Golden Tide (Song of the Aura, Book Four) (5 page)

Then the voice was gone, and it did not return. Strange. Lauro was sure it had meant something. This was like no dream he had ever had before… He seemed to be floating, bodiless, over a green field under a gray sky, where wind breathed across the land unceasingly, and rain had just begun to drizzle down from the heavens onto the prairie and blue-shaded mountains beyond.

He knew this place. Here lay the lower reaches of the Greyfeld, where Vastion’s king held sway, and the Rain Mountains stretched their northernmost tips. He- or the part of him that saw into the dream- was drifting down through the air, closer to the ground, and closer to the gray stone structure he knew to be a
dalheim,
a Vastic outpost usually only manned in wartime. It would be manned now, he knew, though there was no war. Vastion was uneasy. War had not come, but it was coming…

The dalheim’s small, circular wall was within his grasp, now; or would have been, if he had had hands to grasp it. His floating came to a halt just beyond the outward gate, where he hovered… and watched. He had not control over himself; where he went, or what he saw; but it did not frighten him. He did not know why. The gate opened outward, and a troop of armored men began to move through, spears and shields and helms tinted gray by the clouds overhead. At their head rode a bare-headed captain in a scarlet cloak, his spirited bloodbay stallion stamping and rearing, ready for a charge.

“
Forward!” the captain cried, and spurred on his steed. He led his men through the gate at a lively march, but suddenly called, “Halt!” and drew out a beaten brass spyglass. He gazed at something far ahead in the grasslands beyond the dalheim, then replaced it. His warrior’s topknot swung wildly as he turned his horse about. The wind picked up, drowning out all that he said to his men, at least to Lauro’s ears. One word alone did he hear:

“
Windmaster.”

The world seemed to bend, and change. Either time flowed more quickly, or it slowed to a halt. Either could have happened, but the captain and his men seemed not to move at all. Gradually Lauro became aware that someone else was joining the group of men outside the dalheim’s gate. A woman sped across the open field, running in great leaps and bounds that carried her hundreds of feet at a time. It was not flying, not exactly, but it was close.
The Windmaster!
Lauro realized.
A Strider like me.

The woman reached the captain and his men in minutes, skidding and slipping to a halt so clumsily that she fell, rolled, and did not get up. The captain did not wait for his men to react, but leaped from his stallion and landed beside the woman, helping her to her feet and lending her his support. She could barely walk, and blood caked her face and side.

The wind began to howl. Lauro could hear nothing of what the Windmaster told the captain, but he saw her pale braid swinging back and forth excitedly and fearfully, saw the captain cringe and the woman point wildly behind her, to where the mountains of blue and gray rock rose up to block out the sky. Reluctantly, as if some other force directed his gaze, Lauro turned his head to see where she pointed.

Time shifted, and spaces became irrelevant. Lauro’s eye could see for a hundred miles, straight across the Greyfeld and to the Rain Mountains beyond. What he saw, he could barely comprehend.

A tide was rising, spilling, and flowing out of the mountains. Not a tide of water, though- of men, and beasts, and machines… an army. An army armored in gold. Huge, nightmarish animals with joints of metal gears and skin of plated gold, with eyes of red flame and teeth of steel. Soldiers in glittering mail, with black veils and masks of gold. And Pit Striders. Black-skinned, red-eyed, Pit Striders, who rode horses of fire and summoned draiks to fight for them.

They were all about to come crashing down on Vastion. His home.

“
No!”
screamed Lauro, and suddenly he floated up and away again, and the world beneath him was fading as the golden tide poured over it.

The dream changed. He found himself floating now, over a wide cavernous room lit by flickering torches set on long poles in the ground. Treasure and statues were scattered about, glinting in the torchlight, but the shadows hid the corners of the chamber. Beneath Lauro was a huge wooden throne that seemed to have grown out of the floor. Wickedly pointed iron spikes poked through the top, giving the image that the throne was constantly in pain.

A man sat on the throne, robed in dark green, with a hood thrown up over his face. No, not a man: slits cut in the hood showed the tops of long, pointed ears. A nymph, then. Only the nymph’s mouth was visible beneath the shadows of his hood, twisted cruelly into a brooding frown. He was listening to something, or someone.

From the darkness at the side of his throne came a voice. It spoke in words foreign to Lauro, harsh and grating, high-pitched, but he recognized it all the same. It was the woman who had hit him with the dart; the one who must have brought him to this Aura-forsaken place.

Perhaps it was the power of the dream, but he could just barely distinguish the meaning of what was said. The woman, who he now saw crouching beside the throne, was pleading. Pleading for something… or someone…

The nymph on the throne had just begun to nod, agreeing, when his back stiffened and his head jerked up…

…
to stare Lauro directly in the eyes. Somehow, the nymph could
see
him. Black eyes glittered up at him, full of rage and hate. The nymph reached out a hand, and Lauro felt a black claw of horror grip his heart and squeeze. Pain lanced through the body he did not have, held back from killing by one thing…

NO! You will not take him!
It was the voice of the prophet, loud and clear. Light blossomed in Lauro’s eyes, blinding him. He felt as if he were being torn apart…

~

Lauro woke with a yell, thrashing his arms as if to ward off an attacker. When he realized where he was, and that he was no longer dreaming, he slumped against the wall, limply shaking his head.
I can’t keep this up. Why are they waiting? Will I live, or die?
He knew not how he knew, but he was sure that was what the woman’s voice had been pleading for. His life. And Gribly- Gribly had protected him! He had to be the one who had sent the dream.

“
Little good it does me, if his dreams kill me…” the prince grumbled, letting his hands drop to the ground.

A gust of wind blew across the cell, dissipating some of the death on the stale air. Lauro’s eyes widened until he thought they might pop.
Yes! I can use the Sky again!
He straightened up a little, rubbing his cold-numb hands together, already planning how to escape.

Without warning, the door burst open, and the black-garbed jailor entered, his strange half-spear slung across one shoulder. Behind him were two nymphs almost as big as he, dressed almost identically, with black masks like executioners.

“
Blast…” Lauro grunted.

Cold water splashed across Gribly’s face, jolting him awake. “What the…?”

“
Will you never wake, boy?” Karmidigan was grunting. He had thrown the water, it seemed, and he looked a bit too happy about it. “It’s almost noon! You’ve slept half the day away, and now the Captain needs you… urgently.” The seriousness in his voice belied the humor he seemed to have at splashing Gribly. The thief sat up on his cot, still gripping the staff as he had in his sleep, like his life depended on it.

“
I… I was dreaming. I think I’ve discovered one of the powers this staff has.” He looked up at Karmidigan, and saw confusion lining the nymph’s face. “Things of the Aura,” he explained. “The staff lets me get into other people’s dreams… or send dreams to them… or a mix of both. I don’t really know.”

Suddenly Karmidigan was all concern. “I hope you did not hurt yourself. Is your mind… all as it should be?”

Gribly assured him it was- though he was not really so sure. His head hurt, and he felt as if he had slept one hour instead of twelve. All the nymphs seemed to regard him with a strange awe, courtesy of the title “Prophet” the Aura had bestowed upon him. He was confused and uncertain about it, himself, but it seemed to give them all hope, so he kept his doubts silent. “Let’s go meet Berne. What did you say he wanted me for?”

“
I did not say,” Karmidigan told him as they headed for the exterior of the vessel. “Captain Bernarl has not told me why… though I suspect he means to bring the
Invincible
underwater again.”

“
Why?” Gribly grimaced. “It takes all the energy and Striding power you and the other Reethe have just to submerge us for a minute or two.”

“
We have rounded the Northwest Edge in the night, and are approaching the Sunken Isle now,” Karmidigan explained. “There must have been pirates lying in wait, for now a fleet sails in on us from all sides. There may be battle done soon.”

“
What?” Gribly exclaimed. “Blast! How will we ever catch Sheolus and Gramling?”

Karmidigan shrugged silently, but his face was grim as they opened the hatch leading onto the large platform that ran around the topmost section of the vessel. Stepping out and up, Gribly was once more confronted with the
Invincible’s
odd appearance of half-warship, half-metal war machine. It was a measure of his urgency that he barely noticed it enough to comment. Instead, he made his way to the railing and leaned over, staff in hand, searching the horizon with his eyes. Karmidigan was not far behind.

Ships- not the smoke-belching death-traps from Sheolus’s fleet, luckily- swarmed the water to their side. Turning his gaze, he saw more pirates closing in behind, as well. Was there no escape from this abominable luck?

“
Don’t know what I was thinking, sailing these waters as if I hadn’t a care,” Berne said angrily, coming up beside him. Bernarl of the Zain, dressed in a long blue coat with his unique, anchor-shaped blade strapped across his back, cut a dashing figure as he stamped along in huge metal-studded boots to match his mood, even if he was slightly portly for a former pirate. His voluminous white sideburns blew wildly in the wind, and he was tugging the young beard that had grown during their trip. No nymph had ever grown so much facial hair as he.

“
Where are we, exactly?” Gribly asked. He trusted the captain’s nautical abilities totally- he had to.

“’
Twixt the Sunken Isle and mainland Vast,” Berne grunted, planting his palms heavily on the twisted iron railing. “Haven’t sailed here for many a year, meself… but there oughtn’t to be pirates or rogues this far North… at least, not this many!”

“
But can’t we out-sail them?” Gribly asked. Berne shook his head, pointing across a wooden section of the deck, to where the sea could be watched without obstruction. At least five more vessels closed them in from that end. They looked bulky and slow to Gribly’s eyes, but he knew Berne’s judgment had to be correct. “Well… should we go underwater, then? I’d rather not have to ram them and send any number of men or nymphs to their death.”

Berne shrugged. “Mayhap. I expect it would be good to have you and your Striders ready, Brother Karmidigan…just in case, that is.”

“
Why not as soon as we’re within range?” Gribly asked, when the Reethe had vanished belowdecks. He thought he could guess why, and knew Karmidigan was none too keen on such things.

“
Well, I’ve a mind to chat with these pirates, is the thing,” Berne said. “It could get us through even easier than dodgin’ about underwater, and I wasn’t lying when I said I’d try to get word to Gram. He leads a large band of rogues, you know.”

“
I thought you might,” Gribly said. Part of him said no to the idea, and part of him said yes. News, any news at all concerning his father, he was both afraid of… and eager for.

“
I’ll tell you what I’ve in mind,” Berne said. “You get just inside that there door. I’ll hail the brigands, and if I think we’ve got to make a run- er,
dive
- I’ll give you the words so that they won’t know I’m giving ‘em. I’ll say… ‘For the love of the Aura, good sirs.’ Got it? That’ll be your sign to get us movin’. If I says nothing of the sort, then we’ll be safe.”

All at once Gribly became aware how silent and hot the afternoon was. He squinted, considering the plan. It would be very,
very
touch and go. The ships were almost encircling them now, where the Isle or the Main didn’t close them off. His mind was getting sharper every second… more alive.