Chapter 40
The waves on the beach curled in upon themselves, lapping at the moon-silvered sand. A dinghy rocked in the runners threatening to pull loose of its mooring and drift out to sea. The waves, the wind and the night covered Marley’s bark of laughter as he listened to Drogan’s recital of Mek pummeling the nilmorg.
The rest of their companions slept within a shallow cave farther up the beach and together, the two considered the road before them and behind.
“Our friends from Kyrmak should be here before Raisha meets her crest.”
“And... are they our friends?”
“There are still those that would fight against the corruption creeping out of West Sedd.”
Marley frowned. “You don’t have to convince me, my friend. I only ponder how well you know... these friends.”
Marley knew he pushed hard, but Drogan would stay behind, escorting Valashur to face the two kingdoms and the prince she stood up. And they would be in the middle of the Firasian Sea with a crew of men living on the edge of the law, with few options while they rode the water. Thysl already stated his fear of singing the wind again while the strange wild twisting of the Tavir flows responded to their weaves.
Drogan eyed Marley, silent as he studied his friend.
“Well, out with it,” the runesmith said, becoming impatient.
“Do we have another... better choices to get the lot of you across the Firasian quickly?”
Marley’s frustration splashed across the sand with the dregs from his cup of ale. “You know I don’t. I just wish you were going to be there, to have our backs.”
“Aye, but Valashur is too powerful and clever to take with us, silenced or not. She has to be considered above all a threat as a weaver working with the Cult of Sangryl’s Light and the Academy of Sedd.” He shrugged, looking Marley in the eyes. “But I don’t think any of us are ready to put her to the blade in cold blood.”
“She is a conundrum at that... I wonder how she stayed in the good graces of Norfall if he is purging all not purely human from the ranks.” Marley stirred the small fire, putting on a pot of water for kala.
“Perhaps there is none that knows of her... heritage. She is from the other side of the continent and looks completely human unless she allows her illusions to falter.”
“Well, whatever manner her guile takes, the sooner we are quit of her the better.”
“I will hand her off with all haste, but until I do, I need her to communicate with me. Could you create a runestone to silence just her ability to weave Tavir, but leave her able to talk?”
“Do you know her talent and how she accesses the Tavir?
Drogan chucked. “Through words… yes… terrible rhymes.
Marley’s brows scrunched together, but he nodded. “Then yes, I can make you a runestone before your friends arrive.”
“Good, soon as I am rid of the wench, I’ll cross on the barges between east and west Bondra and meet up with you as quickly as I can.”
The snap-crackle of the fire took over their conversation as the two friends turned their thoughts inward. It appeared to Marley that the fates smiled upon them one moment and turned the smile into a sneer the next.
Drogan looked up. He seemed preoccupied, but took a drink from his flagon, then offered it to Marley. “So, Jayf tells me you’re acquainted with a young clanswoman named Kestrel.”
Marley’s brows shot up, but he took the flask and answered the question without missing a beat. “Indeed, I am. A fine young lady, now on her way to the Al’far safe-haven of Legacy. How did you come to know the name?”
Marley crumbled a scoop of kala leaves into the hot pot of water. He listened with more than a little interest as his friend told him of the meeting with the old hag in the swamp.
And although the questions piled up behind his tongue, the distant look in Drogan’s eyes led him to ask, “What bothers you, Drogan?”
“Your protégé approaches,” he said with a shake of his head.
Marley stroked his beard, staring at his friend, his brow furrowed. “Is this some new ability or effect of an item?”
Drogan gazed toward the camp and after a moment said, “I... I'm sorry.” Once again, he shook his head. “It is the effect of an item, I would say, but not one that I carry. There is the whisper of enchantment around the boy and whatever it is... it calls to me.”
“What calls to you?” Chayse asked, the shine of sleep still in his eyes.
“There is an enchantment on something you carry,” Drogan said. “It is ... distracting.”
“A distraction? Calling to you? I’m not...,” Chayse stopped. A look of epiphany washed the sleep off his face. “I received a pair of blades, what seems like forever ago, but only happened nye on two moons past.” he said, glancing at Marley.
Realization drew the runesmith’s brows toward his hairline. He nodded, knowing Chayse’s instinct led him true.
“These blades were thought to be for me, but like an unwilling maid, they never allowed me to become... intimate. They served me with lovely wicked-keen edges, but gave not their enthusiasm to the work.”
Drogan poured the young man a cup of the steaming kala, his intrigue evidenced in his service. “And you believe these blades to be the whispers that I hear?” He handed the boy the cup.
“Indeed I do,” Chayse said with eagerness as he looked for a place to plunk down his backside. “For though I had hoped they would accept me, I knew from the get-go I was but their feet.”
Marley poured kala into his cup, sat back on the driftwood log and watched his two friends from beneath hooded eyes. For some reason, Chayse seemed to bait the bard, as he still had not revealed the blades.
The boy had matured over their journey together and Marley guessed he took his measure of the man the weapons picked. But before more could be said, a boat parted the mist out in the cove. Within moments, the anchor settled into the easy swells of the bay with a plop and a splash.
“We have company,” Marley finally said as a series of light flashes showed from the deck.
“So we do,” Drogan said. He pulled a glowing brand from the fire, sauntered down to the water’s edge, and waved the stick back and forth above his head. The brand flared, sending a shower of sparks down toward Drogan’s head. He deftly dodged the drifting ash and waited for answering flashes from out in the bay.
While Drogan signaled the smuggler’s ship, Chayse turned to Marley. “Mek is staying with Drogan.”
Marley glanced from Chayse to Drogan. He couldn’t help but speculate on what kind of alliance lay ahead for the two as he waited for the boy to continue.
Chayse shrugged. “After our last sea journey, he is not willing to try another just yet... I guess sailing as a half-giant might prove different from sailing as a squirrel.”
“It is a boon I am sure he shall appreciate. Will you not, Sir Thane?” Marley asked as Drogan returned to the fire.
He dropped the brand back into the flames, brushing his hands together, trying to remove a black stain of soot across his palm, to no avail. “What will I appreciate?”
Marley rose from where he sat, tossed the rest of his kala into the flames, and handed Drogan his cup. “Here, tuck this away in my pack, while I arouse the rest of our companions and take care of making that runestone. It looks like you and the boy have a few things to work out while I am gone.” He chuckled and tipped a double finger to his head as he turned toward the cave and his sleeping friends.
Drogan and Chayse watched Marley disappear up the beach before turning back to the fire. “Now, how have you earned my appreciation in Marley’s esteemed estimation?”
“Mek would like to accompany you at least for the time being,” Chayse said. He paused for a moment and then, as if coming to some decision, removed the belted scabbards with the blades he carried. “I believe these are yours.” He handed the belt, blades, and scabbards over to Drogan.
Drogan took the belt, hanging it over his shoulder for the moment with one scabbard at his back and one across his chest. His stomach clenched and he felt like thousands of tiny lightning bolts danced beneath his skin. Without thinking about what he was doing or why, he dug into his pack and found the pouch with the artifact from the ‘old mother’.
Deftly, he pulled the small bag out and placed it in the boy’s hand. Shaking his head he said, “And for some reason beyond my knowing, this belongs to you.”
He felt the crooning of the blades through the scabbards and leather. Looking down at his old belt and scabbard, and then back to Marley’s young ally, he sighed.
Drogan unbuckled the belt and scabbard, his fingers brushing along the hand-tooled leather. He remembered how long he waited for them to come from the master leathersmith in the Kitar Desert. And how much it cost him.
Although his weapons were nothing special, the blades did bear an ever-sharp and a never-rust runic enchantment by none other than Marley Stonebender. And the hilts, he chuckled to himself, thinking about the hilt wraps; well, they were new, just waiting to be impressed. But the song of the swords that hung from his shoulder hummed through his body, making his hands itch.
He handed his old belt, scabbard, and blades over to Chayse. Grinning at the look of surprise on Chayse’s face as the boy realized the workmanship of the blades and belt he received in return. The young man quickly slipped the scabbard belt about his waist, the small pouch still dangling from his fingers. He drew the swords. A look of pleasure lit his eyes as he took the measure of the balance and handling.
“Oh-ho-ho,” He stepped onto the beach, moving in a dance with unseen assailants. He put the swords through a series of maneuvers, the pouch still swinging from his index finger. “Come, Drogan Thane, let us see how your hands fit your new blades.”
Drogan strapped the belt on, but did not draw his weapons. “Our friends…” He nodded toward the troupe, making their way along the sandy path. “We will practice together another time, Chayse. For now, these birds must stay in their nests.”
Chayse nodded, sheathing his swords. He opened the small pouch, pulling out the ordinate gold key. The tarnish of age and enchantment thick upon it. “What does this go to?” He asked, holding the key out into the firelight.
“I believe the key’s purpose will present itself when it is time, but I fear I am not privy to its history. Perhaps Marley?” He hoped Chayse was not so naïve as to be flashing the artifact around people he did not know well enough to trust.
As they finished speaking, Marley and their friends gathered around the fire. The old runesmith clapped Chayse on the shoulder as the boy tucked the artifact back into the pouch.” I would suggest you secret that away before we board the boat, son.”
“Where are Valashur and Mek?” Drogan glanced around the faces gathered there.
“Mek stayed back at the cave with Valashur, where the weaver still sleeps beneath one of Marley’s runes,” Jayf grinned at Drogan. “It feels good to be on the giving end of a weave for once.”
Before Drogan could reply, Marley added, “And we must be off before the tide changes course.” He winked, handing a runestone to his friend. “This should take care of your problem with your lady friend. Just crush and sprinkle the dust on her while she still sleeps and speak the words ‘Falta Govori Errima’. It will only last for one moon cycle, so get her where she needs to be and out of your hands and get away from her before she once again can rub two words together and make a rhyme.”
The somber intent of the quest replaced the air of camaraderie as the crew bid fair journey to Drogan and moved toward the dinghy, rocking in the night waves.
Chayse turned back to Drogan. “Mek will stay in contact with me. His mind-speak seems stronger and of a broader range than that of the dragonkin, at least for me... even across water. I would that we meet again.”
“Have no fear. I will take care of him,” Drogan shrugged. “Or he will take care of me. But either way, we will be there for each other.”
Drogan followed his friends to the water’s edge and when all but Chayse boarded, the young al’far turned back to him with the pouch still in hand. “I don’t know where this will end or who will come out unscathed. Although I accept this gift, I would request you to take care of it as you travel with Mek so it won’t be lost in case things turn bad.”
Slightly thrown off by Chayse’s request, Drogan took the pouch and shoved it into his cloak pocket once more. He loosed the tie on the craft and with Chayse’s help; they shoved the now laden boat out. As he stepped back, he pondered how much he would learn of this young al’far as he traveled with Mek.
Chayse hopped aboard, barely rocking the boat and standing with one foot upon the back piece, he waved. “May the Fates smile with favor on all of our endeavors.”