall erected especially for them by Eran. The barrier proved an extremely efficient defense against the enemy’s retaliatory attacks.
Only one group had not engaged in the combat yet, and they were beginning to thirst for a taste of the struggle. Redcliff had to remind them quite often that they were affording a defense for now and must wait. In truth, they were doing much more than just waiting, they were also creating order among the soaring numbers of injured, the jumble of bodies, and the supplies.
The full depths of night found them under a starless, moonless, overcast sky. The fighting broke off and a shield wall encircled the forces as best as could be managed. The lash of arrows shooting into the darkness, however, did not stop. Small raids were led against the other camp regularly, which proved to be a good countermeasure to the enemy’s sporadic attacks.
A death toll was taken, and it along with the injured and the missing was high. Valam thought it eerie to see the Brown slink off into the shadows of the night one by one, never to return. Distant cries from the enemy camp told of their effectiveness. Tsandra felt his watchful eyes peering towards her and whispered carefully only to his mind her thoughts. “It is neither odd nor unusual. If your Lieutenant Danyel’ were here, his men would have done the same, except our measures are much more effective.”
She moved closer to him, touching his hand to reassure herself it was him she perceived in the darkness. Valam whispered back to her quietly, but she told him not to use words, only thoughts. “Will they not do the same?”
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