Voyage of the Fox Rider Read online

  Jatu broke out in deep laughter, and Jinnarin beside him was wreathed in smiles.

  After a moment she said, “Thank you, Jatu, that was just what I needed.”

  Jatu grinned and adjusted the wheel a bit.

  Water slid past the hull, the ocean churning into phosphorescent wake swiftly left behind, while overhead the stars sparkled and twinkled and slowly wheeled through the vault above. Somewhere on the deck a voice rose in song, a plaintive descant in a language which neither Jinnarin nor Jatu knew. And down on the main deck strolling into view came Aylis and Aravan, and these two stopped and leaned over the rail and watched the starlit water glide past.

  “Hmm,” murmured Jatu.

  “What?” asked Jinnarin.

  “I was just thinking…speculating.”

  Jinnarin waited. At last Jatu said, “I deem that Captain Aravan is like to lose his shadow to the Lady Aylis.”

  Jinnarin frowned, puzzled. “Lose his shad—? Oh, I see. And yes, I think you are right, but she will give him hers in return.”

  That night Jinnarin awakened covered with sweat and trembling, her heart pounding in fear, and she was ecstatic. “Alamar!” she shouted, slamming out through the tiny under-bunk door and into his quarters, Rux scrambling up and following after, “It’s back! My nightmare is back! Oh, I feel so good!”

  Nought but a snore greeted her joyous announcement.

  Northwesterly fared the Eroean, each day covering leagues upon leagues, drawing nearer to the distant goal. Southwest of Gelen they sailed, though that island Realm was far too distant for any to see, lying some one hundred miles north of their course, beyond the vision of even the lookouts atop the tall masts above. The weather stayed fair for the most part, though now and again it did rain. And the ocean remained a deep blue expanse, ceaseless in its movement, like some great creature breathing in and out, waves rolling across its heaving surface. At times fish could be seen, schooling, racing, veering. Occasionally, too, there were flocks of seabirds, wheeling, diving, plunging after fry. And one day were seen whales—“Lords of the sea,” said Aravan. Occasionally a distant sail would be glimpsed, or a lone soaring bird, but for the most part from horizon to horizon the vista was empty of visible life. But then one day—

  “Smudge ho!” called the foremast lookout. “Smudge ho on the starboard bow!”

  Standing on the stemblock, Jinnarin looked. There to the north and low against the distant horizon hung a dark stream in the air.

  “What is it?” she asked, turning to Aylis and Aravan. “Cloud or smoke?—Oh, Aravan, is a ship on fire and sinking?”

  The Elf shook his head. “I think not, Lady Jinnarin,” answered the Elf. “Instead I would say that it is Karak.”

  “Karak?”

  Without taking her eyes from the smear in the sky, Aylis said, “The firemountain on Atala. Now and again it stirs, Jinnarin, sending ash and smoke into the air.”

  “How about molten rock? I hear that firemountains sometimes issue such.”

  Aylis nodded. “At times, though not within my memory. What say you, Aravan?”

  Aravan reflected back. “I recall that the last time Karak sent molten stone flowing was some three or four thousand summers past. Exactly when, I cannot say. I had been on Mithgar for perhaps one or two thousand summers.”

  Nearby, a sailor coiling a rope gasped in astonishment and stared at Aravan, dumbfounded by the age of his captain, though neither Aylis nor Jinnarin found aught remarkable in the Elf’s words.

  “Is that where you crossed over?” asked the seeress.

  Aravan shook his head. “Nay, Aylis. I could have though, for on that island is an In-Between place connecting Atala with Adonar. I came instead into Hoven, near the shores of the Avagon Sea. There is where I saw my first ocean, and it sang to my soul.”

  Jinnarin sighed. “I don’t know where my parents crossed over into Mithgar from Feyer. All I know is that many of my people fled to Rwn when the Humans began hunting us down. I was just a youngster at the time.” The Pysk shuddered, and in her mind she could hear the blaring of horns and the baying of hounds and the thunder of horses’ hooves, that and the headlong splashing of foxes running through water, desperately evading the hunt. “I never got a chance to ask them.”

  Silence fell among the three, and they watched as the smudge on the horizon fell to the aft and away. Finally Aylis said, “Well, it is no mystery where we of the Mage world cross over. On the island of Rwn is the only known passage twixt Vadaria and Mithgar. Even so, it is but a pallid match, and it takes long in the ritual to go between.”

  “Couldst thou not step first unto Adonar and thence unto Mithgar?” asked Aravan. “Or even unto Neddra first?”

  Aylis shook her head. “Mithgar seems to be a nexus for us, the only way for Magekind to gain access unto other worlds, other Planes.”

  Aravan grunted. “Curious, I think neither Adonar nor Neddra nor any other world has a crossing into Rwn—only your Vadaria, and if Vadaria in turn has but a single In-Between unto Rwn and nowhere else…I find that passing strange.”

  Aylis shrugged. “I repeat, Aravan, Rwn has the only known crossing. There may be others as of yet undiscovered.”

  Aravan turned up his palms. “Even so, for the Mage world to have but a single crossover…”

  Jinnarin giggled, and when Aravan and Aylis gave her questioning looks, the Pysk said, “Perhaps Adon made it that way so that Mithgar would not be overrun by Alamars.”

  Aravan broke out in laughter, and Aylis smiled. Aravan then reached out and took Aylis by the hand, his bold blue eyes catching at her green. “How could an irascible elder as is your father have such a wondrous daughter as thee?”

  Aylis smiled at the Elf, not looking away, her gaze just as bold. “He gets like this when he is aged—crotchety, querulous, argumentative, secretive, overfond of ale, wine, brandy, and other spirits. Yet he will change considerably when he returns to Vadaria and regains his youth, for he will also regain his resilience and his winning ways.”

  Jinnarin looked surprised. “He will change?”

  Aylis turned to the Pysk. “Oh yes. Then his querulous manner will be completely gone, though I must admit he will still have his argumentative moments.”

  “Oh my,” fretted Jinnarin, “I am not at all certain I will welcome that. You see, I like him just as he is.”

  Freeing her hand from Aravan’s grasp, Aylis knelt by the stemblock, her eyes level with those of the Pysk. “So do I, Jinnarin. Yet I love him as a youth, too. And so, I believe, will you.”

  Jinnarin smiled tentatively. “Well, it’s just that, as he is, he makes me think…really think. Why, he asked me a question months ago which I am still puzzling out.”

  Aylis laughed and stood again. “Believe me, Jinnarin, that will not change.”

  Again a silence fell among them, and they watched as the smudge slowly disappeared over the horizon aft.

  When it was gone, Aravan glanced down at Jinnarin. “Tell me, Lady Jinnarin, how didst thou and thy Kind get to Rwn?”

  Jinnarin smiled. “There are Friends other than yourself, Aravan, people who can be trusted—Magekind for the most—and they bore us there on ships.”

  Aravan sighed. “I was hoping that thou and thy Kind had gone by some fabled means—on the backs of Great Eagles, or by Gryphon, or borne on the fins of the Children of the Sea. Instead I find nought but ordinary means transported ye all there.”

  “Oh, Aravan, I did not say that ‘ordinary’ means were used…only that we went by ship. The merchant men who sailed us across thought that we were livestock—sheep, cattle, horses, dogs, poultry, and the like—as mazed as were their minds. The Friends who made the trip possible, well, let us simply say that they had considerable influence on the captain and his crew.”

  Aravan grinned. “Powerful Friends, indeed.”

  Aylis looked over at the Elf. “Tell me, Aravan, how did you become a Friend of the Hidden Ones?”

  “‘Tis a simple tale,”
answered Aravan. “When I rove the seas on the Dragonships of the Fjordlanders—”

  “Dragonships?” Jinnarin exclaimed. “What are Dragonships?”

  “Long, open-hulled ships. Square-sailed, oar-driven boats. Narrow of beam and swift. A hundred or so feet in length, but only twenty wide. And they measured but seven feet from keel to top wale. Shallow draft and lightweight, they are. Klinker built and flexible— But wait, I burden thee with detail. Let me just say that it was while plying the oceans in the Fjordsmen’s longboats that I began to understand the relationships between hull length and width and draft and speed, for no other ships in the world sailed as fast…that is until the Eroean, and her slim design owes much unto the Dragonboats.”

  Jinnarin glanced about at the Elvenship, with her three tall masts and cloud of sails and the watertight deck atop her hull. The Dragonship Aravan had just described didn’t seem related at all to the Eroean. “Someday I would like to see one of these longships,” she said. “In the meanwhile, please continue. You were roving the sea in a Dragonship, and…”

  “And we sailed across the Weston Ocean beyond the blue known sea unto the land afar, where the Fjordsmen traded for furs with strange-speaking Men, clannish in their ways, peaceful unless provoked.

  “While on one of these trading voyages we put to shore for water. I had taken a cask and began a hike inland. It was a blustery day, but above the gusts I heard the distant barking of foxes, and having no better way to go, I journeyed toward that sound.

  “And then I smelled smoke, and as I topped the next ridge, on a facing slope I saw the woods afire. And from that conflagration came the barking cry of foxes.

  “I ran down and through a stream and up to the burn. Beyond the blazes I could see two foxes, trapped by encircling flames. But lo! there, too, were a pair of tiny people, Hidden Ones, Fox Riders they were.

  “Back to the brook I dashed, plunging into the water, wetting myself down, soaking my cloak. And then sopping wet and streaming water, drenched cloak in hand, back I ran, plunging through the encircling flames to come into the fire itself, blinding smoke all about.

  “‘To me! To me!’ I shouted, dropping to the earth, covering my head with the cloak, the fire roaring up among the treetops so loud that I could but barely hear mine own voice.

  “Yet others heard me as well, and the two mounted Fox Riders came to my side. ‘Hold on to my clothes,’ I called, scooping a fox up under each arm, the twain riders grabbing on as best they could. And beneath my drenched cloak, now steaming in the heat, back through the flames I dashed and down the hill, plunging again into the stream.

  “‘Twas Tarquin and his mate, Falain, I saved that day. And thereafter I was declared a Friend of the Hidden Ones.”

  Aylis reached out and took Aravan’s hand in her own, saying nought.

  But Jinnarin said, “And that’s when he—when Tarquin gave you the wardstone, neh?”

  Aravan touched the small blue stone at his throat. “Yes.”

  Aylis looked, her eyes widening slightly. “It has power, yet I am not familiar with its manner.”

  Aravan slipped it over his head and handed it to Aylis. “It grows cold when things of utter vileness are about.”

  Jinnarin’s own eyes now widened. “I just realized, Aravan, that it detects evil.”

  Aravan shook his head. “Nay, tiny one, not evil. Instead only some of the foul creatures capable of causing harm.”

  Aylis passed the stone back to Aravan. “Such as…?”

  “Such as creatures from Neddra—Rucha, Loka, Trolls, Gargoni, and the like.” Aravan slipped the thong back around his neck. “Too, it grows cold in the presence of Hèlarms—Krakens—as well as some Dragons, though not all—”

  “You have seen Dragons?” blurted Jinnarin.

  Aravan smiled and nodded. “But not up close, Lady Jinnarin. Not up close.”

  Aylis reached out and touched the blue stone again. “Tell me what creatures of evil intent it does not detect.”

  “Humans who are vile,” answered Aravan. “Pirates, thieves, brigands, and the like: these it does not warn of. Nor of other Mithgarian Races whose intentions are vile.”

  “Dwarves?” asked Jinnarin.

  Aravan smiled and shook his head. “I deem thou shouldst not let Bokar or any of the warband hear that comment, Lady Jinnarin, for Dwarves hold honor above all else.”

  Aylis loosed the amulet. “From its astral fire, with few exceptions, I ween that it will detect nothing of Adon’s or Elwydd’s creations.”

  “But that’s practically everything,” protested Jinnarin.

  Aylis shook her head. “Nay, it is not.”

  Jinnarin thought a moment. “But that only leaves…”

  In that instant Alamar came shuffling onto the foredeck. “That’s right, Pysk,” he called. “It only leaves the creatures of Gyphon.”

  That night Jinnarin’s dreams were filled with scenes of forests and fields, of streams and pools, of flowers and of everyday tasks. She had no sending, no dream of dread, and she awoke filled with misery, for once more her nightmare had fled.

  But the following night, again it was back, and she awoke atremble in sweat.

  Yet afterward it was gone for four nights running, ere returning on the fifth.

  “Sporadic,” declared Alamar.

  “He is weakening,” wept Jinnarin. “Oh, my Farrix dwindles.”

  “I can see nought,” said Aylis wearily, “though Adon knows I have tried.”

  Under a full Moon of the third night of November of the year 1E9574, the Eroean dropped anchor in the shelter of a headland along the rocky shores of the western continent, six weeks and six days after setting sail from Port Arbalin. Her crossing of the Avagon Sea and of the Weston Ocean had been swift but by no means spectacularly so, for the Elvenship in the past had made the same journey in as few as four weeks and two days. Even so. Aravan was satisfied that the ship had done as well as could be expected, given the state of the winds, though Rico was certain that they had lost a day overall, while others disputed his claim.

  We took a solemn oath to Lady Jinnarin…fought pirates…rescued the Lady Aylis…rowed for days to get out o’ the grasp of the claws of the Crab…why, we even had a shipboard spree. Now given all of that, don’t you think, Rico, as we done as well as could be expected?

  By damn, no! I t’ink we be one day faster do we row better. Next time, eh?

  Regardless as to whether the trip could have been swifter, the fact was that the Eroean now lay at anchor along a shore where Fox Riders were said to dwell. And on the morrow, Aravan and the Lady Jinnarin and Rux, along with Alamar and the Lady Aylis, would go inland and seek out Tarquin, though just what aid he might give them, none aboard the Elvenship knew.

  CHAPTER 13

  Ashore

  Autumn, 1E9574

  [The Present]

  Just after dawn two gigs were lowered, one with Alamar and Jinnarin and Rux aboard, while Aravan and Aylis climbed down a ladder after, a rowing crew boarding as well. The other gig took on a mixed band of sailors and Dwarven warriors, Jatu and Bokar among these. With sailors manning the oars, toward the rocky shore they rowed, the gigs riding in on the high tide. A thin shingle of sand rimmed a tiny cove, rough crags rising above, and toward this landing they made their way.

  “Look smart, anow!” called Boder to the rowers, the helmsman manning the tiller. “A bit more on the larboard oars, lads. Now steady. Steady.…Now hard!”

  The gig rode in on the crest of a wave to scrape against rocky sand. Forward, two sailors jumped over the wales and haled the boat up, riding the next wave onto the landing. Five yards away the second boat settled into the shore as well.

  Clambering over the side, Alamar looked up at the craggy rise. “Why is it that adventures always seem to involve difficult obstacles. Just once, mind you, once, I would like to go on an undertaking where level grassy lawns are all that is ventured, and the goal nearby at that.”

  Jatu laughed. �
�Ah, but Mage Alamar, what then would the bards sing of? How Alamar the Great walked upon grass a few hundred feet and then rested for a while?” Again the big black Man laughed, while Alamar cast him a scowl.

  “Eh, I don’t care what the bards sing of, you big idiot. I’d rather walk on level grass than climb up rocks.”

  “Father, you don’t have to go.”

  “Oh no? Well let me ask you, young lady, just who do you think saved the ship from the Rovers, eh?”

  Jinnarin shook her head. “No Rovers here, Alamar.”

  “Of course not, Pysk. I’m not a complete fool, you know. Savages though, well, that’s a different matter.”

  “Leave any savages to me,” growled Bokar, the Dwarf thumbing the edge of his axe.

  “Nay, Bokar,” spoke up Aravan. “Any so-called savages are my province, for I have been here many times before and they know of me.”

  Aylis looked at Aravan. “How long past?”

  “Most recently?—mayhap a hundred summers, no more.”

  “Then are they like to remember?”

  Aravan nodded. “My ship and I are now woven into their lore.”

  “Well, I’m going up now,” said Jinnarin. “The last thing I want is for the Humans of this Land to see me.”

  “Hold!” called Bokar, but he was too late, for Jinnarin on Rux disappeared among the crags, the fox scrambling upward. “Dask, Brekka, up after, swift!” Two Dwarven scouts began a hasty ascent. “Fool Pysk,” he hissed, “running off like that, mayhap into the very jaws of danger.”

  Jatu leaned down to the Dwarf. “Nay, Bokar, no fool she. She has the magic of shadow and stealth to protect her and Rux. Besides, as soon as we gain the top, these five go on without us, for they would find Tarquin, an unlikely end if we are with them.”

  Bokar scowled at Jatu, plainly disliking the plan to let these searchers go forth without Dwarven escort. “Five? I count but four: Captain Aravan, Mage Alamar, Seer Aylis, and Lady Jinnarin. Who else do you have in mind?”