Dawn of the Ice Bear (2 page)

Alanya sat in her bunk now, staring off toward the porthole and the cloudless blue sky beyond it, trying to make sense of her stew of emotions. While she was pleased that they were once again headed for Stygia, where Kral hoped to find the Teeth of the Ice Bear, a mystical crown stolen from his people by her uncle Lupinius, she dearly wished she were back home in Aquilonia. She wished, too, that her father had not been killed—probably by Lupinius. She wished her brother had not been forced to kill a man in battle. Since that day, he had been even moodier and more sullen than usual, if possible. She admired Kral, but believed he barely noticed her, except as a traveling companion and helpmate. At the same time, she found Mikelo's fascination with her unnerving. He was younger than she, and she had learned that she preferred men without the patina of civilization that he wore. Kral, with the dark hair and skin common to the Picts, savage and natural, was much more to her liking.

It all piled up inside her like leaves in a courtyard on an autumn day. She sighed involuntarily. Mikelo, who had stayed in their cabin even though Kral and Donial had both gone on deck, glanced over at her. “Is something wrong?” he asked solicitously.

“No,” she said. Even as she spoke she knew it was just a reflexive answer, far from the truth. In her fifteen years, had anything ever been more wrong? “Maybe. I think I am simply weary, and confused.”

“Confused about what?” he pressed.

She didn't know how to put her flurry of thoughts and feelings into words, or even if she should try. “I don't know. Everything. It is all . . . too much, that's all.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“Of course,” she said, not bothering to point out that he had been asking them all along.

“Why are you going to Stygia? What is it you seek there? I spent part of last winter there, when Kunios had an arrangement to dock in Khemi for a trading expedition, and that was enough for a lifetime.”

Alanya knew that he had asked Donial the same question. Her younger brother had declined to answer. He believed, as did Alanya, that because it was Kral's quest, it should be up to him to decide to tell others or not. She had spoken to Kral about it, however, and he had indicated that he had no reason to keep it a secret from Mikelo. By helping them try to escape, the Zingaran boy had earned his way into their little group. Kral suggested that they might need another ally, particularly one who had been to Stygia and knew some of the language. Next time he asked, Kral said, she should feel free to tell him. She had hoped it would be Kral himself that Mikelo would ask, so she wouldn't have to.

But he had, so she took a deep breath and began the explanation. “A crown was stolen from Kral's clan,” she said. “A precious antiquity with some sort of mystical significance to the Picts. We believe it has been taken by some Stygian priests, who are bringing it to Stygia. We mean to find it so Kral can take it back to his home.”

Mikelo was not satisfied with the quick explanation. “How did it come to be stolen?”

Another sigh. She had hoped not to have to tell the whole story again. But the ship was quiet, as ships go. Winds filled the sails, men knew their tasks and did them, water splashed rhythmically against the hull. So she crossed her legs, making herself comfortable on her bunk. Mikelo did the same. Once they were settled, she started from the beginning. Her meeting with Kral in the woods outside the settlement of Koronaka. Their discovery by Donial, who reported what he had seen to Lupinius, their uncle. Lupinius's overreaction, and the subsequent raid on the Pictish village, which she was now convinced had some ulterior motive. Lupinius's probable murder of her father and his theft of the crown. She hesitated a little before telling him of Kral's murderous assault on Koronaka as the “Ghost of the Wall.” But Kral had given her permission to tell everything, so she did. She described the trip back to Tarantia, after Lupinius had left Koronaka in the dead of night. How he had taken over her father's house and been slain in it as he tried to sell the crown to a thief. How she, Donial, and Kral had found him, barely clinging to life, and called for help. The unexpected visit from King Conan, which impressed him almost as much as it still did her. And then how Kral had been arrested for Lupinius's murder and how they had broken him out of jail. Mikelo sat silently, his brown eyes wide with wonder, during the entire story. When she got to the part where a freak storm grounded the
Restless Heart
on a reef off the coast of Shem—which was where they had met Mikelo—he whistled.

“You have had some amazing adventures,” he said.

“More than enough adventure for me,” Alanya said. “I never sought adventure. I would happily spend the rest of my life at home in Tarantia.”

Mikelo's nod made his thick shock of light brown hair bob. He was a slight boy, but his energy and vigor made up for any frailty. “Still, since you are just now on the way to Stygia, it will be some time before you can do that.”

“I know,” she said sadly. “You asked if something was wrong. I guess that's it. I wish, more than anything, that I was not here, that none of this had ever happened. Except for the meeting Kral part. That was good. The rest of it has been nothing but trouble.”

She knew that Mikelo, like most Zingarans, considered the Picts natural enemies. But in the days since the pirates he had traveled with had attacked the marooned crew and passengers of the
Restless Heart,
he had come to know Kral. As seemed to happen so often, Alanya thought, becoming acquainted with an individual made it hard to cling to one's preconceived notions of an entire people. He had not yet taken Kral into his heart as fully as she and Donial had, but he seemed more trusting and genuinely concerned for the Pict's welfare.

“I am sorry,” he said, “that it has been such an ordeal for you.”

She felt the rocking of the boat, listened to the creak of wood and the snap of sailcloth. She understood that her answer had been the facile one, leaving out more than it revealed. Had it really been so bad? Yes, there had been many times when she had feared for her life and those of her friends. There had been danger and terror, loss and profound sorrow.

But hadn't there been other things, too? Good things? Discoveries about herself and her friends? They had all tapped previously unknown reservoirs of courage, had demonstrated their trust and faith in one another time after time. Just when things looked most bleak, they had come through for each other.

Her throat was dry from talking, and she didn't think she could explain all that to Mikelo anyway. Instead of answering, she just offered him a shrug of her shoulders. “Let's go on deck,” she suggested. “Maybe Donial and Kral are doing something interesting.” She knew the chances of that were slim indeed. Day followed night followed day on the ship, with nothing changing at all. Wind and water. Water and wind. The men doing the things sailors did.

Mikelo agreed, so together they left their cabin and climbed the wooden ladder to the upper deck. At first glance everything looked the same as ever. It took her a minute to locate Kral and Donial, but finally she spotted them at the bow, leaning over the edge. A loose shirt flapped over Kral's muscular torso, nearly covering the wounds there. Donial, a year younger than Alanya, looked small compared to Kral, but with his black hair and dark eyes he almost resembled the Pict more than he did his fair-skinned, blond, blue-eyed sister. She and Mikelo joined them.

“What are you doing here?” Alanya asked.

Kral turned to her, windblown and bronzed darker than ever by his time on the ship. His chest was bare, and the wound left there by the pirate captain Kunios was scabbed over and red. “Out there,” he said. “Look straight ahead.”

She looked. Water.

“What?” she asked.

“Look harder,” Donial urged. “You'll see it.”

She looked again. Water. But at the edge of it, perhaps a darker strip. “What is . . . ?”

“Stygia,” Kral answered. “That, lady, is Stygia.”

One of the sailors overheard and rushed to the bow himself. After a quick glance, he smiled, clapping Kral on the shoulder. Then he turned back toward the rest of the ship and cupped his hands to his mouth. “Land ho!” he shouted.

The call was picked up, echoed by others all across the vessel. “Land ho! Stygia off the bow!”

“At last,” Kral said quietly. “Stygia, at last.”

WITH STYGIA IN sight, things progressed at an agonizingly glacial pace. Having no official business in that land, they wanted to approach only when darkness would mask their arrival. Kral still had no idea what Gorian and his crew of mercenaries were after in Stygia. Nor did he particularly care, as long as their goals did not interfere with his. He knew he ran a risk—that if he and his friends abandoned the others as soon as they reached Stygia, they might have a difficult time getting home once he had the crown. But he was determined to ignore that problem for now. One thing at a time, and his first job was to get the crown in his hands. After that, he could worry about the next step.

So they tacked back and forth, wasting time, drawing slowly nearer the shore, until the sun set. Once it had, they doused all their lights and made straight for land. Now the hours passed slowly because they were so close, and even though they made progress, it was not fast enough for Kral's satisfaction. He was afraid morning would dawn before they were near enough.

But only a few hours had passed before he was called to the wheel to join Gorian and Allatin, the blond-bearded first mate. When he joined them, he could see that they were skirting the shore. City lights glowed in the near distance.

“There be Khemi,” Allatin explained. “We dare not put in there, or at any other inhabited place. A ways down there are a couple of big islands offshore—we will want to avoid those as well. But in between is a fair stretch of uninhabited shoreline. We'll make for there. We should be able to leave the
Restless Heart
offshore there for days without her being seen.”

“I think you should move her about,” Gorian suggested. “Don't let her just sit there. Someone might happen by.”

“Agreed,” Kral said, not entirely sure why they had called him over.

Gorian answered that quickly enough, though. “We still are not sure what you lot are after in Stygia, Kral,” he said. “We have reason to believe that we are not too far from our own goal here, but we know not where exactly you want to go.”

“Nor will I tell you,” Kral said. “But the truth is, I am not yet sure exactly where I need to go either. You get me to Stygia, and I'll worry about the rest.”

In the moonlight, Kral could see that Allatin was uncomfortable with his answer. But Gorian just nodded. “Fine,” he said. “You have not asked my business, and I can but do you the same courtesy. You will be alerted when we are about to drop anchor, and we will take the remaining boat over to shore or swim there. You can stay with us as long as you like, or split off at any time.”

“Very well,” Kral said. He tried to display no emotion before these men, but inside he was nearly bursting with anticipation. What he had told them was true—he had no idea where in Stygia to look for the crown. A clue would present itself, he was sure, even if he had to turn the country upside down to find it. In the meantime, traveling with Gorian and his mercenaries would be safer than striking out completely on their own in unfamiliar and unfriendly territory.

He excused himself and went to tell the others the news.

Entering the cabin, he found them crowded around the porthole, watching the lights of Khemi skate by.

“That's Khemi, isn't it?” Mikelo said, when Kral closed the door.

“Yes.”

“I told you!” Mikelo exclaimed.

“My first view of Stygia, and I can see nothing,” Donial said.

“Which is as much as you want to see,” Mikelo offered. “Trust me. There is nothing there but sand and snakes and sorcery.”

Alanya shuddered visibly in the moonlight streaming in through the porthole. “I care little for snakes. Or sorcery.”

“Sorcery is responsible for our being here,” Kral pointed out. “If not for Gorian's magic . . .”

“I know,” she said. “But I still don't like it.”

“I hate snakes,” Mikelo said, making a face. Revulsion was evident in his voice as well. “Snakes are the worst.”

“I've never minded snakes,” Donial said.

“You've never seen snakes such as they have in Stygia,” Mikelo reminded him. “They grow them huge here and make no attempt to control them. It is an awful thing.”

Kral had heard the same thing in stories. “With any luck, we search for a man, not a snake. I doubt that any snake has stolen my people's crown.”

“In any other place, I would agree with you,” Mikelo put in. “But here . . . it could be either. Or both, working in concert.” He shivered, wrapped his arms around his skinny frame. “Snakes. Brrr!”

 

 

THE NEXT HOUR found the group assembled on the deck, preparing to venture into night-shrouded Stygia. It had been decided that Alanya, the only female, and Mikelo, the youngest, would go over in the boat along with a single mercenary to help row and all the supplies, weapons, and so on that would be needed on shore. Donial didn't mind swimming, and it was obvious, from the gear the mercenaries loaded onto the small craft, that they expected serious trouble.

The little boat pushed away from the
Restless Heart,
and the rest of the men dove into the water to swim with it. A single mercenary remained on board with the
Heart
sailors, to make sure they didn't just abandon those on the shore. If the ship was spotted, they were to take evasive actions, then return to the same place two nights later to check for the onshore party. Donial watched the boat cast off, then the mercenaries splashing into the sea around it. He stood on the deck with Kral, who tossed him a relaxed grin and a nod. Together, they dove over the side.