But now in the dawntime, with the moon having set a candlemark past, they had come to a looming wall of twilight there in the middle of the deeps. Faces had turned grim, and weapons were placed at hand, for beyond the shadowy marge lay the Sea of Mist.
“Guide her true, Belkor,” said Kolor to the redheaded Dwarf at the steerboard tiller.
“Bestandig, Skipskaptein,” replied Belkor, his jaw set at a jut.
And driven by a brisk wind, toward that dim ambit they did run.
Big Jack took up Lady Bronze and stood ready, the great battle-axe agleam in the first rays of the sun rising off the port beam.
And just as the golden orb broke free of the rim of the sea, through the Faery border the Nordavind slid to come into a cold, clammy mist, a damp, grey fog shrouding all. And the sea-blue sails fell slack, for therein was no wind.
“Åres rede, tie,” whispered Kolor, the order passed on down the line.
Quietly, Dwarves took up oars from the trestles.
“Roers, åres til vann, tie.”
As quietly as they could, the Dwarves fitted the oars through the strake holes and slipped them into the water; ’round the shafts where they fitted through the openings, they muffled the oars with cloth wrap. Then, facing aft, they sat, their sea chests acting as seats.
Now Kolor signed to his oar-chief Brekki, who stood just ahead of the tiller, where all the rowers could see him. Brekki put his finger to his lips, and, with measured strokes of his hand down through the air, the Dwarves began to row to his mute cadence, the dip and plash of blades nearly silent.
When Camille looked questioningly at Kolor, he whispered, “ ’Tis a tactic we use in perilous waters. At times, though, when edging up on a foe, the rowers stand and face forward as they stroke, axes and shields at hand. But for long pulls, much of the stroke comes from the legs, and so we sit.”
On they went through the grey fog, the mist swirling in coils with their passage, a chill dampness seeping through all. Scruff ruffled his feathers, fluffing them outward to stay warm. Camille held open her high vest pocket, inviting him to take shelter within, but he did not accept.
On went the Nordavind, oars quietly dipping in concert, ripples of the craft’s passage spreading wide to vanish in the gloom.
And though they could not directly see the sun, a vaguely brighter glow in the chill, cloaking mist showed where it was. A candlemark passed, and the nebulous shine angled upward as the hidden sun crept into the unseen sky above.
Of a sudden, Scruff chirped and grabbed a golden tress and leapt into the pocket.
“Captain,” hissed Camille, urgency in her whisper. “Peril is nigh.”
“Peril?”
Camille pointed at the sparrow, frantically tugging on her hair.
Kolor stepped forward and whispered to Brekki, and Brekki silently signalled the rowers, Åres oppe!
Oars were raised from the water, and the Nordavind glided and slowed.
Big Jack held Lady Bronze at the ready.
Camille gripped her split and splintered stave.
All eyes stared into the grey fog, but its chill grasp thwarted vision beyond three or four boat lengths in all.
Moments later, from the larboard, a swell washed through the water, the Nordavind bobbing up and down with the passage of something huge and unseen.
In silence they waited, Camille hardly daring to breathe.
Finally, the undulations quelled, and Scruff regained his perch upon Camille’s shoulder.
“We can go on,” whispered Camille, pointing to the sparrow.
Kolor looked at the wee bird in wonder, and then hissed to Brekki to proceed.
Once again oars quietly dipped in synchronization, and the Nordavind glided on.
And still the dim glow of the sun edged up through the shrouding mist.
A candlemark passed, and then another, fog aswirl in their slow wake.
Time edged forward.
Another candlemark slid by, and then once again Scruff snatched a tress and dove into the pocket, and again Camille hissed a warning to Kolor. Oars were raised, and all fell silent, but for plips of water dripping from the blades. Left and right did eyes stare through the grey shroud, and once more to the larboard did a surge in the water come, this time close enough to see the point of the heave as something enormous just under the surface passed by. Yet what leviathan thing or creature caused the bulge, none could say, for only the surge did they see.
Once more they waited in silence, until finally Scruff took to Camille’s shoulder again. And once more did they quietly row.
And still the glow of the sun crept across the fog, yet it did not burn away the cloaking mist, as if the shroud itself defied all. Even so, the sun, or rather its diffuse glimmer, provided a guidepost to steer by, else they could have been rowing in circles, for all Camille knew.
Becloaked in mist, across the chill, glassy sea they went, Brekki mutely marking the beat, oars dipping in concert, the Nordavind gliding in near silence, though ripples of passage spread wide.
The glow of the sun passed through the zenith and started a slow slide down the sky, and still the ship went on, none knowing how far they had come nor how far was yet to go.
And somewhere in the deeps, an unknown thing did glide.
“Captain, ahead,” sissed Big Jack. “I think I see . . .”
The day had fallen toward midafternoon, the glow now angled in the shroud off the starboard beam, and all hands wondered if they would ever come to the end of this dismal murk, with its chill dampness reaching unto the very bones. Yet the fog seemed to have thinned a bit, and Camille and Kolor strained to see what Big Jack—
“There!” sissed Camille.
A distance ahead and dimly seen through the clammy mist a wall of twilight reared up into the sky.
“ ’Tis the border,” grunted Kolor, grinning. “We’ve come to the far side.”
Forward they glided, Brekki meting out the slow and silent beat.
Yet as they neared, Scruff again grabbed a golden tress and dove into the pocket.
Åres oppe! Brekki silently signalled.
Slowly the ship glided to a stop.
plip! . . . plip! . . . plip! . . . dripped the lifted blades.
No heave in the water came.
No leviathan moved past.
plip . . .
They waited . . .
. . . eighty-three souls afloat on the glassy surface of a windless, becloaked sea.
A full candlemark slipped away, the diffuse glow of the unseen sun eking downward through the mist.
And still Scruff remained in the pocket.
“Skipskaptein Kolor,” whispered Brekki, then he glanced at Camille and switched to the new speech, “if we do not move soon, we’ll be caught on this sea in the night.”
Kolor nodded, but did not reply.
And still they waited . . . silent on a waveless sea. . . .
The glow sank. . . .
Kolor glanced at Camille and turned up a hand.
Camille glanced down at Scruff. The wee bird yet trembled in the high vest pocket, tugging now and again on her hair. She looked back at Kolor and shook her head.
Finally, Kolor took a deep breath and whispered to Brekki, “Ahead a stroke at a time, long pauses in between. If something lies in wait, mayhap we can slip by.”
Brekki signalled, and oars dipped and pulled a single stroke.
Ripples eased across the water. . . .
The ship glided forward then slowly came to a stop.
Another single stroke . . .
More ripples . . .
Another glide and stop . . .
Another str—
From below the Dragonship itself, monstrous suckered tentacles came looping up out of the water to lash through the fog and grasp at the sides of the ship. Recoiling Dwarves cried out and snatched up axes at hand, to hack and chop at the boneless limbs, but their blades did not cut. A huge, slimy arm wrapped about Belkor at the tiller and he was w
renched overboard, his screams lost as he was lashed under the chill sea. A tentacle whipped ’round one of the sternward Dwarves, and Kolor snatched his axe from his belt and leapt forward to hack at the slimy thing, to little effect, the tough hide resisting his furious blows, and the shrieking Dwarf was yanked into the water and down. Another ropy arm came coiling at shrilling Camille, but Big Jack, shouting a wordless howl, with a great overhand stroke slammed Lady Bronze down onto the grisly member, shearing through, black blood flying wide. As the shorn-off tentacle lashed and writhed, the gushing stump was whipped back into the water, and the creature below went mad. The water foamed in its fury, and a great stench filled the air. And then another tentacle came hurtling out of the water to whip around Big Jack and savagely contract in a crushing embrace. Without conscious thought, screaming, Camille leapt forward and slammed Lady Sorcière’s staff down on the ropy arm, and lo! a splinter stabbed in, and the tentacle fell limp to the deck, to be slowly dragged back overboard. Released, Big Jack staggered and fell, Lady Bronze clanging to the deck, even as another tentacle whipped forth. Shrieking, once more Camille struck with the staff, and that arm too fell slack. And again she struck and again, and two more tentacles fell away. And shrilling, Camille raced down the ship, striking left and right, left and right, left and—
Of a sudden the monster was gone, leaving stunned Dwarves behind.
Camille stumbled forward another step or two, then fell to her knees, weeping hysterically.
“Quick,” shouted Kolor, even as he leapt to the steerboard. “To the strokes! Let us leave this bedamned sea behind.”
Dwarves leapt to obey the command—some oars broken, some gone, some yet in the strakes—and in moments the craft was under way, Kolor calling the cadence, for Brekki was among the missing.
Wincing a bit from bruised ribs, Big Jack lifted Camille up in his massive arms and carried her to the bow. And he sat with her in his lap and stroked her hair as she clung to him and sobbed uncontrollably.
And even as Scruff scrambled free of the vest pocket, they came to the twilight border and through and into the slanting sunlight beyond. And a strong wind blew off the starboard stern, filling the four square sails, and across the waters fled the Nordavind, leaving the Sea of Mist behind.
Steadily the Nordavind hove across the deeps, days passing one by one, the disk on Lady Sorcière’s staff waning from full, to gibbous, to half, and then crescent, time rapidly running out. And when there were but four days left ere the whole of the moon would be gone, in late afternoon, a broad, mountainous island came into view. Camille stood in the bow of the Dragonship, her heart thudding in her breast. Delirium or no, the dying man had been right, for not only was an island where he said it would be, but Camille could see a great citadel sitting on a high hill, the mighty fortress looking down upon a small, seashore town. As to the rest, much was covered with trees, though a great spread of cultivated fields surrounded the citadel itself. It had to be Troll Island.
“This ain’t right,” said Big Jack behind her. “You going alone onto th’ isle just ain’t right.”
Camille shook her head. “We’ve argued this out for a whole week, Jack, and my mind is firm: Lady Sorcière said I must go alone, and alone I will go.”
At Camille’s side, Kolor said, “It’s no use, Big Jack. Besides, she’s right. If Lady Sorcière said to go alone, then you, me, my crew, we’ll just have to let be.”
“Still, it just ain’t—”
“Jack, I am the only one who can easily pass for a Human slave, not the Dwarves, and certainly not—”
“But I’m Human,” protested Big Jack.
“Oh, Jack, you’d stick out like a sore thumb, big as you are, towering over everyone else. No, you’ll need to stay. Besides, I’d rather not have combat if there is a way to set my love free without blood being shed.”
“My lady,” growled Kolor, “I caution you: Trolls and Goblins or no, this may not be the place where your Alain doth be.” Kolor gestured at the lowering sun. “There sinks the sun, and the horns of the moon punctured the sea nearly three candlemarks past. Hence, this is not a place lying east of the sun and west of the moon. As I’ve said before, Faery or no, such a place cannot be.”
Tears brimming, Camille glanced at her stave then took a deep breath and said, “Nevertheless, I am going.”
“And you should take me with you,” said Big Jack.
Angrily, Camille brushed her tears aside and snapped, “No!”
Big Jack’s face crumpled, and Camille reached out a hand, but then let it fall to her side. “Jack, hear me: I will go alone and discover for myself whether or no this is the place where Alain is kept prisoner. Then and only then might I need you and the Dwarves to aid, but only if there is no other way.” Camille glanced at the Dwarven crew—sixty-seven in all counting Kolor, thirteen lost to the monster of the sea. “I have seen all the death I can stand, and I would have no more.”
“Wishes or no, my lady,” gritted Kolor, “if it becomes necessary, then death there will be.”
Camille glumly nodded, yet added, “But only if unavoidable.” She turned and looked at Big Jack and then Kolor, and was satisfied by a reluctant nod from each.
“All right, then,” said Kolor, “as we have discussed, just after darkness, we will set you ashore a bit away from the town. Then to avoid accidental discovery, we’ll shove off and stand out to sea. With our masts unstepped and our blue sails draped over the wales, from a distance we’ll look just like the waters; only someone seeking such should be able to sight us. There we’ll await your signal: lantern or fire. Have you the oil?”
Camille nodded and pointed to her rucksack. “The three flasks you gave.”
“But list, Camille,” said Kolor, now glancing at Big Jack. “Should we not hear from you in a timely manner, we’ll not stay hidden long.”
Big Jack clenched a fist and nodded.
Camille sighed and said, “Agreed.”
Kolor then glanced at Scruff on her shoulder and said, “Keep an eye on that wee bird, for he is a wonder to have. Nought else I know of can tell when hidden peril is nigh.”
“Indeed, Captain, a better sentry I could not have.” Except at night, she silently added, wee little sleepy bird.
Twilight fell upon the ocean, and the Nordavind glided silently toward the isle. Soon they lowered sail, and rowed the last sea-league or so, to finally slip into a cove. Big Jack jumped over the side and waited.
Attired in a threadbare dress—the only thing of hers that she yet owned that had come from her père’s poor cottage—and with Scruff asleep in the high pocket above her left breast she had sewn thereon, Camille shouldered her rucksack and bedroll and waterskin and took up her stave and turned to Kolor and said, “Lady Sorcière said unlooked-for help would come along the way, and it most certainly has, but none more so than you, Captain.” She kissed Kolor on the cheek, then waved au revoir to the Dwarves at the oars, then turned to waiting Big Jack. With tears in his eyes he reached up and lifted her across the top wale and sloshed to the beach and set her to dry land. Camille gently placed a hand to his wet cheek and, with a bravado she did not feel, she said, “Fear not, Jack. I’ll be all right. After all, what could possibly go wrong?” And she gripped his collar and pulled him down and kissed him where tears ran.
Then she turned and started up a low dune and inland.
When Camille reached the crest she looked hindward. The Dragonship was backing water, pulling away, and in spite of Lady Sorcière’s admonition, she almost cried out, “Wait! I would have you come along!” But she did not, for well did she know, but for one of the gifts—Scruff—she must go alone.
And so she went over the dune and down, then turned leftward and headed for the ramshackle town, where ’twas said Human slaves did dwell.
Her face smeared with dirt, her golden hair tied in a worn scarf, a small bundle of branch-wood on her shoulder as would a slave bear, Camille entered the streets of the town only to find them vacant.
By starlight alone she made her way along the cobblestones. Of a sudden a voice hissed, “Here now, do you want to get yourself killed, out after curfew as you are?” Startled nearly out of her wits, Camille jerked about to see a dark figure in a doorway. Frantically, the figure motioned, “Quick, in here you stupid girl, before the patrol comes.”
Now Camille could hear a tramp of feet nearing, and before she could react, the figure—a man, she thought—jumped out and clutched her by the arm and jerked her toward the opening, her bundle of sticks flying from her shoulder to clatter to the cobbles. “Har!” came a cry, and the sound of running, even as the man, wrenching her about, darted back and snatched up the bound branch-wood. He then yanked her ’round opposite and dragged her through the doorway and shut it behind, darkness plunging down, alleviated only by a faint ruddy glow of a few coals on the hearth. As Camille and her rescuer stood holding their breath in the dimness, the clatter of arms and armor and the slap of running feet hammered past.
Soon all fell quiet . . .
. . . But for the pounding of my heart.
After a moment, by the dull glow of the dying coals Camille saw the dark shape of the man move across the room, and she heard the scratch of a match, and in the wavering light he lit a tallow candle and turned and held it high, the better to see just who this fool was who had been out after curfew.
And Camille leapt forward and embraced him, crying, “Lanval! Oh, Lanval! It’s you!”
34
Citadel
“Chp!-chp!-chp!-chp! . . .” “Oh, Scruff,” exclaimed Camille, pushing away from Lanval and looking into the high pocket. “I’m so sorry.”
In the candlelight, Scruff looked up at Camille and cocked his head and chattered away, scolding her for mashing him between her and some man.
Once Upon a Winter's Night Page 37
