The Dragonstone (41 page)

Can this be the ferret Dara Arin is looking for?

He gazed out the porthole. Black night slid by.

Not likely, for Ferai is a thief, and what would a Dylvana want with a thief? Still, there is a slim chance.

Lord Revor sighed and looked at the list again.

In any event, it is long past sundown and entirely too late. She is dead by now. Still, if I hadn’t been so pressed…

Lord Revor slipped the papers back into his saddlebags and slid them beneath the bed. Then he blew out the lanthorn.

He sat on the edge of the bunk in the dark for a while, then finally he lay back down.

Sleep was a long time coming.

J
ust ere dawn, riding an all but spent horse with an exhausted remount trailing after, the kingsman galloped into the streets of Pendwyr. Past the Blue Moon he hammered, where in a suite of rooms a group of Jutlanders waited impatiently for the mutilators and slayers to return. The rider did not know that men in black and gold and orange lay in ambush within. Nor did he know of the kingsguards who even now were patrolling the docks and searching for more pirates, brethren of those who had evidently slain a group of honest Jutlanders and had stolen a ship—the sloop
Brise,
according to the harbormaster—for who else would have done such a dastardly deed as to slaughter these innocent visitors and just leave their corpses lying about for the wharf rats to gnaw upon. The critical thing the rider knew was that he bore a message from High King Bleys to be delivered into the hands of the lord steward at the caer. He had traveled some twelve hundred miles in twenty-six days, a remarkable journey all told, though he would have arrived sooner had he not lost one of his remounts, and had he not been delayed by illness. Nevertheless, he at last had come to Pendwyr, and now the caer was in sight.

Finally he reached the span across to the castle spire, where he was challenged by bridge warders. Quickly they passed him through.

Lord Otkins, first understeward, was roused from his bed. He was out of sorts, having had but little sleep this nighttide—pirates had escaped, men had been slain, some had been sorely wounded; thieves and cutpurses had fled in the dusk; even the debtors and drunkards were gone. Many escapees were yet at large, though some had been
recaptured and others lay dead. And when his man had awakened him, Lord Otkins thought he brought news of the miscreants. But no, instead it was a missive, one from Bleys himself.

Lord Otkins took the folded vellum and broke the seal and read the message within:

A second sigil from the High King’s ring was impressed in red sealing wax below Bleys’ signature.

Huah. Well and good. I will keep an eye out for this Dylvana. What is it, I wonder, she wants? And what’s all this about ferrets? Bloody odd, that.

Mumbling to himself, Lord Otkins lay back in his bed and pulled the covers up to his chin. He would issue orders later in the day to watch for this Elf. But right now there were more important things to worry about: Blood and guts, man, there had been a prison break!

I
think they’ll fare along the coast when they discover we are gone,” said Egil, eyeing the set of the
Brise
’s sails by the light of the stars above.

“Which way: east or west?” asked Delon.

“East, I think,” replied Egil. “That was the direction we sailed to reach Pendwyr, and I think they will assume we will continue that way, fleeing before them.”

“Perhaps they’ll believe we’ve doubled back to elude them, and head west instead,” said Aiko, now adeck with all the others, all, that is, but Alos, who lay unconscious below.

At the tiller, Arin said, “Speculating on which direction the Jutlanders might take is not as vital as deciding which way
we
should sail. And until we can choose a destination, let us continue south into the open sea.”

“What lies directly south?” asked Egil. “Islands? A port? What?”

“Hm. Sabra, I think,” said Delon. “All the way across the Avagon—two thousand miles or so. Why do you ask?”

“The Jutes might think we sail for a major city, and if Sabra is one, I think we ought to veer east of due south, or west.” Egil turned to Arin. “Regardless, love, your plan is sound. Sail into the open ocean where they are less likely to search. And even if they do search, from what Delon says, the Avagon is a wide, wide sea.”

“But wait a moment,” said Ferret, biting into a ration of waybread as she sat cross-legged on the cabin housing. “Why
don’t
we simply head for a rich city? There’s hundreds to choose from, and the likelihood of anyone finding us is slim at best. Besides, what better thing is there to do?”

“Better thing?” asked Arin, glancing at the sky, as if choosing a star to guide upon. “Mayhap nought. Yet it is not a so-called better thing we search for, but something needful instead.” Arin turned to the girl. “Ferai, we are on a mission, and have yet one other some
one
or some
thing
to find ere we can seek out the green stone—wherever
it
may be.”

Ferret looked up from her waybread. “A mission? Now wait a moment…although you got me out of a tight spot back there, I’m not at all certain that I want to go on some mission. Of course, I might be persuaded if…—Just where
is
this one other someone or something? And what’s this about a green stone?” She turned her gaze toward Arin, Ferai’s features studiously ingenuous, and she casually asked, “Is it a treasure?”

Arin smiled. “As to the location of what we next seek, I don’t know. Just as I do not know where the green stone lies.”

“But you have a treasure map, eh?”

“We have a rede.”

“Rede?”

“Aye. A riddle.”

“You mean you travel over the world following a riddle, searching for somethings and someones and a green stone?”

“Exactly so.”

Ferret fell into thought, then said, “This riddle—it’s solved, right?”

Arin shrugged. “We have only guesses as to its meanings, but whether they are right or wrong, we know not.”

Ferret threw up her hands and demanded, “Then how do you expect to find this someone or something?”

Delon reached across and patted Ferret on the knee. “I was hoping that you could tell us where next to go, luv.”

Ferret’s eyes flew wide. “Me? Why, I don’t even know why you, um, helped me in the first place”—she stroked her throat with the fingers of one hand—“though I am quite pleased that you did. What do you mean that I am to tell you where next to go?”

“Yes, Delon,” said Egil, “just what
do
you mean? I, too, would like to know.”

“Well,” said Delon, looking at Arin, “correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems to me that each new step of your quest—of
our
quest—depends, or at least
has
depended, upon the last step taken.” Delon held up a hand to stop the burgeoning questions. “Hear me out:

“Several steps led you to Black Mountain, Dara, where you found Aiko, a cat who fell from grace. And she in turn was the one who suggested that dark water might be the name of a place, and that led you to Mørkfjord, where you found two one-eyes: Egil and Alos. It was Egil then who told you that the only mad monarch he knew of was the queen of Jute, and that led you to me, a rutting peacock. In my turn, in Pendwyr I suggested that the High King’s cage might be the jail, and when we were inside I called out ‘ferret,’ and that led us to her.” Delon now turned to Ferret. “And so, luv, if the chain holds true, you will help us solve the next step and tell us where we can find the maze.”

“Maze?” asked Ferret.

Egil cleared his throat. “That I am the one-eye in dark water, I have no doubt. Yet is it not possible that all the others were chosen simply because they seemed to fit the words of the rede? For instance, there was a true peacock in the queen’s gardens, though we, er, though Aiko chose you instead, even though at the time I thought it was the preening bird we were after. Could it be that no matter where we go we will find someone or something to fit what we seek?”

Aiko shook her head and growled, “I
am
the cat who fell from grace, and we have seen no other. You question my choice of rutting peacocks, yet you, Egil, are but one of four one-eyes. Even so, you claim to be certain that you are the one-eye of the rede.”

“By Hèl, I
am
the one-eye,” declared Egil. “It’s the rest of you that I—”

“There can be no other ferret,” protested Delon, stabbing a finger toward Ferai. “And what else could I be but the—”

“Silence!” snapped Arin, slapping a hand to the bench. In surprise, all eyes turned to the Dylvana. Now that she had their attention, she said, “It will do no good for us to
squabble among ourselves. Mayhap Egil is right: mayhap no matter where I go, where
we
go, we will find that which we search for, whether or no it is the true thing we seek.

“Yet there is truth in that which Delon has said: each new step depends on the one just taken. And in this instance, it was the finding of the ferret in the High King’s cage that should lead us to the cursed keeper of faith in the maze.”

All eyes turned to Ferai. She threw up her hands in frustration and exclaimed, “I don’t even know what the Hèl all of you are talking about!”

Even as they looked at her, there came a howl from below decks.

Alos was awake.

*   *   *

“Damned press-gang, that’s what you all are!” shouted the oldster as he lurched back and forth across the deck, shaking an accusing finger in each of their faces, including Ferret’s, even though Alos paused in puzzlement for a moment as he looked at her, wondering who she was, but deciding she was guilty in any event.

“But Alos,” protested Delon, “they would have killed you.”

Alos swung about, lurching sideways a bit as he tried to focus upon the bard. “Well maybe I’d rather be dead!” he bellowed, his white eye glaring. “You never stopped to think of that, did you? Oh, no, it’s not what he might want, is it now? Instead you just grabbed him and threw him aboard the ship, regardless.” He lurched forward and leaned a hand on the cabin bulkhead, breathing ale-laden fumes into Delon’s face. “Uh, jst, jst, just who is it that was going to kill who, eh? Who is it y’r goin’ t’ kill? Who are we after?”

Before Delon could answer, the old man’s watery blue eye rolled up and he collapsed forward into Delon’s arms.

“Still drunk,” muttered Delon. He hoisted Alos across a shoulder and headed below deck.

“Watch out for your boots,” said Egil.

Ferret had observed Alos’s tirade with a detached air of amusement. But when Delon came back adeck after safely
ensconcing the oldster in a bunk below, she turned to Arin. “Tell me, now, what’s all this about a mission, a rede, someone or something you need to find, and a green stone?”

Arin gave the tiller over to Egil. “It’s a long tale, Ferai, yet let me begin….”

*   *   *

The east held the glimmerings of a false dawn when Arin finished her tale, though a waning quarter moon rode high in the sky and stars yet glittered above. Alos was still asleep below, as were now Delon and Aiko. Egil yet manned the helm, and the sloop continued southward into the open Avagon Sea, the ship now some twenty or so nautical leagues south of Pendwyr, some seventy miles all told.

Ferret took a deep breath. “A cat, a one-eye, a rutting peacock, a ferret: all these you have found. And now you need to locate a cursed keeper of faith in a maze?”

Arin nodded.

Ferret tilted her head sideways, peering through the starlight. “And you expect me to know of him?”

Arin shrugged. “I can only hope, Ferai.”

“This Dragonstone—pale green and translucent and the size of a melon: very fine jade, I would say, judging from your description. It must be worth a fortune, even if broken up…though as a whole piece, it would be priceless.” She looked at Arin. “The Mages—they would pay handsomely to get it back, eh?”

Arin shook her head. “Ferai, we are not in it for reward, but to keep its terrible doom from falling.”

Ferret held out a calming hand. “Oh, yes. That, too. But should someone with a fortune decide to share it with the finder of the green stone, who could refuse?”

Arin looked at Egil, an unvoiced question in her eyes, but he merely smiled and shrugged.

Ferret yawned and stretched. “Ah, me, but I am weary. I’ve had little sleep in the last few days, as you can understand. Is there a bunk for me below?”

Egil nodded. “The
Brise
sleeps four. We take turns: some rest while others crew the ship. You rest. We’ll awaken you when it’s your duty.”

“But I don’t know how to sail,” said Ferai.

“Fear not. You’ll learn, just as did Arin and Aiko and Delon—trained sailors all, now.”

“Well, I can’t say that sailing the
Breeze
is my heart’s desire, but if I must…”

“What did you call her?”

“Who?”

“The ship.”

“Oh, that. I called her the
Breeze:
that’s what
Brise
means—it’s a Gothonian word.”

“Ah,” said Egil. “We didn’t know.”

Ferret frowned. “The ship
is
Dara Arin’s, isn’t it?”

Egil laughed. “Aye, that she is. And a good one, too. Good enough to take us around the world.”

“Hmm,” grunted Ferret. “I hope we don’t have to go that far to get this green stone we’re after.”

“Then thou wilt go with us?” asked Arin.

Ferret nodded. “For such an object? One that Dragons fear…or worship? Indeed, I will go with you. Recall, the rede says that you will fail without me. Besides, I owe you that much for…um”—she jerked a thumb in the direction of Pendwyr—“back there.”