"I'm sure that men of your calibre will be able handle it." Brother Philip said before turning to the short, dark haired man at his side. "You think that the disturbances point to the source of our fugitives?"
"I wouldn't be surprised." Inquisitor Mandrias said. "Fitch's investigations suggested that it was towards Sarcre that Kelos was last seen heading."
The ship groaned as it leaned hard to starboard. As it cleared a jagged bluff the island came fully into view and Mandrias leaned into the side of the vessel as he strained forward with the telescope.
Even without the aid of the glass, Brother Philip could see a multitude of dark shapes swarming across the island and he thought he knew what they were. He had seen such creatures before, observed them tearing into a band of thieves at the Turnitia docks. It had been Brother Philip who had helped to secure one of those same creatures for the Faith's dungeons at Scholten.
"Chadassa?" he said.
"Yes," Inquistor Mandrias breathed. "A lot of them. But why on earth would they be going after Kelos and Dunsany?"
"It seems that they have made more enemies than just the Faith."
There was another explosion and the side of the volcano spat out a cascade of rocks.
Inquisitor Mandrias passed the telescope back to Brother Philip. "It looks like the Chadassa have them trapped. Should we call in the attack ships? We can pick off the creatures and then go after the fugitives. The
Llothriall
must be somewhere nearby. We could have this all wrapped up by evensong."
As Brother Philip considered his options there was the sound of claws on wood as something clambered up the side of the ship. Above him the rigging creaked and he saw a dark shape leap from one rope to the next. He turned as a shipmate screamed, his cry cut off by a wet gurgle as dark claws punched through his torso. The mariner's body fell as the creature behind him rose to its full height. An overpowering smell of rotting fish and sulphur washed across the ship as more Chadassa stepped onto deck, their clawed feet gouging rough channels into the wood.
Neither Brother Philip nor Inquisitor Mandrias had time to go for their swords before the creatures were upon them.
Chapter Eight
Emuel closed his eyes and opened his mouth. His lungs filled with air and then his throat contracted as he hit the note. He held the delicate pitch for almost a full minute, during which time the gem shuddered, threads of magical energy pouring from its many facets and through the channels of power woven through the
Llothriall
. At the height of the note Emuel took a short breath before segueing into the cascade of lyrical resonances that formed the first verse of the ancient elf song.
The ship shuddered in response, like a lover in the first throws of an orgasm or as one touched by the voice of the Lord of All, as Emuel had been when he first heard the call in a tiny chapel in the foothills of the Drakengrat mountains.
Even though the song he sung was that of an ancient heathen race, Emuel couldn't but help be moved by its ethereal beauty, and it was this that he offered up to his Lord; hoping that He too would see to the heart of the music and the sincerity of Emuel's soul.
Two decks above, Dunsany rejoiced in the feeling of the wheel in his hands. Too long a time had passed since he had been in control of a ship. You never forget your sea-legs, that's what he'd learned as an apprentice sailor and as the boat began to roll gently beneath him, he instinctively adjusted himself to its pitch.
Above him, the smugglers - Jacquinto and his comrades - moved through the rigging. They had taken to the ropes immediately, moving between the masts with the surety and grace of those well used to a life at sea. The sails billowed around them, the shimmering cloth moving with a supernatural silence as it caught and played the winds. As they left the shelter of the lagoon and entered the fierce seas, Dunsany worried that the smugglers would be hurled from their nests, but the
Llothriall
was calm and graceful, effortlessly cutting through the churning waves.
Silus paced the main deck, appalled at the apparent lack of concern from the rest of the crew in response to their hurried flight. He threw a worried look back at the island, urging the ship onwards, as, with a surreal calm, the
Llothriall
entered waters that hadn't seen a manned vessel for thousands of years.
Still, he constantly scanned the waves, wondering whether the Chadassa would burst from them at any moment and claim him for their own. And would he go willingly? Part of Silus thought he would, remembering how easily he had fallen under Belck's enchantment. Was this because Belck was correct and he truly was one of the Chadassa?
As they moved further away from the peninsula, Silus felt a sudden yearning for home. It was true that he had always dreamed of voyaging beyond the known seas, but now that they were actually cutting through the waves towards an alien horizon, he felt that perhaps the reason the human race had never ventured this far was because they weren't meant to.
However, it was too late for such doubts and, turning to look back, he saw that the island where the
Llothriall
had been sheltered was rapidly becoming a speck in the distance.
Nestled in a comfortable bunk on the deck below, Father Maylan had no such worries. He had finally freed himself from the shackles of the Faith and become, in effect, a heretic. This was a role that suited him just fine. He had grown tired of kowtowing to Katherine Makennon and her cronies, sick of playing the politics of the church and as a heretic he was in good company.
His uncle Stel had been branded an apostate when the Faith had first declared its interests on Sarcre and had been burnt for his sins in the town square. Even as the flames had consumed his flesh Uncle Stel had railed and sworn against the occupying church.
Maylan had been five and was a long way from receiving the mantle 'Father'. He stood with his family, who had been forced to watch the cleansing of the unbeliever in their midst. But even though Maylan was appalled at the spectacle of his uncle's fiery death, he was still inspired by the flames of Stel's passion as he preached one last sermon. Those words, bellowed over the crackle and hiss of human flesh cooking, had never left him and when Maylan became Head Diviner of the Many Paths twelve years later, it was his uncle's lessons that had driven him on. If the Faith ever discovered his heresy he would have been proud to burn for his beliefs. But they never did and when the Eminence of the Final Faith church on Sarcre died, Maylan put himself forward for the role, claiming miraculous visions.
At first the Final Faith were wary of his claims - the apostasy in his family had not been forgotten - but, like his uncle, Dunsany was a first class performer. He claimed to have been struck down by the Lord of All as he was fishing one day and made to see the error of his ways. A great light had shone down from Kerberos and Maylan had been shown that there were not many paths to the truth, but one and one alone. Now that he had been shown the straight and narrow road to God, he was inspired to preach the way to his fellow man.
As Maylan had revealed this to the board of Archimandrites at Scholten he had even begun to speak in tongues, just for good measure.
The robed hierarchy had clearly been impressed because, after intense training, Maylan was given the title 'Father' and put in charge of the Faith's one and only church on Sarcre. Conveniently for him they then left him to his own devices. The islanders had no interest in the ways of the Faith and Father Maylan never tried to preach the dictates of the Lord of All to them. Instead he continued to be the Head Diviner of the Many Paths while paying lip service to the rituals of the Final Faith.
This island-wide conspiracy had now been in place for many years but Father Maylan had begun to tire of the charade, and after the brutality displayed by the Faith in the last conflict between Vos and Pontaine, he no longer wanted to even play along with the pretence. So, when Dunsany had offered him the chance to become a full time heretic and discover the wider world, he had taken it without hesitation.
Without him, the islanders would be able to carry on as normal, having learnt to hide their day-to-day heresies with tact and skill. When the new Eminence was installed at Sarcre they would no doubt listen to his sermons and follow the rituals, but behind the doors of their own homes, their offerings would not be to the Lord of All. It was true that there were people that Father Maylan would miss, but he would never again have to wear the robes with the crossed circle and he would never again have to give benedictions that he didn't mean, and for that he was grateful.
As the
Llothriall
began to roll he was lulled into sleep and, as he dreamed, a gentle smile lightened his features.
It was magic that gave the glow to Kelos's face. Emuel was just finishing his song as he entered the gem room and as the last notes were sung, the light pouring from the stone increased until it was almost blinding.
"Thank you Emuel, that should keep us going for quite a while. You can rest now."
Squinting against the harsh glow of raw magic, Kelos manipulated the threads that diverted the worst of the winds away from the ship and stabilised the vessel.
He exulted in the powers that he was channelling, knowing that these were the least of the ship's abilities. The possibilities unlocked by Emuel's song were something that no mage of his ability would ever have dreamed they could control. After years of intense study Kelos had only just begun to understand the smallest part of Old Race magic. The mysteries of the elves and the dwarves had remained mainly in shadow, yet here he was, controlling what surely was one of the crowning achievements of the elven empire.
This was why he had entered into a life of esoteric study in the first place, not just so he could put wards on war ships and equip fisherman with cantrips to better their hauls. Magic was supposed to be wielded in the pursuit of the extraordinary and with the
Llothriall
they were opening up Twilight's ancient legacies.
Something of Emuel's song still resonated within the gem room and as Kelos listened to its echo he felt it reaching back, harmonising with the voice of a distant and fascinating past. The secrets of the millennia old forces now at his fingertips overwhelmed him for a moment - these songs that had never before been sung by a human, these magics woven from a tapestry so rich that not even the highest mage on Twilight had the barest inkling of its complete design - and his concentration was masked, for just a moment, by his awe at the power surrounding him.
The ship lurched suddenly to starboard and Kelos was shaken from his reverie to bring the magic back under control, righting the vessel.
Then he smiled to himself, shook his head and reached out to the threads.
It was just a small lurch but on the deck above Katya groaned as she staggered down the corridor. Their flight from the Chadassa had left her feeling nauseous and weak and the knowledge that they were pursued by enemies fanatical and demonic made the impending birth of their child seem all the more overwhelming. She mounted the steps to the main deck and, as she emerged into the sunlight, Silus held out a hand to steady her.
"Come on, the fresh air will make you feel better."
"What would make me feel better is not being on this bloody ship. You know, I never imagined that our child would be born at sea."
"If it's any consolation, Father Maylan has performed the duties of a midwife before and we have enough supplies to sustain us for quite a while. I'm sure that we'll find land soon."
"Really? And what if all of the rest of this world is just one great ocean? Had you ever considered that? What if the reason that there are no records of what the original elf ships found is because there was
nothing
to find?"
As Katya raised her voice there was laughter from above her and she looked up to see Ioannis enjoying their little dispute. The look that she shot him soon had him scrabbling back up the rigging and out of sight.
Looking back at Silus, Katya's anger softened as she saw the hurt in his eyes. After all, she considered, none of this was really his fault. They had been swept up in a maelstrom of events out of their control and Katya didn't think that any of them could have done anything differently.
"I'm sorry," she said.
There was a gentle kick then and she put a hand to her belly.
"Are you alright?" Silus said.
"Yes, I just think we may have woken someone up."
Silus put his hand over Katya's.
"Feels like our child is going to be a fighter."
"Then he or she will take after the father."
Katya smiled and the infant kicked again.
Chapter Nine
For five days they saw nothing but rough seas; the iron green waters rising and falling around them like a range of wild and constantly changing hills. Rain lashed the sails while lightning arced down to discharge itself into the water. Through all of this the
Llothriall
remained the one calm point, the deck remaining steady beneath their feet.
The ship sighed and sang as it made its way through the maelstrom. The magic that flowed through the
Llothriall
warmed it so that the temperature on board felt always like a balmy summer afternoon. On top of the subtle incense-like scent of the warm timbers was a stronger odour, like the musk of an ancient book or bales of perfumed cloth.
Kelos had told them that each strand of magic had its own particular smell and that sometimes they combined to produce heady, otherworldly scents. Ioannis was of the opinion that these otherworldly scents were more to do with the strange weed that Father Maylan was in the habit of smoking.
On the sixth day the sea calmed a little and Dunsany postulated that they had broken through the Storm Wall, the first vessel manned by humans ever to have done so.
That evening they celebrated and Ioannis introduced them all to a variety of sea shanties that Katya was grateful her child was not yet born to hear. The drinking would have continued well beyond the point where the majority of them were comfortably drunk, had not Dunsany pointed out that they probably didn't want to exhaust their supplies this early into the voyage.