Far-Seer (20 page)

How could he tell that? Afsan turned to face his friend — who had a brass tube held to his eye. Of course, the far-seer! Dybo had become quite a fan of it since Afsan had shown him the wonders of the night sky through its lenses.

“Give me that,” said Keenir. Afsan thought the language a bit curt for addressing a prince, but Dybo immediately handed over the instrument.

Keenir put it to his eye. Obviously he’d been thinking the same thing as Afsan. “Trees, all right,” he said, “but if that’s Boodskar, there should be an oddly shaped volcanic cone, and I don’t see — wait a beat, wait a beat, yes, by the Hunter’s claws, yes, there it is!”

Keenir’s great paw slapped down on Afsan’s shoulder, and the young apprentice staggered forward under the impact. “By God, lad!” shouted the captain. “You were right. You were absolutely right!”

Keenir turned to look out on the deck. Afsan did likewise. He then realized that all thirty people aboard were here, crowded together, the wonder and relief at being at the end of their journey enough to quell the territorial imperative, at least for a short time.

Keenir’s voice went up. “We’re home!”

Afsan scanned the ranks around him. One after another, the Quintaglios bowed in concession to him. Tails thumped the deck in thunderous applause.

“Home!”

“Finally!”

“The eggling was right!”

It took the better part of six days for the
Dasheter
to make it into the mainland, passing in turn each of the volcanic islands that made up the archipelago. They briefly saw another sailing ship, but it was far out to the north and, although everyone aboard was desperate to see some new faces, Keenir pressed on toward the main shore. The inward voyage was accompanied by a more frequent ringing of the ship’s bells, an increase in the pounding of the ship’s drums.

Finding just where to put to shore was difficult, though. Capital City, clear on the other side of Land, was the only truly permanent settlement. The Packs tended not to stay put long. Rather, they followed the herds of animals. Afsan’s home Pack of Carno migrated up and down the north bank of the Kreeb River; shovelmouths were the staple of their diet.

Buildings would be abandoned by one group, only to be picked up, a kiloday or two later, by another. That is, if they had remained intact despite the landquakes.

At last Keenir settled on a dock set in a small bay, which, judging from his charts, seemed to be the Bay of Three Forests in the southernmost part of Jam’toolar province. The buildings visible from the shore seemed currently unoccupied but mostly intact. Keenir brought the ship in slowly, majestically. The waters were too shallow for the
Dasheter
to go in all the way, though, so the anchor was put down and everyone rowed ashore in smaller landing boats.

Each shore boat was designed to hold six people, but the Dasheter had only four, not five, the one lost in Keenir’s original battle with Kal-ta-goot having not yet been replaced. Still, everyone crowded into the remaining boats, their joy enough to keep instinct in check for the brief trip to the beach.

At last! After 304 days, Afsan stepped back on solid land. It felt strange not to be rocking back and forth, not to feel the waves, not to hear the snapping of the sails. He took a few steps onto the shore, then collapsed to the sand, delighted, oh so delighted, to be on firm ground.

Others ran off into the forests, perhaps just for the joy of running, perhaps to catch something fresh to eat.

Most of the passengers wanted to be returned to Capital City, so they could get on with their lives. But Capital City was still twenty-five days or so away, sailing along the coastline of Land, and Keenir knew that his passengers and crew needed some time off the ship before they headed back. Indeed, Keenir seemed not the least surprised when two passengers and one crewmember said that they had decided to consider this the end of their voyage. They would make their way inland on their own, catching food as they went.

Soon, small search parties were organized to try to find other Quintaglios. The hope was to find a newsrider, one of those who rode from Pack to Pack on a bipedal mount, bringing the latest word from Capital City to the outlying provinces.

Afsan and Dybo formed one such search party. They headed directly into the interior, looking for the telltale signs that a hunting group or a hornface caravan had passed by recently.

Their skills weren’t really up to the task, but after a half day of searching, Dybo noticed three large wingfingers circling endlessly in the distance. This, they agreed, likely meant a fresh kill. The pair hiked through the forest, occasionally sighting the wingfingers again through breaks in the canopy of trees.

At last they came across eight Quintaglios working over the recently felled carcass of a shovelmouth, bloody muzzles dipping in and out of the torn flesh for gobbets of meat.

The hunters looked up as Afsan and Dybo approached. Sated with food, their territorial imperatives were well in check. They waved for the two youngsters to join them.

“Plenty to go around!” shouted a large female, whom Afsan guessed was leader of the hunt.

The meat, red and runny with blood, did look awfully good after the endless dekadays of bland water creatures hauled aboard the Dasheter and the increasingly gamy flesh of the great serpent Kal-ta-goot. Afsan and Dybo both eagerly bowed concession and helped themselves to fresh flesh, Afsan shearing a large hunk off the tail and Dybo digging into the beast’s haunch with tooth and claw.

“Where are you from?” the hunt leader asked after the boys had eaten their fill.

“We’ve just landed with the
Dasheter
,” said Afsan. There were a few appreciative murmurs: Keenir’s ship was well-known all over Land.

“I am Lub-Kaden,” said the hunt leader, crouched on the ground. “What are your names?”

“I’m Afsan and this is Prince Dybo.”

Heads that had been buried in the flesh of the shovelmouth lifted themselves clear into the sunlight. Other hunters, already stuffed and lying on their bellies, stirred to face Afsan.

Kaden looked directly at Afsan. “Say that again.”

“My name is Afsan. This is Prince Dybo.”

She appeared to watch Afsan carefully, but his muzzle did not flush blue. A Quintaglio can get away with telling a lie only in the dark.

Kaden rose to her feet. “You are Dybo?” she said to Afsan’s friend.

“I am.”

No change in his muzzle color, either. One of the other hunters nodded and whispered to a companion, “I had heard the prince was of a mighty girth.”

“And you’ve been away on a water voyage, you say? Aboard the
Dasheter
?”

“That’s right,” both Afsan and Dybo said in unison. “A pilgrimage.”

“Then you don’t know, do you?” said Kaden.

“Know what?” asked Dybo.

“It pains me to have to tell you, good sir,” said the hunt leader, “but we were visited by a newsrider only last even-night. Her Luminance, Empress Len-Lends, died a short time ago.”

“My mother?” said Dybo. “Dead?”

“Yes,” said Kaden. “A landquake in Capital City, apparently. Part of a roof collapsed. I understand it was a swift death.”

Dybo’s tail twitched. Afsan, too, felt pangs of sadness. He’d been too much in awe of his friend’s mother to really say that he had liked her, but he had certainly admired all she had done for the people.

“It also means,” said Kaden, bowing low, her tail lifting from the ground as she did so, “that you, good Dybo, are now Emperor of the Land, ruler of all eight provinces and of the Fifty Packs.”

Even gorged as they were, other members of the hunting party managed to make it to their feet, bowing their respect. “Long live Emperor Dybo!” shouted one, and soon, the same cry went up from every throat. “Long live Emperor Dybo!”

Lub-Kaden and a couple of her hunters returned with Afsan and Dybo to the beach near where the
Dasheter
was anchored. Afsan could see two shore boats, one heading out to the mighty sailing ship, the other coming from it back to the beach. It seemed that the
Dasheter
was not yet ready to depart.

On the beach were several passengers and crewmembers from the
Dasheter
, including Captain Var-Keenir. Keenir was obviously deep in thought. He’d been pacing back and forth along the beach, but with his regenerated tail swishing in such a wide arc behind him that it erased his footprints from the black basaltic sands.

Also present was a party of riders: a semi-ten of Quintaglios and their green bipedal running beasts. It quickly developed that Keenir and some of the others had run into this group out on the open lava plains that ran between the three forests that led away from this beach.

The running beasts had round bodies, lengthy necks, horizontally held tails, and legs that had elongated final segments to increase their strides. Their eyes were huge and round, and, rather than the solid black of Quintaglio orbs, they were a rippling gold with vertical oval pupils. The heads were tiny, making the eyes seem even bigger, and ended in drawn-out toothless beaks.

Hunter Kaden repeated her news about the Empress, and Dybo’s ascendancy. It was quickly agreed that he should return to Capital City as soon as possible.

“The
Dasheter
won’t be ready for another three or four days,” said Keenir, whose pacing had stopped but whose tail, the regenerated part almost a chartreuse in the brilliant afternoon sun, still swished in the sand. “Katood has found a couple of leaks. I have a party collecting gaolok sap now so that we can seal the offending portions of the hull. And we’ll need provisions. Plus, of course, the crew is fatigued after our long voyage. They need some more time to run and hunt before we set sail again.” Keenir turned his head in a way that made it clear that his dark eyes couldn’t possibly be looking at Afsan. “We’ve already had one mate go berserk. I won’t risk losing another.”

One of the hunters who had come with Kaden spoke up. “There’s another ship, the
Nasfedeter
, moored not far from here, at Halporn, a port just over the border in Fra’toolar province. It’s a cargo vessel, carrying a shipment of new fishing equipment, ordered by someone at the palace.” Few Quintaglios were partial to fish, but they were often fed to domesticated animals. “It sets sail for the Capital next even-day.”

“I’ll go with it, then,” said Dybo, already adopting a decisive nature. “Afsan, you’ll come with me.”

“With the Emperor’s indulgence,” said Afsan, bowing deeply, “there are some errands I wish to run here on the western shore. Would you give me leave to do so?”

Dybo wrinkled his muzzle. “Of course, friend. I’ll see you in the Capital … when?”

“Two or three hundred days. I’ll probably take a land caravan back, perhaps meet up with my old Pack, Carno, for a visit.” He paused. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty to keep you busy at court.”

“Very well,” said Dybo, and he bowed the bow of friendship at Afsan.

“It’ll be tight getting to Halporn before the
Nasfedeter
sails,” said Kaden, looking up at the sun to gauge the time of day. “You had best leave now, Emperor Dybo.”

“My things…”

“I’ll see to it that they get packed up, Dybo,” said Keenir, “and returned to you when the
Dasheter
arrives back at Capital City.”

“Well, then, I guess I’m off,” said Dybo. “Keenir, a most fascinating voyage; I thank you. See me at court when you return; you’ll be rewarded well. Afsan, any message for Saleed?”

“I think I’d better save what I’ve got to say until I see the old fellow in person.” He shuddered. “It’s going to be a tough fight, I know.”

Dybo clicked his teeth in sympathy. Then, turning to immediate concerns, he surveyed the assembled group. “And how should I get to Halporn?”

One of the riders stepped forward. “Val-Toron, at your service, Emperor,” she said. “I’d be honored if you rode my mount; the rest of my party will be glad to escort you to where the
Nasfedeter
is docked.”

“Right, then; let’s go.” Dybo moved toward the running beast Toron had indicated. The two-legged creature turned its long neck right around to look dubiously at the rotund Emperor. It then looked back at its handler, who was standing now in a relaxed tripod stance leaning back on her tail. The runner tilted its tiny head at her in a way that seemed to say, “You have
got
to be kidding.”

Two of the other riders helped Dybo mount the beast and get comfortable in the saddle. Then they rode off with the traditional cry of “
Latark
!”

Afsan turned to Keenir. “Captain, Saleed told me that the far-seer was made for you by an artisan on the west coast of Land.”

“Did he? Yes, that’s true.”

“Well, sir, we’re on the west coast now. I’d like to meet this glassworker. Does he or she live here, in Jam’toolar?”

Keenir wrinkled his muzzle and looked away. For a moment it seemed to have flushed blue, as if he’d been contemplating telling a lie. But then, when he looked back, his face was composed and its normal deep green.

“Yes, she does. Her name is Wab-Novato. But her Pack is Gelbo, and their home base is still a five-day hike from here, or so. It’s a long way, and I really don’t think…”

“Wab-Novato?” said a voice. Keenir turned. Kaden was standing within earshot. “I know her well,” said the hunter.

“We’re from Gelbo; she’s a member of our base group. Quite a talent, that one.”

Afsan’s tail swished in delight. “Will you take me to see her?”

“Of course,” said Kaden.

“But…” Keenir stammered a couple of times, then looked away, his breath coming out in a long, hissing sigh. “Oh, all right. Have a good trip, Afsan. Just — just don’t mention to Saleed that I had anything to do with this.”

“Why should Saleed care?” asked Afsan.

But Keenir did not seem moved to answer.