Authors: Christopher Rowley
During the day the men worked on defensive procedures.
They ate another hasty meal at dusk, and the first watch took up their posts.
Once again a gentle night fell. The air was warm but still, and the stars were clear and sharp until the moon rose. The men and dragonboys scanned the skies. Where were the things?
Once again nothing happened at first. The bell tolled to end the first watch and the changeover began.
Relkin climbed into the foretops and sat on the little platform where the topmast was fixed to the mast. In his hands rested his Cunfshon bow, a lightly built but still powerful short-range crossbow. On his hip rested his quiver with three dozen points to hand. Let the batrukhs come. He had killed one before, a lucky shot of course, but still it left him with the confidence that these things were mortal, vulnerable to the steel of an arrow head.
However, to be killed they had to be seen.
After a while, staring into the night made his eyes hurt. He had to relax, but found that his body was so tense it was cramping. He sucked in several deep breaths and released them very slowly. It helped a little.
And then he caught a flash of movement, low down, approaching the fleet from the west.
'There!" he pointed, his voice sounding oddly high and shrill.
Other voices arose, on other ships. A dozen of the great flying beasts were making a concerted attack. No one had expected so many.
However, most were detected before they reached the ships, and these ran into a hailstorm of arrows, slingshot, and even spears.
The first batrukh to attack the
Barley
veered away at once, but a second came in from bow on and this one swooped up at the men in the foremast crosstrees. Relkin watched it come with one part of his brain while the rest of him fired, reloaded, and fired again with that remarkable Cunfshon spring, which could be wound up and paid off in sections. He had two shafts in the thing, but it kept coming. A sailor dropped from the mast on a line, distracting the monster. Relkin put his third shaft deep into its head, and it flew straight into the topmast, which broke under the impact. Mast, batrukh, and a great tangle of cordage and block and tackle came crashing to the deck and over the side. The
Barley
shook as the monster landed on the foredeck.
Relkin was all that was left, still perched on the foremast crosstrees, amazed to have survived. The topmast was gone and so were the men who had been above him. The batrukh still thrashed on the deck, and men struggled to put an end to it and free their companions from the wreck. Relkin let out a long breath, and then without thinking, rewound his bow and checked his points.
There was a shout, his head came up and the first batrukh was back, stooping on the men in the mainmast crosstrees.
Relkin brought his bow up and fired in the next moment. His shaft sank home as the batrukh was snatching at a soldier, spoiling the creature's aim. The soldier sank his spear into the brute's wing as it went past. Relkin's second and third shots missed and it swept away, huge wing beats powering it forward.
But it had taken many shafts in that brief moment, both from dragonboys and soldiers armed with the longbow. One of these longbow arrows had driven steel deep into its flesh and cut a vital blood vessel. Within a quarter mile it weakened and then plunged into the sea with a great splash. It began to thrash there and soon attracted the sharks.
Around the fleet the tale was similar. A dying batrukh had clung to the mainsail of the
Oat
and torn it loose as it fell to its death on the deck. Men had been taken, but one had been recovered after the wounded batrukh fell to the sea close by. Other batrukhs had been seen to fall, and all of them had been struck by at least one arrow.
The crews were at work through the night cutting away wreckage and replacing sails, and in the case of the
Barley, •
the fore-topmast. No more batrukhs were seen that night.
In the dawn, the Witch of Standing performed great magic on the quarterdeck of the
Oat
. For hours she murmured phrases and built up the volumes of a great spell. At length, she sank exhausted to the deck and had to be helped below. Her spell had an immediate effect, however. The erratic wisps of wind that had come up in the night swelled into a steady breeze from the north.
The winter wind was back! A cheer went up through the fleet, and the sails tightened and then billowed and the ships got underway once more and began to surge south and west.
After an hour, however, the winds began to die again. At the same time the counter current rose once more.
The witch was roused and returned to the deck where she built up another great spell involving the recitation of a thousand lines from the Birrak, plus declensions and a half dozen intractable volumates. This exhausted her strength, but it also produced a change.
The counter current was cut off, and the wind strengthened again. Once more the ships surged forward. The Isle of the Sorcerer receded behind them. Their spirits began to soar. Men broke out into verses of the "Kenor Song," and whole ships rang with the chorus.
Another hour, and a third, and now the ships had a white bow wave, and the mood of elation was confirmed. Captain Olinas was seen to give a little jump for joy when she came back on deck after some sleep.
And then with sickening suddenness, the wind died away and the counter current began again. In a matter of a few minutes, the ships had lost way. Then they began to be pulled back toward the dread Isle of the Sorcerer. An appalling sense of futility and doom settled over the fleet.
Once again the Witch of Standing began her great magic, but she was unable to complete the spell. Her concentration was broken each time by a malicious little voice that would speak inside her head, mocking her, laughing at her store of precious knowledge.
The fleet was hauled back, although the boats were soon over the side and pulling. The entire mass of water in which they floated was flowing north and east, taking them helplessly back toward the Isle of the Sorcerer.
Night fell when they were within sight of the isle once more.
They manned their positions and waited. The moon rose, clouds welled up from the southwest and slowly passed overhead, tinged with silvery light.
The midnight bell rang through the fleet and the watch changed. Still there was no attack.
In the hour before dawn, however, there was seen a vapor rising from the surface of the sea. A ghostly faint vapor, not like a proper fog or mist at all. It rose and moved over the ships. Some men complained at once of a strange feeling, a giddiness almost in their hearts.
The mist faded soon after.
The Witch of Standing attempted a divination spell and was foiled. Nothing she could do could shift the presence she felt in her thoughts.
It began on the
Potato
. Three soldiers on the forecastle began laughing uncontrollably. They tore off their garments, dropped their weapons, and threw themselves into the sea. They began to swim strongly toward the Isle of the Sorcerer.
It spread quickly. Wherever men had breathed deeply of the pernicious mist, the manic laughter began. All of the men thus affected removed their clothes and sought to hurl themselves into the sea. A few were intercepted in time and restrained, but they had to be taken below and chained up to keep them aboard, and the laughter turned to a manic howling that set everyone's teeth on edge.
In the meantime dozens of men were lost, swimming for the isle. The sun rose fully, and by the morning light they were visible for a long time before they were lost in the distance.
The Witch of Standing was rowed across to the
Barley
and closeted with Admiral Cranx once more. The nuisance posed by the sorcerer had now grown into a deadly peril.
The sorcerer had not interfered with shipping for many years and indeed had been quite quiescent for a long time. Nobody had visited his isle, of course; his reputation was not only grim but well established. As the years lengthened, however, shipping had grown more casual about approaching his isle, and since it was placed at a significant point of navigation, ships used it as a landfall on the long haul from Cape Hazard to the Straits of Kassim.
Now, all of a sudden, the sorcerer had reached out to snare their fleet. The witch feared that the sorcerer, an ancient, independent figure, had thrown in his lot with the great enemy in Padmasa. Whatever the case, it was plain that his powers were beyond those of a Witch of Standing. Without the aid of a Great Witch like Lessis, they could not break free. Lessis, alas, was far ahead of them aboard the frigate
Lyre
, speeding for the coast of Bogon.
Cranx met with his senior officers and released a statement to the fleet that reflected his own bafflement. They would stand fast and mount an intensive watch during the night to defend against the depredations of the flying brutes. He made no mention of the mist that drove men mad.
In the forward hold aboard the
Barley
, the dragonboys of the 109th Marneri were gathered around a butt of shafts from which they fashioned fresh arrows. They feathered and fitted steel points. These were then honed on the stone wheel awhile to make them razor sharp.
"It seems like we're done for," said Swane with a vast shrug. "This here sorcerer has got us on a tether, and we can't cut the rope. Our witch just doesn't have enough power."
"And he'll send that mist out and drag us all into shore," said Jak.
"What the hell does he want with us?" said Endi.
"Slaves, of course."
"I guess you'll probably find out soon enough," said Manuel. "We all will."
"No, we won't," said Relkin.
"Listen to that Quoshite. Always the optimist."
"The dragons won't go. They're immune to magic like that. Remember in Dzu, Swane? In the Pit when we faced the Mesomaster. The dragons took no notice of his spells."
"Right, so the dragons will have to sail the ships back home to get more men and dragonboys. We'll all be on that island slaving for the sorcerer."
But Relkin was gripped by a sudden thought.
'The dragons!" he exclaimed.
Endi saw it, too. "Of course. The dragons can do it," he shouted.
They took the idea to Dragon Leader Wiliger in his cabin. He heard them out, then snorted disdainfully.
"It seems fanciful. Would we not be asking too much of the noble lizards? Can they remember so much?"
"They can remember as well as a man."
"And we will be with them."
"What if you are incapacitated? The sorcerer will not react passively to your plan. What will happen if the wyverns have to do this on their own?"
Three dragonboys glared back at Wiliger.
"They will complete the mission," said Relkin solemnly. Wiliger remained unconvinced.
"But how will they reach the land? You know perfectly well that they cannot be allowed to swim to the strand."
"Sir, we believe that in this instance they could be allowed to do so. We also believe that the rule may be in error, sir."
Wiliger looked up sharply. "And what does that mean?"
Relkin compressed his lips. Any words here were dangerous.
"Well?"
"Nothing, sir, but that we know the dragons, sir. They can do it, and nobody else can. We have to get free of the sorcerer, and the only ones who aren't affected by his wicked spells are the dragons. Magic doesn't affect them much at all."
Wiliger nodded thoughtfully.
"Well, I will take this idea to Commander Voolward and see what he thinks. You are dismissed."
Ten minutes later Wiliger took a written version of the plan to Commander Voolward's office.
Voolward read it and then sat back in his chair with a thoughtful look on his face.
"The dragons, eh?" He pursed his lips. "But they can't be allowed to swim in. Have to go in on boats. Can we do that?"
"I don't know, sir. We will have to ask the captain."
Voolward was a generous sort. He had been unhappy with Wiliger at the beginning of the voyage. Perhaps he had been too hard on him. Now he did his best to befriend the dragon leader.
"Dragon Leader, this is your idea, I leave it to you. Go to the captain and then take it to the admiral, see what he has to say. I will give you a scroll explaining my position, which is one of cautious agreement with your plan."
When approached, Captain Olinas calculated briefly, then conferred with Ship's Master Jiano. Shortly she gave her judgment.
"It appears that we can ferry a dragon in the largest ship's boat, the pinnacle. We have twelve such boats in the fleet."
Wiliger applied to see Admiral Cranx. He did not show Cranx the scroll from Voolward. Instead he told Cranx that Voolward was afraid of using the dragons this way and had discouraged him. Wiliger told the admiral that he had risked a reprimand because he felt that this was the best option they had.
Cranx plucked at this straw.
"Dragons are impervious to magic, they tell me."
"So I have heard, sir."
Cranx wished that he had either General Steenhur or General Baxander to pass this burdensome decision onto. If he was wrong and they lost dragons, they might compromise the entire mission. On the other hand, if they stayed here the damned sorcerer would find a way to abduct them all and they would end their lives as slaves in his dark mines.
Cranx ordered the selection of twelve dragons at once. Wiliger scented a great chance for glory and volunteered the services of the 109th Marneri.
"Well, Dragon Leader," said Cranx after a moment's consideration, "since you dreamed up this mad scheme, I think it only fair to allow you to carry it out."
The ten members of the 109th were augmented by a pair of volunteers, old Shomble from the Kadein 92nd and Der Stanker from the Marneri 66th, who, though young, was already famous for his sword-fighting skill. Indeed, there were those who said he was the match of the famous Broketail himself.
As soon as darkness had grown thick enough to cloak their activities, and before the moon's rise, twelve large cutters were set down on the calm sea and rowed to the side of the
Barley
.