Dreamwielder (11 page)

Disoriented, Caile looked about the room, trying to discern what had happened. The main door leading from the cellar had been blown off its hinges, along with half the doorway and the surrounding wall. In the ragged opening stood a woman. She was dressed similarly to Roanna but looked younger and had darker hair, though it was hard to make out her features clearly in the choking dust. Still, she looked familiar to him.

The turnip lady!
he realized as he rubbed the dust and tears from his eyes. She regarded Caile for a moment, then motioned for him to follow her as she lowered herself down the trap door into the sewer. Caile glanced toward the blown-out doorway leading upstairs but heard shouting and yelling from that direction and decided it best to follow the turnip lady.

She stood waiting for him in the sewer. “Roanna has fled,” she said. “No doubt, she'll leave the city and not return now.”

Her demeanor and voice was nearly unrecognizable from how she'd acted the night before when they'd met in the street. She had been hunched over and spoke with a distracted voice when trying to sell her turnips to him, but now she carried herself and spoke with authority.

Us meeting was no accident,
Caile realized.
She was following me.

“Can you find your way back to the keep?” she asked him.

“I think so.”

“Go then. Hurry back before you're found missing. The scent-hound will have certainly detected what Roanna and I have done, and soldiers will be searching the city soon.”

The woman turned to go off in the other direction.

“Wait!” Caile said. “Who are you?”

“A true ally and more than a turnip farmer. That's all you need to know for now.”

Makarria and Parmo saw
Pyrthin's Flame
long before anyone on
Pyrthin's Flame
spied their tiny skiff. It was mid-morning and Makarria at first thought the white sails on the horizon were nothing more than clouds. When she realized that it was actually a ship, she was overjoyed, hoping they would be rescued, but Parmo shook his head in worry and told her to lie down out of sight as he yanked in the oars and crouched down beneath the rail to join her.

“That's no fishing boat, Makarria. It's a naval brig if I've ever seen one. Two masts, fore and aft sails…” Parmo glanced around frantically for his sword.
I haven't even had time to take off the rust and put an edge on the blade,
he lamented.

“You think it's after us?” Makarria asked, peeking up over the rail.

“I hope not. It's best not to find out, so stay down and out of sight.”

Makarria saw that her grandfather was worried, but she didn't find herself the least bit scared for some reason. “It's flying a red and yellow flag. Aren't those the colors of Pyrthinia, Grampy—I mean, Parmo?”

Parmo found his sword still wrapped up in the burlap but paused to glance over the rail at the ship to see if Makarria was correct.
Pyrthin's Flame
had gotten closer but had not altered its westerly course, which was merely tangential to the northwesterly path they were on.

“It looks like the gold and red stripes of Pyrthinia,” Parmo agreed. “That means nothing, though. The Emperor could have sent word to King Casstian.”

Makarria didn't believe it. “I think they'll help us. We should wave at them with the sail.”

“No, we'll stay put,” Parmo said, his tone making it clear the matter was not up for debate.

Makarria sighed and rested her chin sullenly on the rail of the skiff and Parmo turned his attention back to his sword.

On board
Pyrthin's Fire
, the sailor assigned to the crow's nest glimpsed Parmo's skiff, but even through his telescope, it was so small and distant, he could discern little more than that it was a single-mast skiff—drifting aimlessly in the current without a sail, it seemed.

“Fishing boat, starboard side, looks to be abandoned or stranded,” the sailor yelled down to the first mate on the main deck.

The first mate turned to the starboard and saw the skiff as an intermittent speck bobbing up and down on the swells in the distance. They were already a full day out from Kal Pyrthin Bay, which was farther from the coast than most fishing boats would dare venture, and normally the first mate would change course to check on a boat in distress, but the captain had made it clear this was no normal voyage. Their orders had been strict: stop for no one and make for the East Islands with all due haste. The first mate sighed inwardly at having to leave fellow mariners stranded at sea, but orders were orders. He turned from the starboard rail, intent on heading to the quarter-deck, and nearly ran smack into Taera.

“Your Highness,” the first mate stammered in apology, “I didn't hear you approach.”

Taera hardly heard the man speak. She had been in her cabin and seen a small boat in her mind. “There is a girl on that boat. We must rescue her.”

“Your Highness, we are on strict orders to not delay for any reason.”

“It's not a request—it's a command, sailor.”

The first mate hesitated for only a moment, then dashed to the quarter deck to relay the orders to the helmsman.

Taera made her way to the forecastle as
Pyrthin's Flame
came about to the starboard side. The captain found her there a few short minutes later watching the skiff slowly loom larger in the distance.

“Your Highness, we haven't time for delay,” the captain began to protest. “Your father has entrusted me with your life.”

“My life may depend on the girl in that boat,” Taera responded. “All of our lives. If you're in such a hurry, then get her on board quickly, and we can be on our way again.”

“Of course,” the captain agreed, and he hurried off to join the first mate at the quarterdeck.

When it became apparent to Parmo and Makarria that
Pyrthin's Flame
had spotted them and was approaching, Parmo knew there was no sense in trying to hide anymore.

“Grab up that sail and start waving it,” he told Makarria. “When they get here, try to let me do the talking, but if anyone asks you, we're from a little village south of the badlands. I'm your Uncle Parmo, and we were sailing to visit relatives in another village to the north before we got caught up in a storm three weeks ago. Our sail was ruined and we've been drifting in the trade currents ever since. Don't mention anything about your parents or the farm or Spearpoint Rock, and certainly don't mention anything about dreams or me being your grampy. What's my name again?”

“Uncle Parmo.”

“Good,” he said and turned his attention to their belongings. There were an awful lot of things in the little boat, but he would claim they were family heirlooms for their relatives if anyone asked. He re-wrapped his sword in the burlap, then bundled the sword and everything else worth saving in the wool blankets. He didn't like the idea of being unarmed, but he knew a sword would do him little good against an entire ship crew.
We can only hope they're not looking for us, and if they are, then let's just hope they don't realize it's us they're looking for.

The captain of
Pyrthin's Flame
ordered his crew to drop sail thirty fathoms out, and the frigate drifted to a near-stop six fathoms from the skiff. Makarria happily waved to the crew of the much larger ship, now plainly visible on deck, and Parmo took up the oars of the skiff to paddle them to the brig's portside. When they got close enough, the crew of
Pyrthin's Flame
threw out a guideline, and Makarria grabbed it up out of the water and quickly tied it to the cleat at the bow of the skiff. The crew began towing them in, and moments later they clunked into the hull of the
Pyrthin's Flame
, which towered above them. The crew lowered a rope ladder and Parmo helped Makarria get started before grabbing his bundle of belongings and following after her.

On deck, sailors helped Makarria and Parmo over the main rail. Makarria was so happy she couldn't stop saying thank you. Parmo quickly spotted the captain and thanked him for his generosity, then began the quick rendition of the story he had concocted explaining their predicament.

A short distance away Taera stood staring at Makarria. She had seen Makarria's face so often in her visions of late she felt as if she already knew her. “Hello,” she said, touching Makarria on her shoulder. “I am Taera. I've been waiting to meet you.”

Makarria hadn't even noticed Taera at first, but she looked at her now and smiled. She had never seen a woman so beautiful before. Apart from her mother and the farmer's wives at the few nearby farmsteads, she had not seen any other women at all.

“You're a princess,” Makarria said in awe, her eyes soaking in Taera's golden hair and her simple, yet elegant dress.

“Yes. I am Princess Taera Delios of Pyrthinia. What is your name, if I may ask?”

“Makarria.”

Taera bent forward and grabbed Makarria in an embrace. Makarria had no idea why a stranger would want to hug her, but she returned the embrace, and after a moment she realized she was crying and did not want to let go.

“It's very good to meet you, Makarria,” Taera said, holding her tighter. “You're safe now. Everything is going to be alright.”

The full moon rode high in the night sky, but beneath the canopy of cypress trees skirting the River Kylep it was utterly dark. Natarios swore and held up the hem of his black cloak to keep it from dragging in the puddles between the gnarled cypress roots and tripping him up. A chorus of bullfrog croaks reverberated through the stale air, punctuated by the occasional shrill cry of a nocturnal bird. It was enough to make the hair at Natarios's neck stand on end, but he was thankful it was only frogs and birds he heard and not some predator.

At the bank of the river, the moonlight glimmered off the glass surface of the water, and at the far bank, a hundred yards distant, was another black wall of cypress trees. What caught Natarios's eye though, was the ship sitting at anchor in the middle of the river. It was strangely umbrageous—somehow not catching a glint of the moonlight—and it appeared to be inverted to Natarios's eye. The top half was long and cylindrical like the hull of a warship, but the bottom half was no larger than the cabin on a small fishing trawler. Natarios couldn't begin to imagine how the thing stayed afloat in the water.
Best not to worry about it,
Natarios decided.
It's certainly no more bizarre than seeing a man turn into a raven.

Natarios opened the shutter on the small lantern he carried—twice in quick succession to signal the ship. Shadowy figures moved along the bottom half of the ship in immediate response, and a few short moments later Natarios could make out a rowboat with two people on board heading his way. When the boat reached the shore, Natarios helped the female passenger onto solid ground, but the giant of a man who held the oars made no effort to disembark.

“Mistress Roanna, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Natarios greeted the woman.

“Well met, Houndkeeper Natarios. I hope you were not followed? The Flying Wolf knows nothing?”

Natarios felt a sharp pain between his legs and looked down to see that Roanna was pressing the tip of a dagger into his groin. “No, no one knows,” he stammered.

“Good,” Roanna said, pulling the dagger back into one sleeve of her heavy cloak. “Tell me what you know of the Princess. Have you sensed anything from her?”

“Yes. Since Wulfram was last here, the scent-hound has been smelling much activity. I've been moving the hound around the city to pinpoint the exact location, and there's no doubt: it's coming from Castle Pyrthin.”

“Excellent. The renewed activity coincides with the return of her brother, it seems.”

“Perhaps. There was the firewielder the Prince killed, but there has been much other strange activity of late, even before that. We found something on the peninsula east of Pyrvino, and Wulfram has been off chasing that lead ever since. He seemed unreceptive when I suggested there might be a sorceress in Kal Pyrthin…”

Roanna spat. “Wulfram is a fool, more animal than man. It's the Princess we're after, I'm certain. Between what the dead brother told us, and the young one, and now your own hound, it has to be her. We'll steal her away tonight before the Flying Wolf returns. We'll need your help.”

“I'm afraid that's not possible,” Natarios said.

“You needn't worry about any harm coming to you. I'm not asking you to get us past the gates—we'll be entering from above. I just need information: what tower she resides in, how many sentinels are on watch, what their routine is…”

“No you don't understand. She's gone.”

“Gone?”

Natarios nodded and grinned, still rather smug with himself for having figured it all out. “Two days ago come morning the hound quit sensing anything. That very afternoon the Princess allegedly took ill and only the physician and the King have been allowed to see her since. Other members of the household staff have seen her from a distance, but none of them have gotten close enough to see that it's not really her, that it's a decoy. You see, there's a classy brothel a few streets in from the harbor, and they have a young girl there who's known for being as beautiful as the Princess herself. Courtiers and courtesans that find themselves lovestruck over the princess pay good money to—”

“What are you getting at, imbecile?” Roanna snapped. “Where has the Princess gone?”

“She's sailed off on a ship, heading to the East Islands,” Natarios grumbled, bristling at her dismissal of his story. “They used the girl as a decoy.”

“What ship is it?”

“
Pyrthin's Fire
. It's brand new, a two-master, probably the biggest ship you'll find outside of the Sol Sea. I doubt you'll be able to catch her in that ship of yours, and even if you did, it's manned with every sailor in the Pyrthin navy worth his salt.”