37
"Enjoying your trip, your ladyship?" Van Reiver teased as Carla doffed her pack, uncaring of the thud as it landed. The backpack had been enough of a burden on the quick walk from the elven jetty. It did, however, make for a satisfactory pillow. It had not been a strenuous trip on narrow forest trails of hardened earth, deep in the shadow of giant trunks with light undergrowth. Many coated in thick mossy fur in rich greens and vibrant orangey-browns, which passed as a roadway for insects. However, being aboard various ships for several weeks, she was unused to walking any significant distance with branches clutching at her and roots tripping unwary feet. Several times in the last two hours, the forest floor had been resolute with its teasing embrace as she tired. Her back and calves ached from minor tumbles, but she remained determined not to show weakness.
Carla gave thanks that her feet hadn't blistered during the rapid trek. She did, however, concede a drawn-out weary sigh—the ultimate price of short legs and a robust pace. Nature could be a thoroughgoing bitch, despite the scents swirling around the party like a surreal perfume from fauna unique to human senses. Animals were a different matter, and she knew the men watched her every reaction to each unfamiliar sight. Bastards.
"It's been better than recent ones, I confess. Aside from the insects, we see skimming the water. They give me the creeps, even the exquisite dragonets with their rainbow bodies that feast on the bugs. You need not tell the elves I said that. You can stop smirking, their wings are beautiful, but the sound is eerie!"
"It's a bit late for that, I fear. Your feelings were obvious for anyone looking. Not that I would have guessed." Van Reiver replied deadpan. "They are only about a foot long." He held his hands apart by the respective distance. "Who would think little hairy dragons exist like birds?"
"Thanks. Thanks a lot! It's their sound." She shuddered, unable to help herself as she recalled their disturbing thrum of flight and high-pitched munching of leaves. Unknown and unseen things moved and undulated within the mottled shade and undergrowth. Always out of sight. Several times they'd heard skitterings from under leaves and within shadows, and strange barking yelps, which the elves ignored with half-concealed smirks at the humans.
"Are you not afraid of anything like that?" She sniffed her disappointment, her eyes disapproving at his needling.
"He hates spiders. Loathes the scurrying eight-legged bastards." Intervened Dagmar, smiling thinly in a pre-emptive strike, and twitched his head so his hood dropped away. Cracking an eye over his scroll, he added with a mischievous glint. "You should see him jump and squeal when he finds one skipping across the floor under him, chortling its nuts off." Carla laughed at Van Reiver's aggravation and shivered as he checked the ground with a nervous glance.
"Cold?" He glanced back at her, checking the shadowy depths between two trunks and a shrub.
"No, I've always hated insects crawling through my hair when travelling." Her honesty made her cringe and feel tiny, not tiny-out of her depth and sinking. Carla glanced between them for their reaction. None.
Van Reiver pointed his half-eaten apple to Dagmar, muffled sounding through a mouth of fruit. "Smug skirts can't speak. He checked his bed for snakes every night, straight for six months. Six entire months—at least twice!" Dagmar's eyes flashed in mock outrage as he fingered the hem of his robes.
Carla smiled at the byplay, as Van Reiver grinned wider, more wolfish. "Do I want to know why?" She asked, eyeing the navigator, then the sunjammer.
"Why not? When we were cadets, two of us painted a rope to resemble a common grass rasp. We found a strip of red wool for its tongue, and scribe's ink makes perfect eyes. The payback was only fair, and they are reputed to give nasty bites. We rigged it so it dropped when he got into his bottom bunk."
"What happened, then?" She asked Van Reiver with greater suspicion. Dagmar groaned at the recounting and threw a theatrical arm over his eyes. The sunjammer flopped flat on his bedroll, the elven scroll abandoned.
"Well, you could say he tried to fly. He jumped nigh on vertical, taking the bed and snake with him, and sent pillows everywhere. Then, he made a mess of the bed, ceiling and the next floor's floorboards before coming down for a soft landing in a rain of goose down." Van Reiver cackled, alarming several men and an elf woman while he mimed the action.
The navigator finished the apple, tossed it into the fire, yawned and was asleep before his head thudded against his pack. Carla laughed as she studied his sleeping features, the outlines less sharp in shadow, and queried softly to avoid disturbing him as the apple scrunt popped in the fire.
"Did you ever get revenge for that, Gabriel?"
"Oh yes, several times. Using the privy as a cadet was always dangerous. A magus has many advantages. I let him have that one. It was a fine prank. Well planned and cunning, despite how long we took to clean the room up." He frowned, eyebrows furrowing on lean features. "Does it look like his healing is still being a problem?" The sunjammer asked, tapping the scroll on his knee.
"Yes, it concerns me, too. You have been quiet," she observed, glancing up, her eyes inscrutable. Her heart raced as she wondered if she dare ask her foremost thoughts.
"Hmm?" This time both burning eyes observed her coolly.
Her courage almost failed her, but summoning the resolve that had kept her alive, she swallowed her trepidation. "Yes, perhaps. You have said little about this." She tapped her leather-coated leg with fingernails and waved up the trail towards their destination. "I assumed you would object to my presence on this expedition. That seems, I think, unlike you?"
Dagmar observed her for a long moment before rolling the scroll tight. He set it down at his side as the noblewoman gazed back at him. Carla forced her expression smooth.
"Why? It would be poor manners, and you outrank my family. You have enough on your plate. We can save the mockery of your attire for an appropriate time. He has a command far beyond his comfort zone of navigation, cadet training and ship inspections. You have an unconfirmed status, no defined role, and are out of place with your unfortunate circumstances. Needling either of you as passing entertainment is pointless. It will not help us, and it is easy to guess you require a few questions answered. It would not help me if I consider our situation selfishly, and I agree about your father. No-one saw anything, no-one knows anything, and that leaves us—and you—nowhere.
"They are not landsmen, and this mission will tax all of us. Personally speaking, I received more respect from these men by throwing one trivial battle spell and threatening another, than during two years at sea keeping them out of the amber.
"Do you know I recommended Edouard for Tryphon?" Carla shook her head, stunned at his candour and the longest speech she had heard from the magus.
"He doesn't, not even now. We were roommates at the naval academy. Misfits, you could say, drifting together after a week of strife and bureaucratic maliciousness. He was a foreigner to the other cadets and tutors, lacking noble rank and an established patron. I have nominal noble status in a profession that does not tolerate questioning of the art when apodictic examples can be undertaken.
"The Citadel transferred me to the naval academy early to keep me out of trouble and complete my own studies." Dagmar ignored Carla's eyebrows jump at the unique training for a magus. "Afterwards, we kept in touch. I knew he was unhappy on his first posting. So, I dropped strong hints when Bullsen formed a crew for the prince's new flagship. Edouard's former captain received a 'yes man', and we got a serious navigator who needs to lighten up. Poor old Bullsen must have got more than he expected with the combination of Hadly, Comace and Neerson though, which hasn't helped."
"Is that the reason Edouard mentioned his problems?"
"In part, having foreign parents isn't easily dismissed for him, as many Friscian merchants profited in trading to both sides in the civil war from what I heard from my father. He was also unimpressed with our friendship, but at least he was polite about it. On Tryphon, Edouard was an easy target and no-one would act that way
near Bullsen. Bullsen can be capricious, and Edouard needs to figure how to deal with that with less stubbornness. Many officers saw the fleet expansion and a Tryphon posting as a quick means to future prospects. To Comace, Edouard is in the way and Sithric split the difference between keeping peace, loyalty to Bullsen and his own prospects, if discounting his womanising."
"Hmm, nice. Why are you on Tryphon, Dagmar?" Carla looked at him as the thought jumped to mind and he frowned, taking a moment to frame his reply. That seemed unusual for him, from what she had witnessed and waited. He grimaced and shrugged.
"I continue my studies in peace and choose my own research. It annoyed our principle sunjammer, and he is a jealous soul at heart. In honesty, I needed space from The Citadel, and my father was happy with serving the crown as much as the guild."
"That sounds sensible," Carla chuckled, and Dagmar formed a slow smile.
"I'm normally the one getting us into trouble ashore, and now I'm in the unique position of figuring out how to get us out of his trouble-making, or at least help."
"You coped well with the leaders, did you not?" She smiled again; it was difficult not to with his style of humour.
"I passed making any commitments until Edouard woke up, giving us time to consider. That's not noteworthy. I think I surprised them by keeping quiet about our abduction. They expected shouting and cursing which, while tempting, I refrained from. I backed them into a corner with one awkward question, which seemed to make them more candid. That I'm good at; they vented steam like a kettle from their pointy ears." Dagmar gave a vicious smirk, ignoring the immodesty and undiplomatic description of their 'hosts'.
"I'm impressed you kept your temper," Carla admitted, her smile broadening.
"Myself included. I was furious at walking into everything, but I suspect they were playing games with people's heads long before we stepped ashore on the island." Dagmar tapped the side of his head with his index finger. "I walked into it, and I had forty people to think of besides myself. I don't think my father would remain at the western court if I bottled returning you home to the prince having lost your father and the case."
"That is unlikely to happen, Dagmar, but thank you for the sentiment and candour." She smiled, lowering her eyes.
"Hmm?"
"It is nice to talk. When not having to worry about whether it will be our last day or cause problems for my father."
"Likewise. I'm a worse soldier than a sailor, especially near this rabble. I'll lurk in the background in my new dress, quelling outlandish superstitions from licentious sailors and telling them to quit bellyaching about the lack of decent beer."
"With your big stick?" Carla looked at his plain staff propped in the crook of a tree behind him, with two socks airing at the top.
"Yeah." Dagmar chuckled at the staff and rubbed at the blisters on his hand. "I might figure out how to thump someone over the head with it, assuming I've enough time to practise a swing."
"You have no spells to make it more mystical, or shoot lightning?" Carla laughed. "None at all? No runes, symbols, flashy effects, or even funny colours?"
"Err. I suppose I could get a paintbrush and scrawl 'M A G U Z' on it, if you wish? Gold lettering would be better than silver, do you think?"
"You would, wouldn't you?" Carla laughed as Dagmar closed his eyes again.
"Sunjammer, lady, not battle magus. Never battle magus. I made that choice at the behest of my scruples, and these scrolls are hard to digest. Good night to you both and sweet dreams." He mumbled. He glanced sideways only once for snakes after settling back into the crook of his other arm.
"Good night, Gabriel." Observing everyone settling down nearby, Carla drew out her bedroll. She snuggled into it, pulled her cloak tight for warmth. It surprised her how fast Van Reiver had fallen asleep, but the sunjammer's observations made sense. After fidgeting, then failing to find a comfortable position on a tree root, she sat up, rearranged her cloak and snuggled against Van Reiver. A chill grew as the fire faded away to a few dull orange embers—And the evening's insects emerged.
Brooding, she frittered away much-needed time for sleep thinking of her father and his unfulfilled plans. There was no doubt in her mind he envisioned a unique role for her in the principality. It had affected two sound marriage proposals with honourable family ties with wealth and fine political connections. The rumbles at court were now an extravagance, and she envied Dagmar in keeping clear of the infighting. She sighed, unwilling to ponder how things would change with her father being gone. His dreams now dust to the winds, unlike her suspicions. There were few family members to confide in, just good friends scattered across the continent and kingdom. She huffed at the futility of her thoughts and her choice. It was making it hard to sleep, when every fibre of her exhausted being craved it. Had he trained her to succeed him? Her heart fluttered, knowing she would never have an answer, and thinking about it would torture her more.
Van Reiver muttered in his sleep and wrapped an arm around her. Feeling warmer, she remained awake, despite every muscle aching for sleep, and considered what information to return to the prince in her father's name. Idly running her fingers along the raised stitching on his wrist, her mind considering possibilities, and joining the expedition. It had been impulsive and unlike her. She'd felt anger like that before, yet she knew it was the right thing to do. An honourable thing, if she were a man. A decision she accepted. Finding no answers in the fading embers to her doubts and dozens of questions upon questions, she turned over.
Carla stared into Van Reiver's oval face, looking at the fresh but faint scars that marked his features in the dull flickering light. She had to resist the growing impulse to brush his hair from his face. To touch him. Was there a connection between them, or was that dreaming on her part? What was she doing? she thought. Did he feel the same, or was that a reverie because she owed him her life? When at last she tumbled into a dreamless sleep, her mind chased after those elusive dreams.
38
Kandra was leaning casually against the trunk of an enormous yellowwood tree at the waypoint when Commander Mathyss stepped between thorny orange-flowered brambles lining the trail. Dropping the arm shading her eyes from the radiant colours of the dawn, she gave a casual wave as he jogged over, feet scuffing the earthen path with the lightest of touches. With a long stride he passed over a trickle of water caressing polished stones. Not enough to call a stream and not noteworthy to be an obstacle.
"Anything, old friend?" Mathyss asked, removing his helm and, to avoid showing concern, returning a bunch of orange bands to the scout. He received a handful of ripe purple berries from her other calloused hand.
"Nothing substantial. A few footprints on the north fork, casual march formation, so nothing untoward. Someone went that way with a two-horse waggon three to four days hence. No trouble, or strange sign, other than a pair of aurumvorax on the hunt." Kandra shrugged, chewing for several seconds before spitting a pip off the trail. "An unlikely threat."
"Yes, agreed. I saw those and discarded their involvement. Anything else? Is it too quiet, isn't it?" Mathyss indulged himself, as Kandra knew the fruits were one of his vices. Hers too, if she was honest about her fondness for sweet things.
"No, nothing, and that is unusual. It's not well travelled by our overlanders, but it should be more. Especially with Lady Synalavar instructing settlers to gather for the alchemists. I know it's small quantities of luxury timber—excluding the herb gathering—but it involves significant river transportation. We passed the empty barges along the river before we disembarked. No crew and far too quiet if they're awaiting cargo. If not, where are their crews? I saw nothing of them wandering the forest. No sign or camp without a more thorough investigation, and we lack time the for that. Unless you order otherwise?"
"Hmm, you're correct. Very strange. Drop behind and see if anyone watches. We'll investigate coming back."
"As you say, Commander." Kandra nodded, showing scant sign of the tiredness she must have felt, despit
e scouting for two days at a pace more rapid than their column. The lean elf rose and, cradling her bow, faded into the trees with only a faint rustle of leaves from low-hanging branches to mark her passing.
Mathyss stood and finished the last of the berries before scanning ahead. Like his scout, he saw nothing untoward, just a quiet forest trail. He jerked his head sideways, angry at his thoughts, and the other two male scouts in his detachment loped ahead, taking over. Kandra worked best alone, a skill he appreciated.
Warnings of danger were unnecessary, and they were not individuals to take undue risks. The disappearance of his earlier party had all the elven scouts on edge. Kandra was tense, but she hid it better than the other scouts, her abrasive personality a robust defence. A small thankfulness when surrounded by humans if she sheathed her ironic tongue. The next week would be a test of his patience, as it was the sweeter berries growing on that side of the forest. Foul things—as he once thought all humans were.
.*.*.
Three days later, Kandra struck a similar pose against the trunk of another vast yellowwood tree, as though sculpted. Her well-used helm dangled idly from her hand as the scout inclined her tanned face into the light breeze. The enormous trees were common on this side of the island, yet as Mathyss reflected, his older friend picked them when an opportunity arose. A tranquil moment. Strange how the thought popped into mind at this of all times.
Mathyss gave a relieved wave in greeting and clapped her on the shoulder. Like his forward scouts, Mathyss was feeling the creeping tiredness of a fast trek and the strain of worrying over every rustle they heard. Broad leaves with pale dimpled undersides swayed and undulated in the wind's swish, subverting their senses away from more dangerous wildlife.
THE TRYPHON ODYSSEY (The Voyage Book 1) Page 33
