ELVHELM: The River Lymphus II - Prex Aestiva

“Hard-tack?  Really?” Karrick grumped.

            “It’s a little taste of home,” Thanos shrugged.  He selected a blocky lump of ship’s bread from the basin and inspected it closely.   Years of experience with military fare surged to the fore.  He tapped the thing gently against the surface of the table.  Karrick, grimacing, followed suit.

            “What on earth are you doing?” Joraz asked, staring at the pair as if they had each suddenly sprouted a second head.

            Karrick held up the biscuit.  There was a small hole in one side of it.  From that hole peeked a fat white grub with two black spots for eyes.

            The monk pursed his lips.  He very carefully placed his own biscuit back in the bowl.

            Thanos sighed.  “We’ve only just left a city-port, and he feeds us months-old waybread.  Our good captain pays close heed to his purse-strings.”

            “It’s my bow-string he ought to be worrying about,” Breygon growled.  “This is revolting.”  He tossed his own biscuit after Joraz’s.  “What’s next?  Maggoty beef?”

            “Hopefully not,” Thanos replied.  “But if I know ship’s chandlers - and I do - I’d bet on pork salted to woodenness.  And pease porridge.”  He pushed his plate away.  “I’ve eaten better during a siege.”

            “Nothing quite like a nice, fat, biscuit-fed rat, spit-roasted to perfection!” Karrick laughed.

            Valaista, who had been staring at the bread-bowl with utter revulsion, turned a remarkable shade of grey.

            “He’s joking, child,” Thanos said quickly, patting her hand.

            “Hmm, yeah,” the shield-bearer nodded.  “Stewed’s better.”

            The five companions were seated around the small table that occupied most of the deck-space in the wardroom.  Eight low doors lined the room – three on each side, leading to the tiny individual cabins occupied by the passengers, and two forward, one leading to a grubby water closet, and the other to the gangway that opened onto the main-deck.  The windows overlooking the stern gallery had been flung open, and the freshening sea breeze was doing its part to alleviate the stench of bilge-water and cheese that permeated the chamber.

            They were alone.  Akhir – who apparently had no problem with boats, but did not like crowded spaces – was curled up on the fo’csle, near the foremast.  Myaszæron had not left her cabin since boarding the ship.  And the only other passenger – the short, talkative fellow that they had not yet formally met – was still on deck, speaking with Captain Fall.  They had the wardroom to themselves, and were talking of inconsequential things, deep in thought about all that they had seen and done, and wondering – or worrying – about what would happen next.

            At that moment, the door swung open, and Dame Amorda swept into the already crowded wardroom, followed closely by her hand-maiden.  The four men stood, the humans ducking their heads to avoid cracking them on the deck-beams above.

            In the few hours they’d been under weigh, the elf-woman had already managed to change clothing.  Instead of the elaborate gown she’d worn when boarding the ship, she now sported an almost mannish costume, consisting of shirt, doublet, hose and boots.  On her figure, though, topped off with expert cosmetics and her usual elaborate coiffure, the result was anything but masculine.

“Hallelujah!” Karrick muttered. 

            Amorda dimpled at the compliment.  “I thought I’d play the pirate tonight.”  She swivelled her hips gracefully, allowing the company to see that she had traded her pugio for a long, slender rapier, basket-hilted and encrusted with stones that glimmered too brightly in the lantern-light to be simple crystals.  The manoeuvre also gave everyone a better view of her shapely backside.  Valaista snorted lightly, and Joraz covered a smile with one hand.

            “Good evening, lady,” Thanos said, keeping his eyes on her face and bowing carefully in the restricted space.  He glanced around at the limited furnishings, then offered her his chair.  “Please, join us.  I can’t vouch for the food, but the company shouldn’t be too objectionable.”

            “Thank you, Colonel.” She sat.  Reticia took up station behind her, shrinking into inconspicuousness against the forward bulkhead.

            Thanos resumed his seat.  “It’s ‘lieutenant-colonel’, actually, madam. Prochiliarch, in your tongue.”

            “Really?” She raised an eyebrow.  “That’s not what I heard.”

            Thanos frowned, not sure how to respond.

            Karrick leaned forward, proffering the bread-bowl.  “Biscuit?”

            “Thank you, no,” the lady replied, smiling to take the edge off her refusal.  Turning back to Thanos, she said, “I’ve made use of Ekhani shipping before.  No offence to your countrymen, sir, but their expertise in architecture and ship-building seems to have been won at the expense of the culinary arts.”

            “No argument there,” Thanos agreed.  “But it’s a week or more to the capital, isn’t it?  That’s a long time to fast.”  He found a relatively clean cup and filled it from a battered pewter pitcher.  “Wine’s drinkable, at least,” he added.

            Amorda nodded her thanks.  “It’s only two days to Newport.  ‘Novaposticum’, I mean,” she clarified when they looked at her blankly.  “My apologies.  When I speak the traveling tongue, I tend to translate everything.

            “In any case, Fall tells me that he’s planned a two-day lay-over to exchange cargos.  Newport is the crossroads of the southern sea-lanes, and boasts many acceptable inns and eateries.  I plan to spend the lay-over sleeping ashore.”  She took a sip from her glass and grimaced.  “And gorging like a new-hatched wyrmling, ‘gainst the trip up-river.”

            “ ‘Gorging’?” Valaista said, her voice rising dangerously.

            “Figure of speech, primagenitrix,” Amorda said soothingly.  “I meant no offence.”

            The dragon-girl said nothing.

            “ ‘None taken’,” Thanos muttered under his breath.

            “None taken,” Valaista grated.

            Amorda smiled and nodded.  She turned back to Thanos.  “That reminds me.  I’ve a proposal for you, sir.”

            Joraz shot a surreptitious glance at Breygon.  The half-elf was watching the conversation with apparent disinterest…except that his ear-tips were pink, and twitching slightly.

            Thanos was about to say ‘I’m all ears’, but decided at the last instant that it would be impolitic.  “Unfold, madam,” he said instead.

            “I understand that the young…ahh, lady,” she began, nodding at Valaista, “is apprenticed to you.”

            Thanos nodded.  “I’m teaching her my craft at her parents’ request.”

            “She couldn’t find a better teacher for the ars arcana, I’m sure,” Amorda said smoothly.  “But seeing as how we’ve a week or more to spend together, perhaps I could assist her in mastering some of the gentler arts.”

            Five pairs of eyebrows, including Valaista’s, rose simultaneously. 

“What?” the dragon-girl said, taken aback.

            “Your hair looks like a stirge’s nest, dear,” Amorda clucked, shaking her head.  “If you’re going to wear that shape, you need to learn how to do it credit.  And while you won’t need make-up for a few decades…”

            “Millennia,” Valaista growled.

            “…millennia, then,” Amorda corrected, still smiling, “knowledge gained is never lost.  Someday you’ll be grateful for a little rouge and kohl.” 

She turned back to Thanos.  “What do you say, Colonel?  I can make a lady of her for you.”

            “A generous offer,” the warmage mused.  “I can’t imagine how I’d repay you.”

            “You misunderstand,” the lady laughed.  “I’m repaying you!  All of you.  You’re a breath of fresh air.  Joyous Light has seen more excitement in the last seven days than in the last seven centuries!”

            “Vampires, tree-monsters,” Joraz murmured.  “It’s been a little dangerous, too.”

            “Danger is life’s spice,” the elf-woman said.  There was a hard glint in her eye as she spoke.  Joraz wondered whether any of his comrades had noticed that.

            Thanos shot a glance at Karrick.  “What do you think?”

The warrior shrugged.  “When a sword-master offers to show you a few tricks,” he replied, “you don’t set conditions.  You just say ‘thanks’.”

The warmage laughed.  “Thanks,” he said to Amorda.  “We accept.”

“What?” Valaista shrieked.

Thanos regarded her coolly.  “I’ll presume that was an expression of gratified surprise, apprentice,” he said carefully, “and not an objection to your master’s command.  Yes?”

The dragon-girl leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and looking rebellious.

The warmage sighed.  “Let me put it a different way,” he said.  “In the last week, you’ve managed to compromise your disguise half a dozen times.  Some of these have been excusable, but not all of them.  You may look like a young lady of the First House, child, but you don’t act like one.”  He nodded at Amorda.  “She’s offering to show you how.  It could save us a lot of trouble.”

Valaista scowled.

“I’m not asking,” Thanos added sternly.  “I’m telling you.  Do we have an accord?  Or do I send you back to Elder Delvin and your parents?”

“You wouldn’t!” the dragon-girl snorted.  “It hurts too much to lose a familiar.  You’d never do it.”

“If you think I wouldn’t shed blood to rid myself of a troublesome subordinate, then you haven’t been paying attention,” the warmage said coldly.  “Or if you prefer, I could have Karrick put you over his knee.”

Karrick beamed at this.  An instant later his look of glee changed to one of alarm as he visualized trying to paddle four hundred-weight of dagger-fanged, tail-whipping, fire-snorting dragon.  “Leave me out of this, boss,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

            Amorda rolled her eyes.  “Men!” she snapped.  “Trust you lot to make a production out of nothing.”  Abandoning her chair, she edged her way around the table until she stood behind Valaista.  Gathering the girl’s unruly mass of silver-grey locks, she twisted, knotted, bent and shoved like a veteran rope-maker, working the errant strands into a coherent pattern, then finally coiling the lot into an intricate, carefully-constructed edifice atop the girl’s head.

            She reached into her own coiffure, selected a silver pin the length of her hand, eyed her handiwork carefully, then wedged the pin to the coiled braids, locking the whole structure together. “Shake your head,” she commanded.

            Valaista did so, putting up a hand to contain the expected collapse.  Nothing moved.

            Karrick uttered a low whistle and began clapping.  Joraz and Thanos joined in a moment later.

            Valaista blushed, her cheeks purpling.  “What?” she muttered.

            Amorda put her lips to the girl’s ear.  “You look like a lady ready for a night on the town,” she said.  “Or you would, if you were wearing silk instead of steel, and carrying an aluta instead of a meat-cleaver and a shield.”

            The dragon-girl put a hand to her new coiffure.  “How…how do I get it down?”

            “Pull out the pin,” Amorda replied.

            Valaista hesitated.

            “Do it!”

            The girl grasped the pin and pulled it out.  Instantly, the coiled mass of curls tumbled down around her shoulders, smooth and untangled.

            “Now look at the pin,” the lady said.

            Valaista did so.  “It’s sharp!” she said, amazed.

            Amorda nodded.  Taking the hairpin from the girl, she put her thumb over the jewelled end, then stabbed it through one of the tin plates on the table.  “Mithral-steel.  Designed to penetrate mail,” she said, wriggling the pin to free it from the wood and tin, and holding it up for closer inspection.  “This is what it is to be a lady in the Fair Realm.”  She handed the pin to Valaista. “That was lesson number one.” 

To Thanos, she said, “What say you, Colonel?  Give me a week, and I’ll give you back a different apprentice.”

The warmage turned to his adjutant, grinning.  “Well?”

“I thought it was a good idea before,” Karrick replied.  “Now I think I’m in love.” He was staring at Amorda, a beatific smile on his lips.  She smiled back and dropped a quick curtsey.

Thanos turned back to the elf-woman.  “Done.  She’s yours, lady.  Until we dock in Astrapratum, or otherwise part ways.”

“Excellent.  Sunrise tomorrow, then, sweetling,” Amorda said, giving Valaista an affectionate pat on the cheek.  Glancing up at Reticia, she added, “We’ll start by doing something about these bugbear eyebrows.”

“I’ll sharpen the hatchet,” Reticia muttered.

“What’s wrong with my eyebrows?” Valaista asked, nettled.

“You’re supposed to have two, dear.  Now hush,” Amorda said, returning to her seat.  Retrieving her cup, she said, “Beck, my dear fellow.  You’ve been quiet.”

“When the subject is hairstyles,” the half-elf replied stiffly, “I have little to contribute.  Eyebrows, likewise.”

The lady leaned towards Thanos.  “Is he always so serious?” she stage-whispered.

“It’s an admirable quality,” the warmage replied.

“In moderation,” Amorda qualified.  “Let me guess: he’s obsessing over the mysteries you’ve not yet solved.  The vine-creature at Rykki’s funeral.  The lamiatae in Kalena’s quarters.  The fate of Auranitoris.  The whereabouts of the Summer-Queen.  Yes?”

The five companions stared at the elf-woman in stunned silence.  At last Thanos, in strangled tones, said, “You’re very well-informed.”

“I keep my ear to the ground,” Amorda shrugged.  “And I spoke to Kaltas earlier today. He’s asked a few favours of me.”

“I wasn’t aware you were that close,” Breygon murmured.

The lady arched a narrow brow.  “The list of things I wouldn’t do for Kaltas Aiyellohax is very, very short.”  She thought about that for a moment, then said, “Well…it’s a little longer, now, seeing as how he’s married again.”

Karrick chortled.

“If you’ve any insights into any of those mysteries, as you called them,” Thanos said gravely, “then we would be most grateful to hear them.”

“Not about the attacks you’ve had to deal with,” Amorda shrugged.  “Blood and death are your province, not mine.  But I think the disappearance of the Summer-Queen and the obliteration of Auranitoris might be linked.  Have you ever heard the tale of Prex Æstiva?”

“ ‘The Curse of Summer’?” Thanos translated.  He glanced at Breygon and Joraz.

“No,” Joraz replied.  The ranger simply shook his head.

“Well, then,” Amorda said brightly, “As my harp is packed, I hope you don’t mind a capella.”  Glancing over her shoulder at her hand-maiden, she said, “Feel free to join in for the counterpoint.”

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Reticia sighed.

♦♦♦

Prex Aestiva - The Curse of Summer

Fallen the Mighty, and fallen Usurper

Tîor, Xîardath are both gone to wind

Black eyes and white-hair, ill-born Bîardath

The master of shadow and demon-wrought magic

Supreme and unchallenged, triumphant, chagrined

For all of his wisdom and all of his power

Avail him naught ‘gainst the might of the green

The heart of the forest bends not to his majesty

Spurning his spellcraft and darkness-spawned messengers

Thriving as ever, apart and unseen

In thrall, Astrapratum is shadowed and terrible

Lifewater laps at the banks of despair

On the Filigree Throne a lascivious spectacle

Shannyra the temptress, the fiend incandescent

Whose touch drives her victims all good to forswear

And beyond the black walls lies the withering majesty

Nature resplendent surrenders to woe

As the stench of corruption and darkness-wrought misery

Weighs on the woodlands of Fair Harad’s majesty

And feasts on the green like a carrion crow

The woe of the woodlands calls unto kesatuan

Summoning forth the protector of all

Regina Æstiva, the fair Queen of Summer

The great Forest Mother’s most radiant servant

The ruin of the forests to fight and forestall

From the green came she forth clad in fair verdant splendour

The light of the Lantern pierced lowering clouds

And the flowers sprang up in her life-giving footsteps

And blossomed in glory all ‘round and about her

And mighty morbannons in majesty bowed

The green glowing heart of the uplifted woodland

Caught Shannyra’s eye as she lounged on her throne

And she raced to the window in transports of fury

Enraged at this challenge to Dark Ender’s mastery

From origin strange, and of powers unknown

She called to her plaything, demanding Bîardath

Attend her, assist her in facing this foe

But her mate answered not; he was deep in his mysteries

Forging his Wand; engineering his travesties

Alone she descended to forests below

Amid the morbannons, enrobed in dark splendour

She calls to the power she sensed in the green

“Come forth, worthy sister; I feel your presence

“Your lifebeat I taste; its delectable luxury

“Calls to me - feeds my desires obscene”

So forth from the flesh of the tallest morbannon

Regina Æstiva in majesty stepped

And confronted the demoness standing before her

Her beauty bound up with a soul born of darkness

Her exquisite gorgeousness chained to profanity

Heart-shorn and sorrowful, Summer Queen wept

“Weep not, verdant sister,” the demoness gloated

“My power and might make me first of this land

“I sit on the throne wrought by Tîor the Mighty

“And whisper my words to the ear of his grandson

“That grandson I hold in the palm of my hand

“My decrees all the elven-folk hasten to answer

“They answer to me as their sovereign queen

“So too must the forest my glory acknowledge

“Bowing down to the power that Bardan has granted me

“Kneeling to me as the new Summer Queen”

At these words did the Summer Queen smile in sadness

And opened her heart to the daughter of blight

Through the touch of kesatuan, knew she her enemy

Fiend-fell, soulless, and reft of all sympathy

Jealous of beauty, and hating the light

“The Dark Ender’s power avails you nothing

“Shannyra, thou daughter of darkness and pain

“The forests are ruled by the might of the Unity

“The sun and the wind and the bark of the thunder

“The life of the earth, and the sweet-falling rain

“I beseech thee, leave off with thine orders and blandishments

“To that thou defamest, abase thee and yield

“The might that thou bringeth is naught to kesatuan

“For all spirits bend to the strength of the Unity

“Such is the power the nature-queens wield”

“My spirit?” the demoness snarled in stark hatred

“My spirit was forged by the Ender’s black hand!

“I bow not to leaf-lords; your simpering Unity

“Quails at the might of the Shadow’s eternity

“Knell! For I am the lord of this land”

And with that, did she open a portal in Evertime

Straight ‘twixt the woods and the fires below

And through it flew fiends in numbers uncountable

Blazing with lust and with fires abominable

Fangs wet with venom, and fell eyes aglow

“Dost thou now understand?” quoth Shannyra in victory

A thousand stark minions arrayed at her side

“My soldiers will wither the heart of your Unity

“Burning the forests and blighting their dignity

“Cowing the green to the Dark Ender’s majesty

“Such is the might Bardan grants to his bride”

Surrounded by shadows, encircled by enmity

Summer-Queen wept, and she raised up her hand

And the slavering horde born of fire and darkness

Fell at once stiff and silent, their shrieking abated

And rooted themselves to the earth of the land

Great legs grew together; scaled hide turned to tree-bark

Vast shoulders to branches, and talons to leaves

Verdant beauty sprang up from the filth of their passing

New life blossomed forth from the horrors of darkness

And a welcoming wind shook the new forest’s eaves

Reft of her minions, surrounded by greenery

The fiend-whore trembled in deepest dismay

And she quailed in fear at the Summer Queen’s power

The might of the green and ubiquitous Unity

Power and power on savage display

Regina Æstiva, stern and implacable

Spoke to the cowering fiend: “Thy might

“Matters not to the Unity’s unrivalled splendour

“The heart of the green is its own sovereign master

“Acknowledging neither the dark nor the light”

The Summer Queen strode to the fiend-born maiden

Laid hand on her breast; on her black, poisoned heart

And she said, “Thou mayest also be one with the Unity

“One with the green and the forest’s great majesty

“No longer standing alone and apart”

But the fiend of desire at that touch shrieked in terror

And fled from the site of her army’s demise

And never again did she challenge the Unity

Nor dare the despite of the forest’s great majesty

Until she and Bîardath, at Mærglyn’s black treachery

Fell before daughter’s treason and met their demise

And what of her army, that Summer-Queen sundered

It stands still in glory near Starmeadow’s wall

In name it is called ‘Hortum Elanadiria’

Garden of Glory, star-bright and magnificent

Flowers and vines - and in glorious splendour

A thousand morbannon trees, mighty and tall

♦♦♦

ELVHELM: The River Lymphus I - Leaving Eldisle

            Two horses - a silver-gray stallion and a chestnut mare - clattered up the high road from the harbour to the palace heights.  Their riders had to raise their voices to make themselves heard over the clacking of iron against cobblestones, and neither wanted to do so.  They were lost in their thoughts, and in something of a hurry.

            At the top of the rise, they broke from a trot into a gallop, thundering past the gatehouse like furies.  Instead of turning in and crossing the drawbridge, they carried on, starting down the hill towards the long line of shops that led down the gentle slope towards the sea.  They passed a half-dozen regal structures before the leader, atop the stallion, twitched his reins and led the great beast into a narrow alley between two stone walls. 

            The eastern line of shops backed onto the cliff overlooking the Gula that led from the harbour at Joyous Light to the sea.  The rider nudged his horse through the narrow passage between the buildings and onto a broad patch of grass overlooking the strait between the eastern and western hills of the city.  The other rider followed him, her mount dancing nervously on the small sward. 

            With an ease born of long practice, Kaltas vaulted out of his saddle and slid smoothly to the ground.  Taking both bridles in one hand, he extended the other to his daughter.  Jianni took it - she was nowhere near as experienced a horseman as her father, who had been knighted by Callaýian himself more than four hundred years earlier - and eased herself out of the high saddle. Kaltas helped her to the ground.  Relieved of their riders, the horses calmed somewhat, and began cropping disinterestedly at the grass and flowers decorating the small lawn.

            “I can’t see them,” Jianni said, shading her eyes with her hands.  The Lantern had just dipped below the eastern horizon, sending beams of red and orange shooting skywards.  On the heights, the light was still bright, in stark contrast to the harbour and the Gullet, which had fallen into shadow nearly an hour earlier.

            “They’re moving,” her father replied.  “Look; just alongside Killiat’s warehouse, there.  The sails’re old, so they’re greying.  You have to watch for motion, not colour.”

            Jianni was silent for a moment.  “I see them now,” she said at last.  “They’re not moving very fast.”

            “The land breeze is light this early, and the Gula is narrow,” Kaltas shrugged.  “I wouldn’t want to take it at speed even in daylight.  Fall’s just being cautious.”  He sounded exhausted.

            The elf-woman glanced at her father.  “Are you well?”

            “Just tired,” Kaltas replied with a wan smile.  “It’s been an eventful week.”

            “That’s one way to put it,” she snorted.  “You lose a city to the forest.  Then a group of sell-swords shows up in the palace followed by a trio of lamiata, solve the mystery of mother’s disappearance and Ally’s flight for you, talk to a personification of hutanibu and an ancient spirit of stone, discover a dragon transformed into a tree, intervene in our travails with the lustroares, defeat a monstrous perversion of the green, penetrate the secrets of Mancur Lamanya, and are off again.  A busy seven-day indeed.”

            “Plus, I got married,” Kaltas said drily.

            “That, too.”

            The Duke shot a glance at the girl.  “That sounded like something less than full-throated approval, daughter.”

            Jianni shrugged.  “It’s not disapproval, father.  I’m delighted for you.  It’s just...I’d always hoped that the failure of the priests to raise her spirit meant that mother would...would return someday.  Not...”

            “Not that she had been slain by a dread weapon of darkness,” Kaltas murmured, “that locked her spirit in the world beyond the world.  I know.”  He shook his head.  “Hope can be a wonderful thing, Jianni.  But it can also be a terrible burden.”

            “She’s free now, though.  Isn’t she?”

            Kaltas shrugged.  “I don’t know, dear.  Thanos and the others...they told me that they destroyed Glycomon’s sword.  That fact, and his death, should have broken the curse.”

            “So she might...we...you could...”  The elf-woman paused.

            “Could what?”

            “You could bring her back,” Jianni whispered.

            “Perhaps,” Kaltas admitted.  “If we could find a priest with that kind of sanctity and power.  And if she wanted to return.”

            “Wouldn’t it be worth the attempt?” the elf-woman asked.  “To have her back, if she would come?”

            Kaltas said nothing.

            “Don’t you want her back?” Jianni whispered.

            The Duke sighed.  “It’s not that simple, daughter.  Rykki’s been gone a long time.  This is not like restoring a friend who fell in battle an hour or a day ago; your mother won her victory and passed on into the Long Halls.  She is part of another world now, and has been for more than sixty years.  For decades I refused to give up hope, but at last I had to.  Now, knowing what really happened to her...”

            “Why does that change anything?” the elf-woman insisted.  “Why shouldn’t we try -”

            “I didn’t want to make the attempt,” Kaltas interrupted, “because I was afraid she would...would say no.”

            “Oh,” Jianni said, her voice very small.

            The ship was moving more swiftly now, passing beneath them, several hundred paces away and down.  They could see the crewmen scampering about like ants, fiddling with the rigging and sails.  Kaltas couldn’t distinguish any individuals amid the bustle, but he thought he could make out the vast, shadowy shape of the ranger’s leopard.

            And a brief, heart-wrenching flash of green.

            He turned to his daughter.  “Did you think I declined to make the attempt because I desired Myaszæron?”

            Jianni was silent for a long moment.  At last, she said, “Yes.  I’m sorry for that, father.  It was an unworthy thought.”

            “A natural one, though.”  Kaltas smiled.  “Do you dislike her?”

            “Of course not,” the elf-woman sighed.  “She’s wonderful.  Like a sis...sister.”  Sudden tears filled her eyes.  “But I’m afraid now.  For you.”

            “Why?”

            “Before, our connection to house Æyllian was distant enough for safety,” Jianni replied soberly.  “Aunt Annalyszian’s mating with Landioryn kept us close, but at a secure remove from them throne.  This, though...an alliance by marriage to someone actually in the line of succession...father, it puts us...you...in terrible danger.”

            “Your newfound devotion to the green hasn’t erased your feel for politics, I see,” the Duke chuckled.  “That’s a relief.  I’d hate to think all my instruction had been wasted.”

            “I remember enough to know a hazard when I see it!” the elf-girl insisted.  “If things go ill in Starmeadow, this could put your head on the block!”

            “Things are already going ill, as you put it,” her father replied soberly.  “That’s one of the reasons I had to do what I did.  I can’t do anything from Eldisle.  I need power, position and authority to help save the realm.  An alliance with Mya gives me all three.”

            “It also ties you irrevocably to one of the factions.  If...Forest Mother forfend, but if Æloeschyan gains the upper hand, you will not survive.  None of us will,” Jianni said.  “Duke Kaltas of Eldisle she might ignore; at worst, she might try to buy you off, or co-opt you.  But Prince Kaltas, lifemate to Myaszæron Æyllian...he will go to the block.

            “This changes everything, father,” the girl sighed.

            “It changes nothing important,” Kaltas replied.  “I was always loyal to the Queen.  I was always going to spend my last breath fighting for her, against any threat to the throne, whether foreign or domestic.  The Grim Duchess knows this already.  All my marriage means is that I now have a more visible reason for my loyalty.”

            “And why should visibility matter?” Jianni asked, clearly upset.

            “Loyalty is an abstract,” the Duke sighed.  “Intangible.  You can’t touch it, see it, or spend it.  To those who do not understand it, it is difficult to credit.  When Ally...did what she did, my loyalty became open to question.  It had never changed, not a jot.  But her misadventures...

            He laughed feebly.  “Daughter, don’t mistake me.  I don’t blame Alymyn.  Thanos and...and Beck, eased my heart immensely with their tale.  But your sister, by doing what she did, and in the way she did it...well, she gave plenty of red meat to the gossips and tongue-waggers.” 

            He shrugged, smiling.  “And it created this situation, in a way, because it caused the Queen to send her grand-daughter here to keep an eye on me.  If Ally hadn’t acted on impulse in the royal gardens that night, Myaszæron might never have set foot in Joyous Light.  And I would never have passed the rose and the cup to her.  Life’s wheel turns strangely sometimes.”

            “Is that why your married her?” the elf-woman asked.  “Just because she was here?”

            “I married her because I love her,” the Duke replied sternly.  “We are alike in so many ways that I can’t imagine not loving her.  But I won’t deny that there are political advantages to our union.  By taking Myaszæron to mate, I neutralize the slanderers.   The common folk might not be able to grasp the extent or import of a lifetime of flawless, loyal service.  But they can understand that I, and all my legions, will fight and fall for my lifemate’s family.”

            “They’ll also understand,” Jianni said darkly, “that this puts you in the line of succession, alongside Myaszæron.  That only...what , six?  Six heads are all that stand between you and the coronet of the Prince Consort.”

            He nodded.  “Ælyndarka, Landioryn, Cæfalys, Airæszyllan, Gyennareen.  And of course my new brother-in-law, that fool, Bræagond.  Six throats to cut, and the golden chair is mine.”  He shook his head.  “There are those who will see it that way, no doubt.  Including Annalyszian. 

            “And, if we’re lucky,” he added with a bleak smile, “the Grim Duchess.  In fact, I’m counting on her seeing it that way.”

            “I wonder how the Queen will see it,” Jianni murmured.  “That’s all that really matters right now, isn’t it?”

            The Duke nodded.  He put his arm around his daughter.  They stood in companionable silence, watching the broad, grey sails until they disappeared over the horizon, and the last of the Lantern’s light faded, and the stars sprang up in the clear night sky.

♦♦♦

            Far below, on the quarterdeck of Odergrav, the Duke’s new lifemate stood leaning against the railing, bracing herself against the gentle pitch of the rollers, and struggling to make out her love’s silhouette against the darkening sky. 

            Two paces away, Captain Fall stood at the wheelman’s shoulder, muttering terse instructions to the sailor, and to the enormous, glowering form of the first mate - the minotaur Kalatak.  Fall was the sort of commander who preferred his deck clear of obstructions and idlers, and his pudgy face bore a scowl that suggested that he would dearly have loved to order the Princess below decks.  He was not such a fool, of course; one never trifled with the moneyed classes anywhere, and especially not in the elf-realm, where the slightest perception of an insult could lead to drawn blades and slit throats.  He’d never yet run into a passenger that Kalatak couldn’t handle - that was why he’d brought the unpredictable bull-head aboard in the first place - but this one looked like she knew her way around a blade. 

            And there were the others, too - the three humans, and the half-elf. They were a grim-faced, reticent lot, and Fall looked forward to the moment when he could watch them trot down the gangway and out of his life.  He’d half-considered propositioning the little one, the Wandering Elf girlie; after all, she was a remarkable beauty, more stunning even than the princess - but something about her had stopped him dead in his tracks.  Something in her eyes, her bearing, even the way she walked suggested that she was not quite what she seemed to be.  Fall had a sixth sense for that sort of thing. It had kept him alive only because he paid attention to it, and he wasn’t going to start ignoring it now.

            A few dozen paces away from where Fall was stewing in his doubts and misperceptions, Amorda and her hand-maiden, Reticia, stood against the windward railing, staring at the stern and watching the mortal drama unfold around them.

            Reticia in particular was observing the princess.  “Ah, to be young and in love,” the elf-woman drawled.

            “She’s older than you, numb-wit,” Amorda laughed.

            “Ah, to be noble-born, beautiful, rich, bursting with power, and straddling a stallion like Kaltas,” the hand-maiden amended.

            The lady slapped her companion’s shoulder, stifling a giggle.  “Reticio, Reticia!” she snorted.  The ancilla’s name, after all, meant ‘dignified silence’, and Amorda, from time to time, found herself wishing that she would exemplify it.

            “I can dream, can’t I?” the younger woman asked wistfully.

            “Think a little while you dream.  If you can,” Amorda laughed.  “What did you think of our band of sell-swords?”

            Reticia shrugged.  “What about them?”

            “Did they look different to you?  When they boarded the ship, I mean?”

            “I was seeing to your wardrobe, lady,” the hand-maiden said stiffly.  “All two-score chests of it, winched below decks and stowed safely away.  I had little time for idle observation.”

            “Too bad.  I think he looks different,” Amorda murmured.

            “Who?  Your lupino?”

            The lady nodded.

            Reticia frowned.  “Is it something definite?  Because I didn’t notice anything about any of them.  Except for a few minor items of clothing and kit, maybe.  The warrior Karrick’s sporting a new helm, for example, and that chemise the silver-eyed girl is wearing...that’s new.  It’s something local.  Must’ve bought it here.”

            “She didn’t.  It was Rykki’s,” Amorda sighed.  “I saw her wear it once, at the College in Starmeadow.  She was duelling Kalestayne.”

            Reticia’s eyebrows shot up.  “Duelling?  The Master Magister?”

            “A friendly wager, nothing more.”

            “Why is he giving his wife’s wardrobe away?” Reticia asked.  Then she nodded.  “Oh, of course.  Strenabitionae, yes?  Parting gifts?”

            “Likely enough,” Amorda agreed.  “Although that doesn’t explain the thing riding on his shoulder.”

            “What is it?  A bird?”

            “Nec.  Some sort of fey creature.  A pixie, or some such, I should guess.”

            Reticia blinked.  “Why in all the hells would Kaltas give some adventurer a pixie?”  She thought about that for a moment, then added, “And where would he get a pixie, anyway?”

            “I don’t think it was from Kaltas,” Amorda murmured.  “There’s something going on with that boy, and I mean to find out what it is.”

            “So if not the fairy bug,” Reticia asked, “then what did Kaltas give him?”

            Amorda pursed her lips.  “What indeed?”

            Reticia laughed.  “ You’re hoping for a medallion of bear’s endurance, aren’t you?”

            The lady shrugged, a tiny smile tugging at her lips.

            “Gods,” the hand-maiden sniggered.  “It went on long enough the last time you coupled.  You nearly caught fire then.  How much more do you think you can stand?  Starmeadow’s only a seven-day away!”

            “I think that’s enough from you, my duck,” Amorda warned.

            “Oak planks can only take so much punishment, you know,” Reticia chortled.  “If he pounds you through the deck and into the bilge -”

            “Hara Sophus!” Amorda exclaimed.  “Am I going to have to cut your tongue out?”

            Reticia laughed.  “Men would mourn from Eldisle to the Wastes!”

            “I’m starting to think you ought to be packed away in the hold as well,” Amorda muttered.

            “I could use the rest,” the hand-maiden shrugged.  “But then, who’d ply the crew for information, while you’re honey-talking that sweet-hipped semiferus and his comrades?”

            “Forget the crew,” Amorda ordered.   “They won’t know anything useful.  I’ve heard some unsettling rumours.  Troops being summoned, movements up and down the old battlefronts in Niriam Vale...that sort of thing.  I need to know how things stand in the Empire.  Why don’t you try Captain Fall?”

            “Gah!” Reticia nearly gagged.  “The man’s a toad, and he smells like a midden.  I’d rather tumble the minotaur.”  She nodded at the bull-headed mate, who roamed the planking, dispensing blows of his massive fists as chastisement to dilatory deckhands.

            “Be my guest,” the lady chuckled.  “But have a care; they’re said to be insatiable.  He looks like he might even be able to outlast Beck.”

            The hand-maiden smirked narrowly.

            “If your stomach’s not strong enough for the captain,” Amorda suggested, “there’s always the weatherworker.  His name’s Khalash.  I marked him when we came aboard.”

            “Which one is he?” Reticia asked, glancing at the swirling array of humanity as the sailors worked Odergrav around onto a south-westerly course.

            “By the wheel.  Brown-skinned, black-haired and serious-looking.”

            Reticia squinted at the quarterdeck.  “Him?  He’s a wizard?”

            “Sorcerer, more like,” Amorda replied.  “Gasparri, from Illostina, or so I’m told.  He probably speaks the sylvan tongue,” she added as an afterthought, “so we’d best stick to the court dialect for secrets.”

            “He looks like a brigand,” the hand-maiden sniffed.  “I’d’ve expected a staff or something.”

            “I’m sure he has one somewhere,” the lady grinned.  “No doubt he’ll show it to you, if you ask him the right way.”

            Reticia shot her mistress a narrow glance, and Amorda laughed.

♦♦♦

            The great raft was comforting, in a way.  It reminded him of previous water crossings.  Many times had he crossed the salt lake with the Clan.  For the last paw of crossings, ever since he had succeeded Terbekar Secercah as First, he had been First among the Companions, looking to Besar Pengikut, the chieftain.  Terbekar had known the way of it; he had felt his legs growing weary and his fangs dull, and had sought out the strongest of his get, and bent the knee to him, offering the new First his throat.  Akhir had nipped only lightly, not wishing to humble so great a forebear, and had led the howl for his sire when the great bronze monster had slipped, silent as ever, into the woodlands.

            Now he was First.  But First of what?  He had no Clan.  They were gone.  He had no Companions; they too were gone, having slipped into the new forest around the ancient tree-swallowed stone-city once it became clear that the Clan would not return.  First his mate, Perkasa Macan, then his mate’s Look-To Companion...now this.  He had no complaints; the green was the green, and took as often as it gave.  His new Look-To Companion was wise and silent, a good tracker and a swift hunter.  Akhir approved of him.  But he was not Clan.  He was something else.

            Something more.

            The great raft was moving now, moving swiftly, like low cloud scudding across sky.  The Clan rafts had never swum the salt lake with this sort of speed.  The two-legs had planted trees atop their rafts, and had spread great stretched cloths over them.  That must be the difference, he decided.  Padding softly across the hard boards, he poked his enormous, furry snout here and there, starting the quaking two-legs with moist snorts and the tickling of whiskers.  All those he approached quaked like mice, squeaking and squawking their fear.  They had complained to their leader - a towering two-leg with a head like a plains steer, graced with vast, curving horns.  This creature was not like the other two-legs; he was as large and as heavy as Akhir himself.  He had held out a clawed fist to Akhir, and Akhir had sniffed him, curious to learn how he differed from the other two-legs.  One brief snort had been enough.  The bull-head was a kindred spirit, and Akhir indicated his approval by lapping at the proffered fist (like everything else aboard the raft it was salty) and then butting his furry head gently into the monster’s midriff.  His reward had been a savage scritching around the neck, eliciting a delighted rumble that had set the deck-planks trembling.

            The bull-head had called for a half-keg of water and a flitch of bacon, and Akhir had spent the next quarter-hour indulging his baser appetites.  He scarcely came up for air until his Look-To Companion appeared on deck, breathing deeply of the sea air.  Akhir sympathized.  He had sampled the stagnant air of the ‘tween-decks, and far preferred the biting sea breezes of spring.

            When the darkness was complete, the bull-head called for lights, and oil lamps were hoisted into the rigging.  The light was fitful and flickering, but it was sufficient for the two-legs on deck.  To Akhir, it was as bright as day.  His Companion crouched beside him, seeking shelter from the wind against the great cat’s hulking shoulders.  Akhir, as was his wont when the weather turned foul, curled himself into a thick knot, draping the hirsute cable of his tail over his nose.  His Companion snuggled into the rumbling, fuzzy heap.  Together, they dropped into intermittent sleep.

            From time to time, as cats do, Akhir roused himself, picking up his great head and glancing around to take stock of changes in his surroundings.  His Companion, by contrast, scarcely moved.  He did not appear to sleep; his violet eyes remained wide open and staring, fixed on the uninterrupted blanket of stars overhead.  Akhir followed his gaze, but could not see what his Companion was looking at.

            It did not matter.  By the time the first streaks of dawn coloured the western skies and the two-legs were stirring, he was well-rested and alert.

            And hungry again.

♦♦♦