The Rage of Princes: A Portal Fantasy Adventure (The Chronicles of Otherwhere Book 2)

by Cassia Meare

  There were more eyes, red and yellow; things hiding behind thorn bushes and trees. There was rustling too, indicating that something bigger was around. He could hear it sniffing him. He sniffed back: werewolf.

  Ugh, did they ever smell bad.

  After the demon's provocation, Nemours almost felt like having a useless fight, although it was better to keep to his objective. The beast wouldn't come, in any case. They had hidden here to get away from the immortals who could kill them without getting badly hurt. Which was why this thing was wise enough to sniff first.

  As he kept making his way among brambles and short trees, he spotted a female vampire hanging upside down — holding on to a branch with her feet, naked breasts pointed toward the ground as she brought her wings forward to cover a face without eyes. She hoped he wouldn't see her, or at least leave her alone.

  I know the feeling, don't worry.

  It might be a creature of Ahn's. She could call on vampires, owls, chimeras, basilisks. When the children were little, to make them go to bed she would threaten to call on ghouls, and now he didn't doubt that she could. She might be spying on him, but he didn't think so. She would not do it yet; not just yet, although that might be about to change.

  He glimpsed a glint of bronze ahead: the House of Mages. As he left the thicket of trees, it stood before him, square and massive.

  Poor Vidar. Sigrit had probably let him build all that, fill it with clever tricks, dream of what he could do — before she destroyed him in a single duel. And she must like keeping that house there to symbolize the futility of opposing her.

  It was said that witches, bad ones, fed on the vain hopes of others. Just like fate, they loved irony.

  Two statues of Vidar stood on either side of the façade. The one on the left held an open book, two fingers aloft as if asking for attention; on the right, his eyes were closed, and an owl sat on his shoulder.

  Between the two statues, the bronze surface looked more like a wall than a door. Yet this was the entrance. It was a puzzle.

  Nemours had never entered the place, as his distaste for magic had kept him away from Witchsweep. If you lived long enough, though, you ended up needing what you hated. Or hurting what you most loved.

  The signs carved on bronze were not familiar to him. They were simple and a little ... squiggly? He had to use the English word, as there was none in his language that would explain those lines and loops. Were they magic symbols? Not anything like the hekas, that was certain.

  The statues, though, were saying something. The owl meant wisdom. To know. But it also meant to see, to look all around.

  And the other statue wasn't holding up two fingers to be heard — it was pointing at the sky.

  Now the squiggles made sense. They were loose depictions of the constellations: the Archer, the White Lady, the Dragon, the Serpent, the Spider.

  Nemours looked up. The heavens seemed like an almost solid black vault, a fitting background for the stars to shine in. Their position would change according to time and season. He was meant to read the constellations now, just as he saw them.

  The first one was the Dragon, and as soon as he touched the squiggle representing it, the bronze piece sank without much effort. The Archer now, followed by the White Lady, the Spider, and the Serpent.

  As he pushed the last piece, the rest moved aside as well, forming a door. He stepped through.

  No wonder Sigrit had your guts for garters, Vidar, Nemours thought. That was lazy.

  But he couldn't celebrate yet. Perhaps it was easy to enter just so that he got tricked inside. He couldn't forget that it was a place built by a mage, and that another might already know that he was there.

  29

  "It won't be enough," Delian said once Nemours left.

  A move had been made in the war. Ships bearing the colors of Mistkeep and Rosy Marsh had been spotted not far from Allseas Harbor in the east. They were probably on their way to Lockland — which meant that Feroz Tinashe's navy and a lot of his land troops would be tied up in the defense of his port.

  On the west coast, the Midlands had launched ships from The Echo. The descendants of pirates, who had been kept from their calling by the immortal brothers for a long time, had apparently liked Ahn's chances better than Nemours'. They were finally going to raid a city again, and Highmere was the richest of them all.

  "The Echo also thinks we will lose without Tayne," Delian remarked. "Or they would never dare take Ahn's side."

  "What do you think?" Elinor asked.

  They were in the council room at High Hall, looking at the map on the table. Delian put hands on hips, shaking his head.

  "I'm no general," he said. "But with Tayne against us and the whole south coming up the coast, it will all be decided here."

  He pointed at the land between Stonemount and Highmere: Ashrock, a vassal territory of Lockland.

  "A pitched battle will probably take place in the fields of Ashrock," Delian said. "It will take the brunt of the attack. And I doubt Lord Wanker of Mistkeep will send all his troops to fight a naval battle in Lockland. He will find a way of disembarking somewhere on the east coast." He waved a hand over the middle of Otherwhere. "And then Stonemount will come up. So two naval battles being fought, Tinashe held up on the east, Highmere's navy fighting on the west, plus troops to protect the city — and we busy defending the plains."

  "A pitched battle?" Elinor murmured, feeling somewhat faint at such overwhelming odds. "But they are rare."

  "Not here. At least they were the norm when we used to have wars." Delian threw down a piece shaped like an eagle, the symbol of Stonemount, and let it clatter on the table. "Honor and that."

  "How is it honorable, all that is happening?"

  "It's not. But Stonemount people are old-fashioned. Straightforward. Even with their lord under Abuse, it would be difficult to get them to just ambush us. And without crossing his territory, the rest of Ahn's forces would not make it to us. They’d be fighting in the sea."

  "Then," she said hopefully, "if Nemours can end the Abuse, Lord Tayne will not only stop them, he will join us."

  "Might not happen. Might be too late." Delian shook his head again. "Might not be enough."

  "What would be enough, then?"

  Delian threw her a look.

  She understood. "More magic."

  He nodded slowly. "The Blood Knights. The greatest fighters who ever lived."

  Elinor's brow furrowed. "But they are dead now."

  "Which is where magic comes in."

  Delian tapped a narrow stretch of land jutting over the Sweet Seas, way below The Echo, to the west of Witchsweep. "Old Edge is where their hall is. The Banner Sanctuary. They're all entombed here."

  "But they are dead," Elinor repeated.

  "Well, it's not impossible for the dead to be brought back."

  "If it were possible, wouldn't Ahn ask Lotho Sils—"

  "The knights wouldn't come for Ahn," Delian said. "They never fought for her or with her. Always with us."

  "You must mean when you were ridding the world of beasts, of monsters."

  "Of pirates as well," he said, "whose descendants just got cocky on Ahn's behalf. Or the savages in Silverburn. Or the white guards."

  "But it's people against people now. South against north."

  "The knights loved Nemours," Delian insisted. "They fought alongside me and Ty. They were loyal — they were the best of the best. I know they would fight for us. I just don't know ..." He let his sentence trail and sighed.

  "How to bring them back?" she asked, becoming alarmed. "Delian, this is dark magic. Isn’t it?"

  His scowl was mighty. "And what is Ahn using, do you think?"

  She looked at him for a moment before saying, "You've lost your fear. Of Aya."

  He held her eyes, and there was a pit of rage in his. "I wish she would come back just so I'd throw that hammer in her real face."

  Rushing toward him, Elinor covered his mouth. She now believed as they did. The
thought startled her, but she didn't want to lose Delian.

  "Stop," she begged.

  Holding on to her wrist, he glanced away for a second, and back at her. "There is magic down at the sanctuary," he explained. "The greatest witch of all, Sigrit of Inön. I'm going there — and maybe she'll know, and she'll meet me. Then ... and then, I don't know. She doesn't really love any of us, but witches are funny. Unpredictable."

  "But your immortal soul—"

  He scoffed. "Don’t talk Christian to me. You know it’s not what we have here."

  "You have a mother—goddess—both—who…"

  "Who isn’t here," he said decisively. "And Nemours will be all noble or proud and not use anything that can really hurt Ahn, and all the while she’ll just be throwing the kitchen sink at us. I think we are pretty much screwed, unless we do something out of the box. Don’t you?"

  "I'm going with you," Elinor stated flatly, though she doubted Ahn had ever seen a kitchen sink. What she knew is that she would already have used something of the profana, had she known where to find it. Maybe the fact that Elinor wasn’t in Christian lands made her bolder.

  Delian grimaced, half in shame, half in relief. "I was kind of hoping you would say that."

  She embraced him. "Of course, you fool."

  He gave a short, sad laugh. "We're the two mosquitoes now. Plus Nemours, of course. Who would gladly kill me if he finds out what I'm getting you into."

  Elinor pulled back. "Let's go, then, before he comes back." She smiled. "No guts, no glory."

  He groaned, even as they started walking. "I wish you'd stop reminding me I ever taught you that phrase."

  Crossing would not get them there. A lot of Witchsweep was unprotected, as Nemours had pointed out before leaving. It was like a huge spider web where Sigrit might sit waiting for flies to get trapped, Delian now told Elinor. Old Edge, however, could not be reached that way. It would be quicker for them to use Crossing to get to Sharpwind, a spot below The Echo, and from there board a ship and negotiate the coast of the Sweet Seas to the promontory with the sanctuary.

  And it wasn't as if Delian had explained the situation, Elinor realized as they stood at a lighthouse in Sharpwind, which was nothing but a fishing village. He had only told her that the people there routinely embarked on perilous sea trips after expensive delicacies for the rich.

  "Going south?" the lighthouse keeper asked. "I'd say you're insane, lord — if I didn't know who you are."

  "Only makes it more likely that I'm insane," said Delian, leaning on the counter.

  The lighthouse must be old, but it was nicely kept — with one of the mysterious fires of Otherwhere burning on top. It was well appointed inside as well, and the keeper looked prosperous as he combed a handsome brown beard with his fingers.

  The man only raised his eyebrows, not disagreeing with Delian. "At least I don't have to warn you about what's down there."

  "Then warn me!" Elinor intervened.

  Delian wrinkled his nose at her, shaking his head in dismissal. "Nothing I can't take care of."

  "She's going with you?" the keeper asked, his mouth turning down as his eyes widened. He leaned over to whisper. "Is she an immortal?"

  "She will be traveling with one," Delian said repressively.

  The man now raised both palms, content to leave the decision to them.

  Placing a large purse on the table, Delian added, "I will of course be buying the ship, since I might be leaving it there. And you may take your commission from here."

  "A mist ship is exp—" the man began.

  Until Delian pulled one of the strings and the purse fell open, showing quite a lot of gold. The man smiled.

  "I have a cousin..." he said.

  The cousin didn't take long to appear, rubbing his eyes from the nap he had been taking that balmy afternoon. His eyes shone and glinted more than the gold on the counter, and the ship was produced.

  For the fabulous amount that had just changed hands, the vessel was a paltry thing that would fit about six people. Elinor motioned at it. "This is why one must never let princes haggle." She took Delian's hand and climbed in, mimicking him, "'My good man, just take this purse filled with riches, and give me whatever puny thing you have!'"

  She sat facing forward as Delian took his place behind her and disengaged from the pier by pushing with an oar. An oar! The thing began to move, and as a soft breeze stirred her hair, Elinor continued, "Had you let me handle that situation, we would certainly not have paid so much."

  "We are not exactly lacking in money, Lady E," Delian said.

  "But you'll encourage greed, and that encourages dishonesty — and eventually ..."

  "Eventually horrible wars," Delian drawled. "And the world ends."

  "Mock me all you want," she said, raising her nose in profile for his benefit. "You know it's true."

  "It's a fine boat, though," Delian said. "Apart from the fact that we needed one double quick."

  "Fine?" she exclaimed, outraged. "Look at the thing."

  As she leaned to the side to point out its faults, Elinor gasped. "Mist ship" was no misnomer, considering that the vessel was not on the water at all but floating in mist that had not been there just a few moments ago. She turned to look at Delian, who leaned back on his elbows, legs stretched, one shoulder holding the tiller in place. A white sail unfurled, softly but surely, and the boat began to move fast.

  "You were saying?"

  "What is it, Delian?"

  "The name says it all, Lady E. A mist ship. Or mist boat, in this case."

  "It rides the mist?"

  "Obviously, and also takes the air and makes more mist so it can keep riding. But don't lean over the side to see how, this place is a bit tricky."

  She drew herself up and narrowed her eyes at him. "What is here? And I want a full answer."

  A low whistle came from him. "That would take a while. Apart from the fact that I don't know every single thing. Put it this way: People don't exactly travel here for the beaches. Even our friends who sold us the boat only come so far."

  He nodded at a small but craggy cliff. She looked beyond it, but the view was shrouded by more mist.

  "Delian?" she insisted.

  "Kind of dragons," he said in a low voice. As she again gasped, he quickly added, "No, no, no. More like sea serpents. Because I think we cut off all their wings way back when. Still, that's why it's a nice thing to get a mist ship, boat, canoe or whatever — because then we ride above the whole thing."

  She looked down. "We aren't that far above water."

  "Right. They could raise their heads higher than this. Absolutely." He glanced down as well. "But they've become a bit shy, I believe. I'm not worried about them."

  "What are you worried about then?"

  "Not rocks, although they do get pointy here — because of the whole mist thing, which keeps us away from them ..."

  She fully turned and demanded, "What, Delian?"

  "Not whirlpools either for the same reason—"

  "Delian!" she roared.

  "Kraken," he finally said. "You know, like a huge, mean octopus with fangs?"

  Holding on to the seat, Elinor looked left and right. "Would they be so near the coast, where the water is shallower?"

  "Yeah, well — they like caves." The cliffs they passed were becoming bigger, and they had openings. "I had some trouble with one once. Was passing by one of these holes, happy as a—was going to say as a clam, but better not. Happy as a whatsit, and a bunch of tentacles just flopped out of a cave on the way. That was a bit of a fight. Had to chop at it a little."

  As her heart drummed and danced, Elinor wondered whether to watch the caves or the water.

  "But it only happened once, Lady E. And l have my swords and daggers." He kicked at them, although they lay in a lazy pile in the middle of the boat. "And you have your fireballs and lightnings. A kraken shouldn't be a problem either."

  She ought to trust Delian, but she had grown up amidst a widespread
fear of dragons, serpents and monsters. Elinor could not quite shake the respect she had for the sea, knowing that terrible wrecks had often taken place, and that whole ships had never returned to shore. It was believed they were still roaming the seas with ghostly crews.

  And had she just seen something? A sinuous diving of something to her right?

  Peering through the mist, she didn't see it again, although she heard sighs — women's sighs — and a strange song, almost like a wailing.

  "Oh, this is what I forgot to mention," Delian said, rising from his prone position. "Mermaids."

  Starting, Elinor began to turn her head and he stopped her. "Don't look! Very important, don't look. They sing to call attention, and then you look at them, and they are so irresistible you jump in the water."

  "How are they irresistible?"

  "Beauties, right?" he said, as if it were obvious. "Really stunning. So don't look."

  "I don't see how, Delian, I could feel so lured by any sort of female."

  "Mermen as well," he pointed out.

  "I still don't see—"

  "They're enchanted," he explained, adding in a low voice, "And naked."

  "Delian—"

  "Just don't look," he said again. "That's the important thing. As long as you don't look, no danger from them."

  "Leaving only the gigantic tentacles coming out of holes or monstrous serpents," Elinor mumbled, "or something else you've probably forgotten to tell me about. How far away do you think the sanctuary is?"

  "A bit."

  "Everything is very inexact with you," she said peevishly. "Don't know whether we can get the Blood Knights, don't know about Sigrit, don't know about the monsters, about distances. I certainly hope we can get there and back in time for a battle that is about to happen, or Nemours will be missing an important fighter, and whatever modest use I might be to—"

  Realizing that the complete silence behind her was uncharacteristic of Delian, Elinor turned to see him slipping into the water.

  He had looked!

  With a cry, she rose and climbed over seats to his place, and now she had to look — but the ship was already moving, and she could only discern Delian falling into clear waters, his neck surrounded by slim, feminine arms.