Aquamancer (mancer series Book 2) (25 page)

“When we arrive, I’ll need you to point out the estuary.”

“I’ve been there several times, but never have landed,” explained Pargeot. “There is no trade to be picked up on Kingdom’s coast these days. There’s much trouble from wild men, bloodthirsty beasts, and evil Beings, my father-in-law tells me. Things like brainless Goblins and malicious Sprites.”

“We’re ready then,” said the Water Wizard’s Apprentice. “Thank you, Thornwood Duke, for your help and your hospitality. Give my love to your Lady Mother when you return to Capital. I’m sure we’ll see you both when we return from this task, Douglas and I.”

She kissed the Duke on the cheek and, without further ado, grasped Pargeot firmly by the arm, twisted her shoulder bag to a more comfortable position, and said,
“Cumulo Nimbus.”

The two rose smoothly into the clear morning air, Myrn waving to the Duke below, Pargeot clutching his kit bag and looking both amazed and disconcerted.

“Relax, Captain,” Myrn advised in the amused voice of an experienced flier. “I’ll handle the flying. Your job is to be a good passenger for now and, when we get there, to tell me which way to go. Have you a compass? We’ll very shortly pass out of the sight of land.”

Wordless, the Seacaptain produced a pocket compass and directed her out to Sea, away from the rising sun. In a very few minutes the coast of Dukedom, the bustle of Westongue, and the green-and-gold offshore shallows slid from sight behind them and they flew in a perfect dome of sky over a perfectly round shield of deep blue Broad.

“We’re going quite fast,” Mrn said to her passenger. “I judge it’ll be perhaps eight hours before we sight Old Kay.”

Pargeot swallowed mightily but, to his credit, within a very few minutes he’d accustomed himself to the idea of flying and began to enjoy it. They overtook swift-flying Seabirds as if they were standing still in midair. The surface of Sea far beneath them looked like watered blue silk, strangely and intricately patterned, and constantly changing.

After two hours of flight, the pair saw approaching them from the northwest a towering line of black-bottomed clouds trailing diagonal curtains of rain. The cloud bank reached from horizon to horizon and high up into the sky.

“Pretty strong storm, that,” warned Pargeot. “We’ll get buffeted about, I’m afraid.”

“I’ve found it’s better to avoid passing through such clouds by flying over them,” Myrn told him matter-of-factly. “There we have the advantage over sailing ships. The clouds hide very turbulent airs, I’ve found the hard way, sometimes hail, and of course lightning. Any one of those can make it as dangerous for the flyer as for the Seaman.”

She reached her arm upward, directing the Feather Pin to gain altitude. The cloud tops proved too high to overfly—the air at the cloud tops was bitterly cold and difficult to breathe, she said—but she guided their flight smoothly through a gap between two splendid glittering and grumbling thunderheads. They shot safely through to clear air on the western side of the squall line before the gap could close again.

The cloudscape was spectacularly magnificent. The Feather Pin kept them aloft and moving swiftly with no effort on Myrn’s part except to indicate the way, right or left, up or down, or straight on.

She’d experimented on her flight from Dwelmland to Westongue and felt entirely comfortable with the dynamics of flying now—although she admitted to herself that a flight of eight hours over open, empty Sea was more than a bit daunting. A daughter of Seafarers, she knew better than any landlubber the sudden surprises Sea often hid behind a calm surface and a bland, blue sky.

They were so busy enjoying the scenery and the sensation of flight that at first there was no conversation between them. When the first exhilaration subsided, however, Myrn asked her new companion to describe everything he remembered about the last hours of
Pitchfork.

Although it was still painful to recall, Pargeot strove to give her a clear and complete picture of the foundering, especially when he found she knew the most technical Seafaring terms. He neither blamed others nor took too much on himself. He knew, as Myrn did, that Sea can be a harsh and unforgiving mistress. He’d accepted that when he had first decided to become a sailor.

“I was swept overboard,” he told her, “so I’ve no clear idea what happened to the ship after that. When I realized that the Asrai had saved me from a watery grave and that we could speak with each other, I asked it to retrace the path to look for
Pitchfork,
who, when I had left her, was safely breasting the storm waves.

“We searched above and beneath the waves for some hours, saw...terrible wreckage everywhere and bodies...we were too late to save anyone!”

He paused to regain his composure. Myrn patted his arm, sympathetically. She found that, as long as she touched him, even very lightly, he remained aloft under the magic of Finesgold pin. They flew, therefore, arm in arm, upright but canting slightly forward, like strollers in a strong gale.

“My ship must have been battered to pieces in a very few minutes. All hands had gone down with her; no boats had been launched. They had no chance to escape.

“In the end the Asrai warned me that it had only a few minutes remaining before the coming of daylight, which would so weaken it that it would no longer be able to carry me. So we gave up the search and it set me ashore on a wild, uninhabited, wooded point to spend the day. I had nothing to eat and no place to go, so I tried to sleep all day. The Phosphorescence came back for me after dark that evening.”

The Seaman cleared his throat several more times.

“
There was no reason to search further, so I asked it to carry me back to Westongue. We made it before dawn the next morning!”

“So you don’t know where Douglas could have gone ashore, then?” asked Myrn.

“There is no way to tell for certain. My best estimate, based on the wind and the condition of Sea at the time, is that he was carried on to shore somewhere in the delta of Bloody Brook. I knew he planned to travel up Bloody Brook to a town called Pfantas.

“At the time, I mourned him as lost with my crew and
Pitchfork.
I was in no shape when I arrived back at Westongue to do anything but mourn. It was only yesterday, just before you and Thornwood came to me, that I at last said to myself, here! You
must
appreciate your luck that you survived this catastrophe!”

“Luck and the Asrai. It was not there by accident,” guessed Myrn. “The Asrai only comes when called. I suspect that Douglas called it when you were lost overboard.”

“I am sure of it, from what Sea Light said,” agreed Pargeot, softly. “I’m positive that Douglas was my savior.”

In the late afternoon they sighted the low, sandy coast of Kingdom and approached it more slowly, swinging first north, then south, searching for the river’s delta. The landmarks Pargeot knew were hard to identify from aloft. Myrn flew lower and lower until they skimmed over the waves at a much reduced speed.

“See? The color of the water has changed to green. Here ends the outer shelf of Kingdom,” decided the sailor. “Ha! There’s the headland on which I spent the day after the storm! Head a bit down the coast here. I think I see the river!”

Shortly they located the several mouths of Bloody Brook’s delta and, following the largest of them upstream, almost at once sighted a vast but ruined city upon its northern bank.

Myrn at first was inclined to continue without stopping, but Pargeot, with his sharp Seaman’s eye, noticed smoke from cooking fires in the ruins and movement on the crumbled pavement between the houses.

“We should go down and speak to them,” he advised. “It’s possible Douglas stopped here to get directions and assistance from these people.”

The Apprentice banked over and down, landing gently near a gang of workmen who were repairing a marble building near the riverfront. They stopped their digging and hoisting fallen blocks of white stone at the fliers’ arrival, showing no particular fear or surprise that two people dropped out of the sky.

Myrn waved to them cheerfully and they approached, smiling and bowing. Anyone who flew was worth bowing and scraping to, seemed their attitude.

“Welcome to Summer Palace,” called one. “I’m the Major-domo. That is, I was, when this was the summertime residence of King Grummist the Last. Now I’m the elected mayor, instead. My name is Delond.”

“This must have been a beautiful city once,” said Myrn, by way of greeting.

“Yes, it was, truly,” agreed the new mayor. He apologized for the sand and sweat on his hands and face and rough clothing. “We’re just beginning to rebuild, after centuries of neglect. We were long enchanted to await the King’s return.”

“Enchanted?” asked Myrn. “May I ask who broke the spell?”

“Surely!” cried Mayor Delond. “A great and powerful Wizard came this way two weeks ago. He told us the truth at last, and it set us free—that the King was not ever coming back, having been slain in a Last Battle. Suddenly, all was clear to us and we’ve decided to take charge of our destinies, to be a free and independent people.”

“We’re rebuilding Summer Palace as a place to live and raise our children and earn our livelihoods,” said another worker.

“Wizard?” asked Pargeot. “May we ask his name?”

“Of course,” said Delond again. “Our savior was the Fire Wizard Douglas Brightglade!”

Myrn clapped her hands delightedly and Pargeot breathed a great sigh of relief at this final proof that Douglas had survived the shipwreck.

“I am Myrn Manstar of Flowring Isle,” the young woman introduced herself. “This is Captain Pargeot of Westongue in Dukedom. Douglas Brightglade is well known to us. He is, in fact, my betrothed.”

The Waiters gathered around them applauded with surprise and pleasure. Delond and the men went off to the river to wash off the grimy sand and marble dust of their labors. The ladies of Summer Palace came to greet the visitors.

In short order a delicious supper was prepared and laid out, served in the shade of a neatly patched gold-and-blue awning in the clean-swept Central Plaza.

Myrn told her part in Douglas’s adventures, and Delond and his council eagerly consulted with Pargeot about trade with Westongue.

“We haven’t given it a lot of thought, yet,” the new mayor admitted, “but perhaps we could sell dried and salted fish? We have plenty of both fish and salt. Would there be a market for that?”

“Even fresh fish, nowadays. We can carry them in the cold boxes Thornwood Duke has installed in all his ships,” replied Pargeot, enthusiastically. “Your best fish will reach port as fresh as when they were caught!”

This news amazed the Waiters until they were told that the famous cold boxes were inventions of the Fire Wizard, Flarman Flowerstalk, Douglas’s Master.

“In the days of the Last King,” Delond went on, “many of us in Summer Palace were expert gold and silver workers. The skills are still here, but unfortunately there’re no mines nearby and we’ve no money to buy any metal, so those arts cannot be revived just yet. Sand we have in plenty, and we were considering studying the arts of making glass. Our problem there is finding wood, charcoal, or coal with which to fire glass pots and annealing ovens.”

“I can arrange to have coal of the best quality delivered to you in exchange for your blown-glass wares, if they will be of good quality and carefully packed for shipping,” said Pargeot. “It would be profitable to us both. Good glassware, even common vessels, are much sought after everywhere.”

“But we need the capital first,” Delond objected.

“I think I can find an investor or two who would advance you the price of a shipment of coal,” said Pargeot, thinking of Thornwood in particular.

“Wizard Brightglade went up the river in one of our gondolas,” said one of the Waiters who had seen the Wizard and the Otter leave. “If you’ve heard from him from Pfantas, he must have made good time, despite the dangers of getting lost... or waylaid.”

In the morning Delond brought the same atlas of Kingdom that Douglas had consulted during his visit and pointed out to Pargeot the way to Pfantas.

“Just follow the river,” he advised. “It runs, as you see, fairly straight from the west. Watch for this crescent-shaped lake and the cone-shaped hill of Pfantas on its north shore.”

“We’ll be there in a matter of hours,” said Pargeot. “This Lady Wizard can really fly!”

They said good-bye and good luck to the Waiters. Myrn uttered the Power Words to the Feather Pin and off they shot, climbing once more to an altitude from which they could see the entire delta. This made it easy to spot the main course of Bloody Brook through Wide Marsh and avoid getting lost in the tangled maze of channels which had so troubled Douglas and Marbleheart.

After finding their bearings, they set out and made good time. Below them passed the savannahs—they caught glimpses of Wild Horses grazing on the riverbank—then the great, green expanse of the Forest of Remembrance. Myrn felt watchful eyes on their progress as they flew high over the forest, but the feeling passed as soon as they entered the rolling meadowland beyond.

In late afternoon they flew over the burial ground of Last Battlefield with their long, evenly spaced mounds, not knowing what it was they saw, and climbed over rugged foothills where the brook became a rumbling, raging torrent squeezed between steep canyon walls.

The sun was beginning to set when they glided down over Pfantas Lake to circle the town on its steep-sided hill.

“Phew!” said Pargeot. “What’s that stink? Comes it from that dirty little hill town? Maybe we should land elsewhere!”

“Douglas’s letter said Pfantas was a garbage heap,” recalled Myrn. “Yes, I think we should avoid it for the moment. We’ll camp on that other hillside for the night, I think.”

“Good idea,” replied the Seaman. “It’s upwind of the town, I judge!”

She set them down—or rather the Feather Pin did—on the grassy lawn where Marbleheart and Douglas had pitched their pavilion and raised their pennants just a few days earlier.

Chapter Sixteen