Shadow of a Dark Queen (31 page)

Sho Pi said, “The man called Eagle is that. He is one I'd not wish to face.”

“You?” said Erik. “You've taken swords out of armed men's hands. I would have thought you were afraid of no one.”

“I have taken the sword from an armed man's hands, Erik. But I never claimed I was fearless when I did so.” His expression became reflective. “There is something very dangerous in the man called Calis.”

“He's stronger than he looks,” said Jerome with a frank look of embarrassment. “Early on, in the training, before he left everything to Bobby de Loungville, that's when I thought to bully him and he knocked me down so hard I thought he'd broken my skull.”

“Too thick, man, much too thick,” said Jadow, and the others laughed.

“No, I mean it. I pride myself on taking a blow with the best, but I've never felt anything like it, and I was certainly surprised.” He looked at Sho Pi. “As surprised as I was when you twisted my thumb that time. Same thing. I moved, and suddenly I was on my back and my head was ringing like a temple gong.”

Jadow said, “He never saw the blow, man. And neither did I, truth to tell. Calis is fast.”

“He's not human,” said another, and there was general agreement.

A warning creak on the companionway stairs had the men scrambling for their bunks before Corporal Foster was through the hatch. As he touched boot to deck, he shouted, “Lights out, ladies! Say good night to your sweethearts, and get your rest. You've a full day tomorrow.”

Before Erik could get completely under the woolen blanket, the lantern was doused, and the hold
plunged into gloom. He lay back and thought what it must have been like to live in that camp for a year, to see men you didn't know come in and see them die. Suddenly something Sho Pi had started to say registered.

Erik whispered. “Sho Pi?”

“What?”

“What were you about to say, about something explaining why Foster and de Loungville were doing something or whatever, when you asked about de Loungville's rank?”

“I was going to say that having so many men fail, even after the testing before and during their trials, even after having the woman read minds, explains why they are so worried about the six of us.”

“What do you mean?”

“More than half the men saved from the gallows died before we got to the camp. By rights, three or four of us—you, me, Roo, Billy, Biggo, and Luis—we shouldn't be on this ship. We should be dead. De Loungville's taking a chance. Even after all of this, we still might fail.”

Erik said, “Oh, I see.”

He lay back, and sleep was a long time coming as he thought,
Fail at what?

E
rik yawned
.

While things were never dull on
Trenchard's Revenge,
there were moments of boredom, and this was one. He had finished his exercises with the other men, who formed what he now understood was Robert de Loungville's hand-picked band of “desperate men.” Evening chow was over, and he felt like some fresh air. While the others were lounging in their bunks belowdecks, Erik waited by the fore rail, overlooking the bow-sprit, listening to the sounds of the sea as the ship sped through the night.

The deck officer called out the hour's orders, and the lookout above answered that all was clear. Erik smiled at that. How the man knew all was clear was beyond him, unless he had some magic device allowing his mortal eyes to pierce the darkness. What he meant, thought Erik, was he couldn't see anything.

Yet that wasn't entirely true. There was a sea of stars above, with the little moon just rising in the east, and the middle and large moons not due to rise until just before morning. The familiar pattern of the stars above gave silver highlights to the water below.
A half mile to starboard, the
Freeport Ranger
was holding a parallel course, her presence marked by lights upon her bow, stern, and masthead. Any other ship in the night should be running under lights as well, so if they were near, they'd stand out like a beacon.

“Fascinating, isn't it?”

Erik turned, startled that he hadn't heard anyone approach. Calis stood a few feet away, gazing at the sky. “I've been on ships any number of times, and when the moons are down and the stars are like this, it still makes me pause to watch and wonder.”

Erik didn't know what to say. This man had spoken to them so rarely, most of the men below were in awe of him. And de Loungville seemed to take great pains to keep them in awe of him. Jadow and Jerome's narrative about him helped further that cause.

Erik said, “Ah, I was just—”

“Stay,” said Calis, coming to the rail next to Erik. “Bobby and Charlie are playing cards, and I thought I'd get some air. I see I'm not the only one feeling the need.”

Erik shrugged. “It gets close down below sometimes.”

“And sometimes a man likes to be alone with his own thoughts, isn't that true, Erik?”

“Sometimes,” said Erik. Not knowing why, he said, “But I don't dwell much on things. It's not my way. Roo, now, he worries enough for a whole family, but . . .”

“But what?”

“Maybe it was my mother,” said Erik, suddenly missing her. “She was always worried about this or
that, and, well, I never really had much on my mind most of the time.”

“No ambitions?”

“Just to earn a forge of my own someday.”

Calis nodded, the gesture half seen in the dim light of a nearby lantern. “A respectable goal.”

“What of you?” Erik was suddenly embarrassed at his own presumption, but Calis smiled.

“My goals?” He turned and leaned upon the rail, both elbows resting on it as he gazed into the darkness. “It would be hard to explain.”

Erik said, “I wasn't trying to pry . . . sir.”

Calis ‘said, “Start calling me Captain, Erik. Bobby's our sergeant and Charlie's the corporal, and you're part of the Crimson Eagles, the most feared mercenary band in our homeland.”

“Sir?” said Erik. “I don't understand.”

Calis said, “You will, soon enough.” Looking at the horizon, he said, “We'll be there shortly.”

“Where, sir . . . Captain?”

“Sorcerer's Isle. I need to speak to an old friend.” Erik stood silently, uncertain what to do or say next, until Calis relieved him of that burden. “Why don't you go below and join your companions,” he suggested.

“Yes, Captain,” said Erik and started to move, but stopped. “Ah, Captain, should I salute you or something?”

With a strange smile, what Owen Greylock called ironic, Erik thought, Calis said, “We're mercenaries, not the bloody army, Erik.”

Erik nodded and turned away. Shortly he was back in his bunk. While Jadow regaled the others with tales of women he had known and battles he had
single-handedly won, Erik lay half listening, half wondering just what Calis had meant.

“Captain!”

Erik paused as he secured a line. The sound of the lookout's voice had carried a troubling note with it.

“What do you see?” came the Captain's reply.

“Something dead ahead, sir. Lights or lightning. I don't rightly know.”

Erik quickly made the line fast and turned to look ahead. It was near dusk, but the sun off the port bow made it hard to see anything. He squinted against the sunset glare, then saw it: a faint flash of silver.

Roo came to stand next to his friend. “What is it?”

“Lightning, I think,” said Erik.

“Great. A storm at sea,” said Roo. It had been pleasant sailing for almost a month as they had fought a tacking course out of Krondor toward their destination. One of the sailors had said that had they been heading the other way, they could have made the trip in one third the time.

“You boys got nothing to do?” came a familiar voice from behind them, and Erik and Roo were back up the rigging before Corporal Foster could inform Mr. Collins that they needed to be assigned more work.

Reaching the top yard on the mainmast, they began securing lines that really didn't need securing. They wanted a look at the coming storm.

As the sun lowered beyond the horizon, there were no clouds ahead, but they could clearly see arcs of incredible brightness. “What is that?” asked Roo.

“Nothing good,” said Erik, and he started making his way back down toward the deck.

“Where are you going?”

“To report to Mr. Collins I've secured the lines and to get orders. No sense staring at whatever's ahead, Roo. We'll get there soon enough.”

Roo hung back, watching as the bright arcs reappeared against the darkening sky, silver bolts that arched into the heavens. He imagined they carried thunderous booms or sizzling discharges, but from this distance they were silent. He felt chilled, yet the evening air was warm. He glanced down and saw that half the crew was straining to see what was ahead.

He lingered a moment, then headed down after his friend.

Throughout the night they drew closer to Sorcerer's Isle. Near dawn the first of the cracking sounds that accompanied the energy displays could be heard. By the time the day watch was to be roused, no man on the ship was asleep.

Word of their destination had circulated through the crew, though Erik had told no one what Calis had told him. Sorcerer's Isle, home to the legendary Black Sorcerer. Some called him Macros, while others said his name was a Tsurani one, and still others said he was the King of Dark Magic. No one knew the truth, Erik decided, but everyone who spoke knew of someone who knew someone who had talked to another who had barely survived a visit to the island.

Terrible stories of mayhem and horrors so vile that death was the least of them were passed around between sundown and dawn, so by the time Erik and his companions came up on deck, the mood of the ship was fearful.

Erik almost exclaimed at the sight that greeted him. An island lay off the starboard bow, large enough that it would take hours to sail around, and dominated by a high wall of cliffs. Atop the highest point of that cliff face, a black castle—a malignant-looking thing of four towers and stone walls—rose high against the sky. It sat atop a massive stone chimney, an upthrust finger of land, separated from the rest of the island by tidal action, which had cut a cleft as impassable as any moat. A drawbridge could be lowered to cross the cleft, but it was presently raised.

The castle was the source of the terrible arcs of energy, silver flashes that rose high into the sky, vanishing in the clouds, accompanied by a sizzling whine that hurt the ears.

Blue lights shone from a high tower window overlooking the ocean, and Erik thought he detected movement upon the walls. “Von Darkmoor!” Robert de Loungville's voice brought the young smith out of his revery.

“Sergeant?” said Erik.

“You, Biggo, Jadow, and Jerome will come with Calis and me. Get the longboat over the side.”

Erik and the others named, aided by four experienced sailors, got the longboat off the davits and over the side in quick order. Calis came up on deck and without a word to anyone scampered down the ladder to the boat. De Loungville and two sailors came next, then Erik led the designated prisoners.

As Erik reached the rail, he was handed a sword and scabbard and a shield by Corporal Foster. He slung the baldric over his shoulder, secured the shield to his back, and went down the ladder. This was the first time he had been handed a weapon
when it wasn't a training exercise, and it made him nervous.

The boat pushed away from the ship and headed toward a small beach that swept away from the rocky pinnacle upon which the castle rested. The sailors were experienced, and Erik and Biggo were strong, so the boat made quick time getting in to shore.

When they landed, Calis said, “Keep alert. You never know what to expect here.”

Robert de Loungville nodded, a wry smile on his face. “That's the gods' awful truth.”

Suddenly a figure reared up out of the bushes near the top of an overlooking ridge, beside a small path that led up from the beach. The creature was easily ten or eleven feet tall, clothed in black and waving long arms within huge sleeves. A spectral voice issued from within a giant cowl, hiding the creature's face. “Despair! All who trespass upon the Black One's island are
doomed!
Flee now, or be destroyed in agony!”

Erik felt the hairs rise on his neck and arms. Biggo made a sign warding off evil, while Jadow and Jerome both drew their swords and crouched low.

Calis stood motionless, while Robert de Loungville pointed a thumb at the creature with a backwards wave of his hand. “I think he means it,” he said with a grin.

Facing the advancing creature, de Loungville said, “Why don't you come on down here, me darling, and I'll give you a big wet kiss.”

Erik's eyebrows shot up, and Calis smiled at his friend. The creature tilted, as if the brashness of de Loungville's words caused it to lose its balance; then Erik was astonished to see it collapse.

He saw long wooden sticks fall within the hooded robe, and a small man emerged from inside the folds of black cloth. He was a bandy-legged fellow, obviously an Isalani from his appearance, and he wore a tattered robe of orange cloth, slashed at the knees and sleeves. “Bobby?” he said. Then his face split in a grin and he let out a yelp of pure joy. “Calis!” He raced down to the sand and almost leaped into de Loungville's arms. Erik thought the two men daft as they slapped each other on the back.

Calis embraced the little man. “That's quite a show you have going there, Nakor.”

The little man's face split into a grin, and suddenly Erik realized that he was standing with his sword drawn, while his heart was still beating rapidly. He glanced around and saw the others were also holding their weapons ready.

The man called Nakor said, “Had some trouble with some Quegan pirates a few years back. That little blue light didn't scare them away, so I added those lightning bolts. Impressive, I think,” he added with a self-congratulatory note. “It starts whenever someone gets close enough to see the island on the horizon. But when you kept sailing toward us, I thought I had better come down here and scare you away.” He pointed to the fallen contraption of robe and sticks.