Lords of the Sky (11 page)

For a while the sky behind them continued to roil, and there drifted down a faint, sulphurous smell. Then they were hidden beyond the line of the coast, and I found I could move again. I spat: it seemed a foul taste filled my mouth. I saw Pyrdon vomit. Cleton stood pale and silent, a hand running slowly over his yellow hair. We stared at one another. His face was set in lines of rigid horror; I suppose mine was the same. Then I realized something of which I had been aware throughout that horrid interlude, but on a subconscious level that only now impressed itself upon my conscious mind: The passage of the
Seahorse
had not slowed.

I turned to observe the oarsmen. They manned their sweeps as before, their rhythm unbroken. It was as though the ghastly magic of the Sky Lords had no effect on them. I saw Bors standing by the mast. His wide face was turned westward, to where the airboats had gone, and it seemed to me he wore a smile. I shook my head, blinking, and when I looked at him again his features were returned to their customary blandness. I decided I was wrong: that what I had taken for a smile was the residue of fear.

I turned back to Cleton and said, “They seem not at all afraid.”

He did not understand me at first and I said, “The crew—they went on rowing. The Sky Lords’ magic seemed not to affect them.”

“Perhaps it does not,” he said. His voice was hoarse. “Perhaps they’ve not the sensibility.” He forced a laugh. “I’d name them lucky.”

I licked my lips and wiped hands I suddenly felt were slick with sweat against my tunic “Still,” I said, “it seems strange to me.”

“They’re Changed,” he said. “You’re a Trueman.”

“And yet, when I saw a boat before, when I was young”—I frowned, recalling that evening on the shore when I had stood with my father watching that first airboat pass over us—“then all the animals in Whitefish village fled. Even the gulls quit the sky.”

“What do you say?” Cleton asked.

“I’m not sure.” I felt the furrowing of my brow. “Only that it seems … odd.”

“That the Changed do not feel what Truemen feel?” he asked, and chuckled. “Daviot, they’re lesser beings than you
or I; not really that much more than the animals from which they come.”

“But that’s my point,” I said. “That even the animals sense the danger. These seemed … unaware … or not at all afraid.”

Cleton’s shoulders rose in a dismissive shrug. “Kerym’s trained them well,” he said. “No order was given to cease their rowing, so they continued at their duty.”

“Perhaps.”

He was an aeldor’s son—he had far more experience of the Changed than I: I allowed him the point, but I was not convinced. I did not understand why, but I felt sure there was more to it. I could not explain my conviction. Indeed, I could not truly name it
conviction;
rather, it was an amalgam of what I had observed, or thought I observed, and inchoate suspicion. I could put it in no better words, and for then I bowed to Cleton’s judgment. Besides, we had much else to concern us, as Pyrdon reminded us.

His face was gone again pale, and he wiped at his mouth, his breath sour with his puking as he stared to the west and said in a soft, horrified voice, “There were three. In the God’s name, there were
three!
And they’re headed for Durbrecht.”

“I think they’ll not damage the College.” Cleton made a joke of it for Pyrdon’s sake, I thought.

“But it’s not the
time.
” Pyrdon was too shocked to allow the jest. “The last Coming was but—what?—thirty years ago. It’s not the time.”

“It was a little over twenty-nine,” said Cleton, no longer laughing. “But still I think they’ll not harm Durbrecht.”

Pyrdon tore his gaze from the sky and faced us. “How can you be so sure?” he demanded.

His eyes asked Cleton for reassurance. I found his mood communicated to me and realized I hung on Cleton’s answer. He said confidently, “There’s powerful magic in Durbrecht. Remember the Sorcerous College is there, too.”

“And the Sentinels there.” Pyrdon flung an arm to the east. “And they did not halt the Sky Lords.”

“Aye, there’s that.” Cleton faltered a moment, less assured, then said, “But still, the greatest of our mages reside in the College of Durbrecht, and they’ll know by now the
airboats approach. Likely the Sentinels were taken by surprise—Durbrecht shall not be.”

Pyrdon mulled this over. I could see that he wanted to accept it. No less did I, and when he nodded I felt relieved, as if his agreement took some weight from me. Then Cleton murmured. “And we’ll find out soon enough. All well, another day should see us there,” and I realized he was far less convinced by his own arguments than he pretended.

I could think of nothing to say.

I was roused from a dream in which I stood immobile on a becalmed galley as the sky above me filled with the Sky Lords’ airboats and a crew of Changed applauded the arrows that rained about me. It was a moment or two before I shook off the sensation of impotent horror and recognized Pyrdon. He said, “Come; look,” and there was such awe in his voice, I sprang immediately to my feet and followed him to the port side of the
Seahorse.
Cleton was already there, staring intently into the gray-white mist that hung above the water. It was not yet dawn, and the world was lit with the opalescent glow that presages the arrival of the sun. The forward running light cast a red illumination that reminded me of the Kho’rabi balloons. Pyrdon pointed and said, “There.”

I followed the direction of his outflung arm and gasped, for only a short distant off it seemed the skeleton of some vast primordial beast thrust from the channel.

Massive ribs curved upward, thick and black against the glow of the false dawn. The mist was damp and deadened smell, but even so I caught the aftermath of burning, as though a tremendous fire had been not long ago doused. Amongst the ribs I saw dark, solid objects that I did not at first recognize as the bodies of dead men.

Cleton said, “One airboat at least failed to reach Durbrecht.”

His voice was hushed by the enormity of the monolithic wreckage, and I said nothing, only nodded, staring. I wondered how many Kho’rabi knights had that boat carried, most sunk under the weight of their armor, those I could see caught amongst the burning spars of their vessel.

Pyrdon said, “The God be praised.”

I watched the wreckage go by, calculating the length of
the airboat against that of the
Seahorse.
The Sky Lords’ craft was four times, or more, our length.

Cleton said, “I wonder how the others fared.”

“Destroyed like this, the God willing,” said Pyrdon.

I turned to observe the skeleton as it slipped away astern. It was soon lost in the mist, and then the zodiacal light faded and I fetched my cloak from the deck as the morning grew chill.

We none of us felt able to sleep after that awesome sight and stood on the foredeck wrapped in our cloaks as the sky behind us brightened. The sun rose, and before long we came in sight of Durbrecht. I felt my jaw drop.

The Treppanek curved slightly north here, a low headland sheltering a wide bay. Atop the higher ground stood a wall that ran inland to sweep westward in a vast semicircle before returning to the shore. It encompassed all the sprawling city, and at each end there stood a pharos, like an aeldor’s keep in miniature. Penned within these ramparts there stood such a multitude of buildings as dwarfed all the towns I had seen on our journey. Madbry, Ynisvar, and Cambar might all have been set down here and gone unnoticed, so large was this marvelous place. On the riverside there was a harbor, jetties extending out from the long line of the wharf, myriad craft rocking at anchor, the dockside abustle. Farther back, past the docks and warehouses, splendid structures glittered in the early morning sun. I saw wide avenues, the greenery of parks, and spread across the rising flank of the hinterland, three enormous complexes of buildings. One I felt sure must be the College of the Mnemonikos, the others that of the sorcerers and the palace of the city’s commander, the koryphon.

I started as Cleton nudged me and said, “Close your mouth, Daviot. Or would you swallow it all?”

I nodded and smiled, and went on staring. To my left I heard Pyrdon say softly, “In the God’s name, I have never seen its like.”

“Save for Kherbryn, it has no like,” said Cleton, and grinned hugely. “I believe we shall enjoy ourselves here, my friends.”

I nodded again, lost for words, watching rapt as Kerym
brought the
Seahorse
into the wharf and the mooring lines were made fast.

Cleton needed to nudge me again before I shifted from my observation, reminded that I had best secure my gear, which did not take long, so that by the time the gangplank was run out, we all three stood waiting, eager to go ashore.

I halted on the wharf, unsure what we should do next, thinking I should say something to our captain. For all I did not like him, he had surely brought us here safe and swift, even were it less for our sake than the winning of his wager. He resolved that problem readily enough, for he came after us down the gangplank and said, “Well, you’re here and my duty done. I bid you farewell.”

He ducked his head and turned to go, halted by Cleton, who demanded, “What do we do now, captain?”

Kerym frowned with ill grace and said, “Someone from the College will be here soon enough. Wait for him.”

He delayed no longer but waved and walked away, soon lost in the bustling throng. Cleton said, “Doubtless he’s anxious to collect his winnings. Well, no matter, save I’d not stand here like some lost sheep.”

“What else should we do?” asked Pyrdon.

Cleton’s eyes roved over the anchorage, settling on a tavern. “We could find ourselves breakfast,” he suggested.

“Is that a good idea?” Pyrdon shifted nervously from foot to foot. “What if the College sends for us and we’re not here?”

“I imagine we can find our own way to the College,” Cleton said. “Likely we’re early, and not yet expected.”

Pyrdon frowned, clearly ill at ease. Cleton grinned at me and asked, “How say you, Daviot? Do we stand here like goggling bumpkins, or eat and quench our thirst?”

I was tempted, though I was quite happy to study the activity around us, and thought Pyrdon correct in his caution. I mused a moment, then said, “Perhaps it were wiser we remain, Cleton. Likely the College knows of our arrival.”

“I shall stay here,” said Pyrdon firmly.

“Then does someone come for us,” said Cleton, “you can tell them Daviot and I may be found in yon alehouse. Eh, Daviot?”

He grinned a challenge. I looked a moment at the earnest Pyrdon, then at the smiling Cleton, torn between sensible
caution and the promise of adventure. Cleton’s cheerful disregard of authority was infectious. I shrugged and said, “I
am
hungry.”

“Then come on,” Cleton said, and waved an expansive arm, “and I shall buy you breakfast.”

I hesitated only a moment longer, then shouldered my bag and went with Cleton to the tavern.

The sign outside depicted a lusciously breasted woman clad in nothing more than her long golden hair, her lower body a sweeping fishtail. I gazed, wondering if such a creature might truly exist. There were letters inscribed across the bottom of the board that Cleton translated: “The Mermaid.”

“Can you read?” I asked.

He nodded and said, “A little,” but his attention was focused on the alehouse.

It was early yet, but the place was busy, loud with voices and the clinking of tankards, redolent of ale and tobacco and cooking food. We found a space at the long serving counter and ordered beer, then Cleton asked what fare was on offer. I let him choose and found myself soon confronted with a platter of sausages still spitting fat and warm bread. I had never tasted a sausage before, and I ate with gusto, studying the other customers.

They were an exotic bunch: as many Changed as Truemen, though the Changed occupied tables to one side of the smoky room, the central aisle apparently a tacit demarcation line. I saw sailors and longshoremen, soldiers wearing Durbrecht’s plaid, traders and merchants, women both serving and sitting with the men. I drank it all in as thirstily as I swallowed my ale, thinking all the time: I
am in Durbrecht!
The enormity of it widened my eyes, and I think I must then have looked a true bumpkin, goggling at the marvels of the city.

And Cleton, for all he was son of an aeldor, was little better, staring around with a huge smile, not speaking, but like me simply watching and listening.

It was impossible in the din to hear more than fragments of conversation, but what I could make out was entirely concerned with the Sky Lords’ attack. I gathered that the three airboats had perished, but some small amount of damage been done. I listened as avidly as I watched and so did not
see Pyrdon come pushing through the throng until he arrived before us, his freckled face flushed, his eyes anxious.

“You’re to come immediately,” he declared. “The warden’s waiting.”

I snatched up my bag; Cleton drained the last of his mug. We followed Pyrdon out to find a tall man, his sandy hair plaited, standing tapping a short caduceus impatiently against his thigh. He was very thin, his tunic seeming over-large on his narrow shoulders, and his face was cadaverous, the eyes that fixed us deep-sunk. I was minded of small burrowing animals peering from their lairs.

“I am Ardyon,” he announced without preamble, “warden of the College. You may address me as Warden or by my name. You are … ?”

We identified ourselves, and he nodded, extending a hand. I thought for a moment he would greet us formally, but Cleton offered his token of introduction, and I dug mine from beneath my shirt. Ardyon studied the seals on each disc, then nodded his skull-like head in silent confirmation and said, “Why did you not wait as your companion did?”

His voice was cold as his stare, and I fidgeted awkwardly, lost for words. Cleton smiled cheerfully and answered, “Kerym offered us no breakfast, and we deemed it as well we acquaint ourselves with something of Durbrecht. We left Pyrdon on watch.”

“Whilst you drank ale,” said Ardyon.

“And broke our fast,” said Cleton.