The SteelMaster of Indwallin, Book 2 of The Gods Within (22 page)

Bakart shook his head. “It ain’t good. We can’t make it to Drapolis, nor back to Aud. If this weather holds maybe we can make a run for Toblekan. They don’t have much of a shipyard, but we can get a better look at the damage and decide what to do then.”

Bakart narrowed his eyes to a squint, looked out over the water to the shore. “Now what’s that?”

Morgin looked toward the shore, saw some movement near the edge of the water, couldn’t make out much detail. A small boat edged out into the water. It had no sail, but was powered by the backs of several oarsmen.

One of the other sailors spotted the small boat, raised the cry. Darma called in the divers and the ship broke into a furor as the crewmen rushed to arm themselves. Only Bakart remained relatively calm.

Morgin kept his position in the stern castle and watched the small boat draw nearer. The crew took up defensive positions on the deck while Morgin’s friends joined him up in the stern castle. Bakart joined the crew on the main deck while Darma took his customary position in the stern castle, and as the small boat drew near Morgin could make out six oarsmen and one passenger. They were all well hidden beneath hooded cloaks, though those of the oarsmen were a light blue in color while that of the passenger was a simple, dark black.

Tulellcoe lifted his chin as if sniffing the air like a hound. “There’s magic in this.”

Darma looked at him unhappily.

Cort nodded her agreement. “Yes. Quite a bit of it. Captain Darma, I think it would be unwise to attack whoever is in that skiff.”

Darma spun on her angrily. “And what am I supposed to do? Sit back and watch while they cast some plague on me ship?”

Cort shook her head. “I doubt that’s her intention. Keep in mind whoever can control the wind and sea that way, has no need to come here to destroy this ship.”

Darma thought on that for a moment, then shouted down to Bakart and his men. “Stay your swords until I give the word. Any man acts without my command, I’ll have his hide for sail cloth.”

Cort’s words bothered Morgin and he asked, “You said her. Is this a sorceress we face?”

Cort frowned. “I did say that, didn’t I? But I have no more information than you. I suppose this just feels like a woman’s touch.”

The small boat pulled up alongside the
Far Wind
and one of the oarsmen climbed the rigging up to the main deck, hopped over the rail and landed lightly on the deck. The hood of his cloak still hid his face, but then he reached up with a rather delicate looking hand and threw the hood back to reveal a woman, a most beautiful, young woman. The sailors backed away from her fearfully, mumbling and making superstitious signs to ward off evil. She looked up to the stern castle and for an instant her eyes locked on Morgin, but then she looked to Darma and spoke. “Captain. My mistress is too old to climb the rigging. Please lower a chair for her.”

Darma shook his head. “I ain’t lettin’ no witch on me ship.”

The young woman smiled unpleasantly. “Then she will turn you and your crew into toads and let the fish feed upon you. Alternatively, the sorceress of Simpa can guarantee you safe passage to Toblekan, with a calm sea and a steady wind at your back.”

Reluctantly Darma had his men lower a chair for the old woman. She stood on deck bent with age, hobbled with a cane on unsteady legs as her beautiful young companion helped her below deck. They didn’t ask for permission, or to have a cabin assigned to them. And while the sorceress was bent with age, Morgin had the impression if she could stand straight she’d tower over most men.

The boat that brought her, and the oarsmen—or perhaps oarswomen—literally vanished. No one was looking that way when it disappeared, and so no one saw it vanish. But when they did look there was no boat to be seen, nor any in the water between the
Far Wind
and the shore, and there had not been enough time for it to traverse the distance while the old witch had their attention.

She commandeered the cabin France and Val and Morgin were sharing, though the only notice they received was their gear piled up outside the cabin door. Darma and his crew finished the temporary repairs to the ship’s hull, and before sundown that night they left Simpa behind.

Chapter 12: The Daughter of the Wind

Morddon moved softly through the underbrush of the forest. In the mist shrouded mountains to the far north of Kathbeyanne the faintest sound might carry for leagues, and with the Goath about, a wise man moved carefully with every step.

He’d been tracking a mixed group of Kulls, jackal warriors and human Goath, and for two days now they’d been moving fast, as if desperate to make some rendezvous. But now for the first time they’d come to a stop and posted guards. Morddon’s curiosity had gotten the best of him and he’d decided to investigate further. He’d left Mortiss back in the forest, slipped into the undergrowth, and wrapped in one of Morgin’s shadows he edged closer to the enemy camp with each heartbeat.

He almost stumbled into the first perimeter guard, an idiotic and potentially lethal mistake. But his nose caught the scent of jackal only moments before he did, and he froze into stillness not ten paces from the deformed beast that stood before him.

They’d set their perimeter much larger than normal, with the guards much too tightly spaced, as if they were aware a shadow might try to slip between them, and were willing to use every warrior they had in an effort to prevent that.

Morddon sat very still for a few moments and listened. The guards were disciplined and silent, and the forest itself possessed an unnatural calm. But as he waited and the silence grew, his ears picked up the sound of voices carried on the mist from the center of the camp. They were faint, and muffled by the distance, and he understood none of what was said, but his curiosity grew.

Morddon backed off to a more comfortable distance and circled the perimeter slowly, hoping to find a gap in the sentries. The forest was thick, and he found it impossible to get a straight view of the center of the camp without some branch or bush in his way. And whenever he did manage to catch a glimpse of the figures clustered there, the mist in the air wrapped them in a hazy cloud of anonymity. But he did see a little here and there.

Three beings, a Kull, a jackal warrior, and someone not easily visible through the ever-swirling mist, were carefully discussing something in hushed tones. At first he thought the third, unidentified fellow was one of the human Goath, one of the many traitors who’d given his soul to the nethergod. His stature and girth pointed to that conclusion, but when he moved or gestured, the grace and poise of his actions hinted at the unspeakable: an angel meeting secretly with a Kull and a jackal in the middle of the forest.

Morddon refused to believe it. No angel would betray Aethon that way. But Morgin dredged up the memory of Ellowyn telling the story of the dark angel, the Fallen One.

A sharp cry broke the silence of the forest, then Morddon heard the sound of a single horse riding off into the distance. The perimeter guards closed in slowly on the center of the camp. Morddon moved in with them, keeping a safe distance but still anxious to know more. The Kulls and jackals and human Goath all mounted up and rode out, following the single rider.

“Damn!” Morddon swore. He no longer cared about the Goath; he wanted that single rider, but the larger troupe of Goath had obscured the trail and it took him more than an hour to find it, and even then he wasn’t sure he’d found the right one. He followed the track through that day and into the next, and as he’d suspected it led in the general direction of the First Legion’s camp. He tried to push himself, to catch up with the rider, but in his haste he lost the track several times and had to back track. And then late in the second day, just as he thought he might be closing the gap with his quarry, it began to rain; only a light drizzle, but enough to destroy the track completely.

Morddon gave up and started back to the First Legion. He didn’t have far to travel since the track he’d followed had led constantly in that direction. He found the camp early the next morning of a bright and sunny day, and was surprised to learn that the legion had been joined by Gilguard and a company of Benesh’ere. As always, he rode straight to Metadan’s tent to give his report, but as he approached it he noticed a groom nearby brushing down a horse that had recently been ridden. Morddon dismounted, gave Mortiss’ reins to a guard, but instead of entering the tent he approached the groom.

Morddon looked at the horse the groom was rubbing down. A cloud of steam rose from its back and shoulders. It had clearly been ridden long and hard. “A beautiful animal,” Morddon commented. “Whose is it?”

The groom paused and looked at him carefully with the vacant stare so typical of the damn angels. “It is the Warmaster’s horse,” he said flatly.

“Gilguard’s?” Morddon asked.

“No.”

“Metadan’s been out then?”

“Yes.”

“Scouting?”

“Yes.”

“How long’s he been out?”

“Several days.”

“Hmmm! I wonder if our path’s crossed. I’d like to compare reports with him. Do you know where his scouting took him?”

“No.”

Morddon could get nothing more out of the groom, though the flat and unembellished conversation was typical of his interactions with the angels. He often wondered if, among themselves, they spoke with more life in their words.

~~~

Morgin stood in the bow of the
Far Wind
and looked at the moon glow reflected off the dark waters of the nighttime sea. Standing next to him, Val spoke casually, “Bakart says the weather is perfect. We’re making good time, and having no problems with the damage. Should make Toblekan tomorrow sometime.”

The sea was dark and silent, and almost glassy smooth, and the
Far Wind
sliced through the water with a barely audible hiss. Morgin didn’t really hear Val’s words, for the sorceress of Simpa occupied his every waking thought. Ever since she’d come aboard he could sense her presence, like he sensed Olivia when she was near, though she was far different from Olivia, with none of the steel and ice and anger that drove the old Elhiyne witch. In fact the old woman from the isle seemed oddly familiar.

“And you are familiar to me,” an old, old voice croaked.

Both Val and Morgin started, turned about quickly, found the old witch standing behind them, a gray-black shadow barely distinguishable from the darkness of the night. She stood horribly bent with age, barely able to support herself, her young companion hovering close at hand, though again Morgin had the impression that if the old witch could stand erect she would stand taller than most men. Slowly, carefully, with her companion’s help, the old woman lowered herself to the deck and sat on the planks with her legs crossed as if she had sat so for ages. Her companion remained standing behind her. “Sit,” the old woman commanded, and she extended a hand to indicate that Val and Morgin should sit on the deck facing her. For just an instant Morgin saw the moonlight reflected off the skin of her hand as it arced through the night in front of him, and he thought it had the bone white cast of a Benesh’ere hand.

Morgin and Val sat down facing her. Her face was hidden within the hood of her cloak, almost itself a shadow, though somehow the moonlight penetrated the shadow just enough to cast a reflection from her eyes: two bright, hot sparks that cut to the depths of Morgin’s soul. “Come closer,” she said to him.

The old woman drew Morgin like a moth to a flame, and without hesitation he stood up, crossed the few feet between them and sat down again. She extended her hands, and in the moonlight Morgin confirmed they were the hands of a Benesh’ere woman.

Morgin reached out to take her hands in his, and as their skin touched his mind filled with images of Kathbeyanne in all its glory, and the palace of the Shahotma. “Who are you?” he asked.

She shook her head. “I am no one and nothing. I am what’s left of the end of the old, and I am here to see the beginning of the new.” Her words were sad, but there was joy in her voice.

Morgin reached up to her face, touched the folds of her cloak and slid the hood back off her head onto her shoulders. His heart pounded in his chest with such force he thought it might burst at any moment, for the face the moonlight revealed was a face from his dreams. And though withered and wrinkled by centuries of age, he would never forget AnneRhianne.

She smiled at him. “You said you would come back, and so I’ve waited through the centuries, and as you taught me I’ve listened to the netherwind, and when you freed the Hand of the Thief I knew you were coming.” She lifted one of his hands to her face and kissed it gently.

“You’ve waited all this time?” he asked.

She didn’t answer, but pressed his hand against her cheek and closed her eyes. “I am content now,” she said, “and my waiting is done. At long last I am free.” And as Morgin looked on she dissipated into the night, melted into the shadows of the moon and drifted away on the sea air. And where a moment earlier his hand had been caressing her cheek, it now caressed nothing, and the small circle of deck where she’d sat was empty. Nor was there any sign of her companion.

~~~

Morgin awoke with the dawn, wrapped in his blanket and laying on a bunk in the crew deck of the
Far Wind
. Nearby France still slept in his blanket, though Val was already sitting up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Morgin shook his head, said to Val, “I had the strangest dream last night.”

Val ran his fingers tiredly through his hair, arched his back and stretched. “It was no dream.”

Morgin looked at the
twoname
carefully. “What do you remember?”

Val blinked and shook his head. “I remember she said you had freed the Hand of the Thief, and now I see the connection to Aud, and Aiergain, the Queen of Thieves.”

Morgin climbed angrily out of his bunk, leaned over Val and snarled, “Don’t start vomiting those superstitions at me.”

Val nodded thoughtfully. “I’m curious. Before you freed the Hand of the Thief, you had to have restored the House of the Thane. What does that mean?”

Morgin gripped Val’s tunic angrily, pressed him back against the bulkhead behind his bunk. “I don’t ever want to hear those words again.”

The
twoname
didn’t resist him, but shrugged and said, “She’s gone, you know?”

“Who’s gone?”

“The old witch. I heard two of the crew talking a little earlier. They found the door to her cabin wide open this morning, and she was gone. They’ve searched the entire ship and found no sign of her or her companion. Like she said, her waiting is done.”

~~~

The
Far Wind
put into port late that afternoon. Toblekan was a small, bustling seaport on the mouth of the river Dahaun, and while quite provincial, still a dangerous place for Morgin. Castle Penda was less than a day’s ride up the river, and BlakeDown maintained a large and well equipped garrison in the middle of the city. There were too many Penda armsmen about for an outlaw wizard to feel at all comfortable.

Tulellcoe wanted news, so as soon as the
Far Wind
docked he and Morgin’s other companions hustled ashore. With his beard now full Morgin considered going ashore with them. But if all went well the needed repairs would be minor, and they’d be on their way to Drapolis sometime the next day, so he decided not to press his luck.

Darma and Bakart put the crew to work almost instantly, while Morgin settled down to watch from his usual place in the stern castle. Bakart had told him they’d get a much better assessment of the damage by partially unloading the hold and stacking it on the dock, and of course the heavy equipment and facilities available in the shipyard helped immeasurably. But beyond a lot of grunting, sweating crewmembers, there wasn’t much of interest to see, and Morgin quickly grew drowsy in the warm afternoon sun. Finally he sat down on the deck with his back to the stern castle rail, and drifted off into a pleasant slumber.

The neigh of an angry horse woke him, followed by the staccato sound of rapid hoof beats on the wooden planks of the dock. Morgin came fully awake in an instant, for he knew that horse well. Down on the dock they’d begun unloading the horses from the ship’s hold and some poor devil was having an impossible time with Mortiss.

Morgin vaulted down to the
Far Wind’s
main deck, then across the gangplank and onto the dock. His fear was not so much for Mortiss, but for the poor fool trying to handle her. It would not do much for his relations with the crew if she kicked his brains out.

Morgin took her reins from the crewman, then to everyone’s surprise let them drop free, and Mortiss calmed instantly. “Lead her with a light hand,” he told the crewman, “and she’ll follow if she chooses. But beware if she chooses not.”

The crewman looked at Morgin, then at Mortiss, and he made a sign to ward off evil. Morgin shook his head and turned back to the ship, but he noticed he and Mortiss had drawn quite a bit of attention and a lot of staring eyes.

During the afternoon they learned the damage to the
Far Wind
was worse than thought. Toblekan’s shipyard could only effect temporary repairs, so Darma would have to turn back to Aud.

When Morgin’s friends returned from scouting the city he told them the news and they all retired to Cort’s cabin to consider their options. “Why don’t we just sit tight?” Morgin proposed. “We’re not in any hurry. We can take the
Far Wind
back to Aud and find another ship to take us to Drapolis.”

France scowled, shook his head. “This city’s too full of rumors.” He turned to Morgin, “How long did Bakart say they’re going to take for repairs here?”

“Four, maybe five days.”

France shook his head unhappily. “Too long.”

They were all tense about something. “What rumors are you talking about?”

Cort took a deep, thoughtful breath and answered, “Every kind of rumor you can imagine, but all about you. It’s common knowledge you’ve disappeared from Aud, and they’ve got you in Drapolis, or on your way there, or headed back to Elhiyne to fight it out with Olivia, or even taking a ship out into the unknown sea to spend the rest of your life exploring its vastness and hiding from the clans. But most prevalent among the rumors is that you’re either here in Toblekan, or Penda, or headed this way. I hope that’s just coincidence.”