Once Upon a Winter's Night (48 page)

Camille fastened her cloak ’round her shoulders and took up her bedroll and waterskin and rucksack, the stave affixed in the loops. Then she fetched sleeping Scruff from his perch on the back of a chair, and, blowing out the lantern, said, “Let’s go.”

At the dock Jordain stood waiting. “Camille, I know you feel you must do this thing, yet to sail the Sea of Mist is tantamount to throwing yourself from a cliff.”

“We have no choice,” said Camille.

“Besides,” said Big Jack, hefting his battle-axe, its keen edge glinting in the light of the dockside lanterns, “it’s not like we’re going in unprepared; I’ve got Lady Bronze here, and th’ Dwarves . . . well . . . you know Dwarves.”

“Fear not, Harbormaster,” said Kolor, just then stepping forward, “the Fates are on our side, or so I do believe.”

Jordain shook his head. “Nevertheless—”

“Harbormaster,” said Kolor, “there is no other way.”

Jordain sighed and said, “Then I can but wish all of you well, especially you, my lady.” And he took Camille’s hands in his and kissed them, then released her and stepped back.

Moments later:
“Åres rede!”
called Kolor, and Dwarves took up spruce oars from the trestles.

Then Kolor called to the docksmen, “Cast off fore! Cast off aft!” and the mooring hawsers were uncinched and dropped into the water.

As Dwarves hauled in the lines,
“Skubbe av!”
Kolor called.

And fore and aft, oars were used to shove away from the dock.

Dwarves fitted the oars through holes in the upper starboard and larboard strakes and slid them out into the water. Kolor said, “Brekki,” and a brown-haired Dwarf stepped forward and began rhythmically chanting
“Strøk! . . . Strøk! . . . Strøk! . . .”
And as the
Nordavind
backed away from the pier, Camille in the prow raised a hand in au revoir to Jordain, and the harbormaster sighed and waved in return.

Soon Kolor commanded Brekki to turn the craft, and the oar-chief called for the rowers on the starboard to back water, while those on the larboard stroked ahead. And when she was turned about, the oars were shipped aboard and square sails were raised on all four masts and the beitass poles angled to catch the wind. Swiftly the craft surged forward and toward the harbor mouth. Past lanternlit ships moored at anchor glided the
Nordavind,
sailor’s songs and sea chanteys drifting o’er the water from some. Camille looked back at the town of Leport, brightly lit in the night, her eye finding the Red Lantern, and she wondered if anyone therein did sing. Onward sailed the ship, most of the eighty Dwarves looking aft as well, for their shore leave had been quite brief—but from mid of night to dawn. Yet they knew the Fates could not be denied, and so they groaned and watched Leport recede—they, too, singling out the Red Lantern—until they sailed past the harbor mouth and out into open water, the
North Wind
asea at last, its ultimate goal a point in the ocean marked on a chart by a dying, delirious man, a place where might or might not lie an island of Goblins and Trolls.

Camille sighed and turned to face forward, looking across the starlit deeps, wondering what peril or joy or grief lay in the waters ahead.

 

“There,” said Kolor, pointing. To the fore and standing across their course reared a great wall of twilight, a border of Faery there in the sea.

For nearly a fortnight in all they had sailed across the deeps, the pale arc on the dark disk on Lady Sorcière’s staff growing every day, keeping pace with the moon, turning from crescent to half and beyond, and now it was nearly full, a thin bow of darkness yet remaining along the left perimeter. And in that fortnight the
Nordavind
had sailed through stormy and fair weather alike, in seas smooth and choppy and raging, the wind brisk and agale and nonexistent, and there Dwarves did row. Camille had fared quite well, no matter the seas or the weather or wind, but Big Jack had, as he said, spewed his guts more than once. And in these days Camille had discovered that the amenities aboard a Dragonship were nonexistent, for she had not even the meager privacy that a burlap curtain in her père’s crowded cottage had given. She had learned to relieve herself over the side just as did everyone else, and to take care of her courses as best she could, though for the most part, Big Jack and the Dwarves looked the other way. Scruff, however, seemed disgruntled out upon the sea, for it held no beetles or grubs to scratch up, no trees to perch in, and no flopping dust whatsoever. And still every day Camille had treated his injured wing with the salve, working the joint tenderly, Scruff’s small peeps quite unsettling to her as she did so.

But now in the dawntime, with the moon having set a candlemark past, they had come to a looming wall of twilight there in the middle of the deeps. Faces had turned grim, and weapons were placed at hand, for beyond the shadowy marge lay the Sea of Mist.

“Guide her true, Belkor,” said Kolor to the redheaded Dwarf at the steerboard tiller.

“Bestandig, Skipskaptein,”
replied Belkor, his jaw set at a jut.

And driven by a brisk wind, toward that dim ambit they did run.

Big Jack took up Lady Bronze and stood ready, the great battle-axe agleam in the first rays of the sun rising off the port beam.

And just as the golden orb broke free of the rim of the sea, through the Faery border the
Nordavind
slid to come into a cold, clammy mist, a damp, grey fog shrouding all. And the sea-blue sails fell slack, for therein was no wind.

“Åres rede, tie,”
whispered Kolor, the order passed on down the line.

Quietly, Dwarves took up oars from the trestles.

As quietly as they could, the Dwarves fitted the oars through the strake holes and slipped them into the water; ’round the shafts where they fitted through the openings, they muffled the oars with cloth wrap. Then, facing aft, they sat, their sea chests acting as seats.

Now Kolor signed to his oar-chief Brekki, who stood just ahead of the tiller, where all the rowers could see him. Brekki put his finger to his lips, and, with measured strokes of his hand down through the air, the Dwarves began to row to his mute cadence, the dip and plash of blades nearly silent.

When Camille looked questioningly at Kolor, he whispered, “ ’Tis a tactic we use in perilous waters. At times, though, when edging up on a foe, the rowers stand and face forward as they stroke, axes and shields at hand. But for long pulls, much of the stroke comes from the legs, and so we sit.”

On they went through the grey fog, the mist swirling in coils with their passage, a chill dampness seeping through all. Scruff ruffled his feathers, fluffing them outward to stay warm. Camille held open her high vest pocket, inviting him to take shelter within, but he did not accept.

On went the
Nordavind,
oars quietly dipping in concert, ripples of the craft’s passage spreading wide to vanish in the gloom.

And though they could not directly see the sun, a vaguely brighter glow in the chill, cloaking mist showed where it was. A candlemark passed, and the nebulous shine angled upward as the hidden sun crept into the unseen sky above.

Of a sudden, Scruff chirped and grabbed a golden tress and leapt into the pocket.

“Captain,” hissed Camille, urgency in her whisper. “Peril is nigh.”

“Peril?”

Camille pointed at the sparrow, frantically tugging on her hair.

Kolor stepped forward and whispered to Brekki, and Brekki silently signalled the rowers,
Åres oppe!

Oars were raised from the water, and the
Nordavind
glided and slowed.

Big Jack held Lady Bronze at the ready.

Camille gripped her split and splintered stave.

All eyes stared into the grey fog, but its chill grasp thwarted vision beyond three or four boat lengths in all.

Moments later, from the larboard, a swell washed through the water, the
Nordavind
bobbing up and down with the passage of something huge and unseen.

In silence they waited, Camille hardly daring to breathe.

Finally, the undulations quelled, and Scruff regained his perch upon Camille’s shoulder.

“We can go on,” whispered Camille, pointing to the sparrow.

Kolor looked at the wee bird in wonder, and then hissed to Brekki to proceed.

Once again oars quietly dipped in synchronization, and the
Nordavind
glided on.

And still the dim glow of the sun edged up through the shrouding mist.

A candlemark passed, and then another, fog aswirl in their slow wake.

Time edged forward.

Another candlemark slid by, and then once again Scruff snatched a tress and dove into the pocket, and again Camille hissed a warning to Kolor. Oars were raised, and all fell silent, but for
plip
s of water dripping from the blades. Left and right did eyes stare through the grey shroud, and once more to the larboard did a surge in the water come, this time close enough to see the point of the heave as something enormous just under the surface passed by. Yet what leviathan thing or creature caused the bulge, none could say, for only the surge did they see.

Once more they waited in silence, until finally Scruff took to Camille’s shoulder again. And once more did they quietly row.

And still the glow of the sun crept across the fog, yet it did not burn away the cloaking mist, as if the shroud itself defied all. Even so, the sun, or rather its diffuse glimmer, provided a guidepost to steer by, else they could have been rowing in circles, for all Camille knew.

Becloaked in mist, across the chill, glassy sea they went, Brekki mutely marking the beat, oars dipping in concert, the
Nordavind
gliding in near silence, though ripples of passage spread wide.

The glow of the sun passed through the zenith and started a slow slide down the sky, and still the ship went on, none knowing how far they had come nor how far was yet to go.

And somewhere in the deeps, an unknown thing did glide.

“Captain, ahead,” sissed Big Jack. “I think I see . . .”

The day had fallen toward midafternoon, the glow now angled in the shroud off the starboard beam, and all hands wondered if they would ever come to the end of this dismal murk, with its chill dampness reaching unto the very bones. Yet the fog seemed to have thinned a bit, and Camille and Kolor strained to see what Big Jack—

“There!” sissed Camille.

A distance ahead and dimly seen through the clammy mist a wall of twilight reared up into the sky.

“ ’Tis the border,” grunted Kolor, grinning. “We’ve come to the far side.”

Forward they glided, Brekki meting out the slow and silent beat.

Yet as they neared, Scruff again grabbed a golden tress and dove into the pocket.

Åres oppe!
Brekki silently signalled.

Slowly the ship glided to a stop.

plip! . . . plip! . . . plip! . . .
dripped the lifted blades.

No heave in the water came.

No leviathan moved past.

They waited . . .

. . . eighty-three souls afloat on the glassy surface of a windless, becloaked sea.

A full candlemark slipped away, the diffuse glow of the unseen sun eking downward through the mist.

And still Scruff remained in the pocket.

“Skipskaptein
Kolor,” whispered Brekki, then he glanced at Camille and switched to the new speech, “if we do not move soon, we’ll be caught on this sea in the night.”

Kolor nodded, but did not reply.

And still they waited . . . silent on a waveless sea. . . .

The glow sank. . . .

Kolor glanced at Camille and turned up a hand.

Camille glanced down at Scruff. The wee bird yet trembled in the high vest pocket, tugging now and again on her hair. She looked back at Kolor and shook her head.

Finally, Kolor took a deep breath and whispered to Brekki, “Ahead a stroke at a time, long pauses in between. If something lies in wait, mayhap we can slip by.”

Brekki signalled, and oars dipped and pulled a single stroke.

Ripples eased across the water. . . .

The ship glided forward then slowly came to a stop.

Another single stroke . . .

More ripples . . .

Another glide and stop . . .

Another str—

From below the Dragonship itself, monstrous suckered tentacles came looping up out of the water to lash through the fog and grasp at the sides of the ship. Recoiling Dwarves cried out and snatched up axes at hand, to hack and chop at the boneless limbs, but their blades did not cut. A huge, slimy arm wrapped about Belkor at the tiller and he was wrenched overboard, his screams lost as he was lashed under the chill sea. A tentacle whipped ’round one of the sternward Dwarves, and Kolor snatched his axe from his belt and leapt forward to hack at the slimy thing, to little effect, the tough hide resisting his furious blows, and the shrieking Dwarf was yanked into the water and down. Another ropy arm came coiling at shrilling Camille, but Big Jack, shouting a wordless howl, with a great overhand stroke slammed Lady Bronze down onto the grisly member, shearing through, black blood flying wide. As the shorn-off tentacle lashed and writhed, the gushing stump was whipped back into the water, and the creature below went mad. The water foamed in its fury, and a great stench filled the air. And then another tentacle came hurtling out of the water to whip around Big Jack and savagely contract in a crushing embrace. Without conscious thought, screaming, Camille leapt forward and slammed Lady Sorcière’s staff down on the ropy arm, and lo! a splinter stabbed in, and the tentacle fell limp to the deck, to be slowly dragged back overboard. Released, Big Jack staggered and fell, Lady Bronze clanging to the deck, even as another tentacle whipped forth. Shrieking, once more Camille struck with the staff, and that arm too fell slack. And again she struck and again, and two more tentacles fell away. And shrilling, Camille raced down the ship, striking left and right, left and right, left and—