Chronicles of Gilderam: Book One: Sunset (29 page)

“What is it?” asked a priest.

“Didn’t you see him? Did you see his face? His cheeks…!” The priests shook their heads. “The markings! The markings on his…!”

A servant returned from the kitchen. “Your Grace… he’s… not there.”

“
What?!
”

Another appeared from the kitchen with a coat and trousers in his hands, identical to his own.

“He has… vanished, Your Grace.”

Owein awoke to Shazahd’s delicate voice.
“Hey!
Drindam!
Wake up!”

He was on the floor of the dungeon. Shazahd crouched beside him, lightly slapping him on the cheek.

“Just one question,” Owein said groggily as he sat up. “Have you ever shot a gun before?”

Shazahd stood up and headed for a corridor.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

“You could’ve killed me.”

“Next time I’ll just let you be eviscerated.”

Owein crawled to his feet.

“I appreciate it.”

“I suspect my father is in one of these?” she gestured with her gun down the hall lined with cell doors. Owein joined her in the arch of the passageway.

“I think so.”

“Well then. Let’s get started.”

The tiny iron portals were not locked, but deadbolted from the outside. Shazahd and Owein made fast work of them, creakily prying each one open as they moved down the line. Owein was beginning to suspect that they might all be empty when he opened one and found the bearded face of an old man staring back at him from inside.

The cell was a dingy cube of stone, not quite big enough for an adult human body to fully extend in any direction. The man looked nearly eighty years old and was dangerously emaciated. His eyes were wild. He opened and shut his frail mouth, perhaps trying to speak, but nothing came out.

“Evening, sir,” Owein said with a wave, and moved on to the next door. He heard Shazahd curse down the hall.

“What is it?” he said, running to her.

Her hand covered her mouth, and her eyes were wide with horror.

Inside the cell was a woman with dark hair and two small children. They sat, cramped together, silent with terror. They had been well taught to fear anyone who opened that door.

“It’s okay,” said Owein softly. “You’re free. We’re not Tricorns.” And he swept Shazahd aside.

“You all right?” he asked.

She nodded and wiped a tear from her cheek.

“Let’s just find him and get out of here,” she said. Owein gripped her shoulders tightly. The mother and children emerged cautiously from their cell, shaking.

“That way leads out.” Owein pointed to the stairs he had recently been thrown down.

“Th… thank you,” said the woman, and she ushered her kids forward. The old man finally left his cell, and he scampered behind them.

“Come on,” said Owein. “We have to keep looking.”

Mentrat was over halfway down the corridor. When they opened his cell door, they found him curled into a ball, muttering quietly to himself.

“Mentrat!”

“Father!”

They pulled him out. He seemed confused, lost.

“Where–? What ha–…? How’m… is this, they–?” He was incoherent, looking all around the dungeon.

“You’re safe now, Lord Ranaloc,” said Owein, trying to connect with his eyes. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

“Father, it’s us. It’s me –” she took his hand, and he screamed. The shrill cry echoed down the stone hall and back.

He glared at her.

“
You!
” he growled.

“Father, I–”

“How could you…?!” he said. Tears were forming in his eyes. “How
could
you?!”

Shazahd was baffled. She looked to Owein for help, but he didn’t know what to say.

“Father, it’s me. I don’t know what –”

“Faithless
whore!
” he yelled in her face. She was stunned. “Uo…” he said quietly, whimpering. “Uo, how could you…?” And he took off running down the hall.

Shazahd blinked, trying to hold back the tears.

“Uo?” Owein asked.

“That’s… that’s my mother’s name. Does he think I’m her?” She was breathing heavily.

Owein ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know,” he said. “But we don’t have time for this right now. Come on.” He took her by the hand and they chased down the dungeon after the inventor.

When they returned to
Gilderam
, moored discreetly outside on the outskirts of town, Mentrat flew straight for his chamber and locked the door behind him. No one had a chance to ask him about what had happened. Jerahd had already made it back, so Vrei gave the order to take off and they were airborne at once.

Shazahd stepped onto the bridge. The door from the hall flew open on freshly greased hinges.

“New door?” she asked.

“New everything.” Vrei indicated the helm window. “Galif picked up more supplies while you were out. We now have ammunition for our deckguns, and he’s nearly finished with repairs in the engine room. The rest of the ship’s damage is mostly cosmetic, and will take a few more days to patch up.” 

“Not to worry,” said Shazahd. “I’m sure Aelyia will be able to assist us in Divar.”

“Aelyia?”

“My grandfather. Do we know the progress of the armada?”

“Not exactly. But we know they left New Gresad two days ago. At top cruising speed, that would put them at the border of Divar in two more days.”

“Can we make it to the Inner City before then?”

“We’ve been tinkering around with the new turbine and, according to our estimates, we should be able to make it there by tomorrow, midday.”

Shazahd couldn’t help but smile.

“
Jatha
,
she’s fast…” she said to herself.

“That’s if we push it,” Vrei added.

“Then push it. We’ll need all the time we can get. We’ve got to warn Divar that history’s largest armada is heading for them.”

“What about your wedding?” said Vrei.

“Yes. My wedding. There will be time for that. But first thing’s first.” Shazahd turned to leave.

“Captain,” said Cavada from the wheel. “What happens when we fly over the forest?”

“How do you mean?” said Vrei.

“Well, I guess I’m not really a sailor, but… don’t the elves tend to shoot airships out of the sky? Sort of as a rule?”

“That is the rule,” Shazahd answered, heading out of the bridge. “But you needn’t worry about it.”

“Okay…. Um… why not?”

“The elves are keener than you might think,” she said. “And they like me too much to sink my new ship.”

“They’re just going to…
know
it’s your ship? We don’t have to signal them or anything?”

Shazahd looked at him over her shoulder. “That’s right,” and she left.

When Shazahd came out onto the foredeck, Owein was already there, watching the sunset. She joined him at the rail, and the two of them stared westward together for a moment. It was a marvelous sight, a frozen explosion oozing with vivid reds and throbbing oranges. The colors painted over Aelmuligo, and their faces glowed warmly with its reflection.

“The world goes to war,” Owein said, “and we’re sailing right into the thick of it.”

“Actually, when the fighting starts, I think the Inner City will be the safest place between the seas.”

“From the armada?”

“From anything. Do you know how many
itthum
of hostile forest they’d have to traverse before they could get there?”

“…A lot?”

“A
lot
. And elves are formidable adversaries, even for the Empire. No one really knows the extent of elvish might. They say they are the last to retain the old ways.”

“Old ways?” said Owein. “You mean …magic?” Shazahd smiled. “As I understood it,” Owein said, “their ‘magic’ came in the form of tree-sized rockets, launched from the forest floor.”

“That’s one variety, yes.”

“Well, Lady Ranaloc, maybe when we get there you can show me what other kinds of…
magic
… there are.”

“I told you I’m not a lady.”

“So you did.”

“And I won’t have to show you anything.”

“Oh, really? …
Mistress?
”

“Really. Audim can show you.”

“Who?”

“My fiancé.”

“Ah, right.”

“Owein… Owein, do you think…?” Shazahd looked troubled. She stared into the sunset. “What do you think happened to my father? Back there?”

“Um… who can know? The Tricorns aren’t well known for their hospitality.”

“But he was so strange…. He’s always been a little off, somehow, but never like that. It was as if… as if they got into his mind and changed it around. Altered him fundamentally, somehow.”

Owein thought for a long moment. “Your mother,” he said. “Was she… did she…?” He didn’t know how to go on.

“What is it? Did Lamarioth say anything?”

“Well, no. Not exactly. He… he just –”

A hatchway opened. It was Jerahd.

“Owein. I’ve been looking for you.” He came towards them.

“And I’ve been hiding from you,” Owein said.

“I witnessed something very intriguing in Zarothus.”

“Yeah? Great. So did I. I think we all had a grand time there.”

“I went to a church,” Jerahd went on, unphased. “The preacher there was in denial of the prophecy. So I followed him to his home.”

“Glad to hear you used your time constructively.”

“I spied on him at dinner, and learned that the Church has designs to overthrow the government.”

“That’s not a surprise. What else did you learn? Any good recipes?”

“Can’t you see what this means, Owein? That is the first part of the prophecy – the corruption of the Church.”

“That’s the one, all right.”

“This means that everything is falling exactly into place. This
has
to be it. It’s all too close just to be a coincidence. The Church, the war, the risen Sorcerer, the Savior –”

“Look,” Owein faced Jerahd head-on. “I can see how you’re putting this whole thing together. But just remember one thing: I don’t care. Even if all this
gweith
is true and the gods are coming to condemn Vuora to the demons of Underearth and all that – I don’t care. Who knows? Maybe it’ll be good for us to be enslaved by Thuldarus. Maybe we deserve that.”

Owein walked past him for the hatch. Jerahd didn’t pursue him. Instead he said to himself, in his own language, “
If he really is to be our Savior
…
then may the gods have mercy on us all
….” Owein disappeared inside the ship.

Shazahd looked the Vali up and down.

“Have you ever flown before?” she asked.

“No. Never.”

“What do you think?”

“It is… truly a miracle. Though I nearly became ill when we left the ground.”

She chuckled. “Tell me, how is it you speak Gresadian so well?”

He smiled. “They say that in all the world, only a Gresadian can afford to speak just one language.”

Shazahd smiled back at him, but it quickly faded. Her eyes fell. Jerahd could tell something powerful grieved her. Her forehead scrunched, and her lower lip trembled.

“My dear,” he said tenderly. “A beautiful young lady such as yourself should never look so full of sorrow.”

He lifted her face by the chin, and she reluctantly brought her big eyes up to look at him. They were watery and glistening. Jerahd was suddenly struck by something intangible.

“What?” Shazahd asked.

“It’s… nothing…” he said. “Only… for a just a second, you reminded me of my own daughter.”

Shazahd turned back to the western sky. The burning sun was beginning to touch down on the bumpy horizon.

“You left a daughter back home? When you came to find Owein?”

“Yes. And more.”

“Your faith is inspiring.”

“It ought to be. It comes from the gods.”

“What do you think is going to happen?” she asked. “Do you think the world can really end?”

“Anything is possible,” he replied.

“Do you think Owein could be the one to stop it?”

Jerahd smiled kindly. “Luckily for me,” he said, “that has already been decided.” He looked to Aelmuligo. Shazahd followed his gaze. “We need only perform the duties we’re given. They… will handle the rest.”

Shazahd bowed her head. She traced the winding course of a road several
itthum
below, snaking over and around a cluster of hills. Stretching shadows blotted out the last of the sun’s light on the ground.

“Sometimes I wonder if we can do what is asked of us.”

“The question to ask is not what
can
we do,” Jerahd said, “but what
must
we do.”

He placed a hand over hers.

She looked into his dark-brown eyes. Something in them triggered her memory.

“My name…” she said. “You said something about my name. What was it?”

“Oh… yes.” He let go of her hand.

“You know, Shazahd? The rain nymph?”

“I know
shazahd
,” he said, his eyes cooling, “and I know the rain nymph. But they are not the same word.” Shazahd was baffled. “How did you get this name?” he asked.

“My parents traveled a great deal. My mother especially loved to visit Val. They went there countless times. When I was born… there was a terrific rainstorm. It lasted for days. My mother was sure she felt the spirit of the rain nymph, and so she named me after her. Why? What is it?”

Jerahd was silent for a long moment.

“In Val,” he said, “the rain nymph is called
Zashada
. She brings cooling water to the hot, dry desert. She cleanses the land and the Vali. She nourishes our thirsty plants, and scares away the evil Tir, protecting us from illness.”

“…And what of my name…?”

He looked into her eyes. She saw a fatherly sadness there.

“
Shazahd
,” he said, “means ‘cursed.’”