That this was a remarkable event, of that there was no doubt, for the Arborites flocked down to the docks in droves. Even had she not been injured, the Eroean would have drawn crowds just as large, for this was a seaport and the Elvenship was legendary.
Cor, this’ll be a Yuletide long remembered, eh? Oi mean, th’ Elvenship roight ’ere in our very own docks!
None else like ’er in th’ whole wide world.
‘N’ damaged, too, naow what d’y’ make o’ that, eh?
Probably fightin’ sea monsters, wouldn’t y’ know.
That, ’r’ pirates, eh?
They’d put ’em all t’ death, if hit wos pirates, roight?
They’d put ’em all t’ death if they wos monsters, too.
Coo, naow look’t that, would y’: she’s got a pure silver bottom, she does!
Clean as a whistle ’n’ nary a barnacle.
Ar, but did y’ see them what took rooms at th’ Storm Lantern? Dwarves, they wos, ’n’ filled hit roight up, they did. Naow what ’r’ th’ loikes o’ Dwarves doin’ sailin’ ships, eh?
Sailin’ ships? Ar, y’ big gob, they don’t sail no ships. This be th’ way o’ hit: j’st ‘oo d’y’ think kills them pirates, Oi hasks? Them Dwarves, ‘at’s ‘oo! They be th’ Elvenship’s army, don’t y’ know.
Yar. But did y’ see…th’ cap’n, ‘e’s got a Wizard aboard, too. They say ‘im ’n’ ‘is fox familiar took rooms hat th’ Blue Mermaid, they did, along wi’ th’ cap’n’s laidy ’n’ more o’ th’ crew.
Coo, th’ laidy, she were a looker, wot?
Ar, but th’ fox naow, ‘e didn’t loike bein’ dragged on that leash, did ‘e?
Oi’m o’ a moind t’ go t’ th’ Mermaid ’n’ th’ Lantern both, ’n’ see wot’s wot, Oi am.
Thus nattered the onlookers as the Eroean was heeled over and the work to repair her was begun. While in a room in the Blue Mermaid…
“Ha! Some familiar, this fox,” snarled Alamar, dragging Rux into the room. “I’d sooner have a large stone for such; at least a rock wouldn’t pull backwards.”
Slamming the door behind, the Mage set his knapsack down on the table and dropped the leash. Discovering that he was free, Rux sat up and glared at the Mage, then began backing about the room, trying to slip out of the rope tied ‘round his neck. Alamar opened the pack and Jinnarin climbed out, the Pysk leaping down from table to chair to floor and calling Rux to her. As she untied the rope, Jinnarin said, “Rux would make an excellent familiar, whatever they are and whatever it is that they do.”
“Ha!” barked Alamar, sitting down and crossing his arms defiantly.
Jinnarin unknotted the rope at last and pulled it free. Rux sat down and began scratching furiously, as if the line about his neck had been full of fleas.
Clambering back up to the tabletop, Jinnarin began rooting about in Alamar’s knapsack, the Pysk looking for the comb. “Tell me, Alamar,” she said, her voice muffled, “just what is a familiar…and what do they do?”
“Nothing you would understand, Pysk. But I’ll tell you this: they don’t drop rats on your feet.”
Now Jinnarin disappeared completely into the knapsack. “What did you do with my comb?”
Alamar glared. “I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you are implying.”
“Oh, here it is.” Jinnarin said, then popped back out. “Did you ever have a familiar, Alamar?”
“Once,” he muttered. “An owl.”
Now Jinnarin glared at the Mage. “I might have known! You had an owl! A murdering owl!”
“What are you talking about, Pysk?”
“Owls, that’s what, Alamar. Owls! Don’t you know that at times they’ve tried to kill us?”
“Tried to kill Pysks, Pysk?”
“Exactly so.”
“Well it wasn’t my owl,” declared Alamar.
“How do you know that?”
“I know, Pysk. That’s how.”
“Hmph,” snorted Jinnarin, leaping down to the floor. She began combing Rux’s fur all ‘round where the rope had been. After a while she said, “Really, Alamar, I’d like to know about familiars.”
Alamar glared.
“Truly, Alamar, I would.”
After a moment, he uncrossed his arms and hitched his chair about, facing her. “Given the amount of study we do, the life of a Mage is a rather solitary one. The last thing we need is someone chattering about all day and night. Even so, a companion of sorts breaks the loneliness, the solitude, especially a companion that is useful. An apprentice is one kind of companion—someone to talk to, someone to teach, someone to run and fetch, and as his experience grows, someone to share ideas with. But taking on an apprentice is a weighty responsibility, and if there is no time to teach, then it is of no benefit to the apprentice: might as well merely have a servant.
“A familiar, though, is a different kind of companion. Still, a familiar is someone to talk to, even though most cannot answer back, or if they do, their answers are limited and long conversations are rare. Even so, they are useful, for they run and fetch if you know how to ask them…and if it is within their means. Mostly, though, they are a second pair of eyes and ears, and occasionally another nose, warding us in times of danger. And for those of us who know how, we can send the familiar out scouting or spying, and see through their eyes, hear through their ears, smell through their noses, feel through their touch, taste with their tongues. This is, however, not without its dangers, for if the familiar is harmed while merged with the mind of the Mage, then we suffer the harm as well…and vice versa.
“If throughout the long years the Mage merges often with the familiar, then they become part of one another, and if or when one or the other dies, it has profound effects. In both cases, Mage and familiar, they sink into deep melancholia. If the familiar dies, it is as if a part of the Mage has been ripped from his existence, and frequently it takes long years to recover. On the other hand, if the Mage dies, then often the familiar goes away into isolation and refuses food and water and dies from what can only be termed a broken heart.
“And that, my dear, is what a familiar is.”
Jinnarin looked at Alamar with tears in her eyes, and she softly asked, “What happened to your owl, Alamar?”
“She died.” Alamar’s gaze glittered. “I did not take on another.”
Jinnarin’s eyes brimmed over, tears running down her cheeks. She turned and leaned her head against Rux and threw her arms about his neck and did not move for some time. At last she straightened and resumed her combing. After a while she said, “I’m sorry that I called your owl a murderer.”
Alamar looked up from the tokko board. “Eh, what did you say?”
“That I had my nightmare again last night,” answered Jinnarin.
“Same dream? Nothing changed?”
Jinnarin nodded, then smiled as Aylis moved her Bridge across Alamar’s Chasm. “Guard your Throne, Father.”
Alamar lowered his brow and squinted at Jinnarin and then Aylis. “Oh-ho! So that’s the way it is, eh? You two in cahoots to distract me, right?”
Both Aylis and Jinnarin looked at the elder, innocence in their faces. Then they both burst out laughing.
“Aha! I thought so!”
Still laughing, Aylis stood and stretched.
After a moment, Alamar turned his Throne on its side. “Ask your Aravan to come and see me, Daughter. I will tell him of your devious, scheming ways.”
“I will, Father, that is if he ever comes to our room.” Aylis sighed. “He hasn’t left the Eroean since we got here two days past.”
“Now, Daughter, he has much to do, and—”
“I know that, Father. Even so, he and the others need rest and hot food and warm drink and even entertainment.”
“But, Daughter, they’ve got to be finished before the storm strikes in, what did you say, six days?”
“Seven days when we docked: four days now. Twelfth Yule—New Year’s Day—that’s when it’s due, late in the
night.”
“All right. Four days, then. But we can’t have the Eroean lying over on her side when the storm hits, now can we? Besides, they are getting hot meals and warm drink and rest.”
“Yes, for most of the crew, Father, working in shifts as they are. But not Aravan, Father, not Aravan. Only he knows the secrets of the oil they rub into the wood. Only he knows the secrets of the black caulking. And only he knows the secrets of the starsilver paint…or the dark blue, for that matter. Only Aravan. And so, he needs to be there at all times, hence is getting little rest and certainly no entertainment.”
Alamar grinned. “And just how would you propose that he be entertained, Daughter?”
Alamar did not quite duck in time to evade the thrown pillow.
And down at the docks where the Elvenship lay, holes were being drilled with a silver auger and wooden pegs fitted, for no iron nails graced the hull of the Elvenship.
Two days later the repair of the vessel was complete, and the winches holding the ropes heeling her over on her larboard side were loosened and allowed to slowly slip opposite, the windlasses acting as brakes as the Eroean gradually uprighted. Ballast was reloaded onto the ship, and the hold was restocked with fresh supplies, Quartermaster Roku overseeing the lading of the goods he had purchased throughout the previous days from many a happy merchant. Finally, the ship was towed away from the dock and anchored in safe harborage, for it would not do to have the ship pounded against the quay in the forecasted storm.
And Aravan came to the Blue Mermaid and collapsed into bed and slept for two more days.
On the evening of the twelfth day of Yule—New Year’s Day—a gentle snow began falling. That same evening, a grand celebration was held in the common room of the Blue Mermaid. It was attended by all of the Elvenship crew and a Mage and Lady Mage and a red fox, as well as by a shadow lurking in the darkness at the top of the stairs. There was singing and dancing, and Lobbie played his squeeze box and Rolly his pipe and Burden banged on his drum, and as they had during the spree, all the Men and the Dwarves stomped in time and clapped their hands while Captain Aravan and Lady Aylis danced their wild, wild fling, stepping and prancing and whirling about and laughing into each other’s eyes. The Châkka chanted marching songs, the words in a brusque language strong. Then Mage Alamar made the air sparkle with untouchable glitter of all different colors, and caused a strange musical piping amid the sounds of wind chimes. And then Captain Aravan played a harp and voiced stirring sagas, odes to make your heart pound and your blood run hot. And Aylis sang in a high, sweet voice and not an eye was dry when she finished. And while Dwarves or Men stood guard at the bottom of the steps, allowing no townsman to go up, many a member of the crew went and sat in the darkness at the top of the stairs, where it seemed they talked to themselves, laughing and joking with the empty air and sharing sweetmeats with the shadows.
And when the celebration came to an end, it was in the wee hours of the morning. Outside the gentle snow had become a storm. It was the second of January, and the twelve days of Yule were ended.
The howling wind hammered throughout the night and was yet squalling about the eaves of the Blue Mermaid when the morning came. Aravan and Aylis snuggled down in the warmth of their bed, the Elf clasping the Lady Mage unto him. Wan light seeped inward through the window and snow pelted ‘gainst the rippled panes, and sometime after mid morn Aravan raised up on one elbow, his sapphirine gaze searching Aylis’s features.
“What?” she asked, wondering at his intense scrutiny.
He grinned. “I am counting the faint freckles sprinkled across thy nose and onto thy cheeks.”
“Eleven,” said Aylis.
“Eleven?”
“Exactly.”
“Well, my lovely chier, I seem to see fifteen.”
Aylis’s eyes flew wide. “You do? Where?” She scrambled from the bed and found her silver mirror, nipping back under the covers in the cold. Aylis held up the polished silver and peered within, searching.
Aravan’s grin widened. “And now I have proven that thou art not the only one of us who can cast a mirror spell, chieran, for now it is in this silver speculum I see mine own true love.”
Aylis burst out laughing. “You are a trickster, sirrah, a trickster.”
Aravan’s laughter joined hers, and she grabbed him and rolled atop, pinning him down. “Confess, miscreant, or I will have your…your…!” But then she kissed him and kissed him again and laughter turned to love.
CHAPTER 20
Seekers
Winter, 1E9574–75
[The Present]
Of course,” proposed Alamar, “I could make each fireball look as if it were ten. It’s a simple matter of bending the aethyr, splitting the light. Durlok would not be able to explode them all before the true one hit his ship.” But then the elder shook his head and growled. “Though as you say, Pysk, he could simply call upon his magesight and see through the trick.”
As the wind howled ‘round the Blue Mermaid and snow pelted against the window panes, Jinnarin sat in quiet contemplation for some moments. “It seems, Alamar, rather difficult to fool a Mage, eh?”
Alamar puffed out his chest and thumped on it. “Certainly it’s difficult to fool this Mage,” he declared.
Jinnarin raised her eyebrows. “Oh?”
Alamar nodded sharply. “It’s not like fooling mortals and foolish Pysks and the like. We Mages are extraordinarily alert to tricks and traps and other such. After all, we have the great advantage of being able to see the astral fire, and that gives us an edge over all other beings.”
Jinnarin looked at the Mage in wide-eyed innocence. “Oh, Alamar, I’m so glad that you told me.” She reached forward and took up a tokko piece. “Stone crushes Throne,” she said, dropping the agate on Alamar’s Throne. “Game’s over.”
A look of surprise and then petulant rage flashed across Alamar’s face. “You distracted me again, Pysk! That’s cheating!”
Jinnarin jumped to her feet and stood before the Mage, her hands on her hips. “Oh? Cheating, eh? Well if that’s cheating, Alamar, I suggest that you find a similar way to ‘cheat’ Durlok!”
Alamar shook his fist at Jinnarin. “If you weren’t a female Pysk, Pysk, I’d invite you outside!”
“And if you weren’t so decrepit, Alamar, I’d take you up on it!” shot back Jinnarin.
They stood fuming and blustering at one another, and suddenly Jinnarin burst out laughing. “You look like a fish out of water, Alamar,” she giggled.
In spite of himself, Alamar grinned. “Well, Pysk, if I’m a fish out of water, then you’re a beached minnow.”
Jinnarin’s giggles were joined by Alamar’s cackling glee.
After a while, still smiling, the elder gazed back at the tokko board. Then a thoughtful look came over his features. “Perhaps you are right, Pysk. Perhaps we’ve been looking at this at the wrong angle.”
Jinnarin raised an eyebrow. “Meaning…?”
Alamar steepled his fingers. “Meaning that instead of taking on Durlok dead straight, perhaps we should find a way to distract him. And while he is looking the wrong way, we sneak up behind him and drop a rock on his head.”
“Well, Captain,” rumbled Jatu, “where do we go from here?”
Bokar stood at the window of the Blue Mermaid and peered out at the storm, now diminishing in its second day. He turned and growled, “I say we sail the northern waters and look for more plumes. That is the only chance we have of catching up with the Black Mage, wherever he and his galley may have gotten to.”
The others in Alamar’s room—Jinnarin, Aylis, Alamar, Aravan, Frizian, and Jatu—looked at Bokar, Frizian musing, “Do you think that he’s still up there lurking about in the Northern Sea?”
“That is where the aurora is,” answered Bokar. “Find the aurora, and we are like to find the Mage.”
Jinnarin sighed. “But who’s to say that if we find the Mage, we’ll find Farrix?”
Aylis shook her head. “
It’s the only lead we have, Jinnarin: Farrix went looking for plumes; Durlok’s ship was where a plume fell. They are all we have linking the two.”
Aravan’s gaze swept across the others. “If Durlok is indeed behind the plumes, then in the eleven days since we were rammed, he could be nigh six hundred leagues from his last position.”
Alamar did a swift reckoning. “That assumes he travels fifty leagues a day, a hundred and fifty miles.”
Aylis nodded. “That’s how far apart the plumes were, Father.”
Frizian took a sip of his tea. “If he is eighteen hundred miles straight away, and if we knew where he was, then given favorable winds we could be there in a week to ten days…but I think he will not stay in one spot for us to catch him, even if we knew where to go. Nay, he will have gone onward to somewhere else.”
“I agree,” said Jatu. “But on the other hand, if Durlok instead sails back and forth under the aurora in the Northern Sea, then Bokar’s plan is sound. We should take station along the course where last we were.”
Bokar gnarled. “It does not suit my nature to take up station and wait. I say we run back and forth along his route until we spot a plume. I would rather come upon him than for him to come upon us: the last time he did so, we were holed.”
Voyage of the Fox Rider Page 28
