Voyage of the Fox Rider (12 page)

A week later across the Doldrums of the Goat she fared, this time heading north, the ship laded with all sail set yet moving slowly in the light air—“Slipping past the horns of old billy,” as Frizian had said. Three days it took to cross the calms, three days ere the wind picked up again, now coming from abaft. Nor’northwest she drove, sweeping through the coastal waters of the wide Realm of Hyree.

Five days under full sail she ran on the northerly trek, the winds steady but moderate, until they came once more unto the Midline Irons, where as before they unshipped the gigs to tow the
Eroean
across the placid equatorial waters.

At last the winds returned, blowing lightly down from the northeast, and into these she fared, sailing through
the gap between Hyree to the south and Tugal to the north, finally entering into the Avagon Sea along the Straits of Kistan. Easterly into this slot she swiftly made her way, and south lay the great jungle-covered Isle of Kistan, a haven for rovers of the seas.

A day she coursed as the skies turned a sullen grey, and now to the north lay Vancha, but to the south lay Kistan still.

“Sail ho, maroon!” called the foremast lookout. “Sail ho on the larboard bow!”

Frizian’s gaze swept the horizon forward and left, then stopped. A heartbeat later—“Pipe the captain, Reydeau, and stand by to pipe the crew.”

Reydeau sounded a signal on his bo’s’n’s pipe, and a cabin boy leapt up from the deck and sped toward Aravan’s quarters. Moments later, the Elf came to the wheel, the cabin boy trailing behind.

“Where away, Frizian?”

“There, Cap’n,” replied the Gelender, pointing.

Just on the horizon, a maroon lateen sail could be discerned, the ship heading downwind in the general direction of the
Eroean
.

“Reydeau, bring the
Eroean
to a southwest heading. Put this rover on our larboard beam.”

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

Aravan turned to the wheelman. “Hegen, ready to bring her to the course laid in.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Tivir, fetch Bokar.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” responded the cabin boy and sped away.

As the
Eroean
came about, Bokar stepped to the wheel, the Dwarf accoutered for combat. “Where away?”

Aravan pointed.

Bokar looked long, then glanced up at the pale blue Elven-silk against the somber skies. The Dwarf turned to the cabin boy. “Tivir, tell the Châkka to take station. We should know within half a glass whether this rover will be foolish or wise.”

Again the lad sped away, and moments later armed and armored Dwarves poured up onto the decks to take
positions next to the ballistas, readying the missile casters for battle.

Steadily the Kistanian ship ran downwind west-southwest, and just as steadily the
Eroean
haled crosswind, southeasterly, down and away from the track of the freebooter. Time eked by, and still the rover ran on his straight course, as did the Elvenship.

“Ready about, Reydeau. Keep her on our beam.”

“Aye, Captain.”

“Hegen?”

“Aye, Captain, I’m ready, too.”

Gradually the
Eroean
headed up into the stiff wind, now running on a easterly reach. Still the maroon-sailed pirate fared southwest, running downwind, the vessel now passing abeam, heading aft of the Elvenship.

Finally Aravan ordered the
Eroean
back on a heading for Arbalin.

“Ha!” barked Bokar. “Cowards all. She was afraid to take us on.”

Aravan shook his head. “Nay, Armsmaster. I think instead she didn’t e’en see us.”

Bokar glanced again at the cerulean sails against the dark grey skies, and then down at the indigo hull. Finally he looked to his Dwarven warband. “Mayhap you are right, Captain, but then again mayhap not.”

Nine days later in the heart of the night the
Eroean
haled into the sheltered port of Arbalin, the citizens of that town being awakened by their own criers ringing out the good news that the Elvenship was back.

All the next day and the one after the cargo was unladed, and new ballast was taken on to replace the weight of the porcelain ware, for it would not do to have the
Eroean
turn turtle at the first strong wind or great wave. When the ship was empty of cargo and laded with the proper ballast, Aravan had her tugged away from the docks to anchor in the bay.

He set the crew free to “do the town,” and knowing the crew as well as he did, he knew that most of them would try.

It was on the following night that Aravan heard a knock on his stateroom door, and when he opened it,
an eld Man, nay Elf—nay, Mage!—stood at the end of a line of wet footprints leading to the portal.

Astonished, Aravan stepped back.

“Are you Aravan the captain?” snapped the elder.

Aravan nodded. “Aye, that I am.”

“Well don’t just stand there gaping, Elf. Invite me in. We’ve got things to discuss.”

“A Hidden One, a Fox Rider, thou sayest?” Aravan’s mind flashed back to an earlier time, his hand touching a blue stone amulet on a leather thong about his neck, the Elf remembering Tarquin.

Alamar nodded, steepling his fingers.

Passing back Jinnarin’s tiny drawing of the dark ship, Aravan took up his glass of brandy. “I know nought of crystal castles, nor of lightning-driven black galleons plying the oceans of the world. But of a pale green sea, there are several candidates, though in many places elsewhere the waters run green as well.”

The Mage shook his head, then looked pointedly at the empty goblet before him.

Quickly, for the third time, Aravan poured a dram or two within.

Alamar took up the brandy-filled crystal and held it to the lantern light, peering deep within the golden swirl. “Even so, you will aid us, neh?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for all the world,” answered Aravan, his smile wide in delight.

“Good!” barked Alamar, tossing down the liquid. “When?”

“The crew returns eight days from now. Is that soon enough?”

“I suppose it’ll have to do,” grunted Alamar.

Aravan held up a finger. “One condition though…”

The Mage cocked an eyebrow, his emerald gaze locked with Aravan’s eyes of sapphire. “And that is…?”

Aravan did not look away. “Just this, Alamar: I do not ask my crew to do aught without their full knowledge of what it is I would have them attempt. On the
Eroean
we have this saying: Information is power. And in the sharing of information, many a good idea has come forth—some from where least expected. And so, on this
mission, I would take my crew into full confidence, which means they will hear of the Hidden One, of—”

“Of Jinnarin,” supplied Alamar.

“Aye, of Jinnarin. I would introduce this Fox Rider to the crew.”

Alamar got to his feet. “I will ask her…yet unless and until she agrees…”

“Until she agrees,” said Aravan, looking up at the Mage. “I will speak nought of thy business. But unless she agrees, I will not commit my crew, for I would not have them set forth on a mission in ignorance.”

Alamar nodded, then spun on his heel, stepping to the door, flinging it open.

Aravan raised his voice, calling after the retreating Mage. “Need thou someone to row thee to the docks? I will fetch thee aid.”

Without turning—“Never mind, Elf,” Alamar called back, “I’ll go the way I came.” In that moment, the stateroom door swung to.

Aravan sat for a while after the Mage had gone, staring at the shut door. Then he tossed down the last of his brandy and stood and made his way to the deck. Of Alamar there was no sight, and Aravan’s keen Elven hearing heard not the plash of oars.

“Burdun,” he called, the watch hurrying to his side.

“Sir?”

“Where away the boat that ferried the eld Man from the docks?”

A puzzled look came over Burdun’s face. “Eld man? Boat? Sir, there’s come no boat at all tonight. Are you expecting one? I’ll keep a sharp eye out.”

“Nay, Burdun, yet I thank thee all the same.”

As the Elf walked back to his quarters—
If he came not by boat, then how? Did he swim?
—Aravan laughed softly to himself, picturing the elder stroking through the waters of the bay.
But then again mayhap he flew, or walked on the waves
—once more Aravan laughed at the absurdity, and then his eye fell on the trace of wet footprints lingering in the aft quarters passageway, there where the Mage had stepped.

Oaths

Late Summer, 1E9574

[The Present]

H
e wants what?” The Pysk leapt to her feet and stood with her fists clenched on her hips, beryl fire in her cobalt eyes.

Alamar sighed. “It is not an unreasonable request, Jinnarin. After all, it is Aravan and his crew we are speaking of, not some Kistanian Rovers.”

“But to stand before Humanity is to give truth to the legends, and that will lead to harassment of the Fox Riders as Man and Woman alike hunt throughout the world to discover our whereabouts, to reveal us, to seek favor from my Folk. They think we exude magic and grant wishes and live only to do their labor and—and conform in a thousand other ways to their ridiculous beliefs. I know, for it has happened in the past, and likely will do so again should I or any Fox Rider or for that matter any Hidden One be exposed to them. Nay, Alamar, I would not have Mankind see me.”

“Dwarves, too,” mumbled the Mage.

“What?”

“I said,” he growled, “Dwarves, too. Aravan has a warband of Dwarves on the
Eroean
.”

“Dwarves!”
Jinnarin clapped a hand to her forehead. “Gods, Alamar, I’ve heard they are even worse than Man. ‘Hoy, little one, would you point out where I might find the richest veins of gold? Beg pardon, tiny Fey, but tell me where I might uncover silver and jewels for my
treasuries.’ Why, they’d drag me down into a stone hole in the ground or under a mountain and never again would I see the light of day.”

“You exaggerate, Pysk.” The blood had risen in the elder’s cheeks, and his chin jutted out stubbornly. “Moreover, did you not tell me that Aravan was a—how did you put it? Ah yes—that he was a ‘Friend’? And if so, would he expose you to such—such greed?”

Jinnarin stopped her angry pacing, though yet she fumed.

Rux trotted to the door, an irked look in his eye.

Alamar stood and stepped to the panel, letting the animal out. Then the Mage faced the Pysk. “What
would
you, Jinnarin, stay hidden in my cabin or in the hold as the Elvenship traipses all over the world searching for a pale green sea, a black ship, a crystal castle?”

“I did so on the
Flying Fish
,” shot back Jinnarin.

“That was a short trip!” shouted Alamar. “Not a worldwide voyage.”

Alamar shoved a teakettle under the pump and worked the handle furiously, water splashing violently over the sides. “He said that he would not ask his crew to take on a mission in ignorance, and he’s right!”

The Mage slammed the teakettle onto a cook iron, swinging the arm into the cold hearth. Hurling two logs in the fireplace,
“Incende!”
he demanded, and the wood burst into furious flame.

He spun and glared at Jinnarin. “Besides, Pysk, it
is
Farrix we are after. You remember him, don’t you, Farrix the boar killer?”