Blood of Mystery (13 page)

Falken nodded. “Even I’m not sure it’s not just a story. But it’s a good one. According to legend, Merandon, the second king of Malachor, was something of a brash and proud young man. Many were worried he wouldn’t prove to be the king his father was. One day, just after ascending to the throne, he went to an old witch and asked her what would be the greatest deed he would do as king. She told him he should journey to the westernmost end of Falengarth, and there he would find his answer.

“All the king’s advisors told him to forget the witch’s words, but they burned in Merandon’s brain. So a few years later, once he was certain the Wardens could keep things running in his absence, he set out west with a dozen lords. He was gone for seven years, and when he returned, with him were only three of the lords who had set out with him. However, in his company was also a small band of men the likes of which had never been seen in Malachor. They were Maugrim—the first people the Old Gods found in the forests of Falengarth, long ago in the mists of time. The Maugrim where heavier of bone and thicker of brow than the men of Malachor, and they were said to be hairy from head to toe. They wore only the skins of animals and bore weapons made of stone, not iron.”

Grace held her breath.
Falken could be describing
Neanderthals, Grace. Or some similar protosapien species.
How long have Earth and Eldh been in contact? Better yet, on
which world did
Homo sapiens
evolve first?

“Those three Maugrim were the last of their kind ever recorded in Falengarth,” Falken went on. “Merandon could speak their queer tongue, but they never learned to speak the language of Malachor, and none took wives, so they died childless. But it wasn’t just the Maugrim that Merandon brought back from the West. He also told fantastic tales of his journey. In the end, he claimed, he reached the very western edge of Falengarth, and on the shore of a silver ocean he raised a tower, which he named Eversea.

“It was only thirty years later, on his deathbed, that he whispered to his daughter—who was to become queen after him— the truth of the tower’s construction. It was not Maugrim who had helped him build Eversea. Instead, the Maugrim had taken Merandon to a place in the forest where beings of light danced in a circle. The beings reached out to Merandon, drawing him into their dance. They were fairies, and it was they who bid him to raise a tower by the sea. What’s more, some accounts say that among the light elfs were a few that were dark and twisted. Nor would it be strange if dark elfs—or dwarfs, as some call them—had helped to raise Merandon’s tower, as they were ever cunning at the crafting of stone and metal.”

Grace frowned; something was missing from Falken’s tale. “The witch said if Merandon journeyed west, he would discover what his greatest deed as king would be. So what was it?”

Falken laughed. “Why, going west, of course. You see, when Merandon returned, he was changed from his journey. He was older and scarred, yes. And wiser, more tempered, and possessed of a gentle strength. It was ever after said that he was the greatest of all of Malachor’s kings.”

Grace chewed her lip, mulling over Falken’s tale. How would this journey change her? Somehow she doubted they would find a band of fairies to help them in the end.

“Falken,” she said before she lost her nerve, “even if we do somehow find the shards of Fellring, what good does that do us? What use are a bunch of pieces of broken metal?”

He turned his piercing blue eyes on her. “After all you’ve seen, you truly think magic is so easily broken as metal?”

She opened her mouth, but the bard turned and moved along the deck, vanishing into the deepening twilight.

14.

The next day, the
Fate Runner
turned west and south as it rounded the northern tip of the Barrens. Almost at once the sea grew gray and choppy, and the ship seemed to lurch from wave to wave as a frigid wind sliced at the sails. The wall of mist that had been in constant view to port was ripped to tatters by the gale. Now Grace could see a rocky shoreline.

“We should reach the port at Omberfell by tomorrow’s sunset at the latest,” Magard said as he handed Grace and Falken their morning lemons.

Beltan, who had been leaning over the rail of the aft deck, now turned and wiped his mouth, his face as gray as the sea.

“Is it just me and my stomach?” the knight said, taking his piece of lemon. “Or have things gotten considerably bumpier in the last few hours?”

Magard’s eyes glittered as he laughed. “We no longer sail the Dawn Sea, my friend. Once we rounded the north horn of the Barrens and set eyes on the shores of Embarr, we entered waters that flow from the Winter Sea. These are cold and treacherous reaches, filled with strange currents and hidden shoals that have been the demise of many a ship.”

“That’s not exactly reassuring,” Grace said, huddling inside her fur cape.

The captain laid a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t fear, my girl. I’ve sailed these waters before, and the
Fate Runner
is nimble enough to dance her way around any trouble we might run into.”

Grace gave the captain a grateful smile.

“Where’s Vani?” Beltan said, tossing his lemon rind over the rail.

“Your silent friend?” Magard said. “I believe she’s up there again.” He grinned, pointing upward.

They all looked up to see a slim figure perched atop the ship’s foremast.

“She’s not my friend,” Beltan growled, then turned and made his way along the deck.

Magard gave Grace and Falken a curious look.

“Long story,” Grace said, and left it at that.

The wind grew worse as the day wore on, howling from the north, as if it sought to blow the ship onto the jagged Embarran coast and dash it to bits against sharp rocks. Magard and his crewmen worked constantly, barking orders and replies above the roar of the gale, running from foredeck to aft, lashing down ropes and tying off sails. Grace wished there was something she could do to help them, but it was best to stay out of the way. Once one of the sailors lost hold of a rope, and it cracked like a whip mere inches from Grace’s head.

She took that as a sign and returned to her cabin. However, things were no less alarming belowdecks. The floor of the cabin rose and dipped as wildly as a carnival ride. At one point Grace checked on Beltan and Falken; the men lay in their cots, eyes clamped shut, so she left them. She wouldn’t have minded some company, but no doubt Vani was still high atop the ship’s mast. With nothing to do, Grace sat on the floor of her cabin and shut her eyes.

She was only trying to rest; she wasn’t trying to reach out with the Touch. However, she wasn’t really sleepy, and her mind must have wandered, for suddenly it was there all around her: the shimmering web of the Weirding.

Grace didn’t pull back. She could sense all of the lives aboard the tiny ship. Beltan and Falken were in their cabin, Captain Magard and his crew moved abovedecks, and there was Vani, still high atop one of the masts. In addition, countless tiny sparks of light scurried deep in the hold of the ship. Rats. But seen like this, they didn’t seem so revolting. Instead they flitted about in Grace’s vision like fireflies.

The Weirding flooded Grace with warmth and comfort. She let her mind drift out further. Beneath the ship was a vast, glowing ocean of life. Schools of fish floated beneath the ship’s hull like shimmering clouds, and larger creatures flashed by too quickly for Grace to sense what they were. Reveling in the sensation of connectedness, she reached out further yet.

It streaked toward the
Fate Runner
like an angry bolt of lightning.

Grace’s eyes flew open. What was it? She didn’t know. But it was big, the fire of its life force burning like a star against the web of the Weirding. And it was coming straight for them.

She leaped to her feat, stumbled as the ship lurched, then righted herself and pushed through the cabin door.

“Beltan! Falken!” she shouted, pounding on their cabin door. “Get out here!” Without waiting, she scrambled up the steps to the deck above.

The day had grown darker rather than lighter while she was below. Iron-colored clouds scudded across the sky, and waves broke all around the ship, crashing together in white explosions. The shore was closer than before—perilously close. Grace could discern the sharp outlines of individual rocks. Just ahead, the land seemed to take a sharp turn to the north. Gripping the rail, she made her way along the deck. She found Magard near the foremast.

“You should get belowdecks!” he shouted above the howl of the gale. “It’s too rough up here!”

She clutched the mast to keep from falling as the deck rose and fell beneath her. “Captain Magard! There’s something out there. It’s coming right for us.”

A frown crossed his leathery face. “What’s coming right for us?”

“I don’t know.” She fought to speak against the wind and spray. “It’s big. Very big. Almost like it’s a...”

“It’s a ship,” Vani said, stepping from between two folds of empty air.

Magard jerked his head around. “A ship? Where?”

“Off to starboard. It’s coming toward us quickly.”

Grace stared at Vani. A ship? Yes, that made sense. At a distance, all the sparks of its crew would have merged into one, making it look like a single great light. Again she reached out with the Touch. The light was closer. Now she could make out the individual sparks of the lives aboard the vessel.

“There must be a hundred men aboard that ship.”

Magard scowled at her. “And how do you know that, my girl?”

Grace opened her mouth, but before she could answer a shout went up from the aft deck.

“Ship ahoy!”

A bell rang wildly. Swearing, Magard moved to the rail. Vani and Grace followed just as Beltan and Falken appeared abovedecks. Off to starboard, a patch of mist clinging to the sea was ripped apart as a massive shape burst through it.

“By the Foamy Mane of Jorus, would you look at that,” Magard said, awe written across his face.

The ship was gigantic. It rose from the waves like a fortress made of wood, its decks fully twice as high above the surface of the sea as those of the
Fate Runner
. Grace counted five masts and over a dozen sails, each one as crimson as blood. The mainsail sagged as the wind shifted direction. Countless small, dark forms scurried through the ship’s myriad ropes, then all at once the sail filled again with air, billowing outward. Emblazoned on the vast, red field was a symbol: a black crown encircling a silver tower.

Its sails full to the wind once more, the ship surged over the waves.

“Blood and brine,” Magard said. “She means to broadside us.”

The captain turned to shout orders at his crew. The men dashed into action, scrambling up the rigging. But there were too few of them; they couldn’t possibly turn the ship in time.

Grace clutched the rail and stared at the others, eyes wide. “What do we do?”

“I suggest we move to the port side of the ship,” Vani said sharply.

Beltan and Falken returned grim nods. Together, the four fled to the opposite side of the deck and braced themselves against the rail. When Grace turned around, the oncoming ship loomed over the
Fate Runner
like a tower. She could hardly believe something so gigantic could move so swiftly. Decorating the ship’s prow was the carving of a woman in a flowing robe, painted in blues and silvers. Except there was something strange about the woman; her eyes were too large and too slanted, her neck too long, her ears delicately pointed.

That’s not a woman, Grace.

She glanced at Falken, but the bard only stared at the rapidly growing ship.

“Hold the tiller steady!” Magard shouted, cords standing out on his neck. “Cut the ropes. Give her full sail. Now!”

In the rigging above, several crewmen drew curved knives. Steel flashed, then ropes hissed and whistled through the air like angry serpents. Beltan ducked barely in time to avoid having his head taken off. The sails billowed and snapped, and the
Fate Runner
sprang forward like a rock out of a sling.

The gigantic ship was so close now Grace could see the men lining its deck. They were clad all in black, from horned helms to greaves. Even the swords in their hands were black. Only their shields were different: as crimson as the ship’s sails, each marked with the same black crown and silver tower.

“Hold on!” Falken cried, locking his arms around the rail.

Vani snaked a rope around her wrist. Before Grace could move, Beltan wrapped his long arms around her and gripped the rail, pressing Grace tight against it.

“Here she comes!” Magard’s shout sounded over the wind.

There was a roar like a jet engine. Grace craned her head around. The gigantic shape of the oncoming ship moved swiftly across her field of vision from left to right; it was falling astern as the
Fate Runner
sped forward.

We’re going to make it, Grace. We’re going to—

Water sprayed up in a white geyser as a sound like thunder rent the air. The
Fate Runner
groaned like a torture victim as a violent tremor passed through its hull. The deck lurched, and Grace lost her hold on the rail. She would have gone flying save for Beltan’s fierce grip. Two crewmen were not so lucky. Grace saw them tumble from the rigging. One struck the deck, landing in a crumpled heap. The other glanced off the railing, then vanished into the sea.

There was a low, grinding sound. Again the planks shuddered beneath Grace. Then the
Fate Runner
shot forward in a cloud of spray. The red-sailed ship fell behind. The men standing at its rail shook black swords.

“Magard’s crew moved faster than I thought,” Falken said, breathing hard as he stood back up. “We made enough headway that the ship only glanced off our stern.”

“Will they not try again?” Vani said, releasing the rope she had gripped.

“They will,” Beltan said. “But they’re too big. They can’t turn as fast as we can. It’ll take them a while to come around to starboard.”

The blond man was right. The gigantic ship had let its sails go slack to keep from running straight into the rocky coast. It was starting to turn, but only slowly. Every moment the ship fell farther behind them.

Captain Magard was shouting orders again. Grace wriggled free of Beltan’s grasp and hurried to the slumped form of the crewman who had fallen from the rigging. Blood oozed from the back of his head. Grace reached out with the Touch, but she already knew what she would find. His thread was dark as ashes, and it fell apart in her hands.

“Hold her steady!” Magard’s voice rose on the air. “One notch to port or starboard, and we’re all dead.”

Grace jerked her head up and gasped. While they had worked to escape the other ship, they had rushed right toward the sharp northward bend in the coast. Cliffs loomed above them. Grace didn’t see how they could possibly turn in time. She went rigid, bracing herself for another impact.

Jagged walls of rock rushed by to either side of the ship as the
Fate Runner
sailed forward. Grace counted a dozen heartbeats, then all at once the walls fell away. She turned back to see dark cliffs shrinking behind them. The coast of Embarr was once more safely off to port.

Falken let out a low whistle. He had drawn near to Grace, along with Beltan and Vani.

“I didn’t think we were going to make it through that narrows,” the bard said.

“You have no faith, Falken Blackhand,” Magard said, striding toward them with a broad grin. “I’ve wriggled this minnow through tighter passages than that.”

“The other ship won’t be able to make it through that narrows,” Beltan said. “Whoever they were.”

Vani glanced at the captain. “How long will it take them to sail around?”

“A good half day,” Magard said. “Maybe more. That island stretches from the coast far to the north, and the waters are rough around it.”

At last Grace understood. Earlier, it had looked like the coast bent north, but that was only because she hadn’t been able to see the narrow gap in the rocks. In fact, the landmass before them had been an island, not a promontory. Only now it lay behind them, and the big, red-sailed ship would have to go around. They had lost their pursuers. For the moment. But who were the men on the strange ship? And why had they attacked the
Fate Runner
? Then she pictured their black helms and swords, and she thought maybe she had an idea.

Before Grace could voice her thoughts, Magard’s eyes focused on the form lying before her. His grin faded, and he gave her a questioning look.

Grace sighed. “He was dead when he struck the deck.”

Magard nodded, his expression hard. “We’ll put him to rest in the sea, then, along with his mate who we lost before we entered the straits.”

Sickness flooded Grace’s stomach. The deck rolled beneath her. It seemed stormier on this side of the narrows. The sky was a swirling iron gray, and the waves leaped high enough that water slopped onto the deck. She struggled to her feet.

A stray barrel, knocked loose in the earlier impact, rolled along the deck. Beltan jumped to get out of its way. The knight frowned as it rolled toward the stern of the ship.

With a cold sensation of dread, Grace understood. “The deck. It’s slanting toward the back of the ship.”

The angle was visible now, and getting worse by the second.

Magard swore. “She must have clipped us harder than I thought. We’re taking on water.”

“Captain!” came a shout from one of the crewmen in the rigging. “There are shallows ahead!”

Magard swore again.

Falken gripped his arm. “I thought you said the
Fate Runner
could sail in shallow seas.”

“She can,” the captain said. “When she isn’t riding low in the water. But now that the hold is filling...”

Magard didn’t bother to say anything more. He dashed forward, barking orders to his remaining crewmen. Grace lost sight of him.