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Kielmarkmustered his men at arms, the chance existed that she mighttrack the
demon fleets. Though the sea was too wide, too open, to launch an attack upon
enemies men could not see, on land,with the aid of her dream-sight, an army
might manage an ambush when dwindling provisions drove the Thienz ashore.
The Kielmark sat at dinner. Before his table, an uncomfort-able merchant
captain stood with the bare steel of two captainspricking the back of his fine
brocade doublet. He had thoughtto run the straits with impunity after sending
ingots lined withlead in his tribute chests, and now was regretting his
scam.Though the meats and the wines were very fine, the Sovereign Lord of
Cliffhaven was not eating. For the merchant, that signboded ill, but the
judgment awaiting him was summarily putoff. The King of Pirates sprang to his
feet even before Taenhad completed her message. Wine sloshed in the goblets as
heshoved away from the table, yelling for his captains to leave the merchant
in irons, and follow him afterward to the bailey. The Dreamweaver's rapport
faded as he called for the saddledhorse. Shouting commands to his captains
even as he gained
thesaddle, the Kielmark wheeled his mount with a crack ofhooves and galloped
for the harborside gates.
Taen relayed another of his orders; and far north, the brigantineShearfish
came about with a crack of canvas and stead-ied on a new course for Imrill
Kand.
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But in the end all the flurry of preparation proved useless.When the
Dreamweaver turned her perception south, thedemon fleet which guarded Jaric
did not ply a northerly coursefor Shadowfane, as anticipated. Natural wariness
perhapsmade them shun the lands of men; their stores might be toodepleted to
reach the mainlands which lay between the south reaches and Felwaithe's
distant shores. But far and away morelikely, with the Keys to Elrinfaer taken
at last, the demons intended to ply north to free the Mharg. Taen saw with
bitter-ness that the black ships withCallinde in tow sailed due east, for the
southwest shores of Elrinfaer. No army could be gath-ered there to do battle
for the rescue of the Firelord's heir;those lands had been stripped of
habitation since Ivain's be-trayal, and Anskiere's contention with the Mharg.
Skilled as the Kielmark's captains were, they could notoutsail the winds. No
fleet and no fighting men, no matterhow well trained, could possibly cross the
Corine Sea in time to matter. Even the wizards at Mhored Kara could not
help,with trackless leagues of wilderness lying between theirstronghold of
towers and the western sea. Beaten, cut bycruelest despair, Taen rebalanced
her powers. Nothing re-mained but to recall the Kielmark's brave ships.
Afterward,defeat like ashes in her mouth, she gathered weary resourcesto frame
one final message. This one sapped her in more thancontent, twisted as it must
be across barriers of space and time. Tamlin on the Isle of the Vaere was last
to learn of herfailure. Once the demon fleet sailed from Elrinfaer, no forcein
Keithland could prevent Maelgrim and his Thienz from de-livering Ivainson
Jaric to theLord of Demons at Shadowfane.
Lady of theSpring
Taen's sending reached the Isle of the Vaere in the still hoursbefore dawn,
yet no shadow of night darkened the grove on the fabled isle. As always, the
oak trees stood without a rustlein silvery, changeless twilight, where nary a
grass blade stirred. No little man with clothing fringed with feathers
andbells manifested in response to the Dreamweaver's tidings; yetthe being
known as Tamlin of the Vaere received word ofJaric's peril and the Keys' loss
nonetheless. The extent of the damage was no sooner understood when the entity
which in-habited the grove sent a second call forth into Keithland. Di-rected
to a certain spring in the forests southeast of Elrinfaer, this was a summons
of desperation; for even the Vaere couldnot be certain the initiate of the
mysteries there would accedeto the demands of necessity.
The storms in the south reaches of the Corine eventuallybroke, but the swell
took far longer to subside. The black fleetfrom Shadowfane tossed on a beam
reach, and the jerk asCallinde rolled and snapped short on her towline became
tor-ment without surcease for Jaric. Each surge of the sea fetched his limp
weight against the comfortless angles of wooden ribs and floorboards. His
cheek and shoulder quickly chafed rawfrom the pounding. He could not move to
ease his misery, even to turn his head. Demons had trussed him in sailcloth
and cord. They had lashed his wrists to the mast,then impris-oned his mind
with ties more ruthless still. Fully aware of his battered and aching body,
Ivainson Jaric was deprived of anycontrol of his limbs. His thoughts were left
free to agonize over his helplessness.
Defeat and humiliation became suffering from which nosurcease existed. The
Thienz sailed for Shadowfane, to de- liver him alive to Lord Scait, along with
the cloth sack whichcontained the stolen Keys to Elrinfaer. The seals over the
wardswhich imprisoned the Mharg now hung at the neck of ademon; more terrible
still, the critical potential for his Fire-lord's mastery would be enslaved,
even as the Llondelei far-seers had forewarned. Jaric cursed the wind that
bellied theblack boats' sails. AsCallinde was dragged inexorably north-ward,
he ached for Taen, whose death at the hand of herbrother would proceed
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undisputed. He thought often of theStormwarden, whose geas of desperation had
failed to bringrescue, and whose doom in the ice now was sealed. All thewhile
Jaric's Thienz captors gabbled among themselves. Theypraised each other for
the defeat of Ivainson Firelord's heirand they jabbed energies at his mind to
taunt him. A day and a night passed before they gave him anything to drink,
and thenhe suffered the indignity of rough handling as they pouredwater down
his throat. The demons did the same with thefood, an ill-smelling paste of raw
fish that they chewed first to soften, their poison sacs sphinctered shut to
prevent contami-nation that might inadvertently kill him. Had Jaric been left
any physical response, he would have gagged rather thanswallow; but even that
reflex was denied him.
The winds held fair from the west. Spray fell full in Jaric's face, and his
hair trailed in the bilge, which unavoidably cameto reek of urine. The Thienz
seemed unfazed by the stink.They gloated, and they trimmed sails, and they
checked oftento see that the towrope draggingCallinde and the lines binding
their prisoner did not chafe.
Day followed day in a misery of animal suffering. Nightsbecame a
terror-ridden procession of nightmares as, over and over, Jaric relived the
destruction of Keithland as foretold bythe Llondelei dreamers. He saw Taen
bleed under the knife of her brother; Anskiere's bones became trampled by
frostwargs;and the jewel-bright scales of the Mharg flashed in sunlightover
withered acres. Other times, his captors crafted images to torment him, of
Scait Demon Lord on his throne of human remains, and of the dank dungeons
carved beneath the foun-dations of Shadowfane. There, most horribly, the heir
of Ivainwould come into his inheritance; in mind-rending agony hewould suffer
the Cycle of Fire for the vengeance of demonsagainst humanity. Powerless to
move, unable to weep, and denied any means of dying, Jaric endured. He burned
in the sun's harsh glare and shivered, drenched, through the squalls. There [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]