Authors: R.A. Salvatore
“Your friendship with these strange creatures you call Touel’alfar has ever been a curiosity to me,” Bruinhelde said to Andacanavar, and his command of the common Honce-the-Bear tongue surprised Pony. “What does this mean to you, my friend?”
“It means that this King Aydrian has stepped beyond the bounds,” the ranger grimly replied. He looked from Bruinhelde to Prince Midalis. “I am here as your ally. We came from Alpinador to support our friend. But know now that this has gone beyond that call.” The giant man turned back to Pony. “Your son has made of me a mortal enemy. Understand this.”
Despite her determination to see Aydrian taken down and Prince Midalis restored to his birthright, the words still stung Pony. For in looking at the determination and outrage simmering behind those bright blue eyes of the giant ranger, she could well envision the death of Aydrian.
But she could not refute Andacanavar’s words, for he was a ranger, elven-trained, a student of Dasslerond and her people. Would not her dear dead husband Elbryan similarly do battle on behalf of Andur’Blough Inninness, as fiercely as his father and Pony’s own father had defended Dundalis from the goblin hordes those decades before?
Pony offered a nod to Andacanavar, and felt his iron grip relax a bit.
With the arrival of the Alpinadorans, Prince Midalis called the group back to order, wanting to fill in the newest arrivals on all the details thus far. Pony excused herself, though, and allowed one of the prince’s guards to escort her to a small private room.
She knew that it was time for her to do a bit of scouting on her own.
P
ony went back through that same room, her spirit flying free of her body, a short while later. Only Bradwarden and Andacanavar seemed to sense her presence as she passed by them, crossing through the stone wall as if it were as insubstantial as smoke, and out into the open air.
A storm was brewing, with cold sleet lashing the tower walls and the ground, but it was of no concern to the spirit of Pony, any more than the minor inconvenience that it reduced the visibility to her spirit eyes.
Using Captain Al’u’met’s directions, the woman lined herself up on the docks of Vanguard, then rushed away over the open water, flying straight and flying fast across the miles. She moved up high as she flew to widen her perspective, and a short while later, she saw the dark island and tower of Pireth Dancard.
She moved in fast, flying low and circling the island, to see the fifteen warships of Earl DePaunch. Twelve were moored offshore, not far from the dock area. Two others, apparently under repair, were tied up to the docks and heavy with guide ropes and canvas. The last was nearly out of the water altogether, up on great skids to the side of the dock. She had been severely damaged, obviously, and a good deal of her decking was missing, along with one of her masts.
Pony went out to the dozen seaworthy vessels and flew onto one and then another, even searching belowdecks. As she had expected, they were nearly deserted, with all the crews ashore, buttoned up tight against the continuing wintry weather.
Pony went ashore as well, sweeping through the town, then the fortified keep itself. No small force had come to Dancard, she realized, and once more she was reminded of the daunting task that lay before her and Prince Midalis. If the prince took his entire fleet and entire army south to Dancard, he would find himself in a brutal battle indeed—and this was a tiny fraction, no doubt, of the forces Aydrian had mustered. Yet even this small force might hold Prince Midalis at bay.
Pony began to feel the weariness of the gemstone use profoundly then. She hadn’t used the stones much in the last years and had almost forgotten how taxing extended spirit-walking could be. She left Pireth Dancard in a rush, sweeping back to the north and her waiting body.
When she was back in her corporeal form, she wanted nothing more than to curl up and go to sleep. But she knew that her information should be passed along at once, and so she dragged herself out of her room and back to the conference room, where the others were still gathered, though now they were eating and drinking more than discussing any strategy.
All eyes turned upon the bedraggled woman when she entered.
“Are ye all right, girl?” Bradwarden asked.
Prince Midalis was the first to Pony’s side, sliding his arm under her shoulder to support her.
“She is weary from gemstone use,” Abbot Haney remarked.
“I am,” the woman agreed. “In the last hours, I have paid a visit to Pireth Dancard. It is as we feared, with fifteen great warships moored or in dock, and a host of Honce-the-Bear warriors manning the tower.”
Pony settled back on some cushions that Haney brought over.
“Young Aydrian moved quickly to seal off the gulf.” Captain Al’u’met remarked. “Dancard is the most obvious resupply stop for any ship attempting to cross, and certainly a necessary respite for any large flotilla.”
“He’s making sure that ye come by land, if ye come,” Bradwarden reasoned.
“Or he’s allowing himself a secure resupply to support his fleet if he chooses to strike straight across the gulf at Pireth Vanguard,” Prince Midalis added.
“A strong position, either way,” said Captain Al’u’met.
“Then one we must take back,” the prince replied.
“Dancard is a considerable fortress,” Pony warned. “To say nothing of battling a dozen or more of Honce-the-Bear’s finest warships.”
“The ships are moored?” Al’u’met asked.
“Tied down for the winter,” Pony replied. “And barely crewed.”
“Because they know we cannot attack until the turn of the season,” Midalis reasoned.
“Or maybe we can,” Al’u’met said, and he looked at Pony as he spoke.
The woman returned his smile, understanding full well what the captain was
considering, because in truth, she was already thinking the same thing.
“To sail a flotilla across the high seas in this season would be folly,” Prince Midalis argued against the obvious sentiment. “A rising storm would wipe out all that I have to offer—and to send any less would weaken greatly any hope that we have of defeating a fortified Pireth Dancard.”
“Even if you brought all of your forces,” Pony interjected, “you would find Pireth Dancard no easy target. The warriors who came in under Aydrian’s banner are well trained and battle-hardened, and have more than a few Allheart Knights among their ranks.”
“And likely some gemstone-wielding brothers,” Abbot Haney added.
“Then the choices would seem limited,” said the prince. “We could march to Palmaris, or dig in here and battle any seaborne forces that King Aydrian sends across the gulf in the spring, or summer if he chooses to wait that long.”
“Or we could go and steal the mobility from those forces he has placed in Pireth Dancard,” Pony explained. “And strengthen our fleet in the process.”
That had more than a few gazes turned the woman’s way.
“I will take a group of sailors to Pireth Dancard posthaste,” Captain Al’u’met picked up the reasoning. “With Jilseponie’s guidance, we might steal some of Aydrian’s warships, and perhaps scuttle those we cannot pilfer.”
“A winter storm …” Midalis began.
“Then we will watch for winter storms,” Al’u’met explained, and he looked back to Pony. “They come from the west and northwest, unerringly. If you can fly out to Dancard, then surely you can go out to the western edges of the gulf and beyond, and find us a stretch of fair weather.”
“As far as I must,” Pony agreed. She moved from her pillowed seat to kneel right before the seated Midalis. “This is our first chance,” she explained. “The deep of winter has their guard down. We can go in, strike fast and hard, and be away at once. Even if we can capture only a few of the ships, and scuttle a few others, the attack might well broaden our options when the season turns.”
“But how many can Al’u’met’s
Saudi Jacintha
carry?” Midalis argued. “It will take fifteen men, at the least, to put one of Honce-the-Bear’s great warships out onto the open seas. Even if we loaded
Saudi Jacintha
to sit to her rail in the water, Captain Al’u’met could not carry enough men to capture and sail more than three ships.”
“Then we need to send more ships,” Pony argued.
“Our fishing vessels could not possibly withstand the winter seas, even if no storm blew through,” said the prince.
“But our longboats could,” came a voice from across the room, the resonating baritone of Bruinhelde.
Pony, Midalis, and all the others turned to regard the giant Alpinadoran, all of them wearing expressions of complete surprise—all except for Andacanavar, that is, who sat next to his friend Bruinhelde, his great muscular arms crossed over his wolf-fur tunic.
“It seems a fine plan,” Bruinhelde went on. “We have agreed that we must strike King Aydrian at his weakest points. This is one.”
“Even if Jilseponie scouts all the way to the edges of the gulf, she will guarantee us only enough clear weather to get to Pireth Dancard, if that much,” Prince Midalis warned the man. “Through the week and more of the return trip, we will be vulnerable to gales.”
“The seas off Alpinador are always rough,” Andacanavar replied, “the waters always deathly cold. Yet my people have gone down to the sea in boats for as long as the tales reach back. Accept Bruinhelde’s offer as that of a friend, and let us strike a blow at King Aydrian.”
Prince Midalis looked all around at the others, and Pony understood that he was searching for some support, some counsel. When his gaze settled last upon her, the woman offered a smile and a determined nod.
Prince Midalis looked over at Bruinhelde. “Lay plans for our transport with Captain Al’u’met,” he bade the man. “I pray you fetch enough boats that we may strike hard at Pireth Dancard, perhaps to carry enough men to steal all of Aydrian’s ships anchored there.”
“Go out this very night,” the prince instructed his friend Liam. “Find our best and most fit sailors, particularly those who might have once served under the duke of the Mirianic and thus have experience in crewing the great warships.”
Liam O’Blythe seemed a bit hesitant about all of this. He glanced at Pony one last time, then finally gave a resigned nod.
With that settled, Prince Midalis turned to Abbot Haney. “We will need gemstone-wielding monks to accompany our run,” he explained.
“Our run?” the abbot echoed. “Surely you cannot go along, my Prince.”
Midalis’ responding expression showed his incredulity. “Do you believe that I would send anyone if I would not go myself?”
“You are the cornerstone of the resistance to King Aydrian,” Abbot Haney argued. “The only credibility that we have to any resistance at all, outside of the Abellican Church. To risk your life—”
“It is all a risk, good Abbot,” Pony interrupted, her words and firm expression cutting the argument short. She looked back at her friend Midalis, the man seeming so much a younger and more trim version of her late husband. “We will ride the bow of
Saudi Jacintha
together, you and I,” she said, her eyes glowing with intensity. “We will cripple and strand this force that has conquered Pireth Dancard, and we will let those warriors on the island know that it was Prince Midalis who came against them and soundly defeated them!”
The prince showed true gratitude in his determined nod of response.
The meeting broke up then, with all heading off to make their preparations. Pony spent a few moments whispering assurances to Prince Midalis, then caught up to Bradwarden and Andacanavar in the corridor outside.
“Words wonderfully placed, milady,” the ranger said, and he took up Pony’s hand and gave it a kiss. “As was your quick thinking in going right out to Pireth
Dancard, as you did. It is no puzzle to me that this young Aydrian is as strong as he is, though a bit misguided.”
“More than a bit,” Bradwarden put in.
“From Jilseponie’s womb, with Elbryan as sire … has there ever been one in all the world of better breeding?” Andacanavar went on.
“A trio of rangers, that family,” Bradwarden agreed, but his words brought a scowl to Pony’s face.
“Bah, but you are a ranger, woman, though ’twas never formally proclaimed,” Andacanavar said against her frown. “And Lady Dasslerond was all the more a fool to treat you otherwise, and to deny you the knowledge and love of your son.”
Pony accepted the compliment gracefully, placing her free hand over Andacanavar’s as he still held her other. “We will repair the errors of Dasslerond,” she assured the man.
“I know all that you have done already in your young life, good woman,” Andacanavar replied. “I’ve not a doubt.”
T
hey sailed and rowed out on the heels of the storm, for Pony had used the gemstones and scouted far to the west and found nothing but clear weather. Al’u’met’s
Saudi Jacintha
led the way, carrying many of the leaders, Pony, Bradwarden, and Midalis included. Behind came a line of Alpinadoran longboats, low in the water but with their high, decorated prows standing tall. Fifteen oars lined either side of each sleek vessel and a single mast was set in the center of each. They were not as swift as the
Saudi Jacintha
, except when the strong crews bent their backs over the oars. But they were seaworthy, incredibly so, and they bobbed along the constant wintry swells with ease.
On the second day out from Pireth Vanguard, Pony again fell into her soul stone and spirit-walked out to the west, roving far in search of brewing bad weather. Her report that no storms were in sight assured Al’u’met that they would make the fortress, at least, and begin their turn back to the north.
“We should make secondary plans,” Prince Midalis said to Pony later that same day,
Saudi Jacintha
’s sails full of wind, the sleek cutter speeding along. “If we arrive at the fortress and find that a storm will catch us before we can get back to Vanguard’s sheltered docks, then we’ll do better by taking the island and mooring there.”
“You’ll have a difficult fight on your hand,” Pony replied.
“Better that we lose men to battle than to a storm,” said Midalis. “If those who lose friends and family know that their loved ones died battling the scourge Aydrian, then they will hold more patience for the long war that we must endure.”