The Balance of Power (Godsland Series: Books Four, Five, and Six) (3 page)

Behind the statue of some ancient king, Sinjin crouched. Beside him a glowing rune chased the darkness. Carved into the stone were delicate yet cavernous sigils. The narrow, fine lines cut deep enough to allow light from the central fire to shine through. The sigils had caused quite a stir after the lighting of the great hearth. When they began to glow, people feared some ancient magic had awakened. Sinjin thought that perhaps it had.

Putting his slate over the rune, Sinjin let the warm air reheat his now cold food. Most now agreed that the runes were the ancients' way of distributing warmth to the entire hold from the central fire, but some still held on to the belief that the runes were magical.

"Haven't seen him," a voice said in the distance, and Sinjin heard footsteps approaching. He pulled his knees to his chest and waited for them to pass. The pain in his chest had become unbearable, and he did not want to be found. He was afraid he would be unable to find his voice.

"How are they?"

"Not good," Sinjin's uncle Chase said, and Sinjin pulled his knees tighter, trying to will himself out of existence. It was all his fault.

"Do you know what happened?" the voice Sinjin could not quite place asked quietly.

"No, not really." Chase hesitated. "Our best guess is that someone is interfering with their return. They've both
traveled before, and I think they would have found their way back unless someone hampered them, as Prios once did to Catrin."

Sinjin's heart beat fast. He was sure they would hear his quickened breathing. How would he explain his eavesdropping, especially now that they were discussing things that were normally kept hidden from him? Their family history was not entirely unknown to him, but certain details were never discussed in his presence.

"What can we do to help?"

"Keep your eyes open for Sinjin and hope for the best, I suppose," Chase said. The pain in his voice brought Sinjin to tears. Guilt stabbed at him, but he remained silent.

"Our prayers are with you."

The footsteps faded into the distance, and Sinjin knew he needed to get back to the infirmary. A whiff of his now warm food made his stomach growl, but he froze in fear as a shadow detached itself from a nearby alcove and moved along the hallway slowly as if afraid to be seen. Sinjin willed his stomach to silence as the figure melted back into the shadows. Afraid to move, Sinjin waited in terrified silence.

* * *

Chase paced the polished granite floors of the war room, waiting for the rest to arrive. With consensus unachievable, the tension at these meetings had been growing for months, and the present crisis stood only to exacerbate the situation. With a deep sigh, he looked up. Around a table hewn from the very rock that surrounded him, oppressing him, sat three of the five people he expected. Two chairs would remain empty, a fact that haunted all of them. The chairs had been a gift from Jharmin Kyte, the husband of Catrin's cousin. It was said that Lady Lissa broke every vase within Wolfhold when she found out. The chairs themselves were a marvel. Carvings of dragons wrapped around the arms and legs. Gilded threads woven by the hands of a master graced stiff cushions, which Chase thought were far nicer to look at than to sit upon.

Strom sat, tracing the designs on the outer edge of the table with his fingertips. The construction of this place had baffled him from the first time he'd entered it, and Chase could see his mind working, trying to figure out just how the ancients had done it.

Brother Vaughn and his wife, Mirta, huddled in quiet conversation, discussing the condition of Catrin and Prios. Chase couldn't keep from listening, and he did his best not to despair. When Martik and Miss Mariss arrived, he nearly snapped at them, but the platters of food they carried greatly improved his mood.

"If Catrin were here," Miss Mariss said, "she'd grumble that none of this food was grown within Dragonhold, so I'll do it for her. 'We need to grow more food within the hold. We must be self-sufficient, or all we've done will be for naught.' Now eat up." There was a catch in her voice, and the food was consumed in relative silence.

When the trays were empty, the silence remained. Finally, Chase cleared his throat. "I know we all wish Catrin and Prios were here, so let's just get on with the usual business, and then we can talk about what, if anything, can be done to help them. Agreed?"

All those assembled nodded.

"The guards are in order and are on high alert. I have men looking for Sinjin, and once we find him, we'll be keeping a closer watch on him. I shouldn't have let him out of my sight, and I won't make that mistake again. As for the finances, things are as grim as ever. I'm not sure how much longer we can keep paying the number of men required to protect us. That's my report."

"The smithy is fully operational, but we need more ore. As I've said before, we either need to start new mines or reopen some of the old mines. All the good mines are south of the wall, and Edling will just raise the prices and drain our coffers. If we create new mines as extensions of the keep, then we might be able to create additional open areas for some sort of agriculture."

"With the number of herald globes it would take to provide enough light to grow anything," Brother Vaughn said, "we could sell the globes and import our food supplies."

"There's still the possibility of growing mushrooms in the dark," Miss Mariss interrupted. "Then we only need light to harvest them."

"Even if we can grow enough mushrooms to feed the hold, we can't live off mushrooms alone," Martik added.

"Can we at least agree that we should invest more time working on mushroom farming methods?" Chase asked with an edge to his voice.

The others nodded.

"On a positive note," Mirta interjected, "our herb- and flower-drying efforts have provided enough medicinal herbs and spices to last at least three winters. Our stockpiles of nuts and dried fruits are also enough to last several seasons with proper rationing."

Chase tried not to frown, knowing even that success would not satisfy Catrin. If the hold were ever to be truly self-sufficient, they would need to find ways to satisfy all of their needs from within the hold. While Chase understood her motivations, every passing day made it more difficult to convince people that the hold needed to be self-sufficient. A warming weather trend had brought bountiful harvests, and the populations north and south of the wall were growing rapidly. The darkness of Catrin's visions seemed worlds away, and there were few people who believed they would ever need the protection Catrin so desperately sought to prepare. These thoughts weren't new, and he'd yet to find a solution, so Chase set his jaw and committed himself to simply making forward progress.

"The fishery remains healthy, and we've found a kind of pond moss that grows well in low light. Berman Ross found it in a cave down south, and since we've introduced it to the waters, it has flourished. We may be able to create a sustainable fishery yet."

This effort at least was one that everyone was behind. If the subterranean lake now known as the God's Eye could prove a reliable source for food and fresh water, then it truly would be a gift from the gods.

"How about your efforts, Brother Vaughn?" Chase asked. "Have you found anything new?"

"Not much, I'm afraid. I've found more references that confirm the keep once had fresh water running throughout, but I can find nothing to indicate the source. The basins and channels throughout the hold make it obvious that water once flowed, but what needs to be done to make it flow once again is a complete mystery. This whole keep is enough to relieve a man of his wits. Hidden chambers, hallways that go nowhere, strange runes that seem impossible to re-create--truly the ancients knew a great many things we do not."

"Perhaps we should consider sending another envoy to meet with Thorakis," Miss Mariss said.

"We've already sent two envoys, and neither has returned. I think we've already received our answer," Chase said then took a deep breath, preparing himself for Miss Mariss's reaction to that statement.

"I wish I knew what happened to those men!" she blurted, surprising Chase, who suddenly found himself coughing. "If they're on the Greatland getting fat and leaving us to our fate, why I'll . . ." Miss Mariss continued under her breath, but her words were not meant or fit for the ears of others.

Chase shared her frustration. Since the end of what was now called the Herald War, it seemed every bit of news from the Greatland was tied in some way to a man most called Thorakis the Builder. Some called him Thorakis the Savior, but that name was less popular here on the Godfist. Regardless, the man's accomplishments were undeniable, and already people around the world, including present company, were trying to figure out how to duplicate some of his feats. The establishment of an enormous fishery had been his initial achievement. Feeding the masses gave him the ability to effect great change. Every achievement brought more people to his cause, and those people further increased his ability to achieve the otherwise unachievable.

"Whatever the cause," Brother Vaughn finally said. "I don't think we can expect any help from the Greatland any time soon. I suggest we continue as we have been, and we are bound to discover new things over time."

His statement was greeted by silence. It sounded all too familiar, and since most of their meetings ended on a similar note, it did not inspire confidence.

"On Catrin's behalf," Chase said, "I'll note that we still have approximately a thousand herald globes. With no sign of Kyrien, we don't expect to have more any time soon. I suggest we hold on to them. If we can't produce more, then we'll need to get more for the ones we have. We've orders for ten times the amount we have, so it won't take long before the offering prices start to go up. I also know that Catrin wants several hundred to remain within the hold at all times, so there really are very few that remain to be sold."

"We'll have to keep an even closer watch on those we have," Brother Vaughn said. "I know those within the hold are trustworthy, but greed can make people do things they normally would not."

"Agreed," Chase said. "Based on Prios's last report, there are no places available within the academy, but people continue to arrive on every ship in from the Greatland and the Falcon Isles. Now we even have ships coming from Garaway and Foss. We need to figure out what to do with these people."

It was an increasingly troubling problem. Most of those who came seeking entrance to the Herald's Academy were turned away, and the majority had no way to return home. The fact was that most of them were misfits and outcasts, sent to the Godfist by their families with the anticipation that they would not return. In the absence of any quantifiable method of judging each person's potential, the academy had simply accepted all those who came until there were more than Prios and his staff could handle. After that, everyone was turned away with few exceptions. Generally only those who had manifested powerful abilities on their own were admitted. In some cases students of less potential had to be excused. It was a difficult and disconcerting process.

"We also need to figure out who will maintain order until Prios can return to his duties," Chase added, and again silence filled the hall. "And most importantly, we need to figure out a way to help Catrin and Prios. There must be something we can do, and Brother Vaughn, I think you are the man to figure out exactly what that is. Unfortunately I also think you are the man to run the academy in Prios's absence."

"I'll do everything I can to achieve both, but I'm going to need some help."

"We'll do what we can to get you what you need," Chase said.

"I've an idea," Mirta said. "I know I'm no expert, but I remember the tale of Catrin's astral travel to find the Firstland. She had no stone and metal throne, as she had at Ohmahold, and she became lost. Was it not the dragons who assisted her return? Did she not say that they aided her?"

The rest of the group seemed dubious, but it was Brother Vaughn who gave their concerns a voice. "While our memories agree, I don't see how that will help us at this particular time. Catrin has been calling out to Kyrien for years, and he has not returned."

"But we could try," Mirta interrupted. "Perhaps this is something the academy could help with. Maybe they can call out to the dragons and ask for help. What harm can it cause?"

Brother Vaughn nodded slowly, his deep brown eyes thoughtful. "I don't suppose I see any harm in it, and it might help the people to feel they are doing something productive. We must, of course, continue to keep Catrin and Prios's actual condition secret. Perhaps we could just tell everyone that we need them to call the dragons here so we can obtain more dragon ore."

"Maybe you should just throw the dragons a party," Martik added with a smirk.

"I hadn't thought of that!" Mirta exclaimed.

Martik rolled his eyes.

Chapter 3

Light blinds as readily as shadow.

--Hurakin the Assassin

* * *

Black sails crowded the horizon beneath a roiling mass of darkness. Unlike any storm clouds Pelivor had ever seen, towering formations curled in on themselves and emanated malevolence, as if the clouds themselves wished to destroy him and everyone else aboard the
Slippery Eel.
Even if the storm were simply a storm, the fleet of black ships drew ever closer, and Pelivor could feel their intent. It made his knees tremble.

"You just need to believe you can do it," Kenward repeated, as if those words could somehow convince Pelivor that he could do something that only the most powerful person on all of Godsland could do. Though he considered Catrin a friend, she was the Herald of Istra, and he was nothing compared to her. Though he'd shown the slightest spark of talent with Istra's powers, it had been only that, literally, a spark.

"I'm trying," Pelivor said, doing his best not to let his annoyance put an edge on his voice. Though Kenward was the captain of the
Slippery Eel,
he was also a friend. Cold air pressed his loose-fitting silks to him, and his normally tight and deeply tanned skin drew even tighter, making him look as if he were carved from stone.

"I know, but--"

He didn't have to finish the statement; both could see the darkness closing in on them. The towering clouds looked as if they would swallow the world, and sudden bursts of lightning illuminated them from within, dark silhouettes standing out against the temporarily lit backdrop. Pelivor took a deep breath and tried to calm himself with no success. Lives depended on him, and he had no reason to believe he would succeed. All he had to go by were Kenward's descriptions of what Catrin had done, and those were decidedly vague. Perhaps if she were here, she could teach him, but she wasn't here. He also didn't have her dragon ore figurine or staff to draw energy from; the only power within his grasp was what he could draw from the air around him. He could feel it, smell it, and even taste it, but he had no idea how to gather it or focus it. He might as well try to gather fog with a bucket.

Walking back to the bow, Pelivor couldn't help feeling like a charlatan as he spread his arms wide. The crew remained silent, watching him, willing him to succeed, knowing another failure would likely mean death for them all. That thought made Pelivor ill. When Grubb approached with a mug of aromatic broth, it was all Pelivor could do to force it down.

"It'll cure what ails ya," the ship's cook said, his voice steady and a half smile on his face. Pelivor wished he shared the man's confidence, and it must have shown. "Don't worry. That man's been trying to kill me for years, and he ain't succeeded yet," he said, jerking a thumb in Kenward's direction.

Handing the empty mug back to Grubb, Pelivor hoped this day would not change that. Ever since they'd left the Greatland bound for the Godfist, loaded with precious cargo, he'd had a bad feeling in his gut, and since the appearance of the black fleet, his fears had only grown.

* * *

Kenward paced from bow to stern and tried to avoid making eye contact with Pelivor, knowing the man was near his breaking point and there was nothing he could say to ease the burden. For years the
Slippery Eel
had been among the fastest ships on the water and had evaded even the most determined pursuers, but she was weighed down, and the ships behind them moved faster than any he'd seen before. He wondered again if the unnatural storm drove them to such great speed or if some new design allowed them to cut the waves faster than ships that had come before. Using his looking glass, he could see nothing that distinguished those ships from any other, and he came, once again, to the conclusion that some malevolent force drove them forward. The sense of impending evil was the most telling factor, and Kenward felt a rare wave of fear overtake him. Despite his efforts to hide the fear from his crew, he knew they could sense it, and that alone was enough to put them all on edge.

Watching Pelivor from behind, he prayed the gods had not lost patience with him, and after tossing another gold coin into the waves, he hoped it was enough. A dim glow pulsed around Pelivor's hands, and Kenward dared to hope, but nothing happened. Soon after, the glow faltered and the sailor lowered his hands, his frustration clear in his posture. Again Kenward ran through his options, and again he came to the conclusion that nothing he could do would save them. Catrin's stonework thrones, cut from the mines deep below Ohmahold, were too heavy for his men to move without rope, pulleys, and substantial frameworks--none of which would be available until they reached the Godfist. He'd known the risk and accepted it, but now their precious cargo became their biggest liability, and jettisoning the other heavy cargo would destabilize the ship, only making the problem worse. Pelivor was their only hope, and that hope was as thin as gossamer.

"They're gonna catch us soon," came the voice of Bryn, the bosun, and Kenward turned to him with an annoyed glare for stating the obvious. "I know we can't unload the thrones, but if we just keep going as we are, we'll have to fight them on their terms."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Do something they won't be expecting," Bryn said with a wink, the freckles standing out on his reddened skin, which never seemed to tan, and his blue eyes twinkled.

Kenward grinned, a plan forming in his mind.

* * *

Pelivor watched in horror as the darkness swallowed the blue skies above them. Soon the black ships would overtake them, and all of them would die because he had failed them. His friends would die because he was feeble and weak minded.
No.
He would not give up. Catrin would not have given up, and he let the memory of her drive him. He remembered how she had fought to make him think more of himself and how he had grown to love her. Even if he could never have her, he would always have her in his heart.

With a shuddering breath, he set his jaw and let his fears melt away. Catrin had believed in him, and he let that belief become his own. Opening himself to the energy around him, he pulled it to him as best he could and let it fill him, slowly and steadily. Before he had let his impatience and fear drive him, but now he tried something different, filling himself with more energy than he'd ever held before. It felt as if he would catch fire or simply explode, but he continued to gather energy and hold it within him. It was like holding his breath, and his body began to burn with need, every instinct telling him to release it before it was too late, but still he held on, knowing that failure meant death.

The world around him ceased to exist, and he felt as if he might pass out, but he held the image of Catrin in his mind. She became his focal point, and by concentrating on her, his body's urgings became more distant and less poignant, as if he were but an observer of his own form. With her translucent hair blown back by the wind in his mind, Catrin's face held the strength of nations; her eyes, the fire of the sun; and her body, the might of the world. Though she was slender and slight, she looked as if she could pull the moon from the sky and cast it into the seas. When she looked at him, he felt her warmth wash over him, and he smelled her fragrance. In that moment he remembered their kiss, knowing it would be the only one they would ever share, yet it was enough to sustain him and hold him in thrall. Always before he'd let the guilt prevent him from reliving the memory, knowing that she'd given her heart to Prios, but this time was different. She loved him too--he knew it--and something told him that just this once, Prios would not object. Pelivor did not wish to steal her; he only wished to take strength and solace from her love and friendship. She had urged him to believe in himself, and for once he allowed himself to do just that.

In the next moment, though, everything changed. The deck beneath his feet lurched, pulling Pelivor from his meditation as the
Slippery Eel
executed a sharp turn. Crewmembers armed themselves and prepared for battle. To his surprise, Farsy and Nimsy held one of the light anchors they used in rocky areas where they were likely to lose the anchor. Angular and pointed, this anchor was nothing like the heavy, rounded anchor used in deep water with sandy or muddy bottom.

Now charging straight toward the approaching fleet, the
Slippery Eel
cut through the waves, seemingly pulled closer by a strange inflow, as if the storm itself were sucking them in. Pelivor despaired, his chance lost, and now all he could do was arm himself for the inevitable battle. No more could he hope to save his shipmates or himself; all he could do was hope to die fighting. It was a sickening feeling, yet there was a release in it. A strange and unfamiliar calm came over him as he watched his death approach. Those around him stood silent and stoic as they, too, accepted their fates with honor and grace.

The ships before them began to separate and turn, only two holding their course. As they drew closer, Pelivor expected to see men on those greasy black decks, but what he saw caused his fear to return. There were men but beside them were reptilian creatures in crude armor covering skin that looked nearly as tough as the armor. These demons watched with cold eyes as the
Slippery Eel
approached, and when the two ships flanked the
Eel,
they began leaping across the distance that separated the ships. Their strength and speed far exceeded that of their human counterparts, who could never have made such a leap.

Given no more time to contemplate this new enemy, Pelivor found himself facing a towering demon with golden eyes and elongated pupils like those of a snake; the pupils narrowed as the monster eyed its prey. Opening its mouth in what Pelivor could only guess was the equivalent of a smile, it bared its black gums and curved, yellow teeth. The stench of death reached out first, followed by a whistling mace that nearly took Pelivor's head from his shoulders. Taking a step backward, Pelivor wanted to run and hide, his courage fleeing in the face of such evil, but there was nowhere to run. Even jumping overboard would only lead to his death, and he did what he would not have thought himself capable of: he planted his feet and faced the demon.

Drawing energy as quickly as he could, having lost hold of his previous store, he extended his hand and lashed out with all the power he could muster, hoping it would be enough. A thread-thin line of blue light reached between his outstretched hand and the chest of the hulking demon, and a loud crack split the air, but the attack had no other effect. The demon tilted its head back and issued a barking laugh before raising its mace. Pelivor waited for the killing blow, but the demon suddenly stiffened and dropped to the deck, accompanied by a loud clang and a sinister sizzle. Behind where the beast had stood was Grubb, smoking skillet in hand. He offered Pelivor the briefest smile before both braced themselves.

"Hold on!" Kenward shouted. "Now!"

Pelivor watched as Farsy threw the anchor at one of the passing ships. It landed on the deck and skidded across the oily planks, looking as if it would simply slide back into the sea, but the sharp tips caught on something and bit deeply. Nimsy released the coiled rope as it raced away from him.

"Brace!" Kenward shouted.

A moment later the
Slippery Eel
slowed sharply, and water rushed over the rails as it spun around. Timbers groaned as the cleat holding the anchor rope strained against the tremendous force. The black ship also turned, and its stern dipped low in the waves, sending water rushing along its deck, causing it to dip even lower in the water.

The creaking of timbers accompanied the sounds of battle as the demons tried to bring down Kenward's crew. The sight of their ship rapidly sinking beneath the waves drove them to reckless action. As the ship sank, though, it threatened to take the
Slippery Eel
with it, and Kenward ordered the rope cut, but the demons charged in and protected the straining rope, seemingly intent on making sure the
Slippery Eel
joined their ship on the ocean floor. Splinters of wood filled the air as the rope cut through the railing, and the ship began to list badly, its prow pointing toward the depths. Just before it seemed they would be pulled under, the rope caught on a sharp edge and snapped, recoiling with massive force and taking pieces out of the demons that had been guarding it. As they reeled from the stinging lashes, Kenward's crew forced them through the gap in the railing to join their sunken ship.

The other ship they had passed was now executing a full turn, and the
Slippery Eel
headed straight for it. Howling in what sounded like maddened glee, Kenward ordered all sails unfurled, and the
Slippery Eel
reached ramming speed, its secret weapon hiding just below the surface.

* * *

"What've you got?" demanded the gate guard, whose dour face presided over the Kraken crest emblazoned on his armor.

"Vinegar," Kevlin Weil responded, thinking the man looked as if he'd never smiled.

"Who wants a whole wagon load of vinegar?"

"Grimwell," Kevlin replied, knowing that uttering the name of Thorakis's wizard was considered taboo. The people feared he would hear them and visit his dark powers on them. Kevlin didn't believe in wizards, but the people saw more of Grimwell these days than they did of Thorakis. It was difficult not to smile when the guard took an involuntary step back. Kevlin had apprehensions of his own about meeting Grimwell, but the wizard had sent out a request for all of the vinegar and spoiled wine that could be had. He didn't even want the spoiled wine cultured; it was ludicrous. But times such as these didn't afford a man the luxury of picking and choosing his customers, and Thorakis's coffers seemed almost bottomless. With more people flocking to his protection every day, Kevlin knew whom he would serve for at least a time, and this was an opportunity to distinguish himself and establish a more regular trade relationship. Kevlin would wager that Thorakis was ill and that Grimwell was planning to succeed him. Given the way most people felt about Grimwell, Kevlin didn't think it likely the wizard would rule for long. Being a realist, Kevlin thought it best to earn whatever coin he could now before the hard times returned. He'd heard others come to similar conclusions, and it seemed the tide was turning. The wise prepared for such things.