Dragonsight (17 page)

‘White Quell forbid something should be straight forward for a change. How do you come by your theory?’

Jelindel pursed her lips. ‘Just things they let slip every now and then. Besides, the ship has set out for the deep ocean, but it isn’t provisioned for a long journey.’

‘Perhaps we are to meet another ship,’ Daretor said. ‘Or stop at some island.’

‘Somehow I don’t think so.’

Jelindel thought back to several conversations she had overheard. None supported Daretor’s theories.

‘Any sign of Osric?’

‘I think they killed him,’ she said. Daretor winced. ‘He’s not on board. But then S’cressling wouldn’t have let anything happen to him if she were alive. Pray to White Quell he escaped.’

Daretor made a spitting sound. ‘Why would Fa’red bring us out here?’

‘Perhaps for the same reason he hasn’t killed us, whatever that is.’

That night they did not sleep well. The ship entered a region of choppy water and around midnight a squall engulfed them. The
Sargasso
tossed and heaved throughout the night, crashing through troughs before rising high to crash again. Mountainous waves broke across the deck, pounding the sodden timbers. The noise washed through the ship like the footfalls of an army on the march.

The next day dawned bright upon a calm sea. An inconveniently calm sea. There was no wind, not even a breeze. The ship sat becalmed on the great ocean. Jelindel was scrubbing the decks once again. She noted that although Captain Helnick paced the upper deck and peered at the horizon through his farsight, he did not seem concerned. Indeed, he was more relaxed than the crew, which had become irritable.

The reason for Helnick’s calm soon became apparent. Exactly at noon a wind sprang up from the south-east. The canvas billowed, the rigging creaked, and the
Sargasso
knifed through the water. The crew cheered, but Jelindel sensed that it was no natural wind. It was magecraft, and only Fa’red was powerful enough to be behind it.

Jelindel overheard the first mate and the bosun talking. The latter spat, calling the waters they were in the ‘Accursed Eye’, a place where the elements fought one another to a standstill.

Jelindel had heard of the Eye. One did not live long in a port city without hearing all manner of sailors’ tales. That afternoon, when she managed to slip away for a few minutes, she reported to Daretor.

‘The captain was not surprised?’ Daretor asked.

‘Not at all,’ Jelindel said. ‘On the contrary, he seemed to be expecting it. The crew, too, I’d say. They’re definitely unhappy. Though, of course, they’d be edgy where magic’s concerned.’

‘So Captain Helnick steers deliberately into an area of dead calm, in the middle of the ocean, then sits patiently waiting for a mage-wind.’

‘I heard Tarlig muttering. He fears this place. No breath of natural wind ever comes here,’ said Jelindel. ‘Apparently we’re heading even deeper into it.’

Daretor gripped the bars. ‘It’s madness to go farther. What if we’re stranded? Who could rescue us from such a place? It makes no sense.’

‘All I know is that if I don’t get back to the galley, I shall have a dozen extra bruises tonight.’

Jelindel kissed Daretor through the bars, then darted out. Left to himself, Daretor stared morosely at a rat hole in a corner. Two tiny red eyes peered back at him.

‘Well, what do you want, Zimak?’ he said, addressing the rat.

He slumped down. For the first time since leaving Yuledan, he thought at length about what might have happened to the thief. A low life he might have led, but at that moment Daretor would have welcomed him with open arms. Zimak’s stealth, and his ability to get into and out of secure places, was almost legendary. Money and women’s admiration were a particularly powerful incentive.

The
Sargasso
sailed for another three days, propelled by the mage-wind. Though happy to be moving, the crew was nevertheless uneasy; visit potential death a thousand times and it doesn’t get easier. Their disquiet broke the surface frequently as squabbles and fights erupted. Jelindel noted that a lot more firewine was being stolen from the stores.

Spirits had always been rationed out to seamen on long voyages as a reward, or to raise morale. The Merchantmen’s Guild tried to regulate, and indeed ban the provisioning of ships with powerful distilled spirits. In the end they had given up. Mutinies, ship wrecks, sabotaged gear, and murdered officers caused by even temporary prohibitions cost the ship owners dearly. Their puritanical regulations were not enforced, and officers went back to rewarding crew with firewine, the currency of the seaways.

Despite having worked as an officer and navigator on previous voyages, Jelindel had developed a great deal of sympathy for the common sailor’s point of view. Life on board the great sailing ships was hard enough without some way to relax and forget one’s troubles. Like the others on board, she was given a ration of firewine, which she always gave to Daretor. He swallowed the liquor in one gulp.

‘I tell you Jelli, I’m going mad in here. It’s all right for you. You get to see the sun, and breathe fresh air. I can’t understand why they don’t have me working above decks.’

Reaching through the bars, she stroked his face. He bowed his head, ashamed of being so helpless. How could she explain to him that she too felt completely trapped without her magic? Hers was as devastating a prison as Daretor’s cage, but one she knew he could not understand.

‘I don’t know if I can endure this,’ he said softly, then looked into her eyes. His eyes were red-rimmed and bleary, and his cheeks puffy. Lack of exercise and sunlight were taking their toll.

‘I’ve noticed,’ Jelindel said, her stomach cramping. ‘I suspect they keep you down here as a hold on me. What they think I could do out here is beyond me. Even if I miraculously got my powers back, the mage-wind would stop and we’d all be at Fa’red’s pleasure.’

‘If something doesn’t happen soon,’ said Daretor, with feeling, ‘I
will
go mad.’

‘Our futures don’t look bright,’ Jelindel said, staring into his desperate eyes. ‘One could almost hope that Rakeem’s poison takes us before Fa’red.’ She brightened for a moment, and at Daretor’s querying look she went on. ‘Fa’red mistakenly believes that I have trapped all the paraplane spirits from the adepts I have slain. He’ll be present when our time comes. Only there won’t be one solitary spirit for him to take.’

‘Which doesn’t help us,’ Daretor said sombrely.

‘No, but it gives us the last laugh. Besides, it also means that he expects to see us before the poison runs its course. If I die alone, he can’t harvest the spirits he thinks I’ve enslaved.’

Daretor pulled her closer to him and through the bars they rubbed noses. ‘I love you despite your nonsense …’

The next day Jelindel was on the poop deck, polishing brass work, when a cry went up behind her. She turned to see a colossal shape taking form across the ocean, some two or three miles to starboard. It was easily two hundred feet high and sixty wide. It looked like a huge serpent’s iris. Whatever it was had the consistency of smoke and the colour of rust, and it was clearly sucking in the surrounding air.

All the crewmen stared, pointed, and talked excitedly. Jelindel climbed onto a spar to get a better look. She gasped as she caught a clear view. Wind and water were pouring into the iris, speeding up and foaming as if there were rapids on the other side.

‘It’s a portal,’ she said to herself.

A voice next to her replied, ‘That it is, Archmage.’ She turned to see Captain Helnick watching her.

‘You’re taking your ship to a paraworld.’

‘Aye, that I am.’

‘This is Fa’red’s doing.’

Helnick bowed slightly. ‘We are his servants, are we not?’

‘I hope he’s paying you in gold and silver,’ Jelindel said.

Helnick frowned slightly. ‘And why is that, my lady?’

‘Because it’s unlikely, having expended so much power to get you there, that he will ever bring you back. And gold and silver are more universally used on paraworlds than other coinage.’

The captain stared at her for a long moment then snorted. ‘That’s mutinous talk that is. But you’ll not be walking the plank, young lass. There’s a much better fate in store for you.’ He strode away, shouting orders to the bosun and the first mate. The bosun swung the wheel, adjusting course, and heading for the iris. When the captain wasn’t looking, the bosun swallowed nervously and muttered a quick prayer to the sea god, Na’del. A young crewman nearby did the same.

The canvas was shortened and everything on deck battened down. ‘We may be in for a rough ride,’ the captain told his officers. ‘Have the men roped to their stations. All others are to go below.’

‘What about her?’ asked Tarlig, hooking a thumb at Jelindel.

With great relish, Helnick said, ‘Have her roped to the forward spar. We’ll give her the best view of the ride.’

Jelindel was taken forward and tied to the mast
.
All the while the ship picked up speed as it entered the current pouring into the iris. With each passing second, the water washed higher and higher, now at Jelindel’s legs, now at her waist. Soon she was holding her breath between waves that washed over her head with each pitch and plunge of the
Sargasso
.

The vermilion portal filled the sky and hid the horizon from view. Jelindel thought she saw stars within the vertical slit that loomed like a rent in the fabric of space itself. At this distance, she could see that the water at the base of the iris was ragged foam, boiling and churning, as though a sea serpent was thrashing beneath the surface.

Jelindel glanced down at the rope binding her to the mast. No matter that I’m bound, she thought fatalistically. If the ship founders, we all go down.

‘All hands secure yourselves!’ called Tarlig.

Everybody, though roped securely to the ship, grabbed stanchions and gunwales or anything else nearby. The ship began to shudder as it hit the roughest section of the churning water. Waves burst over the deck, and spray lashed over Jelindel like horizontal rain.

The bow nosed down. Jelindel was completely submerged, her hair swirling in her face, foam and bubbles surging about her. She had had no time to take a final breath, and soon her lungs were bursting. Just when she thought she could hold her breath no longer, the bow tipped upward. Seconds later it broke the surface, shedding tons of roiling water back into the sea.

The ship plunged into the iris. Instantly the prow pitched down, dropping abruptly. For a moment, the deck tilted at an acute angle, as if the whole structure was going to sink. There was a massive impact, like somebody belly-flopping into a pool, then the prow was rising again. On all sides, the water churned and chopped. The ship’s timbers groaned and creaked, and spume flicked through the air, stinging Jelindel’s face.

A vortex grew slowly beneath them and the ship began to rotate, caught within its grip. A tube formed within the swirling water, and quickly bloated as the swirling accelerated. Jelindel knew enough about ships to realise that the vessel was about to shatter; ships were not built to endure conditions like this. Then she saw Helnick on the upper deck, one hand raised aloft. In the palm of his hand was a black crystal shaped like a runestone. She saw his lips moving, but she could hear nothing above the thundering of the vortex and the wind that howled through the iris. Even as she watched a livid light gathered about the crystal, which seemed to be throbbing as if it were alive. Helnick suddenly shouted, ‘
Vishnak atu!
’ What seemed to be a solid bar of light speared the iris like a lance.

The anomaly was some thirty yards behind them as it began to close. The wind passing through it shrieked at an ever increasing pitch, rising to a crescendo that had everyone on the
Sargasso
shutting their eyes tightly and cupping their hands over their ears.

Silence descended like a falling axe.

Jelindel opened her eyes. The iris had closed. The vortex, which had been fed by the water roaring through the portal, quickly dissipated, and the
Sargasso
was bobbing on a slight swell.

Two days later they pulled into a port and docked. The town rose tier upon tier above the harbour, built into the side of a granite massif that rose steeply to a summit lost in cloud. The town’s buildings were built upon broad terraces carved into the rock. Roads and footpaths criss-crossed the surface. Enormous caverns also pockmarked the cliff, with roads leading into them. Long looping bridges, fashioned of stone bound by metalwork, spanned natural clefts and chasms. Everywhere Jelindel looked she saw great crowds going about their business. Altogether, it was the most awesome city she had ever seen.

Cargo was off-loaded with no particular haste, and the captain was away from the ship for most of the first few days. Jelindel was confined to the hold with Daretor. They had no idea what was going on. One evening she was pacing the cramped space lit by a hanging oil lamp given to her by Hakat. Distracted, she walked into the oil lamp, banging her head and knocking it from its hook. She cursed. Without thinking she muttered a spell to raise the lamp. Nothing happened, of course, except –

‘Do that again,’ said Daretor.

‘Very funny,’ Jelindel said, rubbing her forehead.

‘Jelli, I meant no joke. When you tried to work magic just then, I think I saw a tiny blue flicker.’

‘But nothing happened,’ said Jelindel.

Daretor rattled the bars in frustration. ‘So try again.’

Jelindel swallowed, but could not find the courage to try again. She had not been able to express to Daretor how devastating the loss of her magical powers had been. The equivalent for Daretor would have been to have had his sword arm cut off. Jelindel’s loss had left a great void. Indeed, the endless wearying work on deck and in the galley had been a kind of godsend, tiring her mind beyond the point where she might brood on such things. Now she was far from sure that she wanted to reconfirm her worst fears.

‘You probably just imagined you saw something,’ she said, suddenly licking her dry lips.

‘Try.’

‘No Daretor, I’ll not. They’re gone. My powers are gone. Please, be silent.’