by Jack Massa
Seven
Crouching low, Lonn and Karrol led the way through the back door. They knew soldiers had been stationed on all sides of the house, and might still be lurking. Peering past Lonn’s shoulder, Eben scanned the corral and the woods beyond, but spotted no enemies. He surmised the Larthangans had responded to the shouts of alarm at the front of the house, had run to join the battle and then the general retreat.
Still, he kept careful watch in all directions as the party hurried away from the farm and up the trail. The Iruks carried bundles on their shoulders and held spears in their free hands. They had strapped on their leather harnesses, and swords and long knives hung from their belts. Amlina now wore the Cloak, ready to summon its power if necessary. Draven had Amlina’s wicker basket tied on his back, and Kizier struggled under the weight of two heavy satchels.
“I hope you all remembered to bring your gold,” Eben muttered when they had reached the woods.
“Of course,” Lonn said.
Karrol and Brinda stopped in their tracks. Just like Eben, they had kept their share of the loot from Tallyba at the farmhouse for safekeeping.
“In the excitement, we forgot.” Brinda said.
“We’ll have to go back,” Karrol declared. “I’m not leaving my loot behind ..:”
“Don’t worry,” Glyssa answered. “I cleaned out the strong box under the floor. All of the gold is in my pack and Lonn’s.”
“Oh, what a relief,” Karrol said. “Good work, Glyssa.”
“Of course,” Lonn said.
“I do wish we’d had more time to pack,” Kizier puffed. “I tried to gather all of my writings, but I fear I left some behind. And of course, I couldn’t begin to carry my reference volumes.”
“What about the talking book?” Eben asked.
“Yes, I have him,” Kizier replied. “For all his surly temper Buroof is often most helpful.”
With Eben and Brinda guarding the rear, the party came to the top of the cliff. Night had fallen and the sky was overcast. Pale blue witchlight from the seawater below cast a misty illumination. Cautiously, the mates picked their way down the steep, narrow path. In some places they had to stop and pass their bundles down by hand.
At last they stepped onto the beach. Waves lapping on the black shale churned up gleaming bands of blue light. After tossing down his bundle and jumping to the ground, Eben took a deep breath of the salt air—exhilarated by the danger of this mad adventure with his old mates.
Here, at the base of the path, was the place they had laid the klarn to rest, marking the spot with a small circle of stones. Glyssa stopped and faced the others.
“Should we raise the klarn? Do we have time?”
Amlina shook her head. “We’d better not stop. Our enemies will regroup and likely come after us.”
Lonn grunted. “Let’s pause for a moment then, so those who wish can call the klarn-soul into themselves. We can have a proper ceremony on the boat.” He cast a meaningful glance at Eben, Brinda, and Karrol. “Once everyone has decided whether or not they want to re-form as a klarn.”
He spread out his hands. Glyssa and Draven moved immediately to join him. Eben stepped up, clasped Draven’s hand and extended his own toward Karrol and Brinda. To his surprise, the sisters hesitated, glancing at one another, before walking up to place themselves next to him. Amlina came last of all—reluctantly, it seemed to Eben. Her back to the sea, her face shadowed, the witch marched over and took hold of Glyssa’s hand. Kizier, not a warrior and never a member of the klarn, waited in silence, glancing nervously at the cliffs above.
The mates stood with heads bowed. Eben felt the stirring of the klarn-soul rising in him, a spirit that all of them shared. But he also sensed uncertainty, inner conflicts. This was not the firm, living bond he remembered.
Without further words, the mates picked up their bundles and headed up the beach in the direction of Fleevanport. They marched deliberately, making as much speed as their burdens allowed, watching warily for any pursuit. After a time, Eben fell back to where Karrol and Brinda walked a little behind the rest of the group.
“What are you thinking, mates?” he asked. “You both hesitated back there.”
Brinda gave a shrug.
“I’m not sure.”Karrol said. “I know I suggested we might sail with Amlina to Larthang. But now I’ve had time to think about it. It would mean leaving our village and our mother. We might never return. This is all happening too fast … I’m just not sure.”
“What do you think, Eben?” Brinda asked him.
He walked a little lighter on his feet. “Oh, I’m in, if they’ll have me. I’ve enjoyed myself today more than I have in months.”
Brinda and Karrol trudged on, making no reply.
“At least come with us on the boat,” Eben said. “We’ll need to stop for supplies, and the Iruk Isles are on the way. We will leave you on Ilga if that’s what you decide.”
“You make everything sound so simple,” Karrol grumbled. “We haven’t even got a boat.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Eben laughed. “There will be dojuks in the harbor. And I already know the one I want to take.”
Harful woke with a knife point pricking the bridge of his nose. His eyes popped open in alarm. Eben smiled.
“Remember me? No, don’t move! I would hate to accidentally split your nose.” He pulled the knife back an inch. “Nod if you agree with that.”
Harful nodded, mouth tight.
About two hours before dawn, Amlina and her party had reached the edge of town. Hurrying along the waterfront, they came to a stretch where Iruk boats were tied at the quay or rode in the shallows. Eben had spotted Harful’s boat by the carved figure of a tusk-bear on the bone prow and the extra-long outriggers. Just two seasons old and large for a dojuk, it was considered one of the prize hunting boats on Ilga.
The one sleepy warrior standing watch had quickly been overcome. Lonn in the lead, the Iruks had crept aboard. A large sleeping tent was rigged on deck between the mast and prow. Brinda and Draven cut the tent’s lines and then yanked up one whole side. In the faint witchlight from the harbor, the mates had jumped over the five warriors who had been sleeping within, spear tips holding them down even as they woke up startled.
“We have an offer for you and your klarn,” Eben whispered to Harful. “We want to buy your dojuk.”
Brows lowered, Harful shook his head furiously.
“Oh, but reconsider.” Pressing the point close again, Eben reached into his shirt and removed a purse. He bounced it in his hand, jingling the coins. “Forty Nyssanian gold pieces—enough for you and your klarn to loaf in Fleevanport for a year if you choose.”
The greedy gleam in Harful’s eyes said one thing, the grim set of his mouth another. Again, his head shook. “I cannot sell the boat without holding a klarn meeting.”
“Oh, you can’t expect me to believe that.” Eben smiled dangerously. “It’s well known the boat belonged to your kinsmen, and also well known how you bully your mates. None of them would dare gainsay you.”
“Has he agreed?” Amlina asked impatiently, her boots appearing at the edge of Eben’s vision.
“We have you at a disadvantage,” Eben told Harful. “We could just take the dojuk, and either leave you and your mates standing on the dock, or spear you and dump your sorry carcasses into the harbor. Or worse, we could let the witch of Larthang deal with you…”
Harful gaped up at the witch.
“So.” Eben poked the knife. “Forty gold pieces. This offer will last till I can count to three. One … Two …”
“Very well,” Harful grunted. “You have a deal.”
Harful’s crew was given time to collect their clothing and other belongings—but not their weapons. Instead, Eben and his mates gathered up the spears, swords and knives and carried them as they escorted Harful’s klarn from the boat. To forestall any change of heart, the dispossessed Iruks were marched several streets from the waterfron
t to an inn. There, pounding on the door roused the morning staff, who were already at work baking the day’s bread and cooking porridge. Eben made sure that Harful’s klarn was settled comfortably around the fireplace and served tankards of mead before he paid Harful the promised gold.
Dawn was breaking over Fleevanport by the time the mates returned to the waterfront. Amlina stood with Kizier in the bow of the dojuk, anxiously watching for them. The Iruks set to work at once stowing their gear, checking rations, making the boat ready to sail.
At forty-five feet from prow to stern, Harful’s dojuk was larger than most. Like all Iruk hunting boats, it was fashioned of thick yulugg hide stretched over a bone frame—light, agile, and impermeable to sea water. Twin outriggers provided stability on soft water and served as runners when sailing on ice. In the stern, beside the bone tiller, two dark green fern-like bostulls stood in pails of sea water. Also called windbringers, the one-eyed bostulls were sentient creatures whose magical talent for calling winds endeared them to mariners of all nations. For a dojuk to carry two was an extra benefit.
The Iruks unwrapped the soft water sail and fitted it to the yardarm. Draven stepped forward and announced to Amlina that the boat appeared to be in prime condition. His grin confirmed the excitement that the witch sensed in the Iruks. They were happy to be together again and happy to be setting out to sea. While they had seemed content enough living at the farmstead, sailing and hunting in a boat such as this was the life they were raised for.
Amlina wished she could share their enthusiasm. Much as she tried to suppress her feelings, she was undeniably frightened. During the long night’s march along the shoreline, the exhilaration from the battle with the Larthangan troops had vanished, leaving her tense and fretful. Now, in the rising daylight, she scanned the sweep of the waterfront, wary of danger. She had no doubt Admiral Pheng would regroup and lead his troops back to Fleevanport, no doubt that the witches under his command could continue to trace the Cloak’s emanations. Amlina only hoped she and her friends could be away before the Larthangans reached their ships.
“I’d like to find a place to sleep. Where do you think I’ll be most out of the way?”
Kizier’s question had been directed at Amlina, since Draven had returned amidships where he was helping his mates raise the sail. Distractedly, Amlina looked back over the length of the boat. She had not even thought about sleeping arrangements, or food, or how the eight of them would manage for months on this crowded vessel. The voyage from Gwales on the Phoenix Queen had been uncomfortable enough. But that craft was half again the length of this one, and at least Amlina had a small crawlspace under the foredeck where she could sleep and do her magic.
“I’m not sure,” she answered. “Best check with Lonn or Draven.”
Disconsolately, the scholar lifted his heavy satchels and carried them toward the mast. He walked unsteadily, and almost fell as the deck below his feet shifted with a wave.
Amlina turned away, leaning on the bone carving on the prow—the image of a bear with tusks, she believed it to be. Nameless dread loomed up in her chest. It was not just exhaustion, worry over the voyage. Undeniably, it was the blood magic. Suppressed for a time by her meditations, her acceptance of her duty, and belief that it was rightful, the power had been reawakened by the fight with the Larthangans. She desired to feel that power again, longed for it. She might need to cut herself this morning, however much it horrified her friends.
As this thought settled in her mind, her eyes detected a new movement across the harbor. A quarter-mile west, boats were pulling away from the docks. Even at this distance, Amlina recognized by the dark coats, glints of armor, and banners on poles that they were Admiral Pheng’s men.
“Boats rowing across the harbor,” Eben sang out from the masthead, where he had climbed to keep lookout. “Might be our crossbow friends from the hills.”
Lonn had just stationed himself at the tiller as the Iruks prepared to depart. Now he and the others ran forward to stand beside Amlina.
“Larthangan troops for sure,” Lonn said. “Are they the same we faced at the farmstead?”
“The same,” Amlina answered.
“They don’t seem to have spotted us,” Draven said.
“But they will, as soon as we set sail.” Lonn scanned the harbor from end to end.
The boats were rowing toward the three Larthangan warships anchored midway across the bay. Two Tathian galleons also rode at anchor, closer to shore, with a dozen more beyond the Larthangan vessels.
Lonn glanced at the sky, judging the wind which blew steadily from the south. “We might be able to keep out of the range of their arrows,” he told the witch. “But it will be easier sailing on ice.”
He stared meaningfully at the Cloak, which Amlina still wore.
Amlina caught her breath. “Let’s try it on soft water,” she said. “I’ll only use the Cloak if all else fails.”
Lonn nodded once then ran off, calling orders to the mates to push off and stand by the lines. Amlina clutched the bone carving and stared at the distant boats.
In truth, she feared attempting to summon the Cloak’s power. The raging energies inside her were so strong, so unbalanced, she could not say how her psyche would handle such vast magic. Perhaps that was the true reason she had asked Glyssa to call the freezewind last night at the farmstead. Perhaps she should ask Glyssa to wear the Cloak again.
No. Something prevented that course, some unappeasable urge that told her that wielding the Cloak was her responsibility, her fate. Perhaps it was the taint of the blood magic, the ravenous hunger for power. If so, at this moment it was too strong for her to resist.
Glyssa and Brinda pushed off from the quay with poles. With the sail raised, Draven and Karrol hauled on the sheets. The yard swung around the mast and caught the south wind. The dojuk heeled as it slipped out over the water.
Amlina watched the Larthangan boats, which were drawing near their ships. Suddenly a man stood in the foremost boat, pointed toward the dojuk. The man held a spyglass. Now he took a megaphone in his other hand and shouted orders. The rowboats paused in the water, then came about, heading to intersect the dojuk’s course.
“They’ve spotted us.” Eben called the warning from the masthead.
Lonn adjusted the tiller, swinging as far from the pursuing boats as possible. Bending low, he called out an entreaty to the two windbringers to lend their aid.
Amlina stared at the on-coming Larthangans. All the oars were manned, stroking hard, churning up the glowing sea water. Soldiers stood amid the rowers, cranking crossbows and knocking arrows. On the ships beyond, sailors were scrambling, raising anchors and unfurling sails.
Anxiously, Amlina stared at the mouth of the harbor. At present speeds, the Larthangan craft would not intercept the dojuk before it reached the sea—but they would draw well within range of their crossbows.
A giant bolt streaked through the sky, splashing in the water yards from the dojuk’s bow. The Larthangan warships were armed with arbalests, and the nearest ship had already swung into position and fired.
“Amlina!” Lonn shouted from the stern. “A freezewind would be most helpful right now.”
She had no choice. Heart pounding, she leaned her back against the prow. She steadied herself by placing her right arm on the carving, then pointed her left arm beyond the dojuk’s stern.
In her mind she called the freezewind, envisioning the frosty curtain dancing into life. Sparks glittered before her eyes—and a terrible pain burst inside her skull.
No wind came. She tried again. The pain snaked down from her head, coiling around her heart. Gasping, she dropped to her knees.
“Are you truly so weak?” Beryl’s voice hissed in her brain. “No! You just won’t accept what you are—a ruthless witch full of lust and rage and murder.”
The deck lurched. Another arbalest bolt had landed in the water nearby, it’s wave shifting the dojuk’s course. Amlina trembled on hands and k
nees, blinded by pain and glittering light.
Glyssa and Kizier reached her, lifted her arms to help her stand.
“Amlina,” Glyssa said. “Do you want me to try?”
“No!” A scream of rage tore itself from her throat. Her arms flailed, pushing her friends away.
The power was inside her, irresistible, demanding release. Amlina whirled and faced the Larthangan boats drawing near, the ships beyond. Her left arm shot up high and she screamed.
The gray sky above split open with a clap of thunder. Blue light and ice appeared through the fissure. The freezewind howled across the water, engulfing the oncoming boats, capsizing them. Men bawled as they were tossed overboard, their bodies skidding on the gleaming ice even as it formed below them. The wind streaked over the ships, tilting them back, encasing their hulls in ice that crackled as it formed.
Eyes wild, Amlina turned, pointing one finger at the sky to stern. A milder freezewind shimmered into existence, blowing over the dojuk, lifting its hull as the ice formed. Then the boat was streaming forward, flying over smooth ice with a swoosh of runners.
“Keep those lines tight.” Lonn called, as the soft water sail billowed and bowed. “We’ll change sails as soon as we clear the harbor.”
Amlina slipped to her knees again, shoulders slumping. This time Glyssa and Kizier did not rush to assist her. They both stood clutching the rail, gaping wide-eyed at the witch.
The rest of that day, as the dojuk sailed from Fleevan, Amlina sat alone in the prow, wrapped in the Cloak of the Two Winds. Whenever Draven or Glyssa came and inquired if she were well, she made no response, only stared dully.
Only in the evening did Draven come, wrap her in a thick bed fur, and carry her to the sleeping tent that the mates had raised before the mast. By then, the witch had fallen into an exhausted sleep.
Eight
Their second night out from Fleevanport, Eben stood the watch with Glyssa. While the rest of the crew slept, Brinda handled the tiller, the boat skidding over wind-smoothed ice. The mates had deemed it wise to sail both night and day until reaching the Iruk Isles—putting as much distance as possible between their dojuk and the likely pursuit.
