Elves had a reputation as being cool and aloof, not caring about those around them, but Alan knew that this was only because they made friends slowly, gathering the full measure of another elf or a man before opening up to them. They cared deeply about a great many things, but they rarely showed this to outsiders. Logical and intelligent, they also tended toward the arrogance that had cost them so dearly against the Pelorians. Alan conceded that often that arrogance was deserved, but Elowyn had taught him that it could be exploited if one knew how. They’d never had a chance to explore that particular concept, though, before the night of the assassination attempt.
The harbormaster came out to join Searcher aboard a small skiff that moved of its own volition. When it came alongside, the dark-haired Silei elf agilely leapt onto the rope ladder Cedrick had lowered for him, leaving only a few rungs to climb to reach the main deck. The two captains were waiting for him there. Below, the skiff remained alongside as if it had been bolted to the warship.
In Aesidhe, the elf bowed to the ship’s captain and said, “It is good to see you again, Cedrick.”
In Aesidhe as clear and unaccented as the elf’s own, Cedrick replied formally, “The winds are fortunate to bring us together again, Adwylien.”
Adwylien, the harbormaster, then turned and bowed more deeply to Arden, to Alan’s complete surprise. Such a deep bow was reserved for an elf’s close associates and family members. “Brother of my son, I greet you,” he said, deepening the prince’s sense of wonder.
“Father of my brother, I greet you,” Arden replied in clear but somewhat accented Aesidhe. “I bear you the love of my brother in my heart.”
The harbormaster smiled and embraced Arden warmly, uncaring that half the ship’s company was there to see it. Elves freely gave affection to those who earned it, which often confused those who didn’t know their ways very well.
From their words, it was clear to Alan, who had studied Elven ways carefully, if only to better understand his teacher, that Arden and the harbormaster’s son were either blood brothers or shared some other bond that was as close. They were not likely to be actual family, as if from adoption or marriage, simply for the reason that elves almost never formed such bonds with humans.
This was not due to any sort of racism on the elves’ part, but instead because of the inevitable heartbreak the difference in lifespans would bring. Such joinings weren’t unheard of, but they were more the subject of ballads and tragedies than examples to be found in real life, and Alan’s curiosity burned to know more. He knew, however, that this was a mystery likely never solved because of his imminent departure.
Arden introduced Reidar, Yarek, and Nan as his companions-in-arms, and the harbormaster greeted each in turn in Dunshorian. Cedrick then followed by introducing his two officers Olaf and Alan, and Adwylien greeted them both as well. Olaf grunted a reply, not knowing how to address the elf, but Alan responded politely enough to cover for the first officer’s awkwardness. Adwylien’s gaze was polite as it took Alan’s measure, but slid past him as if he were of little importance despite his fluency in the Elven tongue. Returning his attention to Cedrick, he said in Aesidhe, “We’ll warp you in to the number ten dock on the lee side, Cedrick.”
“You know I always love to watch your people at work,” Cedrick replied, then switched to Dunshorian. “My men will be ready with the lines.”
Turning to Trevally, at the helm once again during the passage into the harbor, he said, “Rudder amidships, Trev.”
The helmsman answered his order and, without having to be told, slid a long pin into a set of holes in the hub of the wheelworks, locking it in position. “Rudder locked ahead, Captain,” he reported.
Garvel struck the last of their sails, leaving Searcher adrift in the harbor’s center.
Adwylien looked over to the pier he’d selected, where another elf stood in a glittering cloak. At a signal from the harbormaster, both of them began to sing a spell.
Elemental water magic, Gem reported to Alan. They’re bespelling the water.
Alan could see that for himself, for the still water of the harbor was starting to flow between the warship and the docks, as if a river had come to exist there, but nowhere else in the harbor. As the elves sang their hauntingly beautiful melody, the ship began moving steadily toward the dock, turning in place as it did so until the stern faced the shoreline. Gliding backward through the water, Searcher came into the dock, the momentum perfectly managed to leave her barely moving just as she bumped against the huge cork rings alongside the pier.
Cedrick’s crew heaved ropes onto the dockside, where other elves, dressed in workman’s clothes, looped their ends onto the cleats and made them fast. The riggers heaved them tight and secured them, and then worked to get the gangplank deployed with their usual efficiency. The bosun had trained them well for their duties, and Alan felt mixed pride and regret in watching them work. He shook off the melancholy feeling and set about his share of the myriad tasks of tying up the vessel.
Chapter Eight
“As Ashira is ever changing, bringing good luck and snatching it away at his whim, Bes is ever constant. She will ever bring ill fortune to the world and darken anyone’s path as much as she can. It is said that this stems from her burning jealousy of Ashira’s moon, for she has no lovely bauble in the sky to call her own. It is said that in ancient times she was spurned by Ashira and ever stalks those who rely upon him. It is said that she is merely full of hate. No one knows the truth of her motivations.
“The result, however, is clear: the hand of Bes will always bring misfortune.”
-- “Brother and Sister Luck,” a secular text from the western kingdom of Thrace, author believed to be Aidric Thrice-Cursed
The long circular strand of Avethiel extended nearly a full mile around the rim of the harbor. Along its length could be found the workplaces of artisans of all types, warehouses, inns and taverns, and all manner of shops and stores. Although the elven nations were much reduced from the ancient times, one wouldn’t know it to look at the busy strand.
Alan stood on the pier along with Snog, looking across the long waterfront and pondering his next move. He’d said his farewells to his shipmates the night before and they’d thrown him an impromptu party to wish him well. Both the ship’s crew and the mercenaries had grown to like and respect Alan, and nearly everyone contributed to the event in one way or another. Great amounts of food and drink were purchased from the Avethiel merchants, and a pair of musicians was hired to entertain the group. The elven minstrels had looked a little out of place with the rough sailors and warriors, but they’d been quite good, playing well into the night.
Nan had presented him with a heavy bearded battleaxe, so he’d have “a proper weapon,” and then she’d clouted him hard on the head followed by a crushing hug. Like most of her people, Nan gave her heart completely or not at all, and she’d grown to like the engineer a great deal. Alan had given her a very serviceable dagger he’d acquired in Pellorn in return so she’d have something to cut a horse loose, and she’d grinned at his comment and gone back over to sit in Olaf’s lap.
She’d given Snog his gift earlier that day, a hand-carved, stout, and deep-bowled pipe she’d made herself. It was intricately carved with sea creatures, and Snog had been so touched he’d told her the recipe for the mushroom-scented tobacco he smoked. The fact that the tobacco was an effective hangover curative was well-known to the Rodani, and she’d actually kissed the little goblin on the mouth when he’d shared the knowledge with her.
When Snog had reached around to not-so-gently pat her rear as she did so, Alan had had to hold his breath, waiting for her to lop the goblin’s head off, but she seemed to appreciate it, smiling down at the goblin and then leaning in to whisper something in his ear. The scout had seen Alan looking at the exchange and had given him a very knowing look, grinning over Nan’s shoulder when his lord blushed red, then turning to nod at Nan’s whispered question. At that moment, Alan had realized he’d don
e it specifically to embarrass him, and that made the blush worse.
During the party, Alan had avoided getting too drunk, but still, his head was pounding and his mouth tasted like something had died on his tongue. He’d never picked up a taste for smoking, but he longed to borrow Snog’s stout little pipe for a while. Just the smell of it wafting up to him from the bowl helped relieve the worst of the pain’s edge. Taking a deep breath and focusing, he forced himself to ignore the discomfort.
“Ready, scout?” he asked Snog.
“Aye, milord,” he replied, puffing another cloud of smoke out from his mouth. “Like as not, there’s plenty of rooms in these inns, so findin’ lodging’s not a concern.” Avethiel could house tens of thousands more people than it currently did, and unlike humans, who might let an unused part of a city fall to squalor or ruin, the elves maintained every building, preserving it against time’s ravages. They began walking away from Searcher. It felt strange to the prince to be leaving her permanently, for the trim warship had become a home to him for these past months, but he knew the time had come.
“We’ll visit each of these ships in turn and see where they’re bound,” Alan decided. “By the time we’re done, we’ll probably be ready for rest and some food.” The elves had arranged three galleons on piers spread around the circle of the strand for reasons known only to them, and it was going to be a moderately long walk to visit all three of them. Fortunately, the skies were clear and winter had yet to fall this far south, so it was a crisp and pleasant day.
“Sounds good t’a me, milord,” Snog replied, though Alan suspected he’d have agreed to nearly any plan that didn’t mean casting off right away. The goblin had eventually gained his sea legs—and so far didn’t show any signs of shore sickness—but he wasn’t particularly looking forward to boarding another ship.
The elf standing at the end of the pier held a long spear in his left hand and was armored in glittering penalirin scale armor. He didn’t have a helm, and his long dark hair flowed across his back. The Silei was a member of Avethiel’s militia, an all-volunteer unit that doubled as constabulary along the strand. One such militiaman was posted at each of the four occupied piers. He bowed only slightly at Alan’s approach, which meant he placed Alan’s standing far below his own.
Alan expected this, and his own bow indicated his acceptance of the elven warrior’s superior social position without accepting his implied position at the bottom of the heap. It was a subtle movement that Elowyn had despaired the prince would ever learn, but he had eventually mastered it. In unaccented Aesidhe, he greeted the warrior, “May Rula Golden light thy path, warrior.”
Replying in Aesidhe, the elf replied, “And may Sineh’s cool touch bring you peace.” It was, as many elven formalities were, a couplet, and the elf seemed surprised that a mere human was aware of it, much less pronounced it in the proper intonation. Alan suspected he was even more surprised that a human knew how to make the subtle bow he’d chosen.
The guardsman continued, his voice utterly neutral. “What is your business in Avethiel?” he asked. Alan knew better than to expect a friendly demeanor from the elf, for they literally had just met.
“I wish to visit the shops for provisions, and then to find a suitable ship to take me where I am bound,” Alan replied.
“And you?” the elf asked the goblin in perfect Dunshorian.
“I go where he goes, sir,” the goblin replied in the same tongue. “I’m beholden to him, ya see.” Snog was fluent in Aesidhe, Alan knew, though he had a fairly strong Govlikel accent. Alan also knew that the goblin preferred potential enemies to underestimate him.
The elf bowed again, marginally lower to signify a modicum of respect for the pair. It was actually quite a step up from his original bow, and Alan returned it with a slightly deeper motion. In Dunshorian, for the goblin’s benefit, the militiaman said, “You are welcome in Avethiel so long as you keep the peace. As you are armed, the onus is upon you to act only in defense; behave otherwise and there will be consequences.”
“We understand completely,” Alan responded. “There’ll be no trouble that we begin.”
The elf stood aside—purely a formality, as the pair could easily have walked around him on the wide pier—and let them pass. Once they were out of earshot as they moved toward the twelfth pier and a smallish galleon docked there, Snog said, “At least it’s an elven city.” A human guardsman wouldn’t have let the goblin pass as easily, and might have insisted that the scout surrender his weapons. Or worse.
Although elves and goblins had fought several wars in antiquity, they’d kept Zarl’s Peace for thousands of years. That great goblin king had bowed his head to the elven host that had defeated his armies and agreed to a lasting peace between goblin and elf. Zarl had not been any sort of high king of the goblins, but other nations had agreed to the Peace once they realized that Zarl’s clan was prospering from its trade with the Eternal Empire. No individual goblin in this part of the world would dare break Zarl’s Peace, for even in these latter days, the elves gladly and openly traded with the goblins, although rarely in Avethiel itself; such trade was usually conducted far from the eyes of men in the Darkwood Forest, northwest across the gulf of the eastern Laend Sea.
Trade between the two Elder races was a sore point with some Dunshorian nobles, especially the ones whose lands bordered the mountains dividing Dunshor from the Darkwood, for the goblin raiders were often armed with elven-made weaponry and equipped with a variety of elven gear. Although a number of Theocracy and Kingdom ambassadors had tried to find a way to pressure the elves to stop the practice of trading weapons to the goblin kingdoms, the elves had simply ignored the requests, considering it to be their business and no one else’s. Reduced the elven nation might be, but it retained enough military and magical might that even the Theocracy at the height of its power had not dared to try to “correct” the elves.
It was late afternoon by the time they went to find an inn. Two of the ships had seemed likely prospects, but Indigo Runner had seemed a better-run vessel with a more savory crew. Before his service on Searcher, Alan would have been uncomfortable with the rough manner of the salty sailors, but he was accustomed to it now and could look past the gruff exterior to judge their ability. Alan haggled reasonably hard for passage for him and Snog, securing one of the ship’s four forward cabins for a few crowns. Indigo Runner was headed out of port in a week’s time, giving him plenty of time to wander the city and perhaps even consult with a cartographer.
At Arden’s suggestion, Alan went to a tavern called Lamenting Albatross of the Stormy Seas in Aesidhe. As with all of the businesses in Avethiel, the Albatross was run by elves, although a few of the servants were human. It housed private rooms on the upper floor, it was clean and not that expensive, and the shilling Alan paid for his room covered the evening meal for both of them. Even though the day was not yet done, Alan was exhausted and gladly took his meal and a cup of wine, then the two companions retired to their room to sleep.
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
Lian shivered from the sheets of freezing rain that the wind drove into him. The water made him feel almost as if he were drowning as it slashed at him with icy fingers. He was standing on the afterdeck of Searcher, trying to get a line of fire on whatever it was that attacked the ship, but the firestone showed only rain and darkness. Behind him, lightning flashed and thunder made the whole ship shudder. The mainmast splintered into thousands of shards, and the sails filled with enough wind to tear the standing rigging loose and hurl the mast, sails, and all into the darkness ahead of the ship.
Why didn’t Garvel reef the sails? Lian wondered, realizing suddenly that no one was on board except for him. He hadn’t noticed the helm was spinning freely, and without the foresail to hold the ship running before the wind, the ship was rolling port and parallel to the swells. Water smashed over the railing, sweeping crates and barrels off the main deck, and the ship threatened to pitch over.
Abandoning the siege engine, he thr
ew himself at the wheel, his strong arms and legs straining to turn her back into the waves, but the wheel turned sluggishly, impossibly slow. Behind him, lightning struck the ballista, shattering it and deafening him; had he been standing there he would have been destroyed. Blinking against the storm, he tried to find the attacker, but it was always just out of his sight, just behind him no matter how he turned, and he couldn’t find it.
Another smash of lightning and the main hatch caved in, swallowing thousands of gallons of the sea, and Searcher heeled over to starboard, throwing him into the frozen sea as she capsized. Trying to swim against the waves and wind, he screamed and screamed as he felt many hands grab him from below and drag him under.
^ ^ ^ ^ ^
Alan woke in a panic, having wrapped himself in the blankets enough to feel like he was being smothered. “Gods!” he cried out as he threw the covers off, shaking and sweating.
“Are ye alright, milord?” Snog asked calmly from the darkness, his eyes gleaming in the silvery light from the near-full Hunter’s moon that glowed through the slats of the shutters. The goblin had been awake for several minutes, listening to Alan’s struggles with the nightmare.
Panting, he nodded at Snog, holding out a hand to forestall any aid. “I-I’m fine, Snog, thank you,” he stammered. “It’s just a nightmare.”
“It’s been a while,” Gem observed, free to speak because of the ward she’d enacted on the room, a spell copied from the one Lord Grey had placed on their cabin on the warship. He’d carefully unwoven that one before they left the vessel for the last time.
By Blood Hunted: Kingsblood Chronicles Part Two (The Kingsblood Chronicles Book 2) Page 11
