Voyage of the Fox Rider (88 page)

Do you think that any of the Mages escaped the deluge by crossing to Vadaria? Who can say? Not I. Nor I. Wot o’ th’ ships, Oi wonder—did any set sail in toime? Lor, if they didn’t, surely they sank, for only the
Eroean
could weather such. A entire isle agone, ’n’ it weren’t no tiny spit o’ land, neither. Kruk! Can the armsmaster figure a way, we will slay this Black Mage. Hoy, Oi wonder why th’ Maiges o’ Rwn j’st didn’t waive their hands ’n’ quell the waives, wot? Them little Fox Roiders, d’y’ see the angry set o’ their jaws? Durlok is evil, without honor, and for that he will answer to the Châkka!
…

Anthera peered out over the empty waters. “For this Durlok
will
pay!”

Jinnarin burst into tears. Farrix put his arm about her and drew her to him. After a while Jinnarin said, “Alamar once set me a problem, and it was to define the nature of evil.”

Farrix gestured at the expanse where an island should be. “
This
is an act of utter evil.”

“Yes, but Alamar would not have been satisfied with that answer. Instead he would have jumped down your throat and made you explain why. I mean, if nature alone had done this, it would not have been an act of evil. And if something hideously malevolent and destructive had lived alone on Rwn and needed to be destroyed, and if the only way to destroy it was to destroy the island, but to do it in such a way as to bring no harm to anything or anyone else, again it would not have been an act of evil.”

“But such was not the case, Jinnarin. Durlok destroyed the innocent.”

“As sometimes does nature, Farrix. So Alamar would
say—as do I—that the destruction of the innocent alone lies not at the heart of evil. Instead it is more: heed, Durlok has no concept of free will in others, of the rights of others to guide their own destinies. He looks upon others merely as creatures put here to serve his desires. Hence, Durlok is evil for he destroys others, dominates others, deceives others merely for his own gratification. And
that
, my love, is the true nature of evil.”

Farrix slowly nodded, but Anthera turned and looked at Jinnarin. “You say that if something hideously malevolent and destructive needs to be destroyed,
is
destroyed, it is not an act of evil, and on that I certainly agree. Heed me, Jinnarin, Durlok is such a thing.”

For three days they searched, all to no avail, and often would grief overwhelm sailor, warrior, and Pysk alike—all but Captain Aravan, who held his grief in check.

But in the dark hours of the third night, alone in his cabin, Aravan wept inconsolably, silently whispering,
“Chieran, avó, chieran.”

“Captain, when first we came to you, we only asked that you return us to Darda Glain once Durlok had been dealt with. Now there is no Darda Glain and so our request changes; instead we now ask that you help us to exact our just vengeance against the Black Mage.”

Aravan looked down at Anthera, the Pysk standing on the map table with Jinnarin and Farrix at her side. Thou art not alone in thy thirst for revenge, Lady Anthera, for every Man and Drimm aboard has asked that we search out Durlok and slay him, and I have said yea.

“Yet heed me, it is a task beyond peril to slay a Mage. And we cannot succeed with nought but simple measures, for Durlok wields power beyond our comprehension.”

“But Aravan,” protested Jinnarin, “do you not think that his destroying Rwn has taken much from him? I mean, look what the expenditure of astral fire did to Alamar, to Aylis, to all the Mages in the grove. And Durlok is but one, whereas they were many, and so he had to overcome their formidable opposition as well as do whatever he did to destroy Rwn. So I ask, do you
not think that he has but little power left? Dregs of what once was?”

“I know not, Lady Jinnarin. Mayhap thou hast the right of it, and Durlok is indeed weakened. But this I do know, and that is—it is perilous to stand in opposition to a Mage.”

Farrix grimaced. “There is this, too, Aravan: as long as Durlok has victims, he has power.”

“Kruk!” spat Bokar. “Give me one good swing of my axe, and I will deal with Durlok. It is not the Black Mage that concerns me, but his twenty-eight Trolls instead.”

Silence fell among the comrades as each pondered their plight, and only the
shssh
of wind and
plsh
of wave and
rrurrk
of rigging sounded in the salon. Farrix looked over at armed Anthera and then to Jinnarin and then to Bokar. And he said, “Let’s go see Tarquin, for I have an idea.”

Pŷr

Autumn, 1E9575

[The Present]

L
ike silent ghosts, the shadow-wrapped foxes slipped across the island in the night. In groups of three they ran, flitting among the stony crags, the riders upon their backs armed with tiny bows and deadly arrows and armored in darkness cloaked ‘round. Southward they hastened, away from the temporary encampment hidden on the northern bluffs and toward the steeps above Durlok’s lair. In the lead of one group ran Jinnarin on Rux. Behind and to her right sped Farrix on Rhu, Anthera on Tal to her left.

A distance hindward came Aravan, and with him both Tivir and Tink, for these three were the slenderest of all the
Eroean
’s complement. And they were accompanied by three more of the tiny riders faring to fore and flank. Aravan carried rope and cord and a crossbow with a quiver of bolts fastened to its stock, and on his thigh was strapped a long-knife. And each of the cabin boys bore a crossbow and quiver and a cutlass girted to the waist, and each bore as well one of the small brass and crystal Dwarven lanterns, its phosphorescent glow well shielded. Too, both Tivir and Tink carried long, forked sticks carven from straight alder saplings. And across the center of the isle they fared.

Westward a half mile or so, another trio of the shadow-wrapped scouts sped toward the island rim, and striding after those three went Jamie and Slane, armed
and bearing lanterns, the two sailors warded ‘round by the last three of the Pysks.

Thus did twelve Fox Riders, two Men, two slender lads, and one Elf cross the island above, while sixteen Men and forty Dwarves sailed westward in the dark ‘round the isle below.

To the east-northeast a waxing half Moon rode just above the horizon, and high in the northeastern sky among the turning stars silently fared the Bright Voyager, the Red Warrior on its heels.

It was the last night of October—eighty days after the destruction of Rwn.

Jinnarin flung up a hand, while at the same time bringing Rux to a halt. Farrix stopped on her right; Anthera on her left. They had come to the edge of the isle.

“Somewhere below,” hissed Jinnarin, and all three dismounted. The Pysks spread out and waited, now and again peering over the edge of the cliff and down at the foot of the bluff, where the Sindhu Sea washed against adamant stone.

Rux turned his head and peered inland, as did Rhu and Tal, and out from the darkness came Aravan and Tink and Tivir, escorted by Bivin, Reena, and Galex on their foxes.

Aravan held his amulet and paced back and forth along the rim of the bluff. At last he stopped at a point and whispered, “Here the stone seems coldest. I ween the window is warded and virtually below.” He stepped five paces easterly. “This should put us slightly to the side.”

Aravan uncoiled the slender cord and tied one end to a boulder. Then he nodded to Farrix who whispered a command to Rhu, and the fox slipped beyond seeing back among the crags. Farrix shot a smile toward Jinnarin and then slid a hand through one of the many loops tied along the length of the free end of the heavy twine.

Down Aravan lowered the Pysk, while all the others peered over the edge and watched as Farrix descended to the ledge below. When he reached the shelf, he stepped away from the line and crept along the stone, listening. After a while, he signalled up to the watchers, and then he backed away and sat down.

“Good,” breathed Anthera. “He hears the warders. Now we know where the window lies.”

“Jinnarin, keep watch o’er Farrix. Tivir, to me. All else, take ease,” murmured Aravan.

As Aravan and Tivir began pacing easterly, Jinnarin lay on her stomach and peered down at Farrix. Anthera and the remaining Pysks spoke commands to their mounts, and the foxes fanned out to watch the approaches. Some two hundred fifty feet easterly, Aravan and Tivir marked a place on the rim with a circle of stones, then they came back to the group. And while the Pysks knelt and inspected their weaponry for perhaps the thousandth time, and Aravan looked over the rim at Farrix below, Tink and Tivir warily peered into the moonlit darkness, their eyes searching—for what, they did not know.

And they waited.

The Moon had crawled the width of its disk up the eastern sky, when the foxes on the western approach signalled an alert, and the Pysks took up a defensive stance—bows strung with deadly arrows—even though they knew who probably came. The cabin boys, too, stood with their crossbows in hand, their breathing coming in suppressed gasps.

Finally six clusters of shadows slipped through the moonlight and to their side: it was Kylena, Rimi, Fia, Dwnic, Lurali, and Temen. And Fia whispered, “They are ready.”

Aravan nodded and pulled up the cord, while the Pysks sent their foxes away to hide among the crags. Aravan then gestured to Jinnarin, and she slipped her hand through the very end loop on the line. Aravan lowered her two feet or so then gestured to Anthera, and she slid her hand through the second of the loops. One after another, the Pysks slipped their wrists through loops in the line, and like pearls on a string they were lowered down to join Farrix.

Carefully a rope was lowered, then, silently, Aravan came sliding down, Tink quietly after, the lad bearing a lantern and one of the forked sticks. Tivir remained above. Tink took two lengths of yellow yarn from his pocket and gave one to Jinnarin and the other to Farrix,
along with a small bit of spirit gum for each, the adhesive wrapped in paper.

“Listen,” breathed Farrix, tying the yarn about his waist, and all could hear a rattling and a muttering mixed now and again with guttural curses. Yet what was said, none knew. “They speak, in Slûk,” murmured Farrix. “I think there are two, and they play at casting knucklebones.”

Aravan nodded, then lay on his stomach, and with Tink anchoring his legs, Aravan leaned out and looked under the overhang. Slowly he moved along the ledge, looking, listening, turning his head this way and that, trying to see where stone ended and illusion began, yet the glamour was such that the stone appeared natural, the cracks and crevices unbroken as they passed across the face of the bluff. Even so, he used the sound of the muttered curses to site the window slit. Quietly he drew back and pointed straight down and moved five feet to one side. Cord in hand, again he lay on his stomach, and as Farrix slid his hand through a loop, Aravan took the stick from Tink. Then leaning over the ledge once more, Aravan lowered Farrix a ways, and with the fork of the carven branch he maneuvered the Pysk to a slender ledge—no more than two or three inches wide—running along the rough face of the bluff. When Farrix gained his footing, he turned with his back to the wall and slipped his hand loose from the loop. And while Aravan drew up the cord, Farrix strung an arrow to his bow.

Moving westerly three strides or so, Aravan repeated the feat, only this time it was Jinnarin who was maneuvered to the tiny ledge, her position slightly higher than that of Farrix, for the ledge ran at a shallow angle from him up to her.

When she was ready, Jinnarin nodded to Farrix and then gathered shadow unto herself, and with her heart pounding, slowly she began moving toward him—and he to her—Jinnarin cautiously feeling the wall as she went.…At last her fingers passed through seemingly solid stone.

She had reached the window slit.

She stepped back and flattened herself against the wall, and dropping her shadow she signalled Farrix. Trying to quell her racing heart, she waited while his
shadow sidled toward her, Farrix moving more quickly now that he knew the approximate location of his side of the slot. And all the while the muttering and cursing rose and fell within the lookout post.