Voyage of the Fox Rider (42 page)

“It will clear sometime tonight,” she said upon returning from the depths of the vision. “This day, though, the fog remains.”

Aravan looked down at Jinnarin. “Today is Third Yule, and tonight is Year’s Long Night, the winter solstice. And tonight we shall turn for Gelen, riding a crippled ship, breaking away from our pursuit of Durlok, the Black Mage. Not a good portent for the coming year, eh, Jinnarin?”

Unexpectedly, Jinnarin shivered, though not from the cold. “Oh, Aravan, I do hope that it bodes no ill for Farrix…or anyone else, for that matter.”

Aravan glanced over at Aylis, then back to Jinnarin. “Aye, tiny one, so do I hope as well. Regardless, tonight is Year’s Long Night, and I will step the ritual. Wouldst thou care to join me?” He looked at Aylis. “Thou, too,
chieran?
”

“Oh no, Aravan,” answered Jinnarin. “Rux and I will celebrate as my Folk have done throughout the years.”

“I don’t know the steps,” said Aylis, smiling, “but I would gladly learn.”

The Elf’s gaze grew gentle. “Thou need not know them,
chieran
, for I will pace thee through.”

Thus it was that in the night of the twenty-third of December the wind returned and blew the icy mist away and the stars shone down. And as the Men clambered up the ice-laden lines and unfurled the sails, and as the
Eroean
hove about and headed southward for Gelen, on the deck of the Elvenship were conducted three rituals celebrating the winter solstice:

Aravan and Aylis paced through the Elven rite: Step…pause…shift…pause…turn…pause…step. Slowly, slowly, move and pause. His voice rising, her voice falling, notes like silver as they sang. Aylis in harmony, euphony…step…pause…step. Aravan turning. Aylis turning. Step…pause…step. Aylis passing. Aravan pausing. Step…pause…step. Counterpoint. Descant. Step…pause…step…

On the aft deck, Fox Rider and fox, bowed to the six cardinal points—north, east, south, west, above, and below. Rux arched his neck down and Jinnarin mounted and faced the stars and spread her arms wide, as if to grasp the whole of the heavens above, and Rux slowly turned so that his rider could see the entire glory of the sky. And as Rux continued to slowly turn and turn, Jinnarin sang to Adon, though her song had no words. Even so, that it was a paean unto Him, there was no doubt, for what else could have such liquid beauty? It was as if a soul had been set free to soar among the stars.

While on the foredeck, Bokar and the Châkka warriors chanted to Elwydd, renewing their ancient pledges
of honor and industry and bonding and faith—the armsmaster lifting his face and hands to the star-studded heavens and raising his voice to the sky, calling out the great Châkka litany, the unified response of the gathered Châkka warriors alternating with his, cantor and chorale speaking in Châkur, the hidden tongue:

And as Elf and Mage, and Pysk and fox, and a Dwarven warband each in their own ways reverently hallowed the longest night, southward turned the wounded
Eroean
, sailing away from the waters where she had nearly gone down, away from the waters where mayhap a Black Mage lurked.

Finch came into the captain’s salon, the carpenter bearing a fragment of wood. He stepped in among the ship’s officers and handed Alamar the scrap of mahogany, a splinter from the breech. “As you requested, sir, this came from the very point of impact, or as near as I can determine.”

His head bandaged, Alamar fingered the wood, murmuring,
“Quis?”
After a moment he said, “As we thought, it’s Durlok’s doing, all right.” He handed the scrap over to Aylis. “What do you get from it?”

The seeress held the wood and canted,
“Patefac!”
She gasped and dropped the chip. Catching her breath, she said, “A great dark beak rushing at me.”

“Ha!” barked Bokar. “Just as we expected—a ram!”

Fager shook his head. “Lady Aylis called it a beak. It could be a monster instead.”

All eyes swung back to Aylis, and Jinnarin asked, “Was it a monster, Aylis?”

“I”—Aylis turned up her hands—“I don’t know. A dark beak is all I saw, pointed, rushing forward…underwater, I think.”

Fager turned to Aravan. “Captain, what did your stone detect, if anything?”

Aravan fingered the blue amulet. “Danger is all, Fager. It could be a creature. It could be other evil.”

“Most likely from Neddra,” said Alamar. “Someone or something sent by Durlok…or travelling with him, I think.”

Jatu glanced over at Bokar. “I side with Bokar. It was a ram. Forget not that both Lobbie and I heard drums, and a great splashing. What could it be but a ship?”

“Aye,” averred Bokar, clenching a fist in affirmation. “The ship of the Black Mage. And something on that ship caused Captain Aravan’s stone to chill.”

Jinnarin turned to Aravan. “What kind of a ship could crash into us and not be damaged just as we were?”

Frizian answered, “One that’s built to do so, Lady Jinnarin.”

“Don’t forget,” said Jatu, “it backed away. That would make it some kind of galley.”

“Galley?” asked Jinnarin. “But I thought that a galley is where the cook works. Is there another kind?”

Aravan leaned forward on his hands. “Aye, Jinnarin. There is a type of ship having the same name. It is sail powered and bears oars as well. Some have great underwater rams jutting out from the bow. In battle, her crew rows her at speed at another ship, the ram to crash into the enemy vessel below the waterline, holing her hull, as was ours. The galley crew then backs water, withdrawing the ram from the foe, and the sea does the rest, sinking the enemy ship.”

“Aye,” added Jatu. “And a drum is used to keep the beat of the oars together, and we heard a drum. And the splashing we heard—what would it be but the oars stroking her away as she backed water and left us to sink, eh?”

Fager shook his head. “I yet have my doubts. Heed,
what kind of crew could row a hundred and fifty miles a day, day after day, eh? I mean, that’s how far apart the plumes were, right?”

“Perhaps they had…magical help,” said Frizian, looking at Alamar. “Is such a thing possible?”

Alamar shrugged. “It would take a lot of to do so.” At his side, Aylis nodded in confirmation.

A silence fell, then Aravan said, “Mayhap it was a galley, yet those kinds of ships are of ancient vintage and are not now used. The last I saw was in the waters off the coast of Chabba, and she was sinking, burned by a ship from Sarain during one of their frequent Wars. Since then, I know of no galley left in all of the world.”

“Well, Captain,” growled Bokar, “that may be as you say. But I believe that at least one galley yet roams the seas with one or more Grg aboard.”

Two days later on the morning tide of the sixth day of Yule, the
Eroean
sailed into the port of Arbor in Gelen. Word spread like wildfire, and citizenry from miles about came to see the wonder of her. That the Elvenship was damaged was plain to see, yet her master did not put her in dry-dock there in the shipyards, for none was of a size to take her length; yet even had one been suitable, still it is unlikely that her captain would have used it, for it seemed he was on an urgent mission, and had other plans. Instead she was haled up to dockside and unladed of her spoiled cargo as well as much of her ballast. Thus lightened, and with bales of rope and cloth acting as fenders between the ship and the dock, lines were affixed well up on her masts and used to winch her over onto her larboard side, her starboard rolling up until her injured hull was well exposed. And then Aravan and Finch and the crew began her repair, Dwarves and Men alike swarming over her starboard side, helping her Elven captain and the ship’s carpenter.

That this was a remarkable event, of that there was no doubt, for the Arborites flocked down to the docks in droves. Even had she not been injured, the
Eroean
would have drawn crowds just as large, for this was a seaport and the Elvenship was legendary.

Cor, this’ll be a Yuletide long remembered, eh? Oi mean, th’ Elvenship roight ’ere in our very own docks!

None else like ’er in th’ whole wide world
.

‘N’ damaged, too, naow what d’y’ make o’ that, eh?

Probably fightin’ sea monsters, wouldn’t y’ know
.

That, ’r’ pirates, eh?

They’d put ’em all t’ death, if hit wos pirates, roight?

They’d put ’em all t’ death if they wos monsters, too
.

Coo, naow look’t that, would y’: she’s got a pure silver bottom, she does!

Clean as a whistle ’n’ nary a barnacle
.

Ar, but did y’ see them what took rooms at th’ Storm Lantern? Dwarves, they wos, ’n’ filled hit roight up, they did. Naow what ’r’ th’ loikes o’ Dwarves doin’ sailin’ ships, eh?

Sailin’ ships? Ar, y’ big gob, they don’t sail no ships. This be th’ way o’ hit: j’st ‘oo d’y’ think kills them pirates, Oi hasks? Them Dwarves, ‘at’s ‘oo! They be th’ Elvenship’s army, don’t y’ know
.

Yar. But did y’ see
…
th’ cap’n, ‘e’s got a Wizard aboard, too. They say ‘im ’n’ ‘is fox familiar took rooms hat th’ Blue Mermaid, they did, along wi’ th’ cap’n’s laidy ’n’ more o’ th’ crew
.

Coo, th’ laidy, she were a looker, wot?

Ar, but th’ fox naow, ‘e didn’t loike bein’ dragged on that leash, did ‘e?

Oi’m o’ a moind t’ go t’ th’ Mermaid ’n’ th’ Lantern both, ’n’ see wot’s wot, Oi am
.

Thus nattered the onlookers as the
Eroean
was heeled over and the work to repair her was begun. While in a room in the Blue Mermaid…

“Ha! Some familiar, this fox,” snarled Alamar, dragging Rux into the room. “I’d sooner have a large stone for such; at least a rock wouldn’t pull backwards.”

Slamming the door behind, the Mage set his knapsack down on the table and dropped the leash. Discovering that he was free, Rux sat up and glared at the Mage, then began backing about the room, trying to slip out of the rope tied ‘round his neck. Alamar opened the pack and Jinnarin climbed out, the Pysk leaping down from table to chair to floor and calling Rux to her. As she untied the rope, Jinnarin said, “Rux would make an excellent familiar, whatever they are and whatever it is that they do.”

“Ha!” barked Alamar, sitting down and crossing his arms defiantly.

Jinnarin unknotted the rope at last and pulled it free. Rux sat down and began scratching furiously, as if the line about his neck had been full of fleas.

Clambering back up to the tabletop, Jinnarin began rooting about in Alamar’s knapsack, the Pysk looking for the comb. “Tell me, Alamar,” she said, her voice muffled, “just what is a familiar…and what do they do?”

“Nothing you would understand, Pysk. But I’ll tell you this: they don’t drop rats on your feet.”

Now Jinnarin disappeared completely into the knapsack. “What did you do with my comb?”