Fire of the Soul (18 page)

“Ice ahead!” called the lookout.

“Where?” Garit asked, looking forward. “I
don’t see any ice.”

“There.” Durand pointed to several flat slabs
of white floating some distance off the starboard bow.

“Those tiny chunks?” Garit scoffed. “They’ll
never stop pirates determined on a prize. Nor even slow them,” he
added.

“Heavy ice ahead, captain,” the lookout
reported.

“That’s more like it,” Captain Pyrsig yelled
back, grinning.

The next few ice floes they encountered were
much taller and larger than the first.
The Kantian Queen
continued to sail straight into the area of ice. More and more
floes appeared, until the ship was nearly surrounded by floating
ice.

“That’ll at least slow those cursed Matarami
down,” Captain Pyrsig said.

“Perhaps you should consider slowing, too,”
Garit suggested as a slab of ice large enough to hold a horse
bumped against the ship’s hull.

“Not yet,” Captain Pyrsig said. “We’ve a way
to go before the pirates give up and sail home.”

“Or turn aside to lie in wait until we try to
sail south,” Durand said, his gaze on a floe that was taller than
the ship’s mast.

Fortunately, the floe drifted past
The
Kantian Queen
without touching it. When Garit turned around to
look back at the Matarami ships he noticed a change.

“They are slowing,” he called to Captain
Pyrsig.

“Not really slowin’,” the captain responded.
“They’re headin’ east, as if to sail home to Mataram.”

“‘As if?’“ Durand repeated.

“Aye, it’s a trick of theirs. If we look as
if we’re about to turn for Kantia, they’ll be on us again quick as
a heartbeat.”

“Does that mean we have to continue
northward?” Garit asked.

“Aye, lad. It’s northward for us until the
Matarami sails drop below the horizon.”

“In spite of the ice?” Garit asked, casting a
wary eye on the increasing number of floes.

“Given a choice of ice or Matarami pirates,
I’ll choose the ice every time,” Captain Pyrsig told him.

Through the long midsummer evening, with the
sun angling only slowly toward the horizon, they continued to sail
due north, taking full advantage of the wind out of the south. The
cold grew more intense, making Garit glad he was wearing his heavy
woolen cloak.

The ships following them never entirely
disappeared. They hovered instead along the horizon, the mere shape
of their sails constituting a threat.

Anders brought bread and cheese and mugs of
ale, which Garit and Durand consumed absently, their gazes shifting
continually between the ever-thickening ice to the north and the
pirate ships to the south.

“Lady Elgida is growing restless,” Anders
reported. “She doesn’t like being confined. I do believe only
Captain Pyrsig’s threat to throw her overboard is keeping her below
deck.”

By now Captain Pyrsig had ordered crewmen to
the forward rails with long poles, which they used to deflect the
larger pieces of ice from the hull.

“I can’t see the Matarami ships any longer,”
Garit said, squinting at the southern horizon. “Do you suppose we
really have outrun them?”

“Let’s hope so,” Anders said. He pulled his
cloak more tightly around his shoulders. “I don’t much like this
northern cold. It’s worse than Kantia in wintertime.”

“The Matarami ships are still following,” the
lookout cried, his report making Garit utter a vile oath.

“Solid ice ahead,” the lookout shouted a
moment later. “That’ll stop those Matarami! And land to port,
captain.”

“What land?” Captain Pyrsig called. “Is it
Cape Death?”

“I’ve heard nothing good about that place,”
Garit muttered. “It’s surrounded by reefs and underwater rocks. It
was named for all the seamen who have perished trying to sail
around it.”

“Lovely,” Anders grumbled. “Either we freeze
or we drown. Or else the pirates slaughter us.”

“I see another possibility,” Durand said,
pointing. “Look there.”

“We’re beyond Cape Death, captain,” the
lookout replied to Pyrsig’s question. “It’s Cape Fiur I’m
seeing.”

As if in response to the voice from atop the
mast, a flame shot skyward, illuminating the darkening sea, the
now-gigantic floes of ice, and the mountainous land to port.

“The mountains are on fire!” Anders
exclaimed.

“It’s a volcano,” Garit said. “We see before
us the reasons why this is called the Sea of Fire and Ice.”

“
Fiuris Occan,”
Durand murmured, “is
why Chandelar has remained safe from invasion for centuries. Where
are we heading now, Captain Pyrsig?”

“West,” came the short answer. “To
Tannaris.”

“Well, well.” Durand was grinning.

“That ought to halt the pirates,” Anders
said.

Garit remained silent. He could appreciate
the sense in Captain Pyrsig’s decision. If they put into Tannaris
for a day or two the pirates ought to give up the chase and go
home, or head for open water and easier prizes, rather than risk
sailing through the ice until
The Kantian Queen
showed
herself again. Pyrsig had chosen the most intelligent way of
dealing with the pirate menace.

Garit sighed, knowing that despite the
captain’s care for the safety of his passengers, Lady Elgida would
not be pleased by the delay.

From Garit’s point of view Captain Pyrsig
sailed
The Kantian Queen
uncomfortably close to Cape Fiur
while avoiding the underwater hazards of Cape Death. The course the
captain chose required some time, but eventually he piloted his
ship into a narrow bay that extended well inland. As they passed
the smoking volcanic cones, Anders counted aloud.

“Six of them,” he said, “but only the largest
is actually spewing fire. What a sight.”

“Usually only one erupts at any time,” Durand
told him, “though when I was in Tannaris two years ago, three of
them came to life at once. Fiery-red, molten material flowed down
the mountainsides into the sea, and the sea boiled. The ground
shook for days. I can understand why Captain Pyrsig has no fondness
for this land. An eruption can be terrifying.”

“You’ve been to Chandelar before?” Anders
asked, looking impressed. “And came away safely?”

“Obviously, since I’m still alive,” Durand
replied with dry humor. “On that visit I came by land, sneaking
across the mountains by night and back to Kantia again in the same
way a month later.”

“Gathering information for King Henryk?”
Anders gazed at Durand as if he were a hero out of an ancient
legend. “For years you were a spy in the Dominion and lived; then
you gathered information in Tannaris and survived.”

“I am indestructible,” Durand said with a
laugh. “We ought to sight the city before much longer. Do you
suppose Captain Pyrsig will allow the ladies to leave their
cabin?”

“Not until we dock,” said the captain, having
overheard them. “Just to be safe, ye understand.”

“Just so
he’ll
be safe from Lady
Elgida’s wrath,” Anders muttered.

“Why don’t you go below and tell my
grandmother what’s happening?” Garit suggested. “Tell her she won’t
be confined for much longer.”

“It’s Mairne he wants to see,” Durand noted
as Anders rushed to the hatchway and the ladder.

Garit wasn’t really listening. The landscape
claimed all of his attention. As far as he could tell the volcanoes
were confined to the curving arm of land that enclosed the bay on
the north. Inland the terrain was no more hospitable. Jagged
mountains rose in stark tiers, their peaks obscured by swirling
clouds. Here and there high ice fields glittered in the rays of the
sun that was rising to a new day without ever having dipped below
the edge of the world.

Between two of the mountains a torrent of
water rushed across a flat area and into the bay in a gush of
broken ice, foam, and debris that unsettled the water for some
distance.

“The River Tannis,” Durand said. “As you can
see, this is not a gentle or a welcoming land. But the Chandelari
feel safe here. This is where they came to escape Matarami
persecution more than a thousand years ago. They farm and fish, and
during the winters they mine the jewels formed by the heat of the
volcanoes and trade them to other countries for goods they can’t
make here.

“You’ll need to know that their leader,
Toren, is a mere tribal chieftain,” Durand continued. “The true
ruler of Chandelar is the Great Mage Ultan. Almost everyone here
possesses some degree of Power and those with the strongest Power
are carefully schooled in its use. The best teachers of magic in
the known world are the Chandelari. Serlion came here when he was a
boy. He trained at Tannaris for ten years before returning to
Sapaudia to become our Lord Mage.”

“Are the teachers here able to turn students
away from corrupt use of the Power?” Garit asked. “I’m thinking of
Walderon and the destruction he caused.”

“I’ve never heard of any mage who studied in
Tannaris, who later turned in the wrong direction,” Durand said.
“Of course, it’s possible that I simply don’t know of anyone. I
should think a person who leans toward corruption would avoid
Chandelar. The teachers would soon uncover such an inclination and
they surely know methods to turn wavering souls to the proper use
of the Power, or else to divest them of all Power. If I were
interested in corrupting my Power, I’d never come near this land,”
Durand ended.

“There’s the city.” He gestured. “You will
notice it’s some distance from that violent river and it’s built on
high ground because of the destructive waves caused by
earthquakes.”

Garit looked with interest at the houses of
Tannaris, noting the sharply angled roofs, which would shed snow
and ice, thus preventing a dangerous buildup of crushing weight. A
wide road from the shore wound back and forth up the hillside.
Large stone pots of pink and yellow flowers edged the road with
bright color.

“I thought we were too far north, but they
have trees,” Garit said in surprise.

“Mostly firs,” Durand said, “though in
sheltered areas they grow apples and pears, along with other trees
they can use for furniture and for firewood.”

The Kantian Queen
pulled alongside a
dock made of stone so dark that Garit decided it must have been
quarried from the sides of the volcanoes. By the time the sailors
were making the ropes fast a delegation of Chandelari awaited
them.

Garit’s first impression of the armed men on
the dock was of annoyance and an unwillingness to allow strangers
to come ashore. Then Lady Elgida, Calia, and Mairne stepped on deck
and the mood seemed to change.

“Do they assume the presence of women means
we aren’t a threat to them?” Garit spoke to Durand out of the
corner of his mouth.

“I think so,” Durand answered, adding with a
chuckle, “but then, they haven’t met your grandmother.”

Captain Pyrsig ordered the gangplank lifted
into place.

“Garit,” he said, “since ye’re a diplomat,
I’ll send ye ashore as my emissary. Tell them why we are here and
ask permission for us to stay for two or three days.”

Garit did as he was bidden, and Durand went
with him. No one on shore objected when he and Durand stepped off
the gangplank. Garit couldn’t read the intentions of the men on the
dock; all of their faces were closed to him. He knew the language
of Chandelar was similar to the dialect spoken in northern Kantia,
so he used that tongue to introduce himself and Durand. The
Chandelari listened with no sign of emotion.

“I am Lord Alwan,” the leader of the
delegation announced when Garit was finished, “sent by Lord Toren
to demand the nature of your business in Tannaris, where you have
not been invited.”

“We meant no offense by entering your bay,”
Garit responded politely. “Putting in here seemed our best chance
of escaping the Matarami pirates who have been pursuing us.”

“Did they follow you here?” Alwan demanded
while his companions murmured in obvious dismay at the
possibility.

“We believe they turned away when our captain
sailed through an ice field and directly toward Cape Fiur,” Garit
said. “Lord Alwan, we request permission to remain in Tannaris for
a few days in hope that the pirates will give up their hunt before
we head south to continue our journey.”

“South?” Lord Alwan repeated. “Where are you
going?”

“To my childhood home of Kinath Castle,”
Garit said. “And then on to Kerun City, where my grandmother plans
to meet her young grandsons for the first time. As you can see,
she’s elderly, and she hopes to visit the boys before she dies.”
All of this speech was sincere and he did not think Alwan or anyone
else in Tannaris could object to his stated goals. What he and
Durand privately planned to accomplish in Kerun was no one’s affair
but their own.

“I do not intend to die in the near future,”
Lady Elgida spoke up. With a firm step she advanced along the
gangplank until she stood on the dock next to Garit. “I especially
do not intend to be slaughtered by vile Matarami pirates. Nor do I
want the Matarami to ravish and kill my companions.” Chin high,
eyes flashing as if in outrage at the prospect, she gestured toward
the two younger women who remained aboard
The Kantian Queen,
where only Captain Pyrsig’s outstretched arm blocked Calia from
stepping onto the gangplank to join her mistress.

“Our custom is always to offer refuge to
those who flee the Matarami, for we ourselves once escaped
persecution at their hands,” Alwan said. His bow to Lady Elgida was
graceful and elegant. “We will be honored to welcome you to the
palace. You may stay there as long as you wish. I will personally
inform the Great Mage Ultan and Lord Toren of your presence.”

Well before midday Garit’s party was
ensconced in a handsome suite of rooms on the upper level of the
palace. The central room of the suite, off which the other rooms
opened, overlooked the mountains and a narrow strip of farmland
that was sheltered between the stone heights and the palace
walls.