“Not as long as I’d like,” Alan replied. He hadn’t had a nightmare as strong or all-consuming for many weeks, and he’d hoped they were over. “I saw Searcher destroyed in a winter storm, lightning crashing down again and again before she went down…” He didn’t mention the hands dragging him down into the sea because he didn’t really want to remember that part.
He shook his head, hoping the dream wasn’t somehow prophetic, for he rather liked the crew and company of the ship. Getting up, he splashed water on his face before going back to the bed and straightening the covers. “I’m fine,” he said, and settled back down in the covers beside Gem and Lord Grey’s swordbelt, never very far from him.
Neither the weapon nor the skull-bound necromancer had eyes to give each other significant looks, but Gem could almost feel Lord Grey’s gaze on her. Both of them had woven magics against dreamsendings on their young prince long ago, but to no avail. Later, when Alan and Snog were both asleep once again, Lord Grey spoke in their nearly soundless way. “This is not a hostile dreamsending,” he pronounced. “It’s something else.”
“I think so, too,” Gem replied just as quietly. Neither the human nor the goblin—who had sharper ears than Alan—stirred. “But what?”
The skull didn’t reply for a time. Normally patient enough to wait out his silences, Gem found herself wanting to ask him again but quenched the impulse. Finally, he said, “It brings to mind something an old friend of mine went through when the Sleepless One was speaking through him.”
“You mean prophecy?” Gem asked. She had little experience with divination; it wasn’t one of her particular talents because Adrienne had not bound it deliberately into Gem’s construction, nor was it something Adrienne herself had possessed an aptitude for. She had studied it somewhat, as had her charge, but it was largely outside of her knowledge and experience. She didn’t like relying blindly on Lord Grey’s advice and made a mental note to have Alan do some reading on the subject as soon as possible so they could both learn more about it.
“Not necessarily prophecy,” the necromancer replied. “Foresight, perhaps, which is not at all the same thing.”
“I don’t follow,” the sword said.
Lord Grey again waited a few moments before speaking. “It is said that all such abilities are derived from the One-Eyed Crone, and that may be true. I am not, nor have I ever been, one of her followers, though of course I’ve known quite a few. Looking ahead, I’m given to understand, may be tied to fate or may not; this is the difference between prophecy and foresight. I hope it’s the latter, frankly, because prophecies tend to mean trouble for the ones caught up in them,” the skull said sardonically.
“Alan had some talent for the tarot when he was examined for magical ability,” Gem said, “but nothing like this. He could see only petty things, unimportant things, and his parents decided not to pursue further training in the field.”
“Unimportant like what?” Lord Grey asked firmly.
Gem couldn’t shrug but wished she could. It called for a shrug. “He saw one of the guardsmen’s wives fall off a ledge and we were able to prevent the accident,” she recounted. “And he predicted the day the crows returned to the castle.
“But he was off target more often than he was right,” she continued. “His readings showed a hot summer when it was rainy and mild that year, and rats in the grain stores when nothing of the kind happened.”
“Your family may have been quick to judge his talent for foresight,” Lord Grey said. “You should know as well as I that magical talents of any kind are unpredictable at first and have to mature.”
Gem disagreed, “If he were some minor nobleman’s son in some backwater county, you might have a point, but he was examined by some of the best wizards and priests in the continent, if not the world. I’m not saying they might not have missed something like this, but I think it unlikely.”
Lord Grey scoffed. “They clearly did miss something, Gem,” he said. “He’s seeing past the Veil of Mysteries, though I don’t know what the meaning is yet.” The sorcerer’s tone brooked no argument.
Gem conceded the point. “Could the Young Avenger have given him the gift of foresight for some reason?” she asked. She still didn’t quite believe that Dalgarin had actually come to Lian in person, but she knew that Lian believed it. She didn’t know what Lord Grey thought of the encounter, for although they’d eventually told him of it he hadn’t voiced an opinion.
“I put nothing past the abilities of the gods, Lady Sword,” the skull replied. “However, it’s not that deity’s area of influence, so I think it unlikely. Also, why would she conceal that she’d done so, or was going to do so, from him?
“No, this is innate talent, I think, and if that’s the case, the visions will strengthen over time. Clearly, it’s a somewhat random talent because he doesn’t get them with any regularity…unless it’s tied to the moon cycles somehow,” he pondered, his voice thoughtful.
The skull remained silent for nearly half of an hour. “If it is tied to celestial or lunar events, however, it’s beyond my ability to calculate which one,” he pronounced finally. “It may be tied to a planet or star I haven’t considered, I suppose, but that’s unlikely.”
Gem had spent the time working through the nights of the dreams and the phases of the moons herself, and she could not find a corollary, either. “I also don’t see any possible celestial connection, Lord Grey. It’s certainly not directly tied to the moons.” Those nights had no relationship to the cycles of any of the six moons, nor any combination of them.
Many types of magic were affected by the moons’ thirty-year-long epicycle, and not just on the day of the Great Conjunction, when all six moons were full on the same night. The moons could eclipse each other totally or partially depending on their relative sizes and at times took up magically significant geometries relative to each other and to Tieran. Even more complex, when the distal moons moved close to the edge of either of the inner two moons, Lushran and Aliera, their appearance could change significantly, changing colors or shifting position, though no one knew why. Sorcerers could predict these varying configurations and use them to enhance their spells, and the wise wizard was one that knew when the moons’ position was going to diminish or alter any given spell they wished to cast.
“The bigger question is whether his dream is about Searcher’s fate or his own,” Lord Grey stated. “He’s clearly concealing things from his dreaming from me—is he telling you more about them than he’s told me?”
“A little,” Gem admitted, “and I’ve gleaned a little from his thoughts from time to time when we mindspeak. In his dreams he is hunted, and the pursuers track him down in a variety of places and situations. Quite often, the hunters are members of his family.”
Lord Grey pondered this for a moment. “So survivor’s guilt perhaps influences the dreams?” he speculated. “Or he’s being haunted, although I don’t sense any spirits, other than you and I, near him…” The prince’s family had, of course, died violently, so there was a strong possibility at least one of them had risen as a haunting spirit, but the Usurper’s wizards and priests likely carefully watched for such an occurrenc. A number of countermeasures for such risen spirits existed, both in Lord Grey’s field of necromancy and via other means, to ensure that such spirits were at least contained, if not entirely prevented from rising.
“We have to press him for fuller disclosure, Gem,” the skull finally said. “I know you don’t like him sharing such personal matters with me, but we need to understand what’s happening and plan accordingly.”
Gem sighed. “I know it. And you’re right, I don’t want you gaining any more insight into my boy’s psyche than you have already, but as he’s said to me several times, we need to either trust in your intentions or get rid of you,” she said flatly.
“Let’s talk to him about it in the morning, then,” Lord Grey said, lapsing into his own thoughts and ignoring the threat in the sword’s words. After all, it was
something he was well aware of, himself.
Chapter Nine
Although Lostatos, the God of Smiths, is revered by both the dwarves and the kossir-teh, he is not the chief deity of either race. The dwarves, better known to surface-dwellers, worship Kargon the Maker, and the Father of Dwarves has some human adherents in places like Kessel where the dwarves are welcome.
The scaled folk’s deities are not as well known to the people of the surface, but it is known that Sineh—though that is not their name for her—is chief among their deities. This is only logical, because they dwell in a land of endless night.
-- “Gods of the Underworld,” by Sage Alionur
The wind was blowing out to sea on the morning of Indigo Runner’s departure from Avethiel, so while the harbormaster stood next to the helm, no magical assistance was needed to guide the lateen-sailed galleon out of the harbor. Most of the galleons Alan had seen were square-rigged at least on the foremast, but Indigo Runner’s two masts were both rigged with angled booms and triangular sails. The lateen rig required fewer sailors than a square-rigger, which Alan supposed was the main reason the merchantman used them, but he could immediately see they’d have trouble tacking. On a lateen-rigged ship, the boom lay to one side of the mast and it would interfere with the sails on the opposite tack.
Moreover, Indigo Runner seemed poorly named, because running before the wind would be inefficient. The triangular sail’s force was always port or starboard, and the standing rigging and shrouds were set to brace the strongest on the beam. Alan wondered how the ship would handle winds from due astern, where the lateen would lose much of its efficiency.
On Searcher, the greatest efficiency was at broad reach, at a deep angle to the wind, and she lost some of her speed and maneuverability when running, though her main and mizzen could be rigged on the opposite beam like the spread wings of a bird in such cases to increase that efficiency. Indigo Runner couldn’t do that, and her best speed would be on beam reach, with the winds at a direct right-angle to their course. As the prevailing winds for most of the journey southward were east-west, Alan supposed that the lateen would be actually better than square-rigging for much of the journey, but if the weather didn’t cooperate, it would be much more challenging to make way.
The ship’s master was a big easterner named Qan, and his manner was very expressive, to say the least. In the hours that Alan had been aboard, he hadn’t heard Qan repeat a single curse or insult as he directed his men. Indigo Runner didn’t have a sailing master per se; rather, the three officers under the captain carried out that function in addition to their other duties. Her helmsman seemed to know his business, and the ship maneuvered out of Avethiel’s harbor without incident, reaching the patrol ships’ position in a little under an hour. The graceful elven patrol ships didn’t bother closing with the outbound vessel.
Qan’s mastery of Aesidhe was poor, and although he said the right words to bid the harbormaster farewell, his intonation was a mild insult by elven standards, implying that Adwylien was a young elf not yet having reached maturity. Alan knew how best to soothe such a gaffe but choked back his initial inclination to intercede, as it was the captain’s problem and definitely not his. The harbormaster appeared to take it in stride, but the prince knew he’d marked it—and Qan—very carefully indeed. He responded in perfect Dunshorian, leaving the Aesidhe for those who could appreciate it. He agilely climbed down into his skiff, which once again had followed along like a faithful dog, and glided back into the harbor.
Qan waited until the elf was well out of elven earshot before impugning the parentage of the harbormaster, the elves of Avethiel, and then elves in general. His men seemed to agree with him but were careful not to take liberties, at least in front of the passengers.
Why trade with people they despise? Alan asked Gem telepathically.
Greed, in the main, the sword replied. I also think he knows he lost face with his poor grasp of Aesidhe—I’ll bet he memorized that phrase to try to impress the harbormaster—and he’s covering it for the crew’s benefit.
The officers of the mercenary ship earned the trust and respect of their men; Alan had begun to do so after the battle with the lizard men, and his actions from that point on had shown the ship’s crew that he was trustworthy. The example that Cedrick set was followed by the first and second mate and the bosun and his mate, and this affected how the crew behaved and functioned. Although Indigo Runner was a clean and well-maintained ship, Alan could see the dynamic here was very different. Her captain demanded respect and used intimidation and insult to force the crew to show it. He didn’t care for it, but it wasn’t his ship, and it seemed to work after a fashion.
He noticed that the three mates—all southerners—worked well with the crew, and he saw one of them take the brunt of the captain’s ire for a mistake a rigger had made. He also saw that none of them took Qan’s steady stream of insults too personally—the big man insulted nearly everyone but Alan, Snog, and the other two passengers, who Alan hadn’t yet met.
Alan and Snog had made themselves at home in the forwardmost cabin. The ride would be rougher there, but it was slightly larger—though oddly shaped—and seasickness wasn’t a problem for either of them. The captain had been surprised they were willing to “ride the bow,” as he put it, but it hadn’t affected the price they’d haggled.
The pair had spent some time in Avethiel’s shops, and both were now much better equipped for their eventual departure from the vessel. Alan and Snog both replaced the short-ranged goblin crossbows they’d been carrying since Alan and Gem had met the goblin and his unlamented former associate Lesh.
The new bows had a very high pull, and although he hadn’t paid for enchantments on either of them, the prince did buy a dozen bolts with an alloy of lashthirin and steel on their tips, split evenly between the two of them. Truesilver was effective against Undead and a number of other supernatural creatures, but it was also expensive, so he ensured the bolt cases they had would hide the lashthirin until they put them to use. Using Truesilver in crossbow bolts was almost literally like throwing money at the enemy, but he was reassured to have some again. He’d lost his original, heavily enchanted crossbow and his supply of bolts (a number of which were Truesilver) in his flight from Whitefall.
As well as the crossbows, Alan and Snog were not wanting for weapons, having acquired whatever they needed in Seagate. Alan wasn’t quite sure what to do with the finely carved bearded battleaxe Nan had given him, though he appreciated her gift. He was trained in the use of axes—indeed, most weapons—but it wasn’t his first choice.
He’d also acquired clothes properly tailored for his size, and that he could let out if he continued to grow. He and Snog were similarly attired in tunics and breeches, and he’d acquired hardened leather armor to wear over his clothes and the lashthirin-scale armor they concealed. In addition, both of them replaced their packs with sturdier, water-resistant ones and laid on a number of well-crafted elven items including climbing equipment, camp cookery, and gear to maintain their weapons.
Each of them also purchased a compass; Alan’s was a navigator’s compass and had two needles, one that pointed due north via an enchantment and the other at magnetic north. Snog’s was simpler and magically pointed due north, as that was almost always more reliable than a magnetic compass. The Moon of Luck could pull a magnetic compass off-bearing by more than thirty degrees in extreme cases.
Moreover, Alan had acquired several maps of the southern continent, although as was typical, they didn’t detail much outside of the Empire and its immediate surroundings. He knew from having studied other maps in Dunshor City that none of the new maps correctly placed the Inner Sea. Only one of them had enough detail to show even the edge of the Great Southern Jungle that lay along the Inner Sea’s southern shoreline. Incomplete or not, they were better than nothing. None of them, of course, showed the mysterious Fulnor, and he had dared not ask about it.
Vella had once been well-traveled and explo
red, and he’d seen an ancient map in his parent’s library that had shown its entirety and even the icy lands south of it, but the fall of Peloria had been a cataclysm that had leveled most of the civilized portion of the continent. The creatures released by the catastrophe had remained after the destruction of the Pelorian Empire, and most of the western and southern region of Vella was now uncharted wilderness. Alan knew not to trust the old map’s depiction of Vella, either, because titanic earthquakes and volcanic eruptions had changed much of the topography from how it had appeared in Peloria’s time. He hoped the libraries in Kavris would give some clue as to where Fulnor was at least, if not additional information, but he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.
The quartet had discussed changing Alan’s illusory appearance to let the identity of the Staikal yeoman to vanish into the Southron Empire, never to be seen again, but had come to the conclusion that Snog’s presence—and Alan was unwilling to consider parting ways—was too widely known at Alan’s side to make that practical.
Qan climbed into the foredeck with Alan and Snog. “Ah, to be to sea again!” he said in his deep expressive voice. Alan thought he likely had a good singing voice, although neither Gem nor Lord Grey had sensed any magical talent about the man.
“Indeed, Captain,” Alan replied, shifting his weight with the waves without thinking about it. Indigo Runner’s ride was actually smoother than Searcher’s, the pair was discovering. If Gem and the skull felt the ship’s motion, they never made mention of it. “How long is the crossing, do you think?”
“I put us in Kavris in a few days past a month’s time,” the large man said. “That’s a southern month, mind.” The Southron Empire used the fourteen-month Alieran calendar rather than the thirteen-month Lushran one, something Alan knew he’d have to get used to. Both calendars used the same number of days in a year, three hundred and sixty-four, so that was something.
By Blood Hunted: Kingsblood Chronicles Part Two (The Kingsblood Chronicles Book 2) Page 12
