Chapter 8

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.