1633880583 (F) (54 page)

Nan said, “Rolf’s words have merit. It may be the Swan, or the All-Now, as you prefer, has granted us an opportunity.”

“Corinna placed me in charge of this craft,” I said.

“And she put me in charge of this mission,” Nan said. “And while I don’t share Rolf’s dislike of your people, Haytham ibn Zakwan, it is true you’re no Kantening. The choice is ours. I will try to direct the winds closer to that shore. Rolf, you will prepare to slay the Karvak lady with one of these fine bows.”

As we drifted closer to Steelfox, the falcon Qurca rushed by, and I saw upon its foot a message. Gently I opened the tent flap, and in it came.

The event was missed by Nan and Rolf, lost in their own preparations, and Haboob, uncharacteristically, said nothing. I untied the message and read one word in Karvak script.

Why?

I crushed the paper.

“Smoke,” I told Haboob, tossing the falcon out the flap. “Hide the balloon.”

The efrit seemed to swell and its darkness flowed through the opening in the ger and around the portholes.

“Inventor,” Nan said, “you betray Corinna.”

I said nothing.

“Infidel,” Rolf said, “order your unholy monster to remove that smoke, or I will remove your head.”

I drew my scimitar. “I will not murder my former patron. Let Corinna decide my fate.”

“I may aid her,” Rolf said, “but she is not my liege. For Oxiland, I strike.”

Rolf rushed me. I defended.

With her staff Nan traced a rune within the smoke.

Wind rocked the balloon, and from time to time the smoke cleared, showing us careening toward the fjord’s cliffs.

Rolf had a young man’s reflexes, and I’ve reached an age when my joints creak even when all is well. Nonetheless his fighting style might be charitably described as rustic, all sweeps and stabs. My training was by contrast rusty, but it had focused on duels in the confined spaces of cities.

I slipped in under his guard, pressed my scimitar to his throat.

“Yield,” I said.

He spat in my face.

At that moment I saw Nan aiming through a porthole with a longbow. The old Runewalker lacked the strength to pull it well, but she wasn’t about to lose her opportunity.

I had to finish Rolf, but I was loath to kill.

A fresh gale shook the balloon, and I heard Nan gasp, “The shaman,” before Rolf shoved me and cut my shoulder with my own blade. To avoid worse hurt I lurched sideways, and, locked together as we were, I and the Kantening fell through the ger’s flap.

The fall, to my surprise, was only some twenty feet, for we were rushing close to the waters. I plunged in, losing Rolf in the impact.

In my sputtering and flailing, someone grabbed me from below and hauled me under.

The last thing I expected was to find myself breathing air, but so I was, gasping and dripping upon a muddy surface. At first I believed myself within a cave, but as my eyes adjusted to the rippling light, I saw fish swimming past the boundaries of a bubble of air about ten feet across. Rolf was coughing water beside me.

Above us stood Lady Steelfox, the shaman Northwing, and a Karvak soldier I did not know.

“Can you answer my question, Haytham ibn Zakwan?” said Steelfox in the Karvak tongue.

When I could manage to speak, I answered, “‘Why?’ I did it . . . because I am shocked by how swiftly your people are using my inventions . . . to conquer the world. And also . . . my head was turned by a woman.”

“Honesty!” Steelfox said. “You amaze me.”

“I tried to protect you, just now.”

“Indeed, Qurca saw and heard. You gave Northwing time to speak with the spirits of these waters. I will spare you, Haytham, though you will now be my slave.”

“Will you spare this Kantening warrior?”

“He meant my death. Yours too, I observed.”

“He is young and can be a useful slave as well.”

Northwing spoke up. “The pompous inventor has a point, Lady. This is one of those we saw in Oxiland. They’re often at odds with Soderland. He might come around.”

“We shall see. Nine Smilodons, bind them.”

In this way we joined Steelfox and Northwing on their sloshing journey toward Snow Pine and Flint. I explained our situation to Rolf, who gave no response but to eye me resentfully. Northwing’s bubble of air shifted along with us, and I resolved never to stray far from the shaman. It was awkward travel, trudging down the slope of the fjord bottom, and many times I slipped, fearing that I would pass through the barrier.

The surface we now traveled upon was brittle and variegated, filled with branching structures, and with a gasp I realized what we walked upon.

“What is it?” Northwing asked.

“We’re on a coral reef. I never expected to see one so far north—”

“A what?”

“A structure built from the skeletons of tiny, sessile undersea animals—”

“Never mind. Even when you’re speaking a language I know, I don’t understand you half the time. Still, glad you’re alive.”

“Likewise.”

Steelfox halted, raising her hand. “Something up ahead. Shapes approaching us.”

“Fish?” I said.

“Do fish walk, slave?” Steelfox’s blade was out, and I grieved that mine was lost somewhere in the waters. Indeed, I almost mourned the loss of Rolf’s. Shapes advanced through the dim green light, three of them. Gradually I made out the details of Karvak armor and weapons, and it dawned on me what the trolls had done.

“They’ve turned Karvaks into—”

“I know what they’ve done,” Steelfox said.

The three troll-touched Karvaks came to the edge of the air shell and stopped. Green light glinted from what had once been their right eyes. Looking at them, I realized there was no life within the warriors, for two were slain by arrows, and another by fire.

“Warriors!” cried Steelfox, raising her arms. “Acknowledge me!”

The three dead men bowed.

Steelfox let out a long breath. “What is your business here beneath the waves?”

As one the three turned and aimed their swords the direction whence they’d come.

“Lead us there,” Steelfox said. And so we followed the dead into darkness. I suppose we all must do so eventually, but this felt like unseemly haste.

We ascended a slope and the light improved, until we could see the sun perhaps twenty feet above. Seven more dead Karvaks gathered around a boulder surrounded by coral and undulating green kelp. Within a fissure in the stone was embedded a peculiar sword whose blade was a violet crystal mirroring its surroundings. So perfect was the reflection that until I recognized the violet tint I saw only a silver hilt hanging suspended in the water.

Beside the sword, seemingly unaware of their danger, were Snow Pine and Liron Flint, connected to the surface by ropes and rubbery breathing tubes. They were struggling to draw the sword from the stone.

“I’ve heard the tale,” I murmured. “The Schismglass, lost here by the hero Wiglaf’s fight with a troll-king. It can only be taken from its resting place by one of a ruler’s bloodline.”

“What does that mean, really?” snapped Northwing.

“I am an inventor. I do not write prophecies.”

We watched Flint tug on the sword, to no avail.

The dead warriors advanced.

“Beware!” I cried out.

Snow Pine looked around, and her eyes widened as she recognized that the ten nearby shapes were not kelp, but flesh. She pushed Flint aside and pulled forth the sword.

“Her?” Northwing said. “Never heard she had royal blood.”

Perhaps being the mother of the Runethane made her such by default.

“It was not your place to act, slave,” Steelfox said.

“And will you act?” I asked. “Mistress? You seem displeased at Jewelwolf’s work.” She did not reply.

The dead warriors advanced, and Snow Pine waved the unfamiliar sword, taking its measure. Flint grasped her shoulder, pointing upward. She nodded and shed a belt weighted with rocks, pulling on her rope; he did likewise.

They were hauled upward, but three of the Karvaks removed helmets and sword-belts and armor, rising toward the light. They swam with unnatural speed and grappled the swimmers, weighing them down, slashing with knives. The water darkened.

I could not let my companions—yes, my friends—be slain before my eyes. I strode forward. “Cut me loose, if you will not act!”

As I spoke, Snow Pine’s new weapon slashed, and a peculiar thing occurred. The reflective blade glowed with purple light, and images of the three Karvak warriors appeared within it, furious and proud. The bodies, with their green troll-splinters in their eyes, slowly rose toward the surface.

Snow Pine and Flint swam after them, trailing blood.

“Northwing,” Steelfox said. “I
must
have that sword. Can you retrieve it?”

“Maybe,” said Northwing, and she raised her arms and shut her eyes.

A tendril of air extended from our bubble and lashed through the water. It engulfed the sword in Snow Pine’s hand and sucked it away from her. I was obliged to leap away as the blade descended and buried itself in the coral. (Did it seem as though the coral darkened for a cubit all around? Perhaps it did.)

Steelfox tugged at it. It came free, but immediately its reflectiveness ended, and the blade became pure black.

“I see,” Steelfox mused. “It does not want me.”

“I suspect it’s chosen,” I said, hoping my old companions were safe aboard their boat.

“No matter,” Steelfox said. “We’ve deprived them of this weapon, and that is enough. Let’s head back, Northwing.”

Northwing sighed and commenced walking—but soon she halted. The arban of dead warriors blocked their path.

“Stand aside,” Steelfox commanded, “or walk with us. I am taking this weapon to the Karvak camp.”

The warriors did nothing.

“Well,” I said.

“This is Jewelwolf’s work,” Northwing said. “They must have instructions to claim the sword and nothing else.”

“They should obey my commands,” Steelfox said, “not Jewelwolf’s alone. For in life they served the nation, not my sister.”

“Be that as it may,” Northwing said, “I can’t maintain our air forever.”

Rolf laughed.

“So what is it to you, Steelfox?” I said. “A weapon you cannot use. Surely it does not matter if Jewelwolf takes it.”

“It matters, traitor,” snapped Steelfox. “She’s given too much authority to these trolls. She’s used vile sorcery to animate the bodies of loyal men. She’s usurped authority that belongs only to the khan. My father killed kinsmen for less.”

I dared say, “Old friend, your father is not here. You are. What will you do?”

“Silence, slave.” Steelfox shut her eyes. “Qurca. Show me what I need to know.”

Minutes passed. Sweat beaded on all our faces, especially Northwing’s.

“Lady,” I began.

“Hush!” Northwing said. “Give her the time she needs.”

Soon, Steelfox said, “I know what I need to know. Sister! I have overheard your words, and I know you watch me through your dead servants! They must let us pass! As the sword is of no military value, it will go from my hands to the master of loot, there to be allocated, as is proper, when all the treasures of Svanstad are taken.” She laughed. “You cannot kill
my
spy, for he’s already flown out of bowshot. I cannot hear your rantings now, sister, but you can hear me. Now you must ask yourself, will you do what is right? Or will you have me for an enemy?”

The dead soldiers moved aside.

“March,” Steelfox told us.

At last we staggered onto the fjord’s narrow shore. Northwing collapsed. I, too, wanted to rest, but a longship bore down upon us.

Steelfox showed us the sword of Baelscaer. It displayed glints of reflection.

“It is choosing you,” Nine Smilodons said.

Steelfox shook her head. “It knows its chosen wielder is near. Snow Pine is on that longship. We need to go. Rolf! I can’t trust you. You stay and greet the Kantenings. But cut Haytham’s bonds, Nine Smilodons. You and the inventor must carry Northwing.”

And so it was. We hurried from that place and ascended the least maddening of the rocky slopes, finding beyond it three horses. I rode behind Northwing to the Karvak camp.

“Thank you,” Northwing told me.

I shrugged. “Whatever else happens, you are my friend.”

“And I yours. What strange places the spirits have guided us! I need to return something to you. A document that you and Katta and I have all contributed to.”

“Indeed! I must see this wonder.”

“And continue it, I hope.”

“We both will. There should be a record of these strange times.”

We rode unmolested to the camp of the Karvaks, through the sea of their living warriors and past the pile of dead ones, some of their eyes faintly glowing, which rose beside the newly constructed trebuchets. Steelfox warily led us first to a tent piled with treasure. True to her word she left Schismglass there. As we came to Steelfox’s own great ger, I wondered when Jewelwolf’s reprisal would appear, and decided it would be a fine thing to continue our document.
God willing
, I thought,
I shall do so
.

(
As continued by Northwing, Shaman of the True People, though written in the hand of Katta, called the Mad
)