THE THIEF OF KALIMAR (Graham Diamond's Arabian Nights Adventures) (31 page)

Suddenly thunder echoed behind, and Mariana turned aghast to see the far side of one mountain fall with frightful slow motion into the black water. A rush of sea swelled and slammed against the stern. Wind was rushing at them once more, cold and harsh. But Captain Osari grinned and clapped his hands. “We’re breaking free!” he shouted gleefully. “We’re passing the valley!”

And in the weird blue of the dagger’s glow they could all see the way ahead beyond the bergs: dark, choppy seas, menacing and stormy—but at last they were in the open.

The sails filled with a
whomp!
The
Vulture
pitched and lurched forward. The mist above the masts began to fall back in a rush. Stars began to glitter, a bright half-moon now brightened the sky.

Laughter, tears, and merriment filled the ship. The haj scooped up Mariana in his arms and smothered her with kisses. The crew danced, sang, complimented each other, and congratulated the weary captain and helmsman. Homer and Ramagar rushed to the prow, glowing with gratitude to the Prince. Exhausted from his feat, still holding the ebbing Blue Fire, he sighed deeply and smiled.

“That’s the second time you’ve saved us,” exclaimed Ramagar.

Dark shadows flickered from the Prince’s worn face. The dagger’s magic had its price—and it was beginning to show. “How far to Aran?” he asked the beaming captain.

Osari glanced at the stars, reckoning. “A day and a half.”

The Prince let his shoulders sag. “Good,” he replied. And while the others continued their frolicking, he placed the scimitar carefully away under his jacket and slowly climbed down the hatchway steps to his cabin.

“Land to port!” cried the lookout, waving madly from his post in the crow’s nest.

The main deck suddenly teemed with life, passengers and crew eagerly racing topside and straining their bodies over the rails to catch a glimpse. Shading eyes from the glaring afternoon sun, they stared intently at the distant range of tall, brooding mountains that spanned the horizon. Snowcapped near the tops, they glistened with hints of rich green grass steadily creeping up the slopes. As the ship moved closer through the choppy waters the watchers could make out the vast forests of spruce and aspen that cut sharply away from the hills and covered the landscape in every direction. Where rivers and fjords watered the land, wide expanses of fertile plain could be seen. A stunning array of beautiful wild heather dotted the dales and valleys.

There were birds as well, great flocks of them everywhere: grouse, ravens, wrens, and jays—and of course the ever-present seagulls, who had massed themselves by the thousands beyond the rocky reefs, waddling in the roaring surf between flights.

After the grueling adventures the companions had endured the sight of land—any land—was joyous indeed. Yet there was a strange character about the land, one that only dawned as the
Vulture
drew close to the coastline. Mariana grasped the railing with both her hands, the wind blowing through her hair, and stared out at the grazing lands along the range of low hills at the base of the mountains. She could plainly make out a large herd of caribou feeding peacefully beside the banks of a river. There were other animals as well, moose, and deer, in plain sight. But as for human inhabitants, there seemed to be none.

“Where are the people?” Mariana wondered aloud as the ship furled sails and slipped into a tiny inlet. “The ports? The towns?”

“Aran must be deserted,” said Ramagar. The thief looked at the haj and saw that he was as perplexed as the rest of them.

The Prince filled his lungs with the pleasant, warm air, and bowed his head. Eyes closed, he said a silent prayer for his fortune in having at least reached this island. Then he said, “Aran has no cities, my friend. Nor any ports. At least not the type of ports I think you mean …”

“Then where is everyone?” asked Mariana. “Do they hide from us? Are the inhabitants hill folk and shepherds?”

At this the Prince smiled. “You will see them all, Mariana, when they are ready. Be assured they have already seen us. First they will ascertain whether we be friends or enemies. Then they will come.”

“A mistrustful lot,” grumbled Oro, pulling a face and nervously tapping his foot against the freshly swabbed deck. “They must be cowards to hide from a merchant ship.”

The Prince’s brows angled down sharply. He glared at the hunchback. “You will not feel that way for long, little man,” he said. And he stretched out his arm to the west. “Look!”

The lookout had also seen what the Prince saw. “Warship approaching off the starboard side!” he shouted, recognizing the manner of vessel at once. Captain Osari spun from his place, shading his eyes and peering intently where a long
knaar
raised its oars, and by the swell of its single crimson sail came slashing through the dark water toward them.

The passengers stared wide-eyed. It was a ship, a long ship, the likes of which they had never seen before.

“Hoist our flag!” boomed the captain, and the Cenulamian colors fluttered in the wind. The Aranian vessel approached cautiously, and Mariana gasped at the sight of the rugged seamen who had put down their oars and picked up shields and weapons. They were tall and rugged men, yellow-haired as was the Prince, broad-shouldered and burly. Upon their heads they wore helmets like barbarians, many made of hide, others of metal, some with twin pointed horns protruding from the sides.

As for the ship itself, its prow was swan-necked, thrust sharply upward almost as high at the mast. Perhaps forty meters long, its beam was extraordinarily broad, built clearly of oak and pine, yet seeming supple enough to withstand the hardest beatings of a pitching sea. Sixteen oars flashed from the black-shielded portholes at either side; she had no wheel, only a well-fitted rudderboard placed along the starboard side of the stern. A multitude of weapons ranging from axes to longswords, clubs, and knives were in evidence in open crates.

Mariana watched breathlessly as the
knaar
plowed to a safe distance from the
Vulture
and stopped dead. “They look like savages!” she concluded, seeing the man she assumed to be the captain of the curious vessel move to the prow and hold up a great battle-ax with both his hands.

“No, not savages,” corrected the Prince. “Warriors. Brave and daring seamen—forced to live under the shadow of the Eternal Darkness. They are fierce and reckless fighters, but we need not fear them. To us they are friends.”

“Some friends,” sighed the girl as the Aranian captain signaled for his crew to raise their weapons.

Osari’s crew stood shivering and terrified. The men of the
knaar
seemed awesome indeed—if it came to a fight, the
Vulture
would stand no chance.

The burly warrior commanding the fighting ship narrowed his blue eyes at the intruder and tightened the grip of his ax. His yellow beard, flecked with gray and black, hung almost to his stomach; his long yellow hair fell from beneath the imposing horned helmet, over his shoulders, and tossed gently in the wind.

“Who are you?” he called in the language of the North, a language that both Captain Osari and the Prince readily understood.

Captain Osari pointed toward the flapping banner. “A peaceful ship, Captain. From Cenulam—”

It was obvious that the warrior knew of Cenulam. He glanced at the flag, let his gaze drift to the crew, and nodded. “What do you want here?”

At this question the Prince bounded onto the prow and held out his arms in the recognized peaceful gesture common to these lands. “To seek your shelter,” he replied, shouting across the void of water. “And to speak with your Council.”

It was an odd request, and one that the warrior would not consider. “Turn your ship around!” he barked. “If you came in peace, then go in peace. You cannot land.”

“Just as well with me,” said the captain to the Prince. Knowing something of Aran from the stories told by unfortunate sailors who happened by there, he was in no mood to argue. To try and impose his will on these people was sheer madness.

But the Prince was adamant. “They must let us berth,” he said. “We need them.” Then he turned from Captain Osari and back to the
knaar’
s captain. “In the name of Freydis the Bloodax, in the name of Lito the Sword—I beseech you to change your mind!”

The warrior seafarer winced. The stranger had called the names of the two most revered kings Aran had ever had, bold, wise men whose stature had only increased in the long centuries since their deaths—but men whose names meant nothing in Cenulam or other lands. That this stranger knew of them was astonishing.

He put down his ax slowly, signaling for his crew to do the same. Then he took off his helmet and fixed his gaze on the stranger who had spoken. “By what right do you invoke the names of our kings?”

The Prince lifted his shoulders, meeting the captain’s eyes. “By the right of every free man. By the right of all Friends who come to Aran in friendship.”

“And you … are such a Friend?” he called back.

The Prince nodded. “I am and have always been. And I vouch as much for my companions, one and all.”

The opposing captain was in a quandary. A Friend of Aran was always to be welcomed; it was foremost in their ancient law. Yet times had changed. Aran no longer accepted strangers, and a true Friend had not come in more lifetimes than he could count. Still …

“What is your purpose?”

“As I have said, to meet with your Council. A small request, my good captain. Would you deny so little to one who has come so far?”

The able seafarer scowled and grunted. He signaled for his men to take their places and pick up the oars. “Follow me,” he called to Captain Osari, and then to the Prince: “If you truly are a Friend, as you claim, then you are welcome.” But here his blue eyes turned steely cold and he warned, “But if you are not, be assured you shall pay the price.” On that note he placed his helmet back on his head and gave the commands for the ship to sail.

“What do you suppose he meant by that?” said Osari, his eyes keenly following the
knaar
as it sliced easily through the rough waters.

The Prince frowned. “It’s better you don’t ask,” he replied. “But know that men of Aran are not to be toyed with.”

The
Vulture,
its own sails trimmed, stayed close behind the warship, as they sailed west into the setting sun. The sky had turned a blood-red at the horizon; the moon, crescent and low, hung between the valleys of the mountains on the port side. And finally another destination was in sight. The
knaar
slipped into its harbor, and glided next to a well-sheltered quay.

The quay was crowded with fishing vessels of all sizes. There, Mariana could feel the mistrustful stares of the rugged, yellow-haired fishermen who looked up at the foreign ship with trepidation.

There was something of a village spread out before them, the first they had seen in all their hours of navigating the island. A few hundred small homes lay scattered at random along the base of the harbor’s gently sloping hills. The houses were made of stone, with timber and thatched roofs. She could see few windows, but chimneys rose above every room, grimly attesting to the cold nights and long winters which made fireplaces a constant necessity.

Away from the village she could see orchards. Apple trees and wild berry bushes abounded. Vegetable gardens were behind each house; there were a few barns about, and she saw cows and goats grazing in a distant pasture. Beyond them all, she could not fail to notice again the vast forests that rose magnificently up the snowcapped mountains.

It was a harsh land. But there were children playing and laughing in the muddy streets; pretty blue-eyed girls and beautiful women, all in thick fur jackets, greeting their returning husbands and fathers with kisses and smiles, and holding their hands as they led them home. Smoke puffed up from the chimneys; the windows glowed brightly from the cooking fires. Suddenly Mariana could feel much of her fear vanish. She saw that Aran was not the hostile and gruesome place she had believed it to be; rather, it seemed quiet and peaceful, and she wondered how much of its barbarian exterior was a charade.

As the passengers prepared to debark under the watchful eye of the
knaar
captain and some of his burliest men, Mariana turned to the Prince. “What will they do with us now that we’re here?”

“Probably keep us under guard until the Council has gathered,” he replied soberly. “They’ll not trust us until I’ve proven who I am.”

“And then?”

The Prince sighed as he walked down the gangplank, gazing edgily at the gathering crowd of women and children standing back from the ship. “And then we’ll know just where we stand. Look at the horizon, Mariana.”

She did so dutifully, peering into the splendorous sunset in the west. But then she tensed at a curious sight. Although the sky was yet bright, a portion of it, at the rim of the horizon, was already as black as night. And even though the sun was dipping into the darkness, it would not penetrate.

“Speca,” she whispered.

The Prince nodded gloomily. “Yes, Speca. We are almost there. Almost close enough to reach out and touch it. Aran lives with her shadow constantly; and her men are every bit as frightened of what lies beyond as we are.”

The girl chewed at her lip and looked away. “Then they’ll help us?”

He shook his head pensively. “I don’t know. But I pray I can convince them that they must. For without the ships of Aran, I fear we are surely doomed.”

15

Word of the foreign vessel’s arrival did not take long to spread; messengers traveled to the farthest reaches of Aran, saying that a stranger had come—one who claimed to be a Friend. He had known how to invoke the land’s ancient customs and hospitality, and had requested that the
Sklar,
the Council of Elders, be called at once and all the many Clans bidden to attend.

Many long days and longer nights passed before everyone had gathered. Normally this group of Clan leaders, Sages, and battle-wise sea rovers would meet for but a single week once every fifth year, to air and debate all disputes among them and to satisfy just grievances. Then the
Sklar
would disband, members returning to their disparate fiefs. But now it was claimed that a Friend had come, so very many years since the last. Each leader accepted the news with wonder, doubting if it could truly be so. Yet a Friend’s plea to be heard could not go unanswered; Aran’s law was firm on the matter. So the
Sklar
must be held, and the stranger must be heard.