The SteelMaster of Indwallin, Book 2 of The Gods Within (21 page)

The
Far Wind
was making a trade run up the coast to Toblekan at the mouth of the Dahaun river, then on to Drapolis near Castle Tosk. France and Val had arranged for passage for their small company all the way to Drapolis. Penda was only a short distance up the Dahaun from Toblekan, and too close to Aud anyway, so Morgin would stay hidden on ship during the two days the
Far Wind
laid over there. After that he’d breathe more easily. Drapolis was quite remote, and reputed to be a bit primitive for a city.

He was leaving Aud quickly, and in secret. Terrikle had arranged the deceit with his usual attention to detail. During the last three days he’d made sure Morgin was seen regularly both in the city and within the palace. Later this morning, as the palace awoke, Morgin would not come down at his usual time. Terrikle would spread the word that His Highness was not feeling well and call in Sacress the physician. The physician would then announce that Morgin had taken on a slight fever, nothing to be alarmed about, but it would be best if he remained in isolation. They would continue the ruse indefinitely, hoping to give Morgin several days before the bounty hunters in the city realized they’d been deceived. And by that time Pandorin would have started several conflicting rumors about the direction Morgin had gone. Besides Morgin and his companions, only Terrikle, Sacress and Pandorin were aware of the plan, and only Pandorin knew Morgin’s destination and mode of travel. Of the ship’s crew, only Bakart and her captain, Darma, were aware of Morgin’s true identity, and they’d taken him on as a passenger only because the palace had made it clear they’d have trouble doing any trade in Aud again if they didn’t. Morgin’s only regret was that he’d not been given the chance to say goodbye to Aiergain. She’d refused to see him since the day they’d gone riding together, and that saddened him.

Down on the dock Morgin noticed the
Far Wind
had apparently taken on another passenger. A young man was helping an old matron up the gang plank, though both young man and old woman were hidden against the chill within their cloaks. The old woman, however, was bent with age over a knobbed cane, and for a moment it seemed she might not be able to handle the slight slope of the gang plank. The ship’s captain, a man Morgin had yet to meet, stepped in to help, but the old woman brushed him away angrily and he backed off.

The old woman managed the gang plank, then disappeared into one of the few cabins below. Morgin continued to watch the activity on the dock until some minutes later France joined him on the stern castle. “Morddon, me friend,” he said, using Morgin’s assumed name. “Come below for a moment. We need some private talkin’.”

The
Far Wind
had four private cabins. The captain had his own; the first mate Bakart and another of the ship’s officers shared the second, and the third and fourth were used for the occasional passenger. In this case Cort and Tulellcoe would occupy one, while France and Morgin and Val shared the cramped confines of the other. Morgin wondered where the old matron would stay.

France led him to Cort’s cabin, said, “Go on in, lad. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Morgin knocked, heard a muffled “Come in,” opened the door and found the old matron waiting there in the tight confines of the cabin, standing with her back to him. He half entered the cabin, hesitated, said, “I’m sorry. There must be a mistake.”

“Come in and close the door,” she croaked.

Morgin hesitated for a moment at the open door, then did so, though cautiously. The matron turned toward him. She stood erect and threw the hood back from her face. “Ah!” Aiergain said. “It’s a relief to stand up again, and croaking like that makes my throat sore.”

Morgin lowered himself carefully to one knee. “Your Majesty.”

“Oh stand up, Morgin,” she said. “There’s no need for that kind of formality between us.”

He stood erect, though cautiously.

“You’re hesitating, aren’t you?” She took the one step necessary to cross the length of the small cabin, took his hands in hers. “I’m sorry, Morgin. You were right, and I was just confused. I do love you, but as a friend who was there when I needed you, not as a lover. And like everything else between us, you were wise to reject me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“No! Don’t be sorry. We will always be friends, you and I, and I realize that now. Perhaps someday I can help you when you are in need.”

Morgin now felt better about leaving Aud. The grayness of the day and the chill in the air no longer mattered.

“Where will you go,” she asked.

He shrugged. “Drapolis.”

“I mean after that.”

He shrugged again. “I don’t know. I have no plans beyond Drapolis. Maybe I can stay there long enough to make some plans. Maybe I can just find a place to disappear.”

She frowned sadly. “Not a very good life the clans have given you, is it? Tell me, why do they fear you so?”

Morgin touched the sword at his side. “The talisman.”

She shook her head. “No. That’s not enough. They may believe that’s the reason, but there has to be more.”

A loud knock on the door interrupted them, and a voice on the other side shouted, “All visitors ashore.”

Aiergain leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, on the stubble of the beard he’d begun growing again. “I must go. We told the captain I was your aged mother, come to wish you a safe journey. Remember you will always be welcome in Aud.”

She knocked softly on the door. It opened and Pandorin stepped in. He shook Morgin’s hand, then hugged him tightly. “Fare you well, friend,” he said.

Aiergain resumed the guise of the aged matron and Morgin and Pandorin escorted her back up on deck. Morgin stood at the ship’s rail watching her coach disappear into the streets of Aud. France leaned on the rail next to him, said, “You done a good thing, lad.”

Confused, Morgin asked. “What? Done what?”

France looked at him. “You freed the Hand of the Thief.”

Morgin staggered backward, remembering Cort’s recitation of the Seven Deeds. “What’s that mean?”

France nodded toward Aiergain’s coach. “Among us rogues she’s called the Hand of the Thief, though not often.”

~~~

Once the
Far Wind
cleared Aud’s harbor and was on course for Toblekan, they stayed close to the coast line. The first two days out from Aud were slow going for the
Far Wind
. The weather continued gray and cloudy, and the light sea breeze that put a chill in the air never grew beyond a soft whisper. On the afternoon of the second day France and Morgin were standing in the bow of the ship when Bakart joined them and commented, “I don’t like this.”

“Aye,” France agreed. “We should be makin’ better time.”

Bakart shook his head. “It ain’t that. A sailor’s got nothing to complain about if he’s got wind in his sails, even if it’s a poor wind. We could be drifting in a dead calm, you know, and then we’d have no control if the tide carried us onto the rocks.”

Morgin asked, “Then what’s wrong?”

Bakart wrinkled his nose as one might for a bad smell, and he looked up into the sky. “This weather’s just wrong.” He licked a finger, stuck it in the air. “Notice the wind has shifted? She’s coming from off the coast now, blowing out to sea. That’s rare, and when she does blow that way she should blow the clouds away, clear the skies for us. I don’t like it.”

France asked, “When do we reach Toblekan?”

“Maybe noon tomorrow, at this rate.”

That evening as the sun set the wind picked up. Bakart told them a short blow near sunset was not uncommon. But after sunset the wind continued to gain intensity. By the time Morgin was told to go below, waves were just beginning to break over the bow.

Down in the cramped confines of the little cabin Morgin found France and Val ready to wait out the storm. France sat on his bunk with his head buried in a bucket, while Val tried vainly to cast a spell to ease his churning stomach. The lamp overhead swayed constantly back and forth, and Morgin wondered if that might not be the cause of France’s ailment.

A short time later Tulellcoe and Cort joined them. With all five of them there the cabin was extremely cramped, but with Cort and Tulellcoe assisting Val, they managed to ease France’s vomiting. They could all hear the storm growing in intensity. There was a tempo and a flavor to the creaking of the ship’s timbers that sounded a counterpoint to the swing of the lamp overhead and the sway of the deck beneath their feet, and the wind outside had grown to a howl that whistled constantly through their thoughts. And as the storm grew worse, all the sights and sounds of the cramped cabin changed with it. The deck no longer swayed but lurched beneath them; the lamp jumped and rattled on its hook; the timbers creaked with more of a crackling sound, and the wind grew to a scream.

They all heard and felt it when it happened: a loud snap that reverberated through the hull, and the
Far Wind
listed to one side. Then a few minutes later the door of their cabin burst open and a dripping wet sailor lurched into the room. “The captain needs help,” he pleaded fearfully. “We got a broken timber, and if the bulkhead she supports goes we’ll sink. Can’t shore her up properly ‘cause there’s too much pressure on her now. Captain wonders if magic might help, and if any of you what knows it would come and lend a hand.”

Val and Cort and Tulellcoe left with the sailor. Without their help France returned to his bucket. Morgin wondered how the horses were taking the storm down in the hold. But there was nothing he could do for them, or for the ship, or for himself, so he retrieved a bottle of brandy from his gear, and decided to get a little drunk.

~~~

Morgin was thankful for the warm sunshine as he stood on the bow of the
Far Wind
and tried to catch a glimpse of the land one of the sailors had spotted from high up in the sails. They’d managed to shore up the weakened bulkhead the night before, but the storm had blown them quite a distance out to sea before blowing itself out, and they’d all been grateful for the clear day that greeted them that morning. Now they were limping toward the nearest land, hoping to find a sheltered cove where it would be safe to send divers over the side and assess the damage.

Bakart shook his head worriedly, shouted up to the sailors in the rigging. “Well? She be the coast or not?”

One of the sailors shouted back. “Still can’t tell. Too far.”

Bakart continued to shake his head. “It can’t be the coast. But there ain’t no islands out here, not that big.”

Morgin’s companions joined him at the rail, while any sailor who didn’t have specific duties at the moment climbed up into the rigging to help the lookouts. They all waited patiently for the
Far Wind
to get close enough to determine what form of land they’d spotted, until one of the sailors shouted, “It’s Simpa, captain! By damn it’s Simpa!”

Bakart’s eyes widened and he shot up into the rigging. For some reason every member of the crew waited breathlessly for the first mate to confirm the sighting. And he did with a shout, “Aye, captain, it be Simpa all right.”

Darma gave orders to steer the ship away from the island and the crew broke into frantic activity. As Bakart dropped out of the rigging Morgin grabbed his arm. “What’s going on?”

Bakart angrily yanked his arm free of Morgin’s grip. “That’s the Isle of Simpa. It’s phantom land, enchanted, bewitched. If we get anywhere near it we’ll all die.”

Bakart strode off hurriedly to consult with Darma. They were northwest of the island so they tried to take a wide berth past its northern coast and then hope they could make it to the mainland. But as they neared it the wind picked up again, this time blowing south as if it would force them into the rocks of Simpa’s jagged shore. And as they passed the island the wind blew harder still, shifted again, then grew in intensity until it reached gale force, blowing now southwest directly into their faces, though oddly the day remained clear, and other than the wind it showed no symptoms of another storm.

Morgin and his companions retreated to the stern castle as waves broke over the bow. Darma tacked into the wind and the ship struggled against a sea that seemed bent on turning them about. After an hour he snarled angrily, “We can’t take much more of this. We’ll break up soon enough if the wind doesn’t let up.”

Tulellcoe looked behind the ship at the Isle of Simpa. “This is an enchanted wind,” he said. “And the enchanter apparently wants us on that island.”

“No!” Darma shouted above the wind. “Never.”

Tulellcoe shook his head. “I don’t believe you have a choice.”

It took a great deal of persuasion to convince Darma to turn toward the island, though what apparently convinced him most was the fact that Tulellcoe and Val and Cort were all practitioners of magic, so he had some hope they could combat the evil the sailors believed awaited them on Simpa.

As soon as Darma turned the
Far Wind
toward the island, the wind dropped back to a steady but unthreatening breeze and the sea calmed. They found a small cove near the north end of the island. It offered the sheltered water they needed to send divers over the side, so they dropped anchor in the middle of the cove well away from shore and went to work.

Darma’s two best swimmers went over the side, while some of the crew kept watch for sharks, and the rest looked nervously at the supposedly enchanted shoreline. Morgin found an empty stretch of rail up on the stern castle and leaned against it to watch the work. While the divers were over the side Darma had a crew below working on the damaged bulkhead. For a while he considered sending a crew ashore to cut fresh timbers, but none looked happy at the thought so he let it go.

Later in the afternoon Bakart leaned against the rail near Morgin. He puffed on a foul smelling pipe, and unlike his captain the proximity of Simpa didn’t seem to bother him. He looked up at the sky. “Weather sure has cleared up, ain’t it?”

Morgin followed his gaze. The sky had turned from the angry gray of the day before to a pale blue. The sun hung in the sky with no clouds to speak of, and a gentle, steady breeze ruffled his hair. “How bad is the damage?” Morgin asked.