Rath and Storm Page 6

  Orim said, “But I—”

  “I know. You’re a healer, not a ship’s pilot. But I’ll need both Tahngarth and Hanna with me, unless you’d prefer to pick up a sword and come in Hanna’s place.”

  Orim could defend herself if she had to, but the only blade she ever practiced with was a scalpel—and that only rarely. Her healing arts had more to do with smokes and balms and essential oils. I said to her, “I’ll remind you of the controls.”

  “Squee,” said Gerrard, and the goblin, who had been glancing nervously at the forest, jumped at the sound of his name.

  “I wuz listening!”

  “I didn’t say you weren’t. You help Orim stand watch. Tell her if elves are coming.”

  “Nasty elves! They don’t like goblins! They wanna kill poor me!”

  “We won’t let them,” said Orim, laying a gentle hand on the goblin’s shoulder. Her touch calmed him a little.

  Then to the hulking silver statue behind us, Gerrard said, “Karn, your job is to guard the ship.”

  “I won’t fight,” said the golem.

  “I know. Just walk the decks and look menacing.”

  The silver head nodded.

  And so the landing party set out, leaving Weatherlight in the hands of an inexperienced pilot, a cowering lookout, and a pacifist guard.

  * * *

  —

  Gerrard walked in front. In the middle went Hanna, who watched a compass as she walked. My sense of direction was confused as soon as the trees had first closed off our view of the meadow, and we’d come quite a way since then. I said, “How do you hope to find Mirri?”

  “I hope that she finds us,” said Gerrard. “If not, we’ll find an elven village.”

  I did not think this much of a plan. We walked a while longer before I said, “This is Llanowar. We could walk right into a village and not know it.”

  There was soft laughter ahead of us. A voice said, “One who has eyes can see.”

  Gerrard halted. I hefted my axe, squinting into the forest shadows. I saw no one. Hanna put away her compass and said, “We’ve come in peace.” She repeated the sentence in the elvish tongue. Hanna is not Orim’s match as a linguist, but she has a smattering of tongues. Then she said it again, “We’ve come in peace.”

  “Clearly,” said the voice. “I note the peaceful way your horned friend beckons with his axe blade.”

  “Tahngarth,” said Gerrard, “stow the axe.” But even as he said this, he folded his arms in a way that was meant to be casual but let his fingers rest on a knife handle.

  I lowered the axe, but had no way to “stow” it. And would he have me stand defenseless before an apparent sentinel whom none of us could see?

  “We come looking for a friend of mine,” Gerrard said. “Mirri by name. She and I knew one who was kindred to this forest. Rofellos, he was called.”

  “Many come to this forest speaking names,” said the voice, “but to know a name is a poor vouchsafe.”

  “Then take us to her.”

  Laughter. “Yes. And show intruders where a village lies.”

  “She’ll speak for us, if you summon her.”

  “Oh, I have issued summons already. I have raised alarm enough.”

  I had heard nothing and seen nothing, but I could feel the truth of his words. I peered at the forest around us, seeing nothing but trees, yet I knew….

  The speaker stepped forward, his face emerging from shadow. Once he was visible, I couldn’t understand why I had not seen him before. He hadn’t been hiding, yet somehow he’d been hidden.

  Vines clung to his clothes and white hair almost as if he were made of them, and he carried a staff that sprouted flower buds and new leaves. “The forest has carried my voice,” the old elf said, “and my summons has been answered. You are surrounded. Lay down your weapons.”

  “You’re not exactly making us feel welcome,” Gerrard said. He didn’t move his hands.

  “The druid speaks true,” I said. “We are watched by many eyes. I feel it.” Yet even when I had admitted this, my fingers would not uncurl and let my axe fall to the ground. In the Halls of Talruum, we would die before surrendering our arms. In this one thing, Gerrard and I were alike. Death was all around us, yet we were both frozen more by pride than by fear.

  Hanna unbuckled her sword belt and laid the sheathed blade across the root of a tree.

  From above, a feminine voice said, “Leave it to the lady to show some sign of manners. As for you, Gerrard, if you draw one of those knives you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

  Looking up, Gerrard let his hands drop to his sides. “Mirri?”

  Something moved in the trees. I glimpsed golden fur dappled with black spots. The cat warrior dropped to the ground almost silently to stand alongside the druid. Her tail twitched from side to side. “Tahngarth,” she said, “when an elf in Llanowar tells you you’re surrounded, he’s probably telling the truth.”

  “I do not doubt it,” I said, but still could not let the axe fall.

  “But let us give evidence,” said the druid. “Show yourselves, sons and daughters of Llanowar!”

  From all sides, elves emerged in that same mysterious way that the druid had, each stepping forward into view. Every elf held a bow. Every one had an arrow nocked. Leaves rustled. I looked up to see more elves in the branches. And still I gripped my axe.

  “That one won’t learn manners even as a dozen arrows point the way,” Mirri said, waving her hand at me. “But I’ll vouch even for him.”

  “Your word is your life, Mirri,” said the druid.

  “My life,” she agreed, “that Gerrard, Hanna, and Tahngarth are no enemies to Llanowar.”

  The druid nodded, then stepped forward. “When you speak Mirri’s name, it means nothing to us. When she speaks yours, it means all. You are welcome here.”

  Gerrard said, “Our thanks,” then grinned at Mirri. “You do like a dramatic entrance. How long were you watching?”

  The cat warrior’s green eyes narrowed with pleasure. “A while.”

  “We weren’t in any real danger then?” said Hanna as she retrieved her sword. The elves had lowered their bows. Some of the younger ones were crowding close to examine us.

  “Oh, we were in danger,” said Gerrard. “It wouldn’t be fun if the danger weren’t real. Right, Mirri?”

  “Weatherlight,” I reminded him.

  “Yes, the ship,” said Gerrard. “It’s aground in a meadow.” He waved in the general direction.

  “Actually,” said Mirri, “it’s more that way.”

  Hanna frowned and brought out her compass, but Mirri clicked her tongue. “You won’t have much success reckoning with that,” she said. “Not in Llanowar.”

  Grinning, one of the young elves tapped the compass glass, then laughed to see the astonishment on Hanna’s face. “He touched it, and the needle went spinning!”

  To Gerrard Mirri said, “Weatherlight will be unmolested. I can send word to Captain Sisay if you like.”

  Gerrard opened his mouth, but I cut him off. “Sisay has been kidnapped. We must free her. Will you come? Yes, and we’re away with you. No, and we’re away without you. Answer now.”

  Mirri’s tail flicked again. Gerrard started to speak, and this time it was Mirri who cut him off. “The minotaur asks a question, and I’ll give him an answer. The village where I have lived these seasons past is close to here. An aboroth was just discovered growing nearby.”

  At mention of the monster, the elves grew stiff and exchanged glances.

  “There is not time enough to build war machines to distract and destroy it,” she continued, “so the elves must fight with their arrows and their courage. I will help them.”

  “We go without you, then,” I said, turning away.

  “When the aboroth ripens, we can destroy it togeth
er,” Mirri said. “With Weatherlight.”

  I turned back to face her. “Sisay needs us now. We go without you.”

  “So you would have Mirri abandon her new friends, kin to Rofellos?” asked Gerrard.

  “No!” I bellowed, and the elves nearest me jumped away. More softly, I said, “No. Rofellos was my friend. Mirri does right. She stays to help the kin of one who was brave. That is well chosen. But must we tarry here also? Who knows what Captain Sisay suffers?”

  “Tahngarth is right,” Hanna said.

  Gerrard stared steadily at the cat warrior. “How long until the aboroth ripens?”

  “Two days,” she said.

  Gerrard looked at Hanna, then at me. “We stay and help. That’s my decision.”

  I opened my mouth, but he raised his hand and said, “I have decided.”

  I felt my hands clutch the handle of my axe. I thought of the words Orim wanted me to ponder. He resists what must be. Did she think those words would soften my heart? Gerrard knew we must hasten to Sisay’s aid, but he would have us dawdle here two days! He resisted what must be, indeed!

  * * *

  —

  The next day, we flew gentle circles over the village where the aboroth was growing. The village, or so the elves who flew with us said, was in the stand of trees close beside the growing monster. I could see no signs of a village in those trees, but I lacked the elven eye.

  However, it took no elven eye to see the monster. From the air, it was hard to understand how the elves, who knew their own forest so well, could have missed the mounds of swelling earth in the little clearing so close at hand, until the thing was nearly grown.

  “There was a hillock there already,” the tallest of the three elves said. “We knew an aboroth was sprouting only when the mound began to change its shape—mere days ago.”

  “And can you not dig away the earth, to kill it while it sleeps?” asked Gerrard.

  I had long ago asked the question of Rofellos when he’d told me of aboroths. But to dig away the mound only drives the white threads of mycelium deeper, where the aboroth will form of stone instead of soil. The monster will take more time to form, then, but it will emerge stronger, bigger, and longer lived.

  Such was the answer of the elves to Gerrard.

  The plan, as Mirri hatched it, was thus: The elves would draw the waking aboroth away from the village. Without machines of war, the elves could not hope to stand against the creature for long, but ere it had born down upon them, Weatherlight would fly close to the aboroth. Elves upon the upper deck would harry it with arrows, drawing its attention. Then, lest it should knock us from the air, Mirri would loose some spell on it, a lightning bolt that would distract it again, drawing it close to her.

  “Then the elves will attack again,” said Mirri. “Then Weatherlight. Then I again. And so, by trading turns, we may hope to keep the wrath of the aboroth from falling square upon us. In time, it will shrink, grow weaker, and die.”

  “And if the aboroth turns not from one foe to the next?” I said. “What then?”

  Gerrard’s laughter boomed, though I could hear the strain in it. He was ill at ease, pretending. “What then? Then we stand and fight the thing as best we can. What else?”

  “In aboroth season,” said the tallest elf, “much of our fate goes unchosen.”

  I grunted. “And what season is there then, but aboroth season?”

  The elf smiled. “Just so.”

  Another elf said, “We will plan as best we may, and take what comes. Be it for good or ill, spring follows winter.”

  “Perhaps Gerrard may yet hatch a better plan,” said Mirri. “The artifacts in the ship’s hold might produce some magical effect. What think you, Gerrard? You were always better than I in the wielding of such devices.”

  “Indeed?” I said. I looked at Gerrard. “He said that he must fetch you. That you would know artifacts. That you could set the Thran crystal for the world of Rath.”

  “Set a Thran crystal?” said the cat warrior. “Gerrard was ever the better man with artifacts. My talent is for spells.”

  “Gerrard,” I said, “you lied.”

  “No,” he replied coldly. “She may yet knew better than I how to calibrate the crystal.”

  I shook my head until my beads rattled. “You lied! Or misled us! The difference is between ice and frozen water.” I pointed at Mirri. “You wanted to come for her, so you told us what you thought we must hear!” And I left him there with Mirri and the elves, who could now doubt him as I did.

  I relieved Hanna at the bridge. From there, I watched Mirri and the elves continue talking. Gerrard went belowdecks. In a while, Orim came to see me.

  “You go too far,” she said.

  “And so he goes to you and begs your intercession. He lied to us, Orim.”

  “No. He hoped that Mirri would know what he himself did not.”

  “We have lost days.”

  “I know.”

  “I would lief seek out our captain without his help, without Mirri’s.”

  “I know.”

  “I do not trust him!”

  Orim said, “ ‘He resists what must be.’ Have you thought upon those words?”

  “Indeed! And that is why I do not trust him!”

  “You have not thought long enough or hard enough.”

  She left the bridge.

  * * *

  —

  We landed in the clearing where the aboroth still slept. It would not be long in waking, the elves told us.

  I went to inspect the pivot joints of the masts, to check the riggings, and, while I was about, to look for Squee. The goblin had taken to hiding whenever we had elves aboard, and he was neglecting his duties. The bridge wanted sweeping.

  Gerrard paced the deck, a frown on his face. Brooding.

  Did he expect an apology? I would grant him none. In truth, he did not so much as glance at me. Something else troubled his thoughts.

  He sought out Hanna, walked the deck with her, talking. At last he commanded Karn, the silvery giant, to follow him belowdecks. They were gone long, doing I knew not what in Weatherlight’s hold. When they came onto the deck again, the golem’s back was bent beneath a canvas-wrapped burden. Whatever he carried, it was as big as the hulking golem himself. At Gerrard’s command, Karn took the burden forward, to the upper deck where the elvish archers were to harry the aboroth. The ships’s planks creaked and bowed beneath the golem’s feet.

  The canvas fell away, and I saw the pyramidal shape of the Thran forge. Gerrard set to roping the pyramid into place, its surface carved with strange glyphs. I noticed that he wore an amulet—a big unwieldy thing. Even from amidships, I could see its design: a golden face with red eyes and a bejeweled mouth.

  What was it? I did not then know it for the Touchstone. I understood the importance of the Legacy. I knew Sisay’s determination to collect the artifacts that comprised it. But I did not know the names of all or what each of them did.

  Gerrard tied another rope around the base of Weatherlight’s foremost lamp. He tugged hard to see that it was secure, but left the rest of that rope coiled upon the deck.

  Beneath the ship, the ground shook. The aboroth was waking.

  * * *

  —

  I had gone to the bridge to ready the ship for launch. Gerrard found me there. He was pulling on gloves.

  “When we’re aloft,” he said, “forget our original plans. Circle in behind the aboroth. Close. Come in slow, so I can drop down onto its head. Give me to the count of ten, and then get away, fast!”

  What madness was this? I could not find the words to ask him before he had disappeared from the hatchway. He sprinted to the upper deck. The elvish archers had come aboard. With Hanna, they joined Gerrard. Orim had come on deck, and she went to the railing. Other elves were streaming into the
clearing, bows at the ready. And I saw Mirri gliding swiftly through the grass to another part of the meadow.

  Gerrard shouted, “Get us aloft!”

  I did so. As we rose into the sky, the white-eyed aboroth raised its face from the ground and howled.

  * * *

  —

  What happened next? How fared we in this battle with the aboroth?

  I’ll come to that. But first…

  Did I not say from the beginning that the fires of judgment burned hot in me? It was so. I was born Three Beads. I still wore the red, blue, and green beads of my clan upon my head. And Three Beads of Talruum, we have ever been minotaurs who were swift to judge, to condemn.

  Orim had said to me, “He resists what must be.”

  I had not the ears to hear what she meant. But as the aboroth rose onto its feet, as I circled Weatherlight behind it, I watched Gerrard. By some magical means, he had set the pyramidal Thran forge to glowing.

  I approached the back of the monster’s head, and Gerrard shouted something to the elves. He grinned as a ray of light flashed from the forge and showered the aboroth with sparks. Strange, pale fires flickered across the forge’s surface.

  The surface of the aboroth began to change from mud and vegetation to something shinier, something smooth and plated. Rivets popped up like pock marks.

  Madness! I thought, for this would make the monster stronger. But I did as he’d said. I slowed the ship, and we hovered over the creature’s head—Hanna, peering over the bow, guided me with hand signals. From the bridge, I could no longer see the aboroth below us. Gerrard threw his rope over the ship’s side. He took the rope in his gloved hands and dropped out of sight.

  I counted. The journey from one to ten seemed to take all day.

  Then I pressed the engine hard, even before Hanna had signaled. Weatherlight bucked under the strain, then surged.

  The metal-sheathed aboroth was looking up at us as we shot past its shoulder. One monstrous hand reached up as if to seize and crush the ship. But Gerrard sat upon the crown of the aboroth’s head, holding on with one hand and touching the amulet with the other. He chanted.