Chapter
VIII
As
soon as they were on board the ship, the Mermaid's Tit's mate
directed them to a ramp which led down to the hold where the horses
would spend the journey. It was spacious and already well-stocked
with hay and grain. Two ports made it airier and better lit than
one might expect, so the horses would be relatively comfortable.
The
same could not be so readily said for the passengers. The Mermaid's
Tit was a cargo ship. It often carried live stock animals to its
wealthier customers around the Silver Sea, so it had adequate
facilities to ensure that the animals would survive relatively
unscathed. It did not often carry as many passengers as were now
aboard, however. Occasionally, a person or two and sometimes even
three wishing to leave Seremoreh for the Islands of Despair would
take ship on the Mermaid's Tit, but it was rare indeed when there
were as many as four travelers who wanted to make such a journey at
the same time. It was even rarer that so many passengers at the
same time would be willing to take the roundabout route that the
captain of a cargo ship like the Mermaid's Tit usually was forced to
plot.
The
eight companions were the most passengers the Mermaid's Tit had ever
seen at the same time and it did not have the facilities to make them
all completely comfortable. Jerrod and his seven companions once
again found themselves sharing accommodations as they had been forced
to do at the inn in Nova Ekirigilio. The company once again were
split between three rooms, or in this case, cabins. Fortunately,
their journey was relatively short. They would not be forced to
suffer the crowded conditions long. Within a week, the ship would
make port at the first of the Islands of Despair. There, the search
for the sword that Astall had told them about would truly begin.
The
journey would prove far more relaxing than the last night in Nova
Ekirigilio had been. It gave Jerrod and most of his companions time
to relax and mend from their brief ordeal. Time –- and Brianna --
healed the company's many wounds. The exception to the rule when it
came to relaxation was the shaman herself. The aftermath of the
battle on the docks of Nova Ekirigilio had left her comrades severely
battered, so the shaman was kept quite busy tending to the wounds of
the others and recuperating from the damage which she assumed.
The
shaman's first patient was Derazha. The half-ilf was in the worst
shape of the group, despite the tremendous recuperative powers she
possessed thanks to her trollkin heritage. Even the rapid healing
that was commonplace among trolls could do little for the gash which
she had taken in her thigh during the battle to gain the Mermaid's
Tit. As soon as the party had boarded ship, Brianna helped Derazha
to a cabin and left the others to stow the party's gear.
Once
she had gotten her patient to the compartment, the first thing the
tall shaman did was order Derazha to lie down on the bed. The
half-ilf complied readily, realizing that the aid of Brianna could
mend her leg far more quickly and effectively than could even her
robust nature.
"Alright,
Derazha. Let me take a look at your leg." Brianna said as
she sliced open the leather trousers which encased Derazha's leg.
As the cleric peeled back the edges of the garment from the wound,
she said, "This is going to hurt, but to be sure I heal your leg
properly, I have to see and explore the wound. I need to be able to
visualize it and make the changes in your energy flow that will speed
its repair."
Without
waiting for a response, the shaman thrust her fingers into the open
gash on Derazha's leg. The half-troll bit back a scream as pain
seared through her like a sword of fire. Brianna probed the depths
of the wound with her fingers and her eyes to determine the extent of
the damage. After a few moments -- which seemed to last far longer
to Derazha -- the shaman withdrew her hands.
"Well,
it is not as bad as it might be," Brianna said. Though large,
the cut is relatively clean and while it is cracked, the bone is not
completely broken. The healing shouldn't take too long."
So
saying, Brianna laid her hands lightly on Derazha's injury. The
light pain that resulted for the half-ilf from the contact, was
quickly swept away by a feeling of peaceful lethargy as Brianna began
to sing a strange and mesmerizing tune. Soon Derazha was in a state
of complete relaxation as if she had not a care in the world.
And
she didn't. Somewhere inside Derazha knew that Brianna would take
care of her. As she listened to the gentle melody which Brianna
sang, the half-troll was vaguely aware that the shaman was doing
something to her body. She couldn't say just what, but she wasn't
worried about it. The words of the song reassured her and charged
her to rest and relax. The impulse to heed their advice was well
nigh irresistible for Derazha. As she descended into a deeper
trance, the half-ilf wondered blurrily why that might be.
Brianna
could have explained to her that it was a form of hypnosis coupled
with a compulsion laid on through the manipulation of the
half-troll's life forces. At the moment, however, the shaman was
rather busy. All of her attention was focused on healing the
tremendous injury which Derazha had suffered. First, Brianna had to
stem the fearful flow of blood that was pouring out of the half-ilf.
Having done so, she could see just how much damage had been done.
Dozens of small blood vessels had been rent by the claws which had
torn Derazha's flesh. That was of little consequence compared to
the damage which had been done to her femoral artery. Blood pumped
feverishly out of gaping hole in the vessel. If the perforation was
not immediately repaired, Brianna realized, her comrade would die.
Only the innate trollish ability to regenerate was keeping Derazha
alive at all by producing fresh blood to replace that which was
spilling from her wound. The artery was slowly healing, but the
demands of blood replacement and knitting flesh were too great for
even Derazha's trollish vitality to overcome in time.
Brianna
focused the flow of mana and of Derazha's life force on the opening
in the half-ilf's artery. Using the force of her will to direct
their flow, the shaman used the energy she had harnessed to fuze the
two sides of the gap together. Slowly it sealed, millimeter by
millimeter. Soon it was completely closed. The major damage
healed, Brianna turned her attention to the less severe, but still
extensive, damage to the other parts of Derazha's leg. Under the
shaman's direction, the flesh and bone knit itself back together
quickly, leaving almost no trace that it had ever been damaged.
Drawing now on her own energy reserves because she was fearful of
drawing too much from Derazha in Derazha's weakened condition,
Brianna began the healing process on the many nicks and slashes that
Derazha had suffered elsewhere. Magically, they too vanished
without a trace under the ministrations of the red-haired cleric.
Soon, Derazha looked as if she was simply in a natural slumber.
There was no trace of the battle left to mar her skin. Perhaps she
was a bit paler than usual from the blood she had lost, but otherwise
Derazha looked as healthy as an ox. The same could not be said of
Brianna. When she had finished tending her comrade, the rangy,
xanthous-tressed cleric staggered to the cabin she shared with Wolf
and collapsed on their bunk.
Brianna's
rest was far briefer than she might have liked. Knowing that her
allies needed her talents, the shaman forced herself to rise when she
sensed that her body had regained enough of its reserves to allow her
to heal once more.
When
she arose, Brianna's next patient was Urki. Soon the male half of
the warrior twins was, like Derazha, sound asleep with no trace left
on him of the plethora of wounds that the trolls had inflicted upon
him. After she had healed Urki, Brianna proceeded to heal each of
the others in turn of whatever wounds they had suffered either during
the brief time in which they had been held prisoner or in the
subsequent battle with the trolls. Only Neun Ja had gone completely
unscathed, and even she was exhausted from her physical and magical
exertions. So within a few hours of boarding ship, all eight
adventurers were lost in slumber recuperating from their exertions.
When
the company awoke late the next day, the Mermaid's Tit had sailed far
out to sea on her journey to the Islands of Despair. Bushwa, its
captain, had already sailed down the coast to a small fishing village
and let its inhabitants know of the troll assault on Nova Ekirigilio.
The residents of the village couldn't pack fast enough in their
haste to flee and spread the word. That duty discharged, Bushwa had
set sail for his intended destination. By the time that Jerrod and
his companions escaped the land of dreams, Seremoreh had been left
far behind.
It
was not only Jerrod's first voyage, but his very first sight of the
sea. Like he had been by the beauty of the deep night on his trip
from Astall's croft to Pond Eddy, Jerrod was stunned by the enormity
of what he beheld. League followed league of blue that flickered
from shade to shade as the wind ruffled it. As the days of his
first oceanic trip passed, Jerrod found it amazing when he realized
that the sea changed over the long term as well. What had seemed to
Jerrod as if it would be nothing more than a dull voyage over an
unending plain of blue turned into a expedition of delight. The
black-blue of a night storm contrasted vividly with the steely
blue-gray of one in the day. The coruscating black of the sea on a
calm night, the luxurious azure of tranquil sunlit shallows, and the
sheer enormity of the sea and the variety of the life it supported
all took Jerrod's breath away. There were too many things that
caught Jerrod's attention to describe in this narrative. Suffice it
to say that the young mage had fallen in love in a way he never had
before.
So,
instead of joining his more martially-minded colleagues in teaching
one another new skills or discussing the finer points of hermetic
magic with Ordolf, Jerrod
spent
his time aboard ship on deck. Watching them work, the
young mage
transfixed by the sailors. The complexity of the dance that they
wove with the sea via the medium of wind and sail was nearly as
beautiful to the young mage as was the ocean itself. He was
thrilled by the realization that people would actually try to conquer
something as untameable as the sea. His new awareness of mankind's
indomitablity helped Jerrod appreciate a statement that he had once
heard Astall make about limits. "What
was it he said? The only thing that truly limits us as we strive to
reach our dreams are the limits with we which we shackle ourselves?
Yes, that's it. The only thing that really shackles us as we strive
to reach our dreams are the chains that we place upon ourselves. Or
something like that. But that was the sense of it."
"Imagine
the determination and vision of the first man who set out to cross
the sea! He must have either hated the land he grew up in a great
deal or have been truly drawn by the desire to see what is over the
next hill!" Jerrod's
visage briefly
clouded over. "I
wonder if he died fulfilled?"
Shrugging
and leaving the answer to his question to the musings of another
time, the young mage sighed and watched the beauty of the rosy-tinged
sunset. Stifling a yawn as the sun sank below the horizon, Jerrod
turned and went below deck to his cabin.
When
he arrived, Urki and Ordolf were conversing as they prepared to eat
their supper. Nothing fancy, the meal which they were about to
consume was the same fare as that which the crew was given:
hard-pressed biscuits, some sort of stew redolent with the pungent
odor of garlic, the heavier smell of some sort of bean, and the salty
aroma of cured beef, and a piece of citrus fruit. To wash the food
down, each of his companions had appropriated a pint of ale.
"Sit
down, Jerrod, join us," Urki called. "We brought you a
portion too!" The warrior waved toward a tray on Jerrod's
bunk. "We weren't sure if you were going to make it in from
your sea gazing in time for supper, so we thought we'd better bring
something back from the mess so you wouldn't starve."
Urki
grinned and waved at Jerrod again. "Come! Join us, we miss
you! You have spent all your time alone on the deck!"
Feeling
a bit warmed by Urki's attempt at comraderie, Jerrod did as he was
bid. As he sat down, he turned to Urki and asked, "What
happened back there? How did the trolls overwhelm Nova Ekirigilio?
It seemed well nigh impregnable to me. Was I wrong about the
strength of its walls?"
"We
have been discussing that for the last few days. No, Jerrod, you
were not wrong. Nova Ekirigilio's walls are
strong and
they
were well-defended. Under normal conditions, it should be virtually
impossible to conquer Nova Ekirigilio without a lengthy siege. I
can think of only two means by which the walls were breached so
easily by the trolls: magic and treachery. Although either in and
of itself might
be enough, we believe that a combination of both was responsible of
the disastrous calamity which befell Nova Ekirigilio when last we saw
her."
"Aye,
Jerrod," added Ordolf. "The magic to accomplish such a
feat is beyond even me and, without bragging, my skill is beyond that
of all but a few mages in Seremoreh. Perhaps Iskandar is somehow
adding his strength to his disciples magical efforts, but without his
direct intervention and presence, I don't see how magic alone could
have overwhelmed Nova Ekirigilio. The mages that the city
undoubtedly has working in its defense are competent. As you saw
when we entered the city, they have set magical guards even a
surprise assault couldn't easily breach. The city's spellcasters
wouldn't have willingly taken them down. They had to have been
breached by some other means. No, magic alone couldn't have done
it. Someone in the administration of the city of Nova Ekirigilio
had to betray it."
Urki
nodded as he said, "And it probably had to have been several
someones at that."
"Well,
there's certainly nothing we can do about it now -- if we ever could
have," sighed Ordolf. "We might as well eat and start
thinking more about finding the Sword."
Jerrod
nodded. "You're right. We do need to devise some sort of
strategy for finding the sword and the other relics as well. I've
been doing some thinking about the problem and seems to me that the
first thing we need to do is start asking some questions of people as
soon as we can."
"So!
Great minds do indeed think alike!" Urki chuckled. "We've
already been following your plan. Wolf has asked the captain if he
had heard anything about a magical sword anywhere on the Islands of
Despair. Enki and I have been speaking with the crew and seeing if
any of them have heard any legends about such a thing...."
"Well,
don't keep me in suspense. What did they say? Are there any who
can offer us any clues as to the whereabouts of the sword,"
Jerrod interjected.
Urki
grinned, "Ah, the enthusiasm of youth....If you had given me a
chance to finish, I would have told you that one of the crew, a
native of the islands, has heard a legend which might be the hint
that we need to find the Sword. The problem is that the legend only
mentions a weapon of great might. It doesn't say anything
specifically about a sword. It also tells of fell sentinel which
guards the weapon and slays any who attempt to possess it."
"A
guardian? What kind of a guardian?" Jerrod asked.
"That
we don't know, lad. I wish we did," Ordolf murmured. "I
have a bad feeling about this expedition. Something is tugging at
the back of my mind. I once heard something about a sword and its
guardian -- something terrible. I just wish I could recall exactly
what it was." The older mage sighed. "I hope my memory
improves before we are faced with whatever the reality is. I have
this sense that we are about to become ensnared in something far more
dangerous than it seems at the moment. If I just could remember, so
we might have some idea of how to deal with whatever it is we are
going to face."
Though
a trifle vague, Ordolf's words seemed to strike a chord in Jerrod.
He, too, had been feeling a strange sense of foreboding about the
visit to the Islands of Despair. Until hearing the necromancer's
own sense of dubiousness, Jerrod hadn't really had anything specific
on which he could pin his uneasiness. He passed it off to himself
as simply the normal fears one should have when heading into danger.
Ordinary jitters, nothing more. Understandable, commonplace,
acceptable, but just jitters nonetheless.
As
Ordolf spoke, however, it became more and more clear to Jerrod that
there was something more to his disquiet than mere jitters. Somehow
he had sensed some special danger connected with the quest for the
Sword. It had not manifested itself clearly, but Jerrod had the
feeling that one of his comrades would be lost on the expedition to
recover the Sword. It seemed strange to him that despite those
fears for his comrades' safety, Jerrod had the oddest feeling that
would not be as big a disaster as it might otherwise appear.
Jerrod
was about to reveal his misgivings to his companions when he suddenly
stopped himself. He had looked at this dining partners as he
prepared to explain his anxiety and had seen Urki's habitually
smiling face. Abruptly, Jerrod's tongue seemed to get extremely
thick and his mouth became very dry. The mage began to feel a
different sense of foreboding, one tinged not with physical danger
but with humiliation. His doubts were too nebulous. Jerrod didn't
want to share them with Urki -- Urki of the quick wit and the nimble
tongue. Urki would not take them seriously, instead the sellsword
would twit Jerrod about them, gently perhaps, but twit him
nonetheless.
Perhaps
Ordolf might listen, but Jerrod wasn't about to take the chance. He
felt that he had demeaned himself in front of Urki too many times
already. The young mage wasn't about to give the warrior one more
reason to look down at him.
Of
course, Jerrod didn't really know Urki very well yet. Had he more
insight into the apparently irrepressible twin's character, Jerrod
would have realized that within the warrior's playful persona, there
was hidden a deeper, more serious portion that evaluated fairly
everything that he heard. While outwardly Urki might seem to be
little more than a happy-go-lucky wag, inside ticked the mind of a
great tactician. A mind, that paid took into account details no
matter how small and which never discounted any possibility of which
it could conceive. And while Urki enjoyed teasing Jerrod, so far he
had not been unimpressed the way that the young mage had handled
himself on their trek. On the contrary, Urki admired the way the
young mage was absorbing the shock of being told that the entire
world was in danger, that he was part of its only hope, and that his
sheltered life as a wizard's apprentice was about to come to an end
because he had to go out and face unknowable and uncounted dangers in
order to save Seremoreh.
But
Jerrod didn't yet truly understand the young warrior, in fact he
hardly knew him at all. He didn't realize that Urki used humor to
do several things. Sometimes, Urki used jokes to keep people at a
distance. Sometimes, he used it to defuse tense situations.
Sometimes, it was the way the young mercenary showed his affection
for others. But he never used it to intentionally hurt someone.
And he always listened to his comrades' hunches. Urki had learned
from long experience that intuition was one of the most valuable
tools in a warrior's arsenal. In time, Jerrod would come to ken
these and many other things about his companion, but he didn't know
them yet. So, instead of sharing his fears with Urki and Ordolf,
Jerrod kept them to himself and turned the conversation in other
directions. However, as he ate with his two comrades, the young
mage had another premonition. Try as he might, Jerrod couldn't
escape feeling that he had just made a mistake.
Day
followed night as it is wont to do. Soon the Mermaid's Tit was
nearing its destination. The voyage's last sunset, found Jerrod
once more watching the sea from the decks of the ship. As the sun
slowly dipped below the edge of the sea his reverie was interrupted
by the captain.
"Well,
young Jerrod, ye seem to have survived your first sea journey
unscathed. What do ye think of the sea, lad?" asked Bushwa.
Stifling
a sigh and wishing that everyone would stop harping on his age.
Jerrod replied, "It is truly a wonder, captain. But you know
that better than I. I understand that tonight is our last night at
sea. What can we expect from the Islands of Despair?"
"Well,
sir, I'll tell ye true. I don't know what ye can expect from the
rest of the archipelago having not visited any of the other islands,
but Rendor is a place like no other I have ever made port at. Ye
know that Rendor is an ilvan kingdom, do ye not? Well, the
ilvankind have built a home there right of out of the fairy tales.
Tall, graceful spires climb toward the sky from deceptively simple
structures which to the more careful gaze have a subtle complexity
and beauty. The structures are connected by sweeping sky bridges
that seem to be no more solid than wisps of lace, yet when the winds
blow those bridges don't even tremble -- let alone be swept away as
any normal man would expect from so flimsy an edifice. And those
buildings are every color of the rainbow!
Beautiful
as those spans are, they are also useful. I tell ye, boy, I was
flabbergasted when I found out, but the ilfs almost never set foot on
the ground! Whenever they wish to go from one place to another,
they simply trod the bridges. The gods know why the fay disdain the
land at the base of their towers. It is beautiful, near as
beautiful as the sea! And that's something I never thought I'd
say. Why the reason I went to sea was because I never saw anywhere
that even remotely challenged the beauty of the far horizon. Well,
never mind that, I was telling ye about Rendor."
"The
ground which the ilvankind spurn as a means of getting from one
structure to another is more like a park than a normal city's
streets. The flora is always neatly maintained, yet no one ever
seems to toil at its upkeep. It is eerie. Why, once I saw a
runaway horse trample a flowering shrub till there was little more
than its woody branches left. I looked away to watch the horse
being corralled and when I gazed once more upon the bush that the
horse had destroyed, it was green and flowering once more as if the
horse had never touched it! I tell ye, those ilfs are amazing.
Still, they are not my kind of folk. I always feel a bit
uncomfortable when I am in port. Nothing that I can put my finger
on mind ye, just a feeling. Mayhap I just get put off by their
standoffish ways." Bushwa shrugged. "Who knows?"
The
master of the Mermaid's Tit continued. "The ilvankind of
Rendor are ruled – as much as ilfs anywhere are ever ruled – by
two of their number. They seem to be married, but I have never been
really sure. It isn't a subject that ever seems to come up when I'm
talking with one of the ilfs. Don't suppose it really matters. At
any rate, there is a male ilf called Lord Springbuck who seems to run
their business and diplomatic dealings. I deal with his staff
whenever I come to port. Springbuck has a consort -- or he is the
consort to -- a female named Lady Kahlan who runs the ilvankind's
military. It is said that they are both magicians of great strength
although I can't guarantee ye that that is true. Ye will probably
have to deal with Springbuck's minions when ye make land as well.
It is said that nothing gets on or off of Rendor without his say so,
and I imagine that that will include ye and yer friends too."
Bushwa
yawned and stretched. "Well, lad, ye'll see it all for yerself
soon enough. I need to slip off to my bunk if I am going to be as
alert as I need to be when we make landfall tomorrow. May the gods
be on yer side once I put ye off in Rendor. Never left any
passengers there before. I'm sure the eight of ye can hold yer own
in most circumstances, but in a land full of ilfs? Don't know if
any human could walk away from that...Hope ye do.... Sleep well lad,
ye'll need it."
Jerrod
watched the ship's master walk away. "I
wonder if Rendor is everything Bushwa claims it to be? It sounds
lovely. I wish I understood his fears better though. Perhaps he
is just uncomfortable with magic. Or maybe with ilfs. I don't
suppose it matters too much. We'll face what we must when we must."
As he seemed to be doing so often lately, Jerrod sighed. Shaking
his head, the young mage turned and headed back to the cabin he
shared with the company's other two bachelors. The morning might
bring the answers. It would surely bring with it new wonders.
