CHAPTER TWENTY
Well, mused Ahearn, as he collapsed on the shore in exhausted abandon, that could have gone better, and it could have gone worse.
The best outcome of the day’s salvage efforts was also the most important. The possessions for which they’d built special protection—a steel box, all seams tin-welded, coated in dried tar, and protected within three sleeved crates with padding between—had survived. Being heavy to begin with, and further ballasted, it had sunk straight down where the ship sank.
Which yielded a pleasant surprise: although the reef had gutted the hull like a fish, her speed and the inrushing tide had pushed her a few hundred yards closer to shore before she finally foundered. The outer two crates had been mauled, but the third was mostly intact and the steel box wholly spared. It was in only four fathoms, so they might have found it even if Elweyr had not put a mantic marker in each of its layers of protection. And, because the markers in the broken layers had been deposited along the course the ship had taken before succumbing to the waves, they showed the most likely path where other salvage or even survivors might be found.
But those high hopes were quickly dashed. Ahearn had chosen the right moment to leap from the fated hull; fifty yards further on, the stony teeth of the reef crowded closer and had not only chewed the ship to bits, but created treacherous crosscurrents from which none of the crew had escaped. In consequence, there was little salvage except that which washed up along with storm-slain fish: sheets and other rigging, a few shattered spars, a broken barrel, and the invariable flotsam and jetsam.
The rigging turned out to be not merely useful, but invaluable. The box was too heavy for a handful of swimmers to bring to the surface, but Elweyr and Cerven hit upon the expedient of fashioning the rat-lines into a cradle for it, and splicing the sheets into a towline for dragging it closer. But the work of doing so proved slow, mostly because the box had to be guided over and around obstacles by the three who had any skill at diving: Varcaxtan, S’ythreni, and Ahearn himself.
Once affixed to the cradle, they ran the line so that it rested within a groove atop a submerged rock; a serviceable guide channel for the sheets, but one which needed watching lest its rough edges strip away one of the splices. From thence, they ran the tail of the line back to an anchor rock on shore with which they took up the slack as they drew the strong-box closer. But the arrangement had two significant drawbacks: it wasn’t safe for the divers or the sheets when the tide was running out; and even when the tide was running in, the divers became so exhausted that they had to work in shifts.
Ironically, their most arduous labors were not so much caused by the box, but the makeshift line. Every few minutes, the divers had to guide its play so that rocks did not snag or sever it. Or they had to repair a fraying sheet by tying off the weak section with a new splice, which often required untying the box while they did so.
All the while, the others were either hastily winding new slack around the anchor rock or hauling the box closer to the shore, often a few agonizing inches at a time. In the end, they recovered the box but their labors proved so long and draining that, even if other salvage had been available, they no longer had the time or energy to find—let alone recover—it.
Varcaxtan and Umkhira staggered over to where Ahearn lay, still panting. In many ways, the Lightstrider had contributed more muscle-power than anyone else; with Varcaxtan and Ahearn diving, it was mostly her considerable strength which had brought the box ashore.
“So,” Ahearn asked through a long, wracking pull of air, “is everything in one piece?”
Varcaxtan nodded. “Contents of the box are intact. Just the odd scratch.”
Ahearn almost laughed for joy. Or maybe relief. Or maybe simply because the universe hadn’t played the joke on them that they’d most feared: that, after the punishing labor, they’d open the damn thing up and find that everything except for the metal objects had been ruined by seawater, anyhow.
S’ythreni staggered toward them. “What, after a day like this, could possibly be amusing?” she grumbled.
Ahearn smiled, thought he might giggle. “I’m not really sure.”
“Well, I hope it keeps you warm tonight,” she groused, picking at what was left of her clothes. “And fed.”
Umkhira grunted. “At least we shall be well armed.” Among other things, the box held their best weapons and the sheath armor that Tharêdæath had pressed upon S’ythreni.
“And Cerven and the dragon have found old driftwood well back from the dunes,” added Varcaxtan. “Blown in by a monsoon, they guess. Good for both tinder and kindling, and Elweyr has the means of setting it ablaze.”
Ahearn glanced at the fish Elweyr had piled up in the shadows to keep them from spoiling in the heat of the day. “And see, dinner awaits! So, leave off the long face, High Ears. We have what we need and recovered what we can’t replace. Not half bad, for a first day.”
S’ythreni glanced to the northeast, where a river ran out into the sea and beyond which ruins were murky outlines in the spray-laden air. “The day isn’t over yet,” she muttered and made for a higher dune from which to survey the land around them.
“So,” asked Ahearn as he picked the last bits of a roasted fish off its bones, “just how far are we from F’Shëssa, then?”
As sparks from the cookfire rose into the dusk, the dragon snorted. “You travel to a new region and do not trouble yourself to acquire a better knowledge of it. You are an embarrassment to your already pitiable species.”
“See,” sighed Ahearn, “now there’s your real reason for choosing to enter the captain. His foul temper shaped him into a ready vessel for your own.” He continued before the dragon could find a retort. “But in point of fact, no one—including you—knew we’d wind up so far from our destination.” When the dragon did not answer, Ahearn counted it a victory—despite the avatar’s single snicker and rolled eyes.
S’ythreni hesitated, glanced at Varcaxtan. “F’Shëssa is seventy leagues to the east.”
“Seventy leagues!” exclaimed Umkhira. “That storm was strong, but how could it blow us so far in half a day?”
Varcaxtan smiled. “It didn’t, Lightstrider. The captain was making for a headland at the very opening of the Medvir Bight. From there, they meant to follow the coast eastward for the twenty-five leagues to F’Shëssa.” He shrugged. “But they must have drifted west while heading south from Uershael. So when they caught sight of this coast and followed it east, they never realized they weren’t even in the Bight. The headland they saw before the wreck”—he gestured at the promontory just beyond the river to the north—“is smaller than F’Shëssa’s and still forty leagues south of the Medvir’s waters. We might have closed the distance by five leagues while tacking northeast during the storm, but no further.”
“Well, there’s your seventy leagues, then,” Ahearn muttered, tossing the well-cleaned skeleton of the fish away. “So come the morrow, we’ll need to find—” Ahearn stopped, leaped to his feet, hand going to his sword hilt. “What’s that?” he hissed, pointing and squinting toward the crumbling buildings on the other side of the river. Even as he watched and the dusk faded toward night, a light seemed to be brightening at the top of the tallest ruin.
“That’s what’s left of the city of Kœsdri’yrm,” S’ythreni said, nibbling at her own fish.
“I mean the bloody light!”
S’ythreni waved him back toward the last fish on his slab of driftwood. “It’s always there, dim but constant. It just seems to appear as it gets darker.”
Elweyr had also stood, but his tone was speculative rather than urgent. “So when the crew spotted the light, that’s why you asked if it was steady or flickering.”
S’ythreni nodded, licking the tips of her fingers; she made it look like the height of fine etiquette. “It was put there a long time ago, a blinking light that warned ships that they were not approaching F’Shëssa’s larger headland, but steering toward deadly reefs.” Seeing their wondering stares, she explained, “In those days, the light had wind vanes which rotated a screen around it. Then as now, any ship that strayed a bit off course while sailing down from Uershael or Pelfarras Bay was likely to make the same mistake the captain did.”
“And so now ships can’t tell the difference and think they’re close to safe harbor—just before they founder on the rocks. Like us.”
“Worse, usually. If we had headed straight for the light, we’d have been impaled on the larger, outer reefs: the Teeth of Zhnal’ë.”
Umkhira crossed her arms. “And how would that be any worse?”
“Well, if the tales are true, most ships caught in them can’t even sink. The rocks are so thick and sharp that they remain propped above the swells.”
“Would that not have been better?”
“Not if the other legends are equally true. The Yylmyr of Kœsdri’yrm are said to sustain themselves by waiting for the cover of night to board the trapped hulls, slay the crews, and remove whatever they wish.”
Ahearn frowned. “And how do the, ah, Eh-yulm avoid becoming well-chewed chum themselves?”
“Because the Yylm supposedly know safe passages that only they could navigate because they approached in small boats, knew where to look, and how best to steer. At any rate, it was far better to run aground where we did.”
Cerven sat up very straight. “So, since we came much closer than the Teeth of Zhnal’ë, wouldn’t they have detected us?”
Varcaxtan shook his head. “By then, all the ship’s lights had been doused by the storm. And although the sound of her being gutted in the rocks was loud to our ears, I doubt it reached the ruins above the roar of the wind and waves.”
“So what exactly are these, eh, Yylmyr?” Ahearn asked, S’ythreni nodding at his more careful pronunciation.
“They are fallen Iavarain,” Umkhira replied darkly.
Ahearn didn’t even try to conceal his surprise. “There are such things?” S’ythreni nodded again. He glanced back across the river. “And they live among those ruins?”
“They dwell beneath, not among, many of our old ruins,” S’ythreni corrected. “Or at least they did. Most say they’re just legend, now.”
It was Umkhira’s turn to show frank surprise. “So the fallen Iavarain are like urzhen? They live in an Under?”
The aeosti shook her head. “Not exactly. Unders are natural caverns, sometimes abandoned mineshafts. The Yylm retreated to parts of our cities that had sunk, or been buried, underground. Like many others, Kœsdri’yrm was built—and rebuilt—many times. Floods, wars, plagues: it saw and was emptied by them all, over the millennia preceding the Cataclysm. Sometimes it was lost for so long that only its basements and hidden temples remained.”
Cerven nodded. “So it is like Shadowmere. It has extensive subterranean ruins, those of each epoch stacked atop the ones that preceded it.”
Ahearn and his original companions all goggled at him. Varcaxtan and the dragon just exchanged wan smiles.
Cerven looked at his traveling companions. “I thought you knew.”
Ahearn raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t exactly spend a lot of time there, lad. Don’t suppose you know anything about the ruins just over the river, though?” He had meant it as a means of reminding young Cerven that even a clever youngster like him didn’t know everything. But the fellow’s face was not so much abashed as uneasy. Oh, bollocks: he does know everything! “Well, out with it then!”
“It is a very ancient city originally known as Sraisthënu. It is thought to have been one of the greatest regional capitals of Altom-Aila, the domain of Haivor the Fey.”
Elweyr frowned. “I know that name.”
Varcaxtan supplied the answer. “It was he who brought about the fall of the Uulamantre, and ultimately, the Cataclysm. I am, of course, presuming that the Costéglan Iavarain is more fact than fancy.”
The dragon looked sideways at his Dunarran friend. “Do you really doubt that?”
Varcaxtan glanced back, studied the avatar’s face. “Well, I guess I don’t… now.”
The dragon looked smugly satisfied at the answer.
“Is it prudent to deem ourselves safe?” asked Umkhira, looking around the group but ending with her eyes on S’ythreni. “Did you not say that your fallen cousins still use that light to bait ships onto the teeth of death?”
The aeosti shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s been years since such an incident was reported.” Cerven cleared his throat. “Yes?” she said guardedly.
“Alva S’ythreni, just because no such incidents are reported, does it necessarily follow that none have occurred?”
Ahearn nodded. “What’s the saying, High Ears? ‘Dead men tell no tales’?”
She threw up her hands. “Now you would ask me to prove the absence of a thing that no one may witness? It is not possible for me or anyone else to—”
A long howl arose over the river. Somewhere very close to Kœsdri’yrm. Or possibly within it. It ended on a shrill ululation.
S’ythreni jumped up. “Everyone grab something. We have to leave!”
“Right now?”
“But you said—”
“We leave—now!” she ordered, grabbing as many bits of their best gear as she could before heading directly away from the river and the ruins. “Kick aside the smoking racks!” she tossed over her shoulder.
Umkhira had already done so, her face stolid as two days’ worth of curing fish went into the weeds and Ahearn sloshed seawater over the coals using the intact half of a bucket. By the time he was done, the rest of the group was jogging over the next dune.
An hour later, they all watched as S’ythreni crawled back up a rise, having waited for the breeze to come around so that it was in her face. She surveyed the land behind them.
“Anything?” asked Elweyr after a few seconds.
Ahearn was fairly sure that anyone else asking that question would have received a snarl instead of the even-tempered answer she gave. “Hard to see that far, even for me. But if it is Yylm or any of the breeds they supposedly favor as harriers and guards, they won’t need torches or lanterns. But there may be movement.”
“What kind?” Ahearn asked.
“I can’t be sure. It could be silhouettes passing across the moonlight reflected by the water or the dunes. Or it could just be changes in the light itself, shadows of small clouds, or trees and grasses waving.” She was quiet for a long moment as she kept studying the ground they’d covered since abandoning their camp. “I was wrong, Master Cerven, and you were right. That howl was from a gwybqúsh; not something we want to meet without armor.”
Ahearn considered. “But is it always the case that wherever these, eh, gwibb-koosh are heard, Yylm are always nearby? And even if so, I didn’t see any intact bridges over that river.”
Varcaxtan shrugged toward Ahearn. “Gwybqúsh are amphibians.”
S’ythreni nodded. “And if there are still Yylmyr in Kœsdri’yrm, they wouldn’t use a bridge or boats. They are more likely to use fords or have dug a tunnel under the river.”
“That’s quite a bit of digging, High Ears!”
“They’ve had quite a bit of time, ‘Steel Waver,’” the dragon rebutted. “And from what I know of Yylmyr, they would expend the effort. They are secretive and go to great lengths to remain unseen and un-trackable.”
“So,” summarized Umkhira, “although we cannot be sure that we are being pursued, we must presume that we are.” She looked at the feet of the humans and the aeosti. “And we will be at a disadvantage; there are already cuts on your soles. After a full day of moving, they will be much worse.”
“And that’s why you call us thinskins, eh, Lightstrider?” Ahearn said with good natured irony that sounded forced even in his own ears. Umkhira just regarded him solemnly. “Well, it’s plain that if we meant to try to reach F’Shëssa on foot, we’ve got enemies in the way and a river none of us know how to cross. And I’ve read that further from the sea, the land becomes a proper wilderness.”
“It is,” S’ythreni confirmed. “There’s nothing to the northeast until you reach the border of Mirroskye, just outside F’Shëssa.”
“And to the east?” Elweyr asked.
Varcaxtan leaned in. “Over two hundred fifty leagues of dead cities and overgrown roads. All lost when the First Consentium retracted. Since then, it’s been a lost expanse of tribes, Bent, and predators. There are even reports of feral supragants and, more rarely, cryptigants.”
“Sounds like the kind of place we want to avoid.”
Varcaxtan nodded somberly. “It’s one of the places Outriders almost never go. There’s nothing there except for a strong likelihood of never leaving it.”
Umkhira folded her arms. “So one direction remains: the south. Of which I know almost nothing, other than it is home to a few backward human realms.”
Varcaxtan smiled. “Don’t let them hear you say that, Lightstrider, but you’ve got the main of it. Thanks to a few very good deepwater ports and the Consentium roads they work to maintain, they keep up good trade among themselves and are regular stopovers for merchantmen heading west around the southern coast of Ar Navir.”
“It sounds as though they’re also the best place to seek a ship that could bring us back north to the Medvir Bight and F’Shëssa,” Elweyr mused. “Or maybe Eslêntecrë itself.”
“They are, but we’ll have to show up looking a bit more presentable than this.” Varcaxtan indicated his own surf-tattered clothes. “In those four nations, we can find sympathy, fellow-feeling, equipment, and passage—as long as we can pay for all of them. Handsomely.”
Ahearn rubbed his chin. “Fortune seekers of my acquaintance who’ve been there recall them as not being in the habit of embracing folk who simply wander out of the wilds. Consider them barbarians at best and bandits at worst.”
“All attitudes inherited from their original, Ballashan founders,” pronounced the dragon. “The greatest of their empires, that of Serdarong the Improver, was, even for a human state, obsessed with prestige, social status, and wealth. Any person or nation deemed lacking in one or more of these measures was considered not merely inferior, but irredeemable.” He smiled. “And now, they are known as ‘backward’ to a world-traveling ur zhog.” He reclined. “My, how the mighty have fallen. And they always do, you know.”
Ahearn sat up. “Well, then let’s to practical matters. We need to keep traveling south. And Umkhira’s right; we won’t get there walking on bloody stumps. So, Elweyr, what about all those potions and philters you, er, acquired, on the border of Kar Krathau? Anything that will help keep our feet from becoming as torn and tattered as our clothes?”
The thaumancer frowned. “No, but there are compounds that can accelerate curing. And perhaps we should sacrifice some of our clothes to wrap and protect our soles.”
“Well, then, let’s do that.” Ahearn was about to move on to the next issue—acquiring adequate gear—but Elweyr was shaking his head. “Problems?”
“I need to mix the right compounds with the right unguents.”
“Aye… and so?”
“And so it’s night. I can’t see the labels, much less make accurate measurements.”
S’ythreni sighed. “I suppose I can be your eyes, and even your hands. Unless there’s alchemy involved.”
“There is, but only after the salve’s ingredients have been mixed together. At that point, I could do what’s necessary with my eyes closed.”
Cerven looked like he was about to raise his hand; Ahearn nodded quickly to prevent it. “If yeh have a concern, spit it out!”
“Do we not need to keep Alva S’ythreni’s more light-sensitive eyes watching the lands behind us?”
Umkhira tapped her chest. “If what follows us sheds heat as do most animals, then I can take her place.”
S’ythreni nodded. “That will suffice.”
“Now,” Ahearn said with a sigh, “about traveling kit: how do we get any? Which is just a fast way of asking how the divils do we survive a journey of, er… how far is it to these lands to the south?”
Varcaxtan considered his answer for a moment. “The closest is Rettarisha, about sixty leagues.”
Ahearn shook his head. “Gods help our feet! Sixty leagues to walk and, sure as shepherds have sheep, no getting shoes or other kit until it’s all behind us!”
After a few moments of ominous silence, the dragon rose to an elbow. “What if we could bring the needed ‘kit’ to us?”
Ahearn smiled. “Sounds like a crafty wyrm-plan in the making, to me.”
“A crafty what-plan?”
“A crafty dragon-plan,” Ahearn amended with a roll of his eyes. “Bloody hells, must you be so particular about what you’re called?”
“When you are the one doing the calling? Yes, I must,” the dragon said with a broad smile, “I really must. Now,” he said loudly to the group, “gather around so I need not raise my voice as I tell all of you what to do.”