Voyage of the Fox Rider (76 page)
“The next four will be grand weddings,” said Aravan, “September the eleventh, the last.”
Alamar turned to Aylis. “And
that
, Daughter, is why we must go after Durlok. To stop him from delivering his grand wedding gift to—how did he put it? ah yes—his gift to all of my ilk.”
“What do you suppose he meant by that?” asked Frizian. “Just who are those of ‘your ilk’?”
Before Alamar could answer, Bokar growled, “If we go after Durlok, what do we do about the Trolls? After all, they yet ward him.”
“I know!” piped up Farrix, glancing at Aravan. “If we can sink the galley, they’ll most certainly drown, heavy bones and all.”
“But wait,” muttered Frizian, “we don’t even know where Durlok and his black galley are.”
A grin creased Alamar’s aged face. “Aylis can find him. She has his lexicon.”
“Even should we discover his whereabouts, Father, still he is a Mage, a powerful Mage and a Black one. We have no way to counter his castings, and even if we did, it is questionable whether we could capture him.”
“Capture him Hèl, Daughter, I mean to kill him!”
Bokar stroked his beard. “If we could take him by surprise, sink his ship…”
“If I remember correctly, Armsmaster,” said Aylis, “we talked about this before. To surprise him is unlikely, and to sink his ship, well, he would simply walk away.”
“Mayhap, Lady Aylis, but as Master Farrix says, his Trolls would not.”
Aylis shook her head. “I think we here do not have the wherewithal to destroy the Black Mage, and instead of pursuing him we should go to Rwn and tell our tale
to the Master Mages and let them deal with him. Besides, my father must cross over to Vadaria.”
“What of the grand wedding, Daughter. The next four are critical. Whatever Durlok has up his sleeve, he has but four separate days in which to perform it. We don’t even need to confront him directly, but merely distract him, turn his energies aside. Can we just divert his attention at mid of day on each of those days, a total of four or so hours altogether…well, we will have thwarted him.
Then
we can go to Rwn.”
“What do you propose, Father? How will we distract him? And should we succeed, how will we keep him from destroying the
Eroean
and all who sail upon her?”
“Look, Daughter, I don’t claim to have all the answers. All I know is that Durlok has said that he needs to conserve his energies for whatever it is he plans. That should protect us somewhat from his
Silence fell, and all eyes swung to Aravan, for he was their captain. He looked at Aylis. “Canst thou find the whereabouts of Durlok?”
Sighing, she nodded.
“Then do so,
chieran
. Tell us where he fares. Mayhap it will affect our decision.”
Aylis looked about the salon. “A darkened cabin would help. Less distraction.”
As the seeress sat down, Jinnarin stood and quietly pulled Farrix to his feet and led him to a far corner of the table, whispering, “I think we need to get out of her range, for at times she faints and falls forward.”
They drew the curtains over the portholes and lit a single candle. Aylis took the lexicon from a pocket and held the small book in both hands. When all motion and shuffling of feet stopped and silence descended, she took several deep breaths as if to calm herself, then closed her eyes and murmured,
“Cursus.”
She sat without moving for a while, then raised one hand and pointed. “There. There is where fares Durlok.”
“Sou’sou’east,” muttered Frizian, “toward the polar lats.”
“How far, Daughter?”
“More than a thousand miles, but less than two,” replied Aylis, her eyes yet closed.
“Where bound?” asked Aravan.
Aylis frowned, as if seeking, and finally said, “Where bound? I cannot say. Only where is.” Then Aylis’s shoulders slumped, and slowly she opened her eyes, her casting done.
As the drapes were pulled aside to let daylight in, Aravan selected a map and spread it upon the table. “Here we are in the Sindhu Sea on the west marge of the Great Swirl. Durlok’s ship is somewhere between”—his finger stabbed down to the map twice—“here and here. He could be bound for”—Aravan touched several points on the map—“the Great Island continent in the south of the Bright Sea, the polar land, or east to the southern continent and beyond.”
“A thousand miles is quite a lead,” said Farrix. “We may never catch him, wherever he is bound.”
“You forget, tiny one,” rumbled Jatu, “the
Eroean
is the fastest ship in the world. A thousand miles or a thousand leagues, it matters not. Given that he runs long enough, we will surely catch him.”
As Farrix nodded, Frizian looked at Aravan. “Well, Captain, if the black galley is somewhere sou’sou’east, where do we run?”
Aravan glanced at each and every one and finally said, “Set our course south-southeast, Frizian. We’ll follow Durlok, and if we can sink him we will.”
A pent-up exhalation sounded throughout the room, as if all had been holding their breath until a decision was made.
“But what of our journey to Rwn?” asked Aylis, glancing at Alamar then looking at Aravan, her voice filled with distress.
“
Chieran
, I know thou art concerned for thy sire, and so, too, am I. Yet Alamar is right: can we thwart Durlok, then we set his plans in disarray. But this I
do
promise—can we not think of a way to hinder the Black Mage, then will we sail on to Rwn by ‘rounding the Silver Cape.”
Jatu started, and dread sprang up behind his eyes. “But, Captain, the Silver Cape—we’ll be crossing in the dead of summer!”
Aravan’s look was grim. “Aye, Jatu, yet heed: if any ship can ‘round that horn in summer, ‘tis the
Eroean
.”
Jinnarin’s own heart was hammering with fear, and she squeezed Farrix’s hand. He looked at her with surprise and whispered, “What is it, love? What is so dreadful about the Silver Cape?”
“The seasons,” she whispered back, “they are reversed down here south of the midline. Though it is called summer, it will really be the dire dead of winter if or when we try to go through the straits—howling blizzards, crushing ice, thundering winds, no day, no Sun—and I’ve been told by crewmen that it cannot be done.”
Captain Aravan called a shipboard meeting and stood Farrix on the wheelhouse so that all could see him, the Elf declaring that that part of the mission had been accomplished—Lady Jinnarin’s mate had been found. After the cheers subsided, Aravan then spoke of Durlok and the black galley, and of the unknown threat the Black Mage represented. As was his wont, Aravan then admitted the crew into his confidence and spoke of the plan to pursue and if possible to destroy the Black Mage. The crew took this all in stride—until he came to the part concerning the possibility that they might need to sail ‘round the Silver Cape in the dead of summer. A stunned silence greeted this news, sailors and warriors alike looking fearfully about, for it was common knowledge that this had never been done. Finally someone, Lobbie it was, called out, “Cap’n, I mean, it’s hard enough in the dead o’ winter, when the air is shriekin’ mild and gentle compared to the rest o’ the seasons—but in the summertime? Might as well try to sail in and out o’ the depths o’ Great Maelstrom in the Boreal, wot?” But someone else, Artus, spoke up. “Ar, Lobbie, has the Captain ever asked us to do what couldn’t be done?” And then Jatu’s voice called out, “There’s always a first time for everything—after we’ve done the cape, Lobbie, then we’ll think on doing as you say and sail the Maelstrom next,” and then the big black Man bellowed with laughter and soon all the crew was howling along in glee.
In mid afternoon the silks were haled about and the
Eroean
was set on a course due south, for she was yet
in the marge of the Great Swirl and must needs run out of the weed before turning to pursue the black galley.
Jinnarin took Farrix about the ship, introducing him to the crew. And when she came to Rolly and Carly and Finch and Arlo, these four seemed to look down at Farrix with suspicion in their eyes, as if wondering if he was good enough for
their
Pysk—Lady Jinnarin. In the end, it seems, Farrix passed their muster, for Arlo set about making a larger pallet for Jinnarin’s under-bunk quarters for both of the Pysks to sleep upon, and Rolly, Carly, and Finch began fashioning a tiny sea chest in which Farrix could store his things.
That evening, Jinnarin arranged with Ship’s Cook Trench for hot water for baths for Farrix and her. Tink and Tiver delivered a washbasin full of hot water to the under-bunk quarters, the cabin boys supplying as well chips of soap and scant cloths and towels. Jinnarin sent Rux to hunt for rats, the fox happily complying, for he had been cooped up in a tiny rowboat for the last seven days running. And the Pysks stripped off their leathers and climbed into the bath, luxuriating in the warmth and water. Soon Farrix was washing her and she him, and alone together at last, Farrix took Jinnarin in his arms and kissed her tenderly, and they clambered out of the basin and hurriedly dried off and then lay down together and made love.…
…And then again, for it had been two and a half years since Farrix had set off to find the plumes, two and a half years of loneliness, of reaching out to someone who was not there.…
…And once more…this last interrupted by Alamar stomping across the room and banging on the wall of their under-bunk quarters and querulously demanding quiet—“I’m trying to sleep, you know!”
Aylis sat up in the bed, her fine brown hair tousled, a knowing smile on her face. Aravan was gone somewhere, though the stateroom yet breathed of his elusive scent. Yawning, she stretched, full and long, then leapt out of bed and dashed water on her face then swiftly dressed, and ran a quick comb through her hair. When she entered the salon, Alamar was sitting at the table and cursing. “What is it, Father?”
The elder looked up at her. “Eh, it’s not enough that there was all that ruckus under that bunk last night, but this morning when I woke up, there was a dead rat in my shoe.”
Aylis heard the hint of a giggle, and when she looked, a dark cluster of shadow ducked back into the corridor. Alamar, too, heard it, and the eld Mage swung about and pointed a quavering finger at the hallway. “All right, you miscreant. Show yourself.”
Nonchalantly, Farrix strode into view, innocence written all over his face, though his ice-blue eyes danced in glee.
“Don’t play the innocent,” snapped Alamar, “you’re not fooling me.”
“What?” Farrix clapped a hand to his heart, his eyes wide. “Is something wrong?”
“There’s a dead rat in my quarters, Pysk, and you know it.”
“Oh?” Farrix’s eyebrows shot up, then back down in frowning concentration. “It must be Rux, that scoundrel.”
“Rux, my foot!”
Uncontrollable titters bubbled from Farrix’s mouth. “I think, Alamar, you meant to say, Rux, my shoe!” Farrix doubled over laughing.
“You dratted Pysk,” gruffed Alamar, now grinning in spite of himself, “you haven’t changed a bit!” Alamar looked up at Aylis. “This Pysk, Daughter, even when I was lying there pig-wounded, my leg about to fall off, would use stink bugs to wake me up! And that’s not all. Why, once he ‘accidentally’ dropped a diuren leaf into my tea—”
“That
was
an accident, Alamar!” protested Farrix.
“Ha! I about piddled myself to death.”
Farrix laughed. “But I was the one who had to lug all that water up the hill for you to piddle away! I think you did it just to watch me work.”
Alamar cackled. “But if you remember, Pysk, I got even for that diuren leaf—”
Gladdened to see her father in good spirits for a change, Aylis interjected, “I’ll let you two renew acquaintances and dredge up memories of suitable revenges
for foul deeds done.” Smiling, she left them behind, her heart lighter.
On deck she found Aravan at the wheel, the ship now running south-southeast on Durlok’s track. Aravan, though, had a frown on his face. “The air is light,
chieran
,” he explained. “We are barely making six knots.”
“Perhaps it is light for Durlok, too.”