by J. C. Staudt
“Just as well. We’ll reconvene at noontide. I’ll break them the news then.”
“I’ve been trying not to think about breaking them the news. Now I doubt I’ll sleep a wink.” Triolyn trudged down the hall and disappeared into his room.
Room six was across from room five on the even-numbered side of the hallway. Darion unlocked the door and let Alynor and Draithon inside. There were only two beds, so Draithon took one while his parents shared the other.
They stripped off their outer garb and settled down for a nap. No sooner had they lain heads to pillows than they heard the babies crying in the room across the hall. Darion grunted and covered his ears, but the walls were thin and the noise could not be ignored.
“So much for a nap,” Darion said, sitting up. “I’ll go tell them we’re here.”
Draithon hadn’t slept a wink in days. He doubted his parents had either. He stared up at the wood-beamed ceiling and wondered whether Father would grow any fonder of him now that Westhane was gone. It was a selfish thought, he knew. He felt guilty for hoping, yet he’d begun to envision how it would feel to make Father as proud of him—and as fond of him—as he’d been of Westhane.
Darion exited the room, leaving the door open a crack. Draithon heard him knock on the door to room five, heard Kestrel’s warm greeting and his father’s gruff one in return. Axli said something above the sound of crying babes. Then Father spoke at length, and the voices quieted to a somber tone. When he returned, he was wiping tears from his eyes. “I don’t imagine I’ll get much sleep today. I’m going downstairs with the singer and his family to break our fast. Will you join us?”
“I’m not hungry,” Alynor said. “I think I’ll stay here.”
“I’ll come,” said Draithon. He followed his father into the hall and closed the door.
“Bless you, lad,” said Kestrel, wrapping Draithon in a tight embrace. “Axli and I must express our sincerest condolences in light of your terrible loss. Such tragic evildoing will not go unanswered, I assure you. We will do everything in our power to set this right.”
“You needn’t do a thing,” said Darion. “Nor would I expect it of you. We mean to take ship for Dathrond. I’ll wager Axli and the boys would find such a journey disagreeable. Best you stay here with them. Watch over the hamlet for us while we’re gone.”
“The hamlet? What’s left of a home without the people who make it? Our valuables are gone. You’ll be gone. Nothing remains to us there but an empty cottage.”
“You would endeavor to undertake a sea voyage with two small children?”
“The men who made off with your daughters are doing the very same thing. Why should we let them win by force of torment?”
“I should think you wise enough to discuss the matter with your woman before pledging your whole family to the errand.”
Kestrel’s expression soured. “If you steal the wind from the ship’s sails as well as you do mine, we’ll never get to Dathrond.”
“Your offer is appreciated. Your carelessness toward those who depend on you is not. Take it from someone who’s been in your boots before.”
“I’ll speak with her. She’ll be out with the boys in a moment.”
“Let’s wait downstairs. Alynor is trying to sleep.”
They chose a large table, righted the chairs, and set about ordering breakfast. Axli came down a few minutes later holding Lupin on her hip while Lund toddled beside her hand in hand. She gave the older boy to Kestrel and sat Lupin in her lap. Draithon remembered hearing her tell of an upbringing with ten siblings of varying relation and a collection of fathers who came and went like the tides. Axli had never known her real father, she claimed, though she guessed he was still off somewhere in the cold north, fleeing the many offspring he’d left behind.
“I reckon I’d kill the bastard if I ever found him,” she’d said once. “Leaving us alone like that. I despised him for years. Nowadays I don’t so much despise him as wish him dead by some unexpected and painful means.”
Axli hadn’t spoken of her father in a long time. Now she held her youngest son with the flustered, vacant expression of one nearing the end of her patience. The cruel circumstances of her upbringing may have jaded her, but they’d also granted her experience aplenty and a formidable way with children. No matter how worn or tired, she tended to her sons with the dedicated constancy of an expert mother. “Gods, if we ain’t seen one misfortune after another these last weeks,” she said. “What with the weather, ships they was expecting ages ago haven’t showed up. Two sank off the coast of Dathrond in as many days, they say.”
“It’s true,” said Kestrel. “The whole world has gone mad.”
Darion nodded. “We’ve only just arrived, yet the tidings are darker than I imagined.”
“You’ve heard the news from the Orothi capital, then.”
“Aye, Vale and Deepsail both. I’d thought it only a rumor. Who did you hear it from?”
“A ship’s captain out of Riverend. Says he was at port in Deepsail when the Dathiri army marched upon the gates. He left his berth early and fled here when the fighting broke out. They say every mage on the Council is dead. Executed by the Dathiri.”
“You’re certain this ship’s captain was telling the truth?”
“He was more sober at the time than I’d like to admit. Yet I can’t imagine how Deepsail fell. I thought the mages kept it well-protected.”
“They did.”
“The effects of this overthrow have rippled far and wide already. Our goods sell at market day after day, yet the ships bearing the supplies we’ve been counting on haven’t arrived. I’ve yet to find a book suitable for Draithon’s name-day present.”
Darion’s brow furrowed. “What did you say?”
“I said I haven’t found—”
“Before that.”
“About the effects of the overthrow?”
Darion nodded.
“They’ve rippled far and wide.”
“Rippled.” Darion said the word as if to himself. He held up a hand and stared at it. Glancing around the room to make sure no one was looking, he sang the sigils of a simple spell. When he spread his fingers, flame shot from his open palm. He started in surprise and snuffed it out.
Draithon met his father’s eyes. “The mage-song has returned.”
Kestrel was confused. “What do you mean returned?”
Darion told him about the sphere and the corresponding weakness in the mage-song. “This is the first time I’ve been able to cast a spell since the second-to-last night of the hunt. The sphere seems to cause a ripple effect, strongest at the center and weaker toward the edges. We must be outside the circle now. If Olyvard commissioned a sphere for each of the three parts of Geddle’s ritual, he must’ve used one to take Deepsail. That’s why the city fell so quickly. I can think of no other explanation.”
A pair of serving girls came to the table bearing a simple meal of nutbread and oat porridge with goat’s milk for the children and ale for the adults. The tavern began to fill with patrons entering from outside or descending from the upstairs rooms. Draithon couldn’t help but notice all the young women among them. He wanted to meet one, yet he knew he would be too embarrassed to try.
Triolyn soon trudged down into the common room with matted hair and a grouchy look on his face. “Morning,” he said, taking a seat beside Draithon. “And not a good one, either.”
“That was a short nap,” said Darion.
“Couldn’t sleep. Too much bloody noise down here. And the smell of food’s set my belly to rumbling.”
“Ah, Master Triolyn,” said Kestrel. “How I’ve missed your blithe perspective.”
“Come here, then. I’ll show you a perspective you won’t soon forget.”
“Thank you, but no. I mean to sate my appetite, not lose it.”
Draithon spotted a pretty young girl across the room who looked to be only a year or two his elder. She wore a simple dress of pale pink linen laced up the front. He w
atched her bare shoulders move beneath her long blonde hair, saw the swell of her breasts above the laces, and found he could not turn away. When he did, he caught Kestrel observing him.
“So the boy’s begun to notice the womenfolk,” said the singer, his face lit with amusement. “Say, Darion… have you lectured your son as to the particular lady parts he ought be aware of?”
Darion grunted. “I’ve done nothing of the sort.”
“You’d better make time before it’s too late. He’s got his mother’s good looks. If you don’t teach him, I expect some young maiden will.”
“Half his looks are mine, don’t forget.”
“Lucky it’s only half.”
Darion flung a piece of nutbread across the table at Kestrel, who deflected it with his empty porridge bowl. “Try again, old man.”
Darion cut the singer an icy stare. “You don’t want me to try again.”
The table erupted in jeering laughter.
Triolyn hooted and pounded his fists on the table. “Let’s see it, boys. Let’s see it.”
“The challenge is set,” Kestrel announced.
Draithon enjoyed the banter; for a time, it made him forget about Westhane and his sisters. Kestrel and Father had been going at each other like this for as long as he could remember. It was always playful, if only because Kestrel chose to keep it that way.
“Don’t you pay ‘em no mind, Draithon,” said Axli, pinching his arm. “You’re as handsome and sturdy a lad as ever came to these parts. Every damsel for leagues will be fawning over you in a few years’ time.”
“Aye, and don’t let it go to your head,” said Darion.
Triolyn gave him a nudge. “Don’t let it go to waste, says I.”
Draithon felt his cheeks flush and imagined himself the color of a boiled beet. “You’re embarrassing me.”
“Not half so embarrassed as you’d be if your mother were here,” said Triolyn. “I’ve no doubt she’d take up arms against every young lady in the room who dares look at you.”
“She’d have nothing to worry about,” Draithon insisted. “I don’t know how to talk to girls.”
“Why, it’s no different than talking to anyone else,” said Kestrel. “Watch me now.”
He made to stand, but Axli clamped a hand on his shoulder and pushed him down into his seat again. “Not if you intend on walking home under your own power,” she warned.
“I hadn’t intended on walking home at all. Rather, I thought to accompany Darion and his family on their quest to rescue Ryssa and Vyleigh from the dastardly villains who’ve stolen them.”
Axli’s anger flared. “What, and leave me here alone with your hatchlings? Just like me father, you are.” She smacked him over the head.
“N—not at all, my darling,” Kestrel stammered, shielding himself. “You and the boys would come along, of course.”
“Across the ocean? Are you daft?”
Kestrel winced. “Not as I recollect. Though I’d hoped to find you more agreeable to the suggestion.”
“I might be, had we not three others to consider.”
“Three?” Darion asked.
Axli blew her hair out of her eyes. “This lunkheaded lout has got me with child again.”
The table erupted again, this time in glad applause.
“Seems to me this is cause for celebration,” said Darion, lifting his mug of ale.
“Why should I celebrate being this one’s pack mule for the next six months? Hmm? Lugging these two round day in and day out has put a splint in my back as it stands, though I reckon it’s what I get. I always suspected I was as fertile as me mum. Now I’m finding out the hard way.”
“You should count them as gifts,” said Draithon. “Each of them. Precious gifts.” His lip quivered to think of Westhane and his sisters.
Axli’s face softened. “Oh, now I didn’t mean it that way, lad. I understand what you’re going through. I’ve lost a sister and two brothers of mine own. For all my griping, I do love me little men. All three of them.” She rested a hand on her belly. “And the little fellow or lady who’s to come. Mark me, it ain’t easy. Yet I wouldn’t trade it for a thing in this wide world.”
“Come, Draithon,” said Darion. “Let’s leave Kestrel and Axli to deliberate their course apart from our prying ears. We must find a ship with suitable room and intention to bear us hence. Not to mention a place to stable the horses while we’re gone. Will you join us, archer?”
Triolyn stood. “At the docks and across the seas both. Those scoundrels took everything I owned, to say nothing of the children. I mean to find them, though I make no promises as to whether I’ll manage to restrain myself when we do.”
“I’ve taken my fill of restraint. The men responsible for this will pay, and dearly.”
Draithon followed Father and Triolyn outside. The blonde girl in the salmon-colored dress still hadn’t noticed him, and now she never would. It was just as well. Even if Master Kestrel had broken the ice, what could he, a simple boy from a homestead in the wilderness, have found of interest to talk about with a cultured young woman from the big city? Nothing, that’s what.
The mists were burning off toward noontide as they made their way to the docks. The harbormaster was a plump man with a bushy mustache in a blue velvet doublet half a size too small for him. When Darion inquired as to the availability of a ship bound for Dathrond, the man laughed at him.
“Dathrond? Gods, no. The last ship for Dathrond departed days ago, shortly before news arrived of the Deepsail invasion. You’ll not see a merchant captain willing to venture near the Dathiri coast for some time.”
“What’s the closest we’ll get?”
“To Dathrond? Ralthia, I’ll warrant. The island of cutthroats and caterwauling. Granted, you might find passage round the southern coast to Orothwain. There should be plenty of ships taking new routes through Blacktide Bay and Riverend.”
Darion shook his head. “We’re in too big a hurry for that. Point me in the direction of a ship heading for Ralthia. The capital city of Atolai, preferably.”
“There’s only one I know of. The Trident’s Grace out of Redglade, captained by Balthus Magrendiger.”
“Where might we find him?”
“Aboard, I believe.” The harbormaster pointed to a fat cog far out on the bay, swaying at anchor with its sails furled.
“I should like to speak with him.”
“I’ve a skiff to lend if you like. It’s old, mind. A bit leaky round the stern, but who isn’t at that age, eh?”
Darion rested a hand on Draithon’s shoulder. “Looks as though we’ve procured a boat. What say you to taking your first boat ride?”
Chapter 13
Sullimas and the girls were asleep in their bunks; Norne was in the galley enjoying the evening meal with Eril and his twin brutes. Maaltred lay awake, his stomach refusing to let him take part. He still hadn’t adjusted to life on stormy seas, and he doubted his condition would improve before the Seadrake reached the blessed shores of Dathrond in a few days’ time.
Maaltred’s moments alone had come seldom this voyage. He used this one to withdraw the sphere from his pack and unwrap the shroud. Gazing into its stormy depths gave him a serene feeling. Sometimes he imagined himself within the dull green glass, an avatar in miniature beneath the black clouds. He wasn’t sure why he felt so drawn to the sphere, but he could not deny its growing influence over him. Perhaps it was the distraction of the thing, diverting his attention from the motion of the ship, which hadn’t stilled for the last week straight.
A small noise made Maaltred look up. He found Ryssa staring inquisitively from her pillow and regretted uncovering the sphere while the children were in the room with him. “What’s that?” she asked.
“An ironglass sphere.”
“What’s it for?”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not worrying. I only want to know.”
“Never mind. Go back to sleep.”
“I can’t sleep.”
“Then please hush. Others are trying to.”
Ryssa climbed down off her bunk and came to sit beside him. “We’ll have to whisper.”
“Or we could refrain from speaking at all.”
“May I hold it?” She reached out.
Maaltred jerked the sphere away. “No, you may not.”
“What’s it for?”
“I’ve told you not to concern yourself with that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s a secret.”
“I’m good at secrets.”
“Are you, now?”
She gave a vigorous nod. “I didn’t tell mum when Westhane cut his finger setting a snare in the woods. Father let him, and he wasn’t supposed to. It was our secret, the three of us. I never told.”
“That’s impressive,” said Maaltred, “though I’m afraid the secret of this sphere isn’t the sort I’m at liberty to divulge.”
Ryssa frowned. “What’s divulge?”
“It means tell. And I can’t.”
“Yes you can.”
“Well, I suppose I could, but I ought not to. It’s complicated, you see, and—”
“I won’t say anything complicated to anyone. Promise.”
Maaltred couldn’t help but chuckle. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to explain the basics. There’s a spell contained within this sphere. A powerful spell which possesses the ability to restrain magic.”
“How can it do that? A spell is magic.”
“Yes, well that’s the thing. Not all spells are wrought by the mage-song. Some are created by the wild-song.”
“The wild-song is bad. Father says so.”
“I’m sure he does. People like your father refuse to recognize the wild-song’s virtues. And there are many. In fact, one might argue the mage-song is more often used for vile purposes than the wild-song is. That’s why the king—eh, the people of Dathrond—have decided to curtail the advantage held by those who practice magic.”
“Why?”
“It’s too dominant, that’s why. My, you are inquisitive. Restraint and moderation are important in all areas of life, don’t you agree? To diminish magic’s supremacy makes things fairer for everyone.”
