Lords of the Sky (10 page)

Sadly, it did not. Indeed, for the remainder of the voyage to Madbry he continued unwell, swearing that once we reached our destination he would never again set foot on a boat of any kind. I did what I could to ease his suffering, but that was not much, and by the time we sighted Madbry he was gaunt for lack of sustenance and bringing up a clear bile from his empty stomach.

Madbry hove in sight early on the morning of our third day at sea. It was large as Ynisvar, but lay on the jut of a headland, the buildings climbing the steep flanks of the promontory to the aeldor’s tower. The keep was outlined stark by the new-risen sun, like a finger pointing accusingly at the sky. The wind was brisk, slapping waves against the mole we rounded to find the calmer waters of the harbor, and as we approached I went to Kerym.

“Shall there be chance to find a herbalist?” I asked. “Pyrdon’s in some need of a cure.”

“I’ll not delay.” Kerym’s eyes remained fixed on the harbor wall, gauging our speed against the run of the tide. I did not like him, but I had to admit he was a skilled captain. “And Cleton comes now.”

I had not realized he knew the names of his passengers in advance. I looked toward the town and saw a veritable procession descending from the keep. I gasped and said, “He lives in the keep?”

“Thought you all Rememberers were fishermen or tanners?” he returned, and chuckled. “Cleton’s third son to the aeldor Brython.”

It had not occurred to me an aeldor’s son might become Mnemonikos, and I wondered briefly how one so elevated would find my company. But that was not my immediate concern. I said, “Still, save Pyrdon’s found a remedy, he’ll likely vomit his way to Durbrecht.”

Kerym shrugged as if this was a matter of no concern; I refused to leave it. I said, “Surely we might wait so long as it takes to find a herbman.”

Kerym shouted an order that reversed the sweeps, slowing us as he brought the tiller over, the
Seahorse
drifting neat to the wharf. Bors and the other older Changed leaped ashore with the mooring lines. Kerym nodded his satisfaction and answered me, “Durbrecht by Ennas Day, I swore. I’ve a sizable wager riding on it.”

That seemed to me a piss-poor reason for Pyrdon’s continued suffering, and I had to restrain myself from expressing my opinion of our captain. I mastered my anger, however, and instead said, as calmly as I was able, “He’s eaten nothing since he came aboard. He’s heaving dry now, and ere long he’ll bring up blood. He could die. How shall they take that in Durbrecht? And when word gets back to Sterbek?”

Kerym’s face darkened at that and he tugged at his short beard, his dark eyes fixing me with a furious glare. I would not be quelled but met his gaze until he looked away and muttered, “Very well. Do you go find a herbalist, then. But quick, mark you! And do I lose my wager—”

If he completed his threat I did not hear it, for I was already gone from the poop and running for the gangplank, calling over my shoulder to Pyrdon that I went to find him a cure.

I sprang to the wharf and studied the buildings that faced the harbor. I saw warehouses and taverns, but no sign to indicate a herbalist, so I began to run toward the closest alehouse, thinking to secure directions there. It stood on the corner of the avenue leading up to the keep, and as I drew close, the procession I had seen emerged from between the buildings. There were about a score of riders, led by a black-bearded man whose fine clothes told me he was the aeldor Brython. On his right, the side on which the tavern lay, rode a young man with yellow hair wearing tunic and breeks not unlike my own, but of better cut and finer material. My headlong passage brought me almost into collision with his startled horse, and he mouthed a curse as the animal skittered, ears flattened. Instantly two riders, their plaid and the swords they carried marking them for members of the war-band, urged their mounts forward, straight at me. I thought them likely to ride me down, or beat me with the flats of their blades, and veered away, seeking refuge, an arm raised in defense.

Brython called them to a halt, reining in. “He came off the galley,” he said, and fastened eyes of a startlingly pale blue on my face. “What’s about, lad, that you come in such haste?”

“Forgive me, my lord.” I shaped a sketchy bow. “I’ve a friend sick on board, and I’d find a herbman.”

“A seasick sailor?” It was the yellow-haired young man who spoke. “What manner of vessel am I committed to?”

This, I realized, must be Cleton. I said, “Not a sailor,” and wondered if I should add “my lord.” I decided not: we should, after all, be fellow students soon enough. “His name is Pyrdon,” I explained, “and he’s Durbrecht-bound, like me.”

“Ah, a kindred Mnemonikos-elect.” I saw that Cleton’s eyes were the same pale hue as his father’s, which made them seem cold and distant until he smiled. “Then best a remedy be found instanter. Mathyn, do you go swift to the keep and have Naern prepare a nostrum. Bring it to us on the boat, if you will.”

A soldier swung his horse around and galloped back the way they had come. Cleton returned his eyes to me and said, “So …”

He frowned an inquiry, and I said, “Daviot.”

“So, Daviot, do you come introduce me to our captain? I, by the way, am Cleton.”

He reached down from his saddle, and we clasped hands. I fell into step beside him as the column walked on toward the
Seahorse.
Kerym stood fidgeting by the gangplank, but neither Cleton nor his father appeared in any great hurry, reining in and dismounting as Kerym flourished a deep bow and bade them the day’s greetings.

Brython returned the salutation and said, “A man’s gone to bring a remedy for your sick passenger, captain, so you’re delayed awhile.”

Kerym nodded, glancing irritably at me. Cleton caught his look and said calmly, “You’d not deliver a sick man to Durbrecht, would you, captain?”

Kerym reddened somewhat and shook his head vigorously, mouthing unctuous denial. I enjoyed his discomfort, and decided that I should like Cleton, did he continue in this manner. I saw that although his clothes were grander, he carried no more baggage than I, and that himself, waving away Kerym’s offer of a crewman for porter with the pronouncement that he was now merely one more Mnemonikos-elect, no different to his companions Daviot and Pyrdon.

The statement seemed to me designed to put Kerym in his place and simultaneously elevate me. I grinned, and then caught Cleton’s eye as he winked and grinned the wider.

We waited there, Brython engaging Kerym in conversation as Cleton questioned me, much as I had interrogated Pyrdon. He was an easy fellow to talk with, putting me at my ease so that I soon felt there was no barrier between us, despite the very different circumstances of our births.

Before long Mathyn returned with the herbman’s potion and his instructions as to its use. Brython insisted, politely but with no argument brooked, that Kerym wait while Pyrdon swallow the vile-smelling concoction, and our hasty captain was forced to curb his impatience as Cleton and I tended our unfortunate companion. Cleton himself administered the draught, wondering aloud if he should not require a measure before we reached our destination. In point of fact, he was an excellent sailor, as at home on the waves as I, and I realized he pretended for Pyrdon’s sake. I liked him better by the moment.

In a while Pyrdon declared himself somewhat recovered. Certainly he regained a measure of his color and took a few mouthfuls of ale, and Cleton said his final farewells, and Kerym was at last permitted to depart.

We three young men stood together on the foredeck, watching Madbry dwindle behind us. Ahead lay Durbrecht and a future none of us anticipated, I the least of all.

T
he journey was the pleasanter for the company of Cleton and Pyrdon, whose recovered health revealed him to be as I had guessed: a cheerful, good-natured fellow, if a trifle timid. He was clearly in some awe of the aeldor’s son, even though Cleton took pains to assure us we were all equal, and his easy manner contained no hint of pride or superiority. Still, both Pyrdon and Kerym tended to deference, whilst I took him at face value. I suspect that was because both our captain and the tanner’s son had dealings with the aristocracy, and some sense of rank, whereas I had no experience other than of Bardan and his kin, and they had shown me only kindness. So I accepted Cleton for what he declared himself to be: only another student.

Nonetheless, I remained somewhat intrigued that he should forgo his life in Madbry’s keep for that of a humble catechumen. It seemed to me he gave up more than he would gain, and one fine evening as we watched dolphins sport about the bow, I asked him why.

“What’s the third son of an aeldor to look forward to?” he asked in reply. Then answered himself: “My oldest brother will inherit the title, and Decan stands to make a better marriage than I. Did I stay, it should be as a hanger-on, reliant on Mordan’s charity. That, or find myself wedded off to some hold-daughter too homely to win herself a first or second son. I’d sooner stand on my own feet.”

He paused, grinning, and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, looking melodramatically about. “And I’m none too good a soldier, Daviot, for I’ve little taste for taking orders and a thirst for knowledge. I’d learn all I can about this land of ours. And how better do that than as a Mnemonikos?”

I considered a moment, then said, “I think we shall have to take orders in the College, Cleton.”

“Then I think,” he said, his voice and handsome face so solemn, I at first took him seriously, “that I shall likely find myself in trouble.” I laughed with him as the gravity quit his features.

Of the remainder of that voyage there’s little enough of import, save that as we closed on the eastern ingress of the Treppanek, airboats were sighted.

It was late in the afternoon of the fifth day. Kerym had the sail up to catch the breeze and the oarsmen bent to their sweeps, driving the
Seahorse
swift over the darkening blue of the ocean—our captain looked to win his wager. Mare’s-tails streamered white overhead, and the coastline to port stood shadowy as the sun went westward. The moon was not yet up, but the sky to the east grew gentian. I lounged on the foredeck, rolling dice with Cleton and Pyrdon. We rose as a Changed—Bors, I saw as I sprang up—vented a bellow that suggested his taurine origins. I stared to where he pointed, hearing Kerym’s voluble cursing echo Bors’s shout. The wind that drove the clouds across the heavens also drove more solid objects that I recognized instantly as the Sky Lords’ great airborne vessels.

There were three, coming swift toward us, a little to the north, on a course that would carry them above the line of the Treppanek. They hung lower in the sky than any I had seen before, so that the sigils decorating the vast tubes supporting the baskets were clear; or would have been, had they not seemed to burn and writhe like living things, as if the magic imbued in the arcane forms clawed at the air like the arms of swimmers. The sky about the cylinders was itself distorted by the sorcery of the Kho’rabi wizards, roiling and boiling, tinged with red, as if the Sky Lords trailed fire in their wake. As with that first I had seen, I thought I saw nebulous creatures, elemental beings, dancing about the
bloodred craft, speeding their passage faster than any natural wind might drive them. The sun was to our west, but shadow raced ahead of the airboats to encompass our galley, bringing with it a dreadful chill, a numbing stillness to the air. I shivered, hating that malign aura. At my side I heard Pyrdon mouth a prayer that the God defend us, Cleton utter a string of oaths. I saw that in moments their path and ours must coincide. I clutched the hilt of my dagger, a useless gesture, but somehow comforting.

The airboats closed on the coast. They came so low, I saw the pale blurs of faces looking down from the black baskets. I heard Cleton say, “They make for Durbrecht,” his voice leached of its usual humor. I felt as if some occult hand reached down into my belly, squeezing tight and horribly cold. I felt afraid and knew that it was more than any natural fear—that was to be expected, faced so close with the terrible Kho’rabi knights. This was far greater; it was as if the shadow that darkened the galley, the sea itself, robbed me of hope, as if the magic of the Sky Lords pierced my soul. I felt paralyzed, my feet rooted to the deck, my hand frozen about my dagger’s hilt. All I could do was watch, gape-mouthed and trembling. Had a Kho’rabi dropped down then, I think I should have stood still and silent as he slew me. I do not think I
could
have moved.

In moments the three airboats were directly overhead. It was as if an icy winter’s night fell. I did move then, for my teeth began to chatter uncontrollably, clattering in my mouth like madly beaten tabors. I felt my body begin to shudder helplessly. It seemed my eyes were connected by some occult thread to the airboats and I could only follow their progress, robbed of volition. They filled all the sky, and I thought I heard spirits howling, imps and malicious sprites delivered from Ahn-feshang to torment Dharbek. My head craned around; my neck ached with the pressure, but I could not shift my body. I saw nothing but the Sky Lords’ vessels. Cleton, Pyrdon, the
Seahorse
disappeared into some insubstantial occult shadow land. All that existed were those three vast airboats and myself. I had never before felt so utterly helpless; nor so dreadfully afraid. It seemed they hung an eternity overhead, but it could only have been moments, for as swiftly as they had come, they were moving inland, following the wide Treppanek westward toward Durbrecht.