by Steve Feasey
Lann thought about this for a second. ‘I guess it’s because I remember you saying how you and my mother looked alike. When I’m with you, I like to imagine how she might have been.’ A wind blew up the hill, tousling his hair. ‘Why are they still here?’ he said, nodding down at the valley. ‘The ghosts of the Volken dead?’
‘This was their greatest day. Our people, for all their love of the land, are warriors. The men and women who fell here that day were part of a victory that has never been rivalled. They choose to stay here and relive that time each and every day for all eternity.’
He turned to look at her. ‘You wanted to stop here for a reason, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’ She gave a little nod. ‘The Hasz’een are worshippers of Lorgukk. Their society is built on a foundation of fear and violence, and they would like nothing more than to return and take the people of these lands by force. If their god returns to this world I don’t think there is anything that could stop them.’
‘Then we must ensure the dark god is not given that opportunity.’
She smiled at him. ‘Yes, we must. We have another half-day’s ride before we reach the harbour town of Muslvik. There we will seek passage on a ship bound for Stromgard. Time is against us if we are to save Erik Rivengeld.’
‘We are not going the entire way by land?’
Fleya let out a small laugh. ‘Certainly not. The mountains north of us between here and Stromgard are too dangerous to cross. We will go to Muslvik and find a captain willing to take us across the Gulf of Rikkor.’
Excitement rose in Lann; he couldn’t hide the delight in his voice when he spoke. ‘I have always wanted to see the ocean.’
Muslvik
13
Muslvik was like nothing Lann had ever seen or experienced. The place had an unmistakeable odour to it – sharp and metallic. When he asked his aunt what it was, she smiled and told him it was ‘the smell of the sea’.
Leading his mount on foot, Lann stared about in wide-eyed amazement, trying to take everything in at once. The noise of the place had a disorientating effect on him. The clamorous din of those thronging the streets – human and animal alike – was punctuated with the cries of street merchants calling out to anyone and everyone passing, imploring them to come and look at their wares. And the people! The sheer number of people jostling for space made him feel uncomfortable. Men and women, boys and girls, passed each other in a constantly moving procession that was almost too much to take in. It reminded Lann a little of watching the salmon during spawning season, the fish cramming every inch of the river with their bodies in an effort to reach their destination.
Sensing his unease, Fleya led them off the main street, towards a livery yard where they might sell their ponies. They had almost reached their destination when a man standing in front of an empty stall, set apart from the others, urgently beckoned them over.
The trader looked like no Volken that Lann had ever seen. Broad features were set into a face that was the colour of honey and he wore a long, black drooping moustache that had been waxed into neat tips at the ends. He was a barrel-shaped man, as if he’d spent his entire life eating and drinking with no time for exercise of any kind. ‘My friends,’ he cried in a strange accent. ‘Come over here. Come speak to Almer.’ There was something about the man and his broad smile that caused Fleya and Lann to pause in a way they hadn’t for any of the previous hawkers they’d passed.
‘Why?’ Lann called over to him. ‘You have nothing to sell.’
The man spread his arms and then gestured at himself with his hands. ‘On the contrary, young sir. You are looking at what I am selling. Come.’
The pair exchanged a glance, but their curiosity was piqued and they walked their mounts over to see what it was the man wanted. Standing before the trader, Lann wrinkled his nose. Almer smelt like summer flowers and spices; the aroma was unusual and he wasn’t sure he liked it. At the same time it occurred to him that his own odour after days on horseback would be just as offensive to the trader.
‘Thank you for stopping. You will not regret your decision to do so.’ He looked at the pair, sizing them up. ‘My guess is that the two of you have come a long way to get here, no? You’re in need of rest. And a good bath. No offence,’ he quickly added. He moved his hands a lot when he spoke, unlike the Volken, who were much less expressive. ‘Perhaps I can be of assistance in recommending a tavern where you can stay? One not full of cut-throats and thieves!’ He pointed at the pair with a meaty forefinger adorned with a huge gold ring. ‘I also imagine that the pair of you were off to the livery to sell your mounts? Am I right?’
‘You are,’ Fleya said, a half-smile on her lips.
Almer shook his head and gestured in the direction of the livery yard. ‘Do not take your ponies to this man. Not only will he give you a bad price, but your animals will end up being sold as meat.’
Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out a small book and flicked through the pages, muttering under his breath as he peered at words written in a foreign script.
‘Yes,’ he said eventually, ‘I have a man that will buy your beasts.’ He turned to Fleya. ‘Have they pulled a wagon before?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘Excellent. Then I will get you a good price, more than our friend over there would give you.’
‘How do we know that?’ Lann asked bluntly. ‘How do we know anything you say is the truth?’
The trader looked affronted. He reached inside his tunic and pulled out a large silver coin hanging from a chain about his neck. ‘This, my young friend, is a seal of the Guild of Merchants from my own country. It is a very precious thing to me. That is why I keep it so close to my heart. As a member of the guild I am not permitted to lie to the people I trade with. That is why I am known as Honest Almer.’
‘Honest Almer? That’s what you’re known as?’ Fleya said. She was smiling openly now.
She looked at him for a long moment, then handed the reins of the ponies over. ‘We need to buy passage – direct passage across the Gulf of Rikkor on a ship to Stromgard.’
‘But what providence! My cousin, Fariz, is the captain of a ship and he is sailing to Stromgard tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Is it a fast ship? My nephew and I are in a hurry.’
‘Yes, yes. Everyone is in a hurry nowadays. I will speak to my cousin and arrange your passage.’ He gave her a grin. ‘For a modest handling fee, of course.’
‘Of course.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘Let me guess. The price you get for the ponies, minus your handling fee, will just about cover the cost of the trip?’
‘You are as astute as you are beautiful.’
‘I’m also a woman you would not want to get on the wrong side of, Honest Almer.’
The big man gave her a respectful nod. ‘Lady, we have people like you in my country, who learn the Art. They are always to be respected for their skills and powers. Believe me, I know this well.’ Quick as a flash, his face split into a huge grin. ‘Now, for that inn with the bath and comfortable beds. It just so happens it is run by a friend of mine. Come.’
14
The inn was everything Almer had said it would be: safe and comfortable. It was busy enough that even the sight of the mysterious beauty accompanied by a boy wearing a sword at his hip only drew a few cursory glances.
They ordered food and ate it sitting next to a large fire. The exhaustion of their journey here had caught up with them, and they exchanged no more than a dozen words with each other as they spooned the rich lamb stew into their mouths.
Shortly after, bellies full, they went up to their rooms to sleep.
Lann awoke in the early hours. The candle beside his bed had sputtered out and the air was still filled with the cloying smell of waxy smoke. The room was in total darkness, but it was not this that made him anxious; he’d spent long enough in the dark not to fear it. What was worrying him was the black blade and its insistent voice inside his head. Reaching out to the bedside table he to
ok up the weapon.
That ancient voice whispered a single word over and over.
Nir-akuu. Monsters.
Lann concentrated, allowing his thoughts to merge with the blade, as he had when he’d set off into the woods after Fleya. Something was out there in Muslvik, but it was not nearby and he sensed that it wasn’t after them. That, however, was of no consequence to the blade. It had been fashioned by the ancient gods for one purpose and one purpose only, and he felt its primal urge to search the thing out and destroy it.
Nir-akuu.
‘No,’ Lann said, speaking out into the darkness. ‘I will not seek out danger. Not now.’ A conflict raged inside his head, and it took all his effort to push the words out as the sword and he fought for dominance. ‘There will be enough of that in the days and weeks ahead without our going to look for it.’
Nir-akuu!
‘No!’
Lann reached for the scabbard beside the bed. Picking it up, he plunged the blade into it until the hilt met the locket, holding it there with trembling hands as if he thought it might leap free of its own will. When he heard the handle to his door turn he spun around, only to see his aunt standing there, a candle in her hand.
The witch looked at the boy clutching the sheathed weapon and sighed. Stepping inside, she came over to his night light and relit it from her own before sitting on the edge of the bed.
‘It sensed something out there. Monsters.’ He took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think they are anywhere near … but it longs to attack them.’
She nodded. ‘I heard you talking. I thought you might be having a dream –’ she looked at the sword again – ‘or a nightmare. Put the sword down, Lannigon.’ He did so, and she smiled reassuringly at him. When she spoke again it was in the becalming voice she’d used when he’d first arrived at her house, blind and terrified. It was the voice she used when she spoke to the sick and those in need of comfort. It was like a small stream, bubbling over stones in a river that would itself eventually flow out into the sea. ‘You are new to majik. It is a dangerous thing and asking anything of it can lead to the asker being consumed. It is why it takes us so long to even begin to master the Art. Some people are unable to control it properly. Those who cannot, die, or lose their minds. The stronger the power, the stronger the wielder of it must be. The Dreadblade demands much of its bearer because it is itself so powerful.’
‘It wants me to go out there.’ He nodded towards the window.
‘But you have refused it.’ It wasn’t a question, more a statement of fact.
‘Yes. But it is not easy.’
‘No. It is not.’ She patted his hand and rose to her feet again. ‘You are wise to resist the blade’s demands. To do so now would divert us from our course, and it is vital that we reach the imprisoned king. Try to sleep now, Lann. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow. Your first day at sea. It will not be an easy voyage.’ With that, she closed the door again and left him.
Turning on to his side, he pulled the covers up against him and closed his eyes. As he felt himself slowly slide towards sleep, he heard that insistent whisper begin again.
Nir-akuu …
15
Almer was waiting with his cousin at the dockside when Fleya and Lann came down the wooden walkway. The overweight merchant bowed low when he saw Fleya, who, to Lann’s surprise, held out her hand for the man to press to his lips.
‘Didn’t I tell you she was a beauty?’ Almer said to his cousin as he straightened, receiving only a grunt in response. The merchant’s expression changed to one of seriousness. ‘Fariz has bad news. He is reluctant to sail directly to Stromgard – a number of incidents have befallen vessels on that same journey in the last few weeks.’
‘What sort of incidents?’ Lann asked.
‘Pirates,’ Fariz said, looking at his aunt and speaking for the first time. He was slimmer than Almer, with a muscular build and hard eyes, but the familial connection was clear.
Almer continued. ‘Rather than go directly across the Gulf of Rikkor, he will be skirting the coast—’
‘No. That was not the deal we made,’ Fleya responded, her voice steely.
‘I know, I know. Believe me when I say I am as unhappy about this as you. It hurts Honest Almer to go back on a deal that has been struck, and I would—’
‘Enough,’ Fleya interrupted. Her voice was commanding. ‘My requirements are simple. I need urgent passage to my destination and my nephew and I are not in a position to take a longer trip around the coast.’ She turned to the seaman. ‘Captain Fariz, I understand how, as a good captain, you do not wish to endanger the lives of your crew un-necessarily. But your ship needs repairs, and you need supplies. So here is what I propose. You, Captain Fariz, will get me and my nephew to Stromgard by the fastest route across the gulf. In return I will give you this.’ She held out a small drawstring purse. Opening it, she shook out eight large gold coins. The startled look on the sailor’s face told Lann it was far more than he had anticipated. ‘I’m sure it will adequately compensate both you and your crew for your efforts.’ Placing the coins back into the purse, she made a small movement of her hand and it disappeared. ‘What do you say, Captain? Is the reward worth the risk?’
Fariz bit his lip. ‘It is difficult to spend gold when you are dead.’
‘It is. It is equally hard for me to pay you if I find myself in that same state. I am willing to put my own life in the hands of you and your crew, Captain, and I would like nothing more than to pass that purse and its contents to you when we get to Stromgard.’
Fariz gave a humourless laugh. ‘Why do I feel I am making a deal with the devil?’ he asked, reaching down and taking hold of the witch’s travel sack. Hoisting it over his shoulder, he moved off in the direction of the gangplank leading up to the deck of his ship, calling back over his shoulder as he started to ascend. ‘We leave in thirty minutes.’
Almer was staring at Fleya with a look of admiration. ‘You would have made a great merchant,’ he said.
The witch reached out, a small silver coin appearing between her thumb and forefinger. She dropped the money into the man’s hand.
‘Thank you for your trouble. That should make up the shortfall in the money you hoped to make selling the ponies,’ she said gently.
‘How did you know I … ?’
But the witch was already moving away. With a gesture to her nephew, the pair moved off up the wooden walkway to board the ship.
Lann’s excitement at finally being aboard a ship quickly dissipated when he spent the first few hours of the crossing draped over the bulwarks being horribly sick. He did his best to ignore the taunts and gibes of the sailors, who seemed to find this hilarious. Some of them shouted out insults in foreign tongues, laughing among each other and making their own loud retching sounds to mimic his own. But as the day went on, little by little, the boy got his sea legs until eventually he was able to smile ruefully back at his tormentors.
The vessel was nothing like he’d expected it to be. It groaned and creaked as it made its way through the ocean’s dips and swells as if it were a living thing. And it wasn’t just the wooden body of the ship that sang along to the tune of the sea. The great sails hummed or boomed in the wind as they strained against the rigging, which screeched and sighed in response. As he was taking all this in, Lann spotted Fariz standing beside the mainmast.
‘You are feeling better?’ the man asked as he drew near.
‘Yes.’ He nodded his thanks. ‘Have you seen my aunt?’
‘The witch?’ Fariz shook his head and gestured towards a door that led down to the cabins at the rear of the ship. ‘She went below decks almost as soon as we set sail and has stayed there.’ He saw the concern on the boy’s face. ‘She is well. My guess is she is sleeping.’ He looked up at the sails and then at the waves, then shouted something to one of the crew, who scurried off to do as he was bid.
‘Have you always been a sailor, Captain Fariz?’
‘When I was young I
fell in love with the sea. So much so that all I wanted to do was be on it. But my parents would not hear of such a thing. They wanted me to be a merchant like my cousin Almer back in Muslvik.’ He gave a little shake of his head. ‘So I ran away from home and joined a ship as a cabin boy.’
‘Your parents must have been worried.’
‘Yes, they were. But after a few years at sea I returned. My father and mother were overjoyed to have me back. But they realised there was seawater, not blood, running through my veins and so they used their savings to buy me a share in this vessel. Eventually, after making many voyages, I managed to buy the rest of the ship and became her sole owner.’
‘What’s it called, your ship?’
‘She is called Ra’magulsha.’ He smiled when the boy repeated the name, struggling a little to wrap his lips around the strange vowel sounds. The captain patted the mast as if he were petting some giant beast. ‘The name comes from the story of a princess who once lived in the lands I am originally from.’
‘What happened to her?’ Lann asked.
‘When she was a maiden she fell in love with a merman. But their love was doomed. The young merman, Langorel, could not leave the ocean, and Ra’magulsha could not leave the land. One day, while out in her father’s sailboat, the vessel ran into a huge storm. The princess fell into the sea and sank down into its inky depths where she drowned. Langorel found her. He breathed life back into her, and they were finally together beneath the waves.’
‘Then it strikes me as a strange name to give to a sailing vessel,’ Lann said after a few moments of silence.
‘Why so?’
‘She sank and died …’
‘No, little man. She gave herself up to the ocean and finally got the one thing she had always wanted. A sailor is the same. He gives himself to the sea and hopes it will give back.’
‘And does it?’
‘Sometimes. But more often than not, it takes.’
