Winter Warrior (Song of the Aura, Book Two) (2 page)

   
“He was attacked while still sleeping,” Gribly explained, attempting to hide his sorrow behind a stony face. From Lauro’s perspective, it didn’t look like he was succeeding. All the better- they needed emotion to convince this nymph they were truthful. “Even with his death-wound, he managed to save my life. He was a hero,” the boy concluded.

   
Sensing the reality of the words, the cleric handed back the weapon and allowed Gribly to replace it before spreading his hand wide in a gesture of welcome. “Then you are friends and allies of the Zain, as you were of the Longstrider.”

   
Bravo, Grib!
Thought Lauro, though he would never say it to the lad’s face.

   
“Tell me,” inquired the cleric, “What manner of enemy assailed you?” At that Gribly frowned and let the prince answer in his place.

   
“A draik,” announced Lauro grimly, his hand absently rubbing his sword-pommel at the ugly memory. “And a man who called himself a Pit Strider. He had powers to match a sorcerer’s, and it was he who dealt the death-blow to Byorne… Byornleo.”

   
“
Xibalba Cameetza
!” swore the cleric, suddenly and harshly. “If such a man there be, then not even the Zain may hide you…”

   
“But we beat him!” Gribly butted in. “You can’t refuse us just because he picked
us
to attack!”

   
“Did you?” the nymph looked suddenly thoughtful, rolling the staff in his hand absently. “Well…” he thought some more. At one point his eyes closed and Lauro believed he saw the cleric’s lips move in silent prayer. At last he spoke again. “I said we would not hide you, but we will aid you in whatever you need. I believe I now see why it is you have come, Lauro Vale.”

~

   
“Is it just me,” whispered Gribly to the prince during the short walk to the Zain camp, “or does every cleric I meet know more about us than we do?”

   
Lauro didn’t respond. It was too true, and he wasn’t sure he liked it.

~

   
He wouldn’t have believed it from what he’d heard, but Gribly soon found that the Zain had their own shrine; carved (or as the Strider suspected,
Stride
-shaped) out of a dark brown wood and similar in appearance to the Highfast Shrine in Ymeer. The quick walk through the sea nymph world had been eye-opening in itself.

   
After formally introducing himself as Cleric Amarand, the tall nymph had obtained a light luncheon for the group and sent the tired silverguard to rest in a guesthouse long kept by the tribe for just such a purpose but rarely used. Telling the prince and the thief that they had no time to loose, he had accompanied them around the right half of the Tribe Circle to the shrine where a meeting would soon be held amongst the tribe leaders.

   
The Zain lived in circles- as did the other two sea nymph tribes, according to Amarand. The Tribe Circle was an enormous, thick-rimmed wooden dock set out on the edge of the Inkwell, named for its shape. Its middle was open to the sea, but catwalks and ramps led up to a central structure where the Zain chief- called a
Sainarch
- lived. The large roundhouse sat a good three or four yards higher than the rest of the village and was supported by thick hardwood pillars.

   
None of it was anything like Ymeer, which was the only habitation of any significance Gribly had seen, minus the old ruins. It was a good deal smaller, true, but after weeks in the desert it seemed large enough to be a legitimate city. The Sainarch’s roundhouse was identical to the three hundred or so buildings (huts, really, Gribly realized) that filled the Tribe Circle, but it was all so unfamiliar that the youth found himself gaping at every structure he passed.

   
And the people! Nymphs were not so different from humans in their physical appearance, it was apparent, and Zain were certainly the most human-like of the three tribes… but there was no hint of the oligarchy and suppression that had plagued Ymeer. Gribly had spent his life among peasants and his career as a thief among pompous nobles, but the Zain seemed to defy the characteristics of each. There seemed to be no visible leader or servant among them, even though each obviously carried out a different task and filled a different position.

   
They were, in short,
happy
. Some were more or less content than others, but it simply stunned the boy how they all seemed to get along (in general) as if it were perfectly normal. By the time Cleric Amarand had brought the two strangers to the shrine they had drawn a few glances, but far less than Gribly had expected.

   
The shrine was not the titanic monument that Ymeer’s Highfast Shrine was, but it certainly fit the area. It was a smaller, darker copy of the older structure, but taller in proportion to its width. It looked less solid; more refined, with curling shapes and elegant designs shaped directly in the wood. The three walked promptly up the smooth front stairs to where a paneled double-door led inside, where they paused.

   
“Cleric Amarand?” Gribly addressed the nymph. “Was this shrine built by Striders?”

   
Amarand nodded without looking at him. “Long ago, when the nymph tribes of Vast were not so estranged, wood-elves would do trade with us. Some still do, though not many, but in ages past they would also help us to build. M’tant Eave Striders did this, if know you must. They have not done anything like it for many a cycle.” With that he tapped his staff twice against the wood of the door and it opened inward into the shrine’s brightly lit interior.

   
“Show-off,” muttered Gribly to Lauro as they followed Amarand inside.

~

   
The Sainarch and his four advisers were remarkably willing to cooperate, and it was quickly decided. With little explanation but much courtesy, Amarand arranged for the companions to set sail the very next day in one of the tribe’s fastest vessels: a trireme manned by an assortment of nymphs and molded by Eave Striders in a style similar to the Zain shrine. It had one large sail and a triangular ram on the bow that could split an iceberg- or so its captain claimed.

   
The captain of the trireme was a slightly rotund man, medium-sized and hairier than any nymph Gribly had seen. His sideburns and conveniently short hair were white and given to curling, his jaw was large and given to laughing, while his arms constantly windmilled in the many and sundry gestures he used to communicate his orders and jokes to the crew. He wore a long coat of faded blue fabric, high brown boots, strange woven trousers and an open, billowing blue shirt. A long sickle strapped to his back and a curved dagger on his belt were the only items of his dress that belied his amiable appearance. His ship’s name was the
Mirrorwave
.

   
The trireme was docked on the Inkwell-facing side of the Tribe Circle, bobbing up and down in the mild current as if it knew how grand it looked next to the other, shabbier ships moored near it, and wanted to show its pride. The captain led the prince, the thief, and the silverguard up the gangplank and onto the spotless deck. His name was Bernarl, but his men called him Berne and he made it clear he expected his new passengers to do the same. “Crisp formality’s what’s expected,” he told them seriously, then grinned. “…By everyone but m’self, of course. Welcome aboard!” and with that he was off up on the rigging faster and nimbler than should have been possible, leaving his wiry, straight-faced first-mate to lead the newcomers to their rooms.

   
“Your names, gentleman?” the stately nymph asked them. Lauro replied for himself and for Gribly, faltering when he came to the three warriors beside them.
He doesn’t know their names,
the Sand Strider realized.
He probably barely thinks of them as men, even now. I’d like to blame him, but how could I? I’m not much better.
He
did
know their names, though, and as the men didn’t seem incredibly inclined to volunteer them he spoke up- out of turn again.

   
“This one is Avtar, this one Marmat, and this one Kell,” he said. The silverguard glanced at him with surprise, and he saw the flicker of a smile on Kell’s face. He’d been listening to them all across Blast, and had even tried to talk to them several times; enough to be annoying, for sure. It looked like they’d forgotten.

   
“Pleased to acquaint you all, I’m certain,” said the mate. Without offering his own name he turned and led them to their rooms below deck.

   
Just like that they were ready and had cast off, heading almost directly North with the intention of contacting the last two sea nymph tribes, warning them of any possible danger, and hopefully enlisting their help to reach the Grymclaw. There was only one change in plans: Cleric Amarand was sending his page with them- a small, scholarly fellow named Variand.

~

   
By nightfall the shore was far behind the
Mirrorwave
, leaving all of South Vast as a shady, blotted line in the distance. The eastern end of the Inkwell was so far away it could not be seen, due to the enormous size of the bay. (It was so enormous, in fact, that Page Variand declared it a matter of heated debate among scholars and geographers everywhere. They were split between those who supported the original theory of the Inkwell being small enough for a bay, and those who contended that it was too large, and should be declared a Sea instead. At the end of the explanation Gribly wished he could toss Variand overboard and end the page’s boring chatter right then and there.)

   
Captain Berne had early on given orders for the silverguard and Gribly to be integrated into his crew to keep them interested and sufficiently out-of-the-way. This they had managed to do rather well under the tutelage of the yet-unnamed first mate, who unbent his stiff manner when the travelers proved themselves able and quick to learn.

   
Lauro wasn’t required to work because of his “noble blood” and “importance to the mission,” which Gribly figured must mean the prince had money and had bribed the captain. In any case the older boy spent most of his spare time poring over maps and manuscripts with Captain Berne, and when the day was done spent the evening in a cabin of his own.
Little pig
, Gribly thought, but he was getting along so well with the sailor-nymphs that he didn’t trouble himself about it and even decided in the end that it was necessary.

   
With all the thoughts whirling around in his mind like one of his own sandstorms, the Sand Strider at last let himself be lulled to sleep by the gentle rocking of the boat on the darkened, glassy sea under a midnight sky.

   
This voyage is my first… it’s going so well… probably just too good to last
, he thought before he closed his eyes.

Chapter Two: The Demon Sea

   
The next day proceeded much as the first had, as the
Mirrorwave
sailed ever deeper into the Inkwell. As time progressed, however, the more spectacular changes wrought on any ship entering the mysterious waters became apparent. The air got chillier and chillier until Gribly’s breath fogged as it came out and his fingers were numb and chapped from the cold. The bay itself seemed to grow steadily choppier and colder in just a few hours, freezing the barnacles above the vessel’s waterline and even coating the center-back of the trireme’s sail with thin ice.

   
It was more than different for the Sand Strider- it was a bad dream or a nightmare. He’d lived all his life in the desert, where, for sure, they’d had freezing nights, but nothing like this had ever happened to him. His ragged hair froze in tangled streaks blown back from his forehead. He cut and scraped his fingers tying and untying knots for the
Mirrorwave
’s first mate. Everything seemed to move too fast around him, too quickly for his glazed mind and unsteady gaze to fix upon anything. Even after he was issued the long fur jacket standard to the nymph crew, the enchanted winter seemed to gnaw at his bones like the draik he’d killed at the Arches.