The Eye of the Hunter (51 page)

Faeril reached out and turned two pages in the tome, pointing now to another passage. “Here, Gwylly, now read this.”

Gwylly looked at Faeril. “Well, dammia, what have you in mind?”

Faeril pursed her lips in thought. “Just this, Gwylly: It has been a year since first we came to the caer, a year of
no results. Commander Rori himself has come to believe that Stoke is not in Lands where Realmsmen patrol, and so word may never come. With the whole wide world his sanctuary, we need a different way of searching for Stoke. If what is written here is true, could we find the Ring of Dodona, then we could discover his whereabouts.”

Gwylly glanced back at the tome. “Aravan could find the sword, too…. But I don’t know, Faeril—according to this book, the place is lost. Besides, people who go searching…well, they disappear.”

Faeril sighed. “You are right, my buccaran. Yet—”

“Look,” interjected Gwylly, “let us talk it over with the others. I mean,
anything
is better than just waiting around in Pendwyr.”

* * *

“Dodona in the Kandrawood, eh? List, to build the
Eroean
I used special wood from o’er the whole of the world. One of these timbers was
kandra
, and in only two places was it said to exist—in the Karoo, and in the Realm of Thyra. It was thought even then that the sands of the Karoo had encroached o’er the last stand of
kandra
, and so I went to Thyra instead. Yet there is an eld chart of the Karoo on which was marked a place where
kandra
once grew; I knew not that Dodona mayhap was nigh.”

“Hast thou that chart?” asked Riatha.

Aravan slowly nodded, reflecting. “On the
Eroean
. Yet, Riatha, I deem that thy charts will serve, for well do I remember where the wood was said to grow. Had I not gotten the wood in Thyra, I was prepared to go to the Karoo, and I found a simple means to plot the location of the stand, a means I yet remember.”

Riatha stood. “I’ll get my maps.”

As she stepped from Aravan’s chamber, where they had gathered, Urus rumbled, “Think you that Dodona truly exists?”

Aravan shrugged. “When first I came from Adonar, e’en then Dodona was but a legend.”

Faeril’s face fell. “Oh, Aravan. Does that mean it is but a fable?”

Aravan shook his head. “Nay, wee one, I did not say so. Heed, it seems as if all Nations have tales of old ruins, of lost cities, of ancient temples miraculous and castles beyond compare, of entire civilizations forever gone, of hidden treasures
and fabulous wealth, of arcane lore and wondrous items, and of other marvels lost and waiting. Most of these tales are but fables, yet many are true, or spring from the well of truth.

“In my voyages of the
Eroean
, oft would we anchor and journey inland, seeking the truth of a legend. Much of the time would we find nought…yet at other times
Hai!
what adventures did I and my crew have!

“And so, Faeril, I am not saying that Dodona is nought but a fable, yet neither am I saying it is real. All I am saying is that I know where in the Karoo
kandra
was said to have grown.”

Faeril glanced at Gwylly, but the buccan merely shook his head. “Mayhap, my dammia, mayhap there is no Ring of Dodona…but mayhap there is. The book we read claims that there was one, and— Hoy! Wait a moment. Aravan, the book also said that the desert nomads claim that some dire creature lives in the region where Dodona was said to exist. What do you think the truth of
that
is?”

Aravan turned up his palms. “Who can say, Gwylly? Many are the legends of the Karoo, and I know but few of them. Tales of
Djinn
and
Afrit
, of haunted wells and oases filled with demons, of the skeleton of Death riding his huge black camel, of sand wyrms whose fangs are filled with poison, of jackals of fire and Hèldogs running through the air, of giant scorpions larger than horses, of hideous monsters under the dunes who become whirling winds filled with flailing sand, of phantoms and wraiths and liches and ghost snakes and other such.

“Tales such as these have always been told, no matter the Realm—sometimes true, sometimes not. Again, my crew and I oft encountered like stories, and most of the time found them to be entirely false, but at other times we barely escaped with our lives.”

In that moment Riatha returned to Aravan’s chamber, and they unrolled her maps on the table, anchoring the corners with daggers and pouches and knickknacks from the room.

Riatha and Urus leaned over the table, braced on their hands, while Gwylly and Faeril stood on chairs to see. Aravan pointed. “Here. See this spur of the Talâk Mountains? Follow a straight line to the fork where the River Hailé meets the Pilar. Half distance along the line”—Aravan measured
it out, his finger stabbing at the map—”
that
is where the
kandra
was said to grow.”

Urus used his thumb as a scale. “
Hmmm
. Two thousand miles across the Avagon Sea, and four hundred fifty miles through the Karoo. I make that some two weeks by water”—Aravan nodded in agreement—“and another twelve or so days by land. We can be there within a month of setting out. And should there be nought found, then another month returning.” The Baeran paused, pondering, all others looking at the map. At last he broke the silence. “I am of a mind to say let us do it.” Urus looked down at the buccan. “As Gwylly said, anything is better than waiting about in Pendwyr.”

Slowly Urus glanced ’round the table, seeking consensus, Riatha nodding
Aye
, Faeril and Gwylly doing likewise. Smiling, Aravan looked Urus in the eye, his voice taking on a thick brogue. “Ha’e ye e’er rithen a camel? Ships o’ the sand, they be, gang whare no harse c’n gae.”

* * *

Lord Leith arranged for a ship and funds for the expedition, and Commander Rori assigned two Realmsmen to accompany the five: Reigo, a small and wiry, dark-eyed, black-haired Vanchian, twenty-eight or -nine years old, from the city of Portho; Halíd, a slightly larger, dark-eyed, hook-nosed, black-haired Man from the Isle of Gjeen, some thirty-three years old. Each had been chosen for his stature, eye color, complexion, and knowledge; given the correct dress, each could pass for a native, and each spoke Kabla, the predominant language of the Karoo.

Some six weeks elapsed ere all was in readiness, for the ship was in drydock being refitted. But on the autumnal equinox the Arbalina vessel
Bèllo Vènto
set sail from Hile Bay for the desert port of Sabra on the rim of the Karoo.

And as Faeril watched the headland of Pendwyr disappear below the horizon, gathering clouds slid over the Sun, casting a darkness upon the sea, and a cold shiver ran up her spine.

Autumn, 5E989
[The Present]

I
t rained for three days and the seas ran high, but the
Bèllo Vènto
cut cleanly through the waves. Faeril could not but compare the smooth running of this sleek Arbalinian ship to the wallowing and broaching of the
Orren Vamma
or the pitching roll of the
Hvalsbuk
. In these same three days, Captain Legori, a tall, slender Man with an olive complexion and dark brown hair, sailed virtually by dead reckoning, unable to see the stars at night, sighting only on the diffuse glow behind the clouds in the day, judging the position of the Sun. That Aravan and Riatha were along helped the captain immeasurably, for it is common knowledge that Elves know, without needing to see, where stands the Sun and Moon and the stars at all times. Hence, although they could not point at it, for the skies hid it, both Aravan and Riatha could tell the captain the measure of the Sun at any given moment—dawn, sunset, noon, midnight, and all points between. By Aravan and Riatha knowing the precise mark of the Sun, the Moon, or the stars, Legori was confident in his reckoning…and Aravan’s experience at navigation added to Legori’s certainty that the
Bèllo Vènto
, if not precisely on course, was not far off either.

While the rain was lashing the ship, for the most part the seven passengers remained below deck discussing the upcoming journey deep into the Karoo. Aravan, Reigo, and Halíd all had experience in desert living, but the others had
none; and so, much of the time they spoke on desert survival, as they had during the six weeks they had waited for the ship to come out of drydock.

During those same six weeks, each had been fitted with desert garb, Reigo and Halíd giving the articles their Kabla names and demonstrating their wear, and speaking of the customs of the desert dwellers, the K’affeyah, nomads of the sand. Aravan added bits here and there, for he had spent time on the fringes of the desert, speaking the Kabla tongue as well.

“This headdress, it is called a
kaffiyeh
or a
ghutrah
,” explained Halíd. “It is held in place by a headband called an agāl. The cloak is named
jellaba
, or
abaya
. The shirt is a
brussa
. The pantaloons are called
tombon
.

“In the desert it is most important to be well covered, for not only will clothing protect you from the Sun, it will also lower your need for water, for the Sun and wind on bare skin will rob the body of moisture, causing you to drink more often, and water is the most precious commodity in the Karoo.”

Reigo grunted an affirmation of Halíd’s words, then continued the lesson, naming such items as
gimbāz, abāyeh, shatweh, kola, pushtin
.

They discussed the fact that a Woman of the Karoo went about covered from head to foot by a
thōbe
, and wore a veil, a
yashmak
. Yet they thought it best that Riatha pass for a male; she was as tall as most of the nomadic Men. Too, she would be bearing a sword, and the desert Women were permitted only small, decorative
jumbiyahs
, curved knives.

By the same token it was decided that both Warrows would pass for male children, hence Faeril’s throwing knives could be borne in sight.

Neither Urus nor Aravan would need to disguise their nature, though Urus would be considered a giant by the small, wiry Karoo tribesmen.

Reigo and Halíd would pass themselves off as natives.

Both of the Realmsmen had been deep in the Karoo, yet it was a large desert—nearly two thousand miles wide and some fifteen hundred miles deep, depending upon where one measured—and so their knowledge of the interior was fragmentary at best. Yet while they waited for the ship, Reigo and Halíd had searched the archives, and they had
recovered copies of maps of the wasteland on which were denoted several wells and oases. All of the markings they had transferred to Riatha’s charts, though it was by no means certain that water was yet to be found at the places so noted. Two lay on their route: the Oasis of Falídii, some sixty leagues south of Sabra; and the Well of Uâjii, some twenty leagues north of the place where
kandra
was said to have grown.

But learning of the desert and survival and the customs of the coastal dwellers and K’affeyah nomads was not all that occupied their days. Reigo and Halíd were told the tales of the pursuit of Baron Stoke, and that the two Warrows, the two Elves, and the Baeran hoped to discover the whereabouts of Stoke by finding the Ring of Dodona. This led often to speculations upon the validity of oracles and the like, with examples of success and failure and fraud. Riatha spoke of the Elfess Rael and her redes. Faeril spoke of her own “prophecy,” when her mind and soul were lost in the crystal.

And as the rain beat down upon the
Bèllo Vènto
, for the most part trapping the seven below decks, Riatha told the tale of Falan the Vainglorious and of Shumea the Pythian Seeress:

“Long ago in the Land of Hurn was the famed Oracle of Telos, high on a mountain overlooking the bay on the rim of the Avagon Sea. There a great white temple was raised over a crack in the land from which invisible vapors rose. Here, by chains, a priestess of Telos would suspend herself above the crevice, inhaling the intoxicating vapors. After some moments she would begin to speak in tongues, tongues never before heard.

“Seated before her on a silver throne sat a Seeress of Phrygia chewing on a leaf of a
janjah
without which even she could not interpret the priestess’s mystic words.

“At the Seeress’s side sat a scribe, recording the prophetic utterances.

“Many came to Telos to discover their destiny—peasants, warriors, courtesans, Kings—people from all walks of life. At times they received an answer, at other times not, for all were at the mercy of the whims of the gods, or so it was repeatedly said.

“One of these visitors was Falan the Vainglorious, sailing his entire fleet unto Telos, seeking to see if he and his
minions would conquer the whole of the world. At that time Shumea was the Seeress of Telos—the last, as it turned out.

“Falan asked his question but was not answered, for oft the response was silence. He was enraged that the gods of Telos did not deign to reply, for after all, he was Falan!

“So filled with wrath was his heart that he threatened to destroy Telos, slaying all within.

“At that moment the priestess in chains uttered her arcane words, and Shumea bit down on her
janjah
leaf and listened exceedingly well. Then she turned to Falan: ‘For eleven talents of gold. Lord Falan, I will give thee all nine Scrolls of Telos on which are recorded all of the prophecies of the gods.’