The Gathering Storm - Elsewhere, Book 1
Chapter 17

Chelm had endured an uncomfortable three days on the trip to Lytos Meer. She was unaccustomed to horse riding and parts of her body she didn’t even know could hurt ached each morning when she awoke and only became worse as the day wore on. They arrived at the South Gate of the city on the evening of the third day and were waved through by the watchmen. Their horses’ hooves clattered on the stone streets once they ascended to the High City and Chelm gazed in awe at the massive stone buildings.

Eventually they reached Government House and dismounted in the yard at the back of the building, handing their reins to the grooms. As the horses were led away to be rubbed down Chelm stretched her aching muscles and tried to get used to the feeling of walking on solid ground again. With an increasing feeling of anxiety she followed Marc and his colleagues into the building through a small, nondescript door off the stable yard. They traipsed through seemingly endless corridors, round countless corners and up many flights of stairs, till they arrived at a dark wooden door identical to all the others they had passed but for a small brass plate screwed to it. The plate read ‘Minister Nedrin’ and for some unknown reason Chelm felt a sense of deep foreboding as she read it. Marc knocked on the door and awaited a response.

“Come,” called a voice from within. Marc turned to the others.

“Wait here,” he said, then he entered the room and closed the door behind him.

Nedrin sat behind a large desk which was covered in piles of paper. He looked up from the book he was writing in as Marc entered and laid down his quill, smiling.

“Ah, the intrepid adventurers are returned!” he declared, rising from his chair and walking round the desk to clap Marc on both arms then shake him warmly by the hand. “And did you have a productive trip?”

“Yes, Minister. More productive than we could have possibly imagined.”

“Excellent. Would you like some wine while you tell me about it?”

“Thank you. My full report will be on your desk by tomorrow night, but I wanted to fill you in on the most pressing details at once.”

“Naturally, my boy. The very soul of dedication, as always.”

Nedrin gestured for Marc to sit and handed him a glass of red wine, before returning to his own chair.

“From my family’s vineyard, you know,” he boasted, sipping from his own glass. “Excellent. Now, what is too important to leave till morning?”

“We discovered that a sizeable portion of the forest’s fighting force have journeyed north, sir. They appear to be heading into the mountains east of the Daraeyi Sea and also stopping on the eastern shore. We assume that the four who were discovered in the city were hiring boats to transport at least half of this army, but we have no idea, as yet, where to.”

“An army, eh? But definitely not heading for us, you say. I wonder where in the realm they could be going. And half in ships. How curious. Were there no clues as to the intended outcome of this plan?”

“No, Minister. However we did acquire an additional source of information on our way home, sir.”

“Really?” asked Nedrin, his interest piqued.

Marc set his glass on the desk and went to the door. Opening it, he beckoned for the others to come in. Chelm followed them into the dimly lit office and stood in front of the desk, shifting nervously form foot to foot. Nedrin peered curiously at the diminutive woman, taking in her bulbous nose, wrinkled face and the wisps of grey hair sticking out from the hat Eriika had lent her to disguise her race from those they passed in the streets. Then Aubren whipped the hat off and Nedrin gasped sharply as he saw her pointed ears and realised they had brought him a Pixie.

“You kidnapped one?” exclaimed Nedrin in a strangled tone. “This could be seen as an act of war, you know!”

“Calm yourself, sir. We didn’t kidnap her; she volunteered,” reassured Marc. “She’s had some sort of disagreement with the Elves and thought to get some revenge by selling secrets.”

“Selling, eh? At what price?”

“Passage to Lytos Bor and enough money to buy a house there and live out my last years in peace,” snapped Chelm, putting on an act of more self-assuredness than she actually felt. “I don’t have many left and I don’t care to spend them with people I don’t like.”

Aubren huffed cynically. “You want a hermit’s cave in a mountain then, since you don’t seem to like anyone. You haven’t stopped whining in three days!”

“You have a good deal too much to say for one so young,” scolded Chelm.

“Well you have a good deal too much to say for one so old and traitorous, but none of it, so far, useful,” retorted Aubren. He had found the three day ride back to the city difficult, keeping close quarters with a traitorous Pixie who moaned constantly and had yet to prove her worth as a source.

“I’m not about to tell you anything valuable before I have assurances from your King that I will be treated fairly!” declared Chelm.

Aubren smirked. “You’ll never see the King,” he said.

“Now, now,” chided Nedrin. “No need for any of that. Naturally it is I who will see the King and tell him of your... offer. He will have a document drawn up under his seal assuring you of your treatment and then we can sit down together and hear what you have to say. I’m very keen to hear about all your troubles and where your people are planning to go so far up north. But it is very late and you must be tired. Eriika will see to it that you have a room for the night and some food. What do Pixies eat, actually? I realise I have no idea. No matter, I’m sure we can replace some of whatever it is. Quite so. Eriika, the north wing for tonight, I think.”

Eriika motioned for Chelm to follow her from the room and led her through the maze of corridors again. Eventually they reached a hall where an older man sat behind a small desk, writing in a ledger. There were doors evenly spaced along the walls, each one numbered. Eriika spoke quietly with the man and was given a key. She led Chelm to the third door on the right and opened it, chucking her chin to indicate that Chelm should go in.

The room was sparsely furnished but clean. A small bed was made up with starched white sheets and there was a chest for Chelm’s belongings. A table and chair sat under the window, from which Chelm could just see the stone flagged yard several floors below, then out across the city rooftops.

“Some food will be brought soon, and your luggage will be delivered to you,” said Eriika from the door. Then she shut the door with a thud and locked it.

“Hey! I’m not supposed to be a prisoner!” yelled Chelm after her, banging her fists on the thick wood, but she could hear Eriika’s boots receding on the carpeted floor outside. She sat down on the bed, staring pensively at the plain white wall opposite and wondering what in all the realm she had done.

Back in Nedrin’s office, Rolf and Aubren had left for their homes. Nedrin had filled them in on the rescue of the four southerners and their escape on the Seabird and the Ennas-star. They had been shocked at the news, although privately Marc believed that Nedrin should have expected the pirates to try and put extra precautions in place, which he clearly had not. The Information Minister turned to Marc.

“I’ll have a desk clerk draw up a suitably impressive looking document. I don’t suppose there’s the slightest chance that creature has ever seen our Royal seal?”

“I wouldn’t have thought so, sir. She was on their council but most papers are sent under diplomatic seals, and previous ‘peace envoys’ would have carried those. The King’s personal seal is never used.”

“Excellent. I have a rather grand looking seal that incorporates the royal insignia in my desk, useful for mocking up documents that are never intended to hold up under intense scrutiny. That should fool the Pixie.”

“Fool her, sir? Do you not intend to honour your agreement then? I brought her here in good faith and she’s willing to tell us everything.”

“Good faith? Are you going soft in the head, Dernish? You brought me a source of information that will help me to unravel the mystery of why four southerners would be buying passage from my city, why a crew of Pirates would break them out of jail, why they would slaughter half the staff of the Excise house and sail away on the morning tide and why there is apparently an army camped on the eastern shore! I’m not paying a King’s ransom to a turncoat monster who wants to tattle tale and run away! Show her the fake papers, take down every detail she says, then throw her in a cell till I decide what to do with her next!”

Marc flinched as Nedrin’s voice rose in both pitch and volume, but he frowned in disapproval at his employer’s wishes. He had believed Chelm would be accorded some civility and a just reward for her information and his sense of integrity would not let him accept his instructions quietly.

“Sir, I really don’t like this. She’s giving up her whole life. She should be treated fairly.”

“Oh I don’t think it’s come to giving up her life, Marc. Not just yet anyway,” said Nedrin, twisting Marc’s words darkly and revealing the lengths he would ultimately go to, if necessary. “As for fair, she’s a traitor and I will treat her as such. As. Will. You.”

Nedrin stared Marc squarely in the face and levelled a stern, uncompromising frown at him.

“I hope I am making myself perfectly clear. Go and see your wife and children, Marc. They must have missed you. An evening at home will realign your priorities. Oh, and I got your message; I managed to replace some of those moon berries Ellenne was craving, and some trinkets for your children. Keep up the lie of your actual whereabouts, eh Marc? She wouldn’t like it if she knew where you’d really been, would she?”

Nedrin was smiling now, as if his words were a jest between friends, but Marc was not fooled. Nedrin was all manners and nobility on the surface, but underneath he was black as obsidian and twice as hard. Marc didn’t like it, but he could see no way out. Not without hurting his family and that he would never do if it could possibly be avoided. He fixed a jovial grin on his face and took the proffered pack from Nedrin.

“Thank you, sir. I have missed them too. Ellenne will be delighted with the berries.”

“Good man!” Nedrin shook his hand, clasping it in both of his own. “I know these missions can be a little confusing, Marc, having to take on the role of diplomat, pretending to actually like those creatures. But don’t ever let it become more than pretence. They’re not like us. Not at all. Not really people, even. Half animal, or even plant, some of them, and all mixed up with magics and strange forces. Quite evil I’m sure. Not to be trusted, not at all. Think it over Marc; I’m sure you’ll see that I’m right. Well then, off home and all fresh and ready for a good day’s work on the morrow, eh my boy? Excellent. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

Marc left Nedrin’s office with a queasy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Of course he had heard people talk so about the Southerners before, but he hadn’t known that Nedrin held quite such extreme beliefs. He wasn’t sure he would go so far as to say he actually liked them, but he certainly considered them to be people. Unhappily, he accepted that he would have to go along with Nedrin’s plan to deceive Chelm.

He left the building and walked through the streets to his house, half way down the hill in Cambric lane on the edge of the Merchant district. It was almost dark as he neared his front door and the candles were already lit inside. He paused with his hand on the door knob and listened. Inside, he could hear Elise chatting merrily away and Ellenne answering her patiently as she prepared dinner. Mathis would be reading by the fire or studying in his room. A warm feeling worked its way from his heart outwards until it banished all thoughts of work and brought a real smile to his face. Home. His haven from everything else. Grinning in anticipation of the joy his entrance would bring, he turned the handle and went inside.

Chelm was sitting on one side of a table in a small, windowless room. Across from her Marc straightened his notebook, quill and ink pot yet again, not that they had been out of place, and watched her read the forged royal documents. An oil lamp was suspended over the desk, giving just enough light to read and write by and casting shadows into the corners. Chelm read through the document several times, trying to determine whether there was any hint of deceitfulness, a loophole, a trap. She examined the ‘Royal’ seal, but never having seen it before she could not tell whether it was genuine.

Eventually Marc coughed politely and offered her the quill. Chelm sighed and took it, signing her name on the line to confirm her agreement with the terms. She had to admit she had been given no reason to doubt the Meerans’ intentions. She had spent a comfortable night in the room she had been given, brought a substantial meal and her luggage and reassured that the door was locked only for her own safety – Pixies not being either commonplace or welcome in Lytos Meer.

“Very well,” began Marc. What can you tell me about Tilarion’s plans?”

They spent the remainder of the morning closeted in that room. Chelm revealed every detail; the arrival of Vineder and his story, the revelation of the Jentsies’ suffering and Emerden’s mother’s sad tale, the debate over how to respond and her outrage at being arrested and put on trial. Naturally everything she said was coloured with her own bitterness and cynicism. Chelm displayed no restraint and forgot to moderate her tone even when she told of her warnings to Tilarion that the Meerans would be sure to discover their absence and take advantage of their weakness to attack the forest and murder them all in their ignorant attempts to regain control of the Falls Gate. Marc raised his eyebrows at some of her less than complimentary language, but faithfully transcribed every word for Nedrin’s later perusal.

He had sat late into the night documenting the whole of their trip to Theyos Raal, the sooner to be finished with this whole sorry business. Ellenne had brought him a pot of coffee before she went to bed, and urged him not to stay up all night. He rubbed his eyes now as Chelm paused to drink some water, wishing he had listened to her. Chelm described as much as she could of the plans for the quest and the small army’s departure for the Chasm. She had been under house arrest at the time in Theyos Raal but such was the nature of her alleged crime that some of her warders had taken a great deal of pleasure in telling her how she had failed to stop the mission from going ahead.

Marc was relieved that their plan had, in fact, nothing to do with the Meerans at all. The only time his people factored into the story was when the four who had been captured had entered the city to replace Myrial ships. Well, that and the pre-emptive defensive preparation of the forest which, he had to admit, was doubtless justified. Nedrin had practically drooled over the thought of a more or less undefended Falls Gate. In all likely hood King Victor would begin preparations to march the army south within the week.

Marc had been a schoolboy at the time of the last battle, but two of his uncles had fought and survived, one of them shorter by a leg. He was glad he had joined the intelligence service and not the army. Once Chelm had exhausted her supply of useful information and begun to speculate on the probable dire course of future events, Marc decided he had probably heard enough. He had Chelm returned to her room with his thanks and an assurance that her reward would be forthcoming, as soon as he could organise it. He still wasn’t sure how, but he was determined to at least try to persuade Nedrin to honour the agreement.

After a brief break for lunch at his desk in the office he shared with his team; the baked chicken and vegetables that Ellenne had packed for him and a bottle of apple cider reviving him considerably, Marc wrote up an account of all Chelm had told him from his notes and walked to Nedrin’s office. He raised a hand to the door and paused, knuckles blanched white in trepidation, then finally took a deep breath and knocked.

“Enter,” called Nedrin’s voice from inside. Marc adopted his most affable expression and turned the handle. Nedrin was, as always, seated behind his massive desk, poring over lists and maps, ticking off items with his quill pen, file folders piled high on either side of him. In a flash of perverse humour Marc wondered if he actually ever left the office. Perhaps one of the cupboards concealed a small privy stool and another, a fold-down bed. He fought down a burst of nervous laughter and waited for Nedrin to look up. At last, the pen was laid down and an expectant and deceptively pleasant gaze met his.

“Well now Marc, what do you have for me?” he asked, smiling benignly.

Marc returned the smile. “Here is my full report on the mission, sir, and this is my transcript of everything the Pixie called Chelm had to say about Tilarion’s plans. It’s quite detailed, as you can see.”

“Hmm, I think I’ll be the judge of that. Take a seat.”

Nedrin took the proffered sheets of parchment and motioned to one of the chairs along the wall. Marc sat down and stared out of the window, feeling like a naughty schoolboy awaiting judgement from a strict master on an assignment. Nedrin read slowly, occasionally rustling the pages or clearing his throat but offering no feedback. At last he set the papers down and looked long and hard at Marc.

“Is this all you could get from her?”

“I’m sorry? She told me everything – their entire plan.”

“She told you everything she wanted you to know. You must discover what she is concealing! Remember it was she who approached you on the road. She could be a plant – no pun intended -” (Nedrin looked quite proud of his terrible joke and Marc suppressed the urge to point out the fundamental inaccuracy) “a ruse from Tilarion to send us down the wrong track. Surely you didn’t really believe all that nonsense about the Unknown Country and fighting the Raquin to free the Jentsies? Stuff and nonsense my boy! Why would they sail across the seas and march half way across the realm to help creatures they’ve never met? Risking life and limb against monsters who, according to legend, are fearsome to behold! Leaving their homes undefended and open to attack? No, my boy, you mark my words their goal is here. Their end is to defeat us utterly; to leave us incapable of any recourse but absolute capitulation. They must have some plan to cripple us, to undermine our recovery of the Gate once and for all. And we must know what it is! Their army is camped on our very doorstep! A mere stone’s throw from where your children sleep, Marc. They are surely plotting to invade; that is the only circumstance in which it would be safe for them to leave their forest defenceless – if we are all occupied here defending our homes. And you expect me to just sit here and hope for the best? Not while I’m breathing, I can assure you!”

Marc took a deep breath as defence against Nedrin’s excessive use of vocal exclamation points and tried to formulate a diplomatic reply.

“Sir, we found nothing in Theyos Raal that pointed to such a plan. The map Aubren recovered clearly showed their intended route.”

“No, no, no, my boy! It showed you what they wanted you to see. What if that map was left out precisely for Aubren to replace, eh?”

“In a room they didn’t know he would be in while he was supposed to be under guard in our own quarters?” queried Marc sceptically.

“Yes!” exclaimed Nedrin. “Precisely how they would fool you. They use magics of course, so they can doubtless follow you all around the city with their minds. They probably put the idea in Aubren’s head to look in that very room!”

“I’m no expert, sir, but I don’t think it works like that,” said Marc, beginning to wonder whether his employer’s grip on reality was perhaps a little tenuous.

“You’re right – you are no expert. Perhaps that Pixie is using magic on you; lulling you into trusting her. You must be strong, Dernish, be in control of your own thoughts. Be on your guard against her. And discover what she is hiding from you – by any means necessary. I intend you should take her to the lower levels and use whatever force must be employed to extract the truth.”

Marc understood what Nedrin meant by the lower levels. There were interrogation rooms hidden away in the basement floors of the building which were known only to the Intelligence service. Rooms containing machines which could convince a person to give up their secrets under duress and in great pain. Nedrin employed specialists to operate the machines and Marc was thankful he had never yet seen one in use. His mind reeled at the thought of taking Chelm down there. He tried to reason with his employer.

“Sir, Pixies don’t have magic; that’s Elves. And the story she told me marries up precisely with what we discovered in Theyos Raal. Also you must admit that half way round the sea coast is hardly a stone’s throw from the city. I’m not comfortable with the idea of using more aggressive interrogation techniques on a woman who already told us everything she knows of her own volition.”

“Not comfortable?! Am I going mad? She is not a woman; she is a Pixie and you will stop contradicting me and carry out my orders! I want that creature squeezed for every drop of information you can wring out of her. I promise you, Dernish, you will do this or I will have your badge!”

Marc stared at the Minister, who was red faced with beads of sweat standing out on his brow. He was glowering with demonic intensity at the younger man, possessed by a fervour to pursue his goal. Marc considered his options quickly. He could do as Nedrin asked and torture Chelm until she told him what Nedrin wanted to hear – none of which, he was quite sure, would be true – but never be able to look at himself in the glass again. Or he could refuse and lose his job, but keep his integrity. In the end it was not a hard choice to make. Ellenne would understand; in fact she would respect him more for choosing the path that would not burden his conscience. He removed the enamelled brass badge of the Intelligence Service form his jacket lapel and laid it on Nedrin’s desk.

“I’m sorry, sir. I can’t teach my children to act with integrity if I have none left myself.”

“What?!” spluttered Nedrin, succumbing to fury. “You would do all this for a Pixie – a forest creature who would probably be exiled or hanged by her own people for her actions? You would end a promising career rather than use what you consider to be distasteful methods to obtain information which could end up saving your own city, your own people? How can you?”

“Ambition is nothing without honour, sir,” replied Marc staunchly. “A man without honour is no man at all. He is a beast, a savage, ruled by his passions and base desires without civility, principle or moral probity. I will not be that man.”

“As I am, you mean. A man like me. That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it? You don’t want to be like me. I would tread carefully if I were you, Dernish. We’re coming precariously close to the line past which I will not let you take up that badge again, no matter how you grovel.”

“I will not grovel, sir, nor will I take up that badge again. I see that I cannot change your course, but I will not be the man to see it through. My wife and children deserve better than that.”

Marc felt more at peace with his decision as the minutes passed, convinced now that he was doing the right thing. He was also convinced that Nedrin had become more than a touch unbalanced and he would do well to get out before things spiralled completely out of control.

Nedrin spat out his retort. “And do your children deserve to live in penury? Do they deserve to be destitute, ragged and starving in the street? Because mark me, I will have your name blackened across this city. What do you think of that, eh?”

“I think I’ll take up farming, actually. My father’s getting on in years and would welcome the knowledge that the farm would stay in the family once he passed. I think Ellenne and the children would like it too. She’s always said that she’s not fashionable enough for city life. So if that’s all, sir, I’ll take my leave. Good day to you.”

“Good day?! Good day to me, sir?! How dare you? Come back here this instant!”

But Marc had turned on his heel and walked out of the office, leaving the door open behind him and Nedrin’s fury echoing down the long, stone corridors. He could still hear the old man’s bellows when he reached the foot of the stairs and walked, smiling, into the sunlit afternoon.

Emerden saw Nula sitting on a large, flat rock beside the river. Her knees were drawn up in front of her and her hands were resting on them, palm up and cupped together as if she was holding something. As he drew near he noticed that her hands were empty but her cheeks were wet. She didn’t hear him approach, but looked up when he sat down beside her, quickly dashing the tears away and smiling, quite unconvincingly.

“You miss him, don’t you? Oerayn.”

She looked startled that he had so precisely identified the problem.

“Every day. How did you know?”

“I watched you sitting like that, holding him in your cupped hands, while he slept. I watched you feed him and wash him and sing to him. It was beautiful.”

Nula sighed. “I know I only had him for a few days, but I got so attached. For years I’ve watched mothers care for their newborns and bond with them, but I never understood how powerful it is. It’s incredible. And having to give him back was like a real physical pain. I know it’s silly; he was never mine.”

“It’s not silly, Nu.” He put an arm round her shoulders and pulled her close. “You’ll see him soon.”

“It’s not the same. He’s with Neryn and Caeya now. Where he should be.”

“Will you be okay then?”

“Yes, I’ll be fine, eventually. But Em, I know I want to have that again, I feel... I don’t know, greedy for it. Do you understand what I mean?”

“I do. Well, I think I do. And you will.”

Nula sighed again, but this time it was a more hopeful sigh. She nestled into the crook of his arm and watched the river.

When Nula awoke, feeling chilled even in her wool blankets, it was still pitch dark and she could hear owls calling to each other in the night. She wriggled closer to Emerden, trying to absorb some of his warmth.

“Hey. You cold?” he whispered in her ear.

“I am. Why are you awake? It’s so early.”

“Just thinking,” he replied, kissing the back of her neck.

“Oh yes? No need to guess what about.”

“Ha ha. No, I was wondering. What would you call her?”

“Call who?” asked Nula, confused.

“Our daughter. When we have one.” He put his arm round her waist and held her close.

Nula blinked in surprise. It was just about the last question she had thought he might ask.

“I don’t know. I’ve never given it much thought. What would you want to call her?”

“I was thinking maybe Tillouiish, after your grandmother.”

“Oh! That would be lovely. Mother would like that. But what about your grandmother? Or your mother even?”

“I never knew either of my grandmothers and my mother died when I was so small, and her death is tied up in so much pain for me. I don’t think I could burden a baby with all that. Maegren’s mother was a huge part of your life.”

Nula was quiet for a moment, taking in the implication of their conversation.

“Do you know?” she said at last. “I think I’d like that very much. Tillouiish. Baby Tilly. It sounds good.”

She squirmed around to face him, rearranging their blankets so they were both covered by both of them, and cuddled into him.

“Your hands are freezing!” he exclaimed, grabbing them off his chest and clasping them together, blowing on them to try and warm them up.

“Yes, I told you I was cold,” she shivered. “So why don’t you do something about it then?”

“I am,” he replied, continuing to breathe on her fingers and rub them between his own.

“No,” said Nula, pursing her lips provocatively. “Why don’t you do something about it?”

“Oh, I see,” grinned Emerden as he realised what she meant. Do something. About warming you up.”

He put his arms around her and brought his lips to hers. Nula kissed him back eagerly, but a small part of her mind remained with the idea of a dark haired baby named Tilly.

Peeter, Nate and Dan were busy loading the tents onto carts for the trip home when Mallory walked by. The young chaplain had found the trip so far rather invigorating. He had not seen so much of the realm in his life before and the opportunity to use his abilities to encourage and comfort his small flock in the past few weeks, as well as counselling those who were homesick or nervous of battle and, of course, Roween, had been enormously satisfying. He felt sure he was exactly where he was meant to be, doing exactly what he was meant to be doing. He smiled at the three lads and walked over to them, rolling up his shirt sleeves.

“Can I give you a hand, lads?” he asked ingenuously. “Many hands make light work after all.”

“Thanks, Pastor, very kind of you,” replied Dan. “You heading home today then?”

“No, no, not at all, Daniel. I’m with you all the way to the end. I couldn’t desert you when you’re heading into battle; that’s when a man needs spiritual guidance the most, you know – when life and death are concerned, and in particular the taking of life. So if any of you ever want to talk, my door is always open, as it were. Do they have doors on a ship actually? Never been on one before.”

“Nor me, Pastor,” said Nate. But thanks anyway. Your brother Kethyn’s pastor in our village, under your Dad anyways, isn’t he? Solid bloke, Kethyn is. Married me and me missus last Turn, he did. I won’t half be glad to get home to my Kaetii. Never thought I could miss her so much. Anyway, best get these loaded, else the Sarge’ll go spare, an’ this lot’ll think I’m goin’ soft.”

“Nonsense,” said Mallory, hefting an armload of canvas sheeting. “There’s nothing ‘soft’ about admitting you miss your wife. I’d think less of you if you didn’t. It’s thoughts of the ones you love and of home that will keep us going in the weeks ahead. In our bleakest moments, those will be the thoughts that make us strong.”

“Blimey! You really sound like you know what you’re talking about. Been through a lot of bleak moments since you moved to Maybor all of five years ago, have you?” asked Dan cheekily.

“No, I haven’t. But my grandfather and both my uncles fought in the last battle against the Meerans and only Uncle Jon came home. He said it was thinking of my aunt and their baby girl that got him through it.”

“Oh. Sorry, Pastor,” apologised Dan soberly. “I didn’t think.”

“It’s alright. You’re too young to remember it. I was a small boy, but I remember the evacuation; being scared and seeing my Dad comforting all the people in the camp. That was what made us want to be Pastors, Kethyn and I.”

“So what will you do during the battle?” asked Peeter. “Pastors don’t carry swords, do they?”

“I never have, so I don’t know that I’d be much use,” admitted Mallory. “I’m not sure what I’ll do. Try to stay out of everyone’s way I suppose, till it’s over and I can be of some use again.”

He looked chagrined. Dan realised that the young pastor had probably left on this adventure filled with the same wistful idealism as the rest of them, without thinking too much about the gritty specifics of the upcoming skirmish. He gave Mallory a friendly slap on the arm.

“Don’t worry, Pastor. I’m sure they’re cookin’ up some plan to keep the Jentsies safe while the battle’s goin’ on. Perhaps you could be a part of that. You know, comfort the women and children, that sort of thing. And then there’ll be the injured to pray for, and the dead.”

Dan’s expression became morose, contemplating the likely hood that some of his companions would not make it home again; that perhaps even he would be killed and buried far from home in a grave his mother could never visit or lay flowers on. He looked at Mallory again.

“I’m really glad you’re coming with us, Pastor,” he said, seriously. “I think we’ll really need you.”

Mallory was chastened by Dan’s sudden gratitude, realising its origins. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder in reassurance.

“Thank you, Dan. That means a lot. I’ll do my best for you. For all of you,” he added earnestly, looking around the group.

The other young men regarded him solemnly for a moment, then Sergeant Smith’s bellowing voice broke through their contemplation and they hurried to look busy before he approached.

Prince Illion, Garron Moor and Sergeant Smith supervised the preparations for departure on both fronts, though Quartermaster Fisher had his own people well organised. The Elves and two thirds of the Equiseen were to board the Seabird and sail with the skeleton crew Jonas had retained for this trip. The rest of the Equiseen and the Manguin squads would be sailing with Malden on the Ennas-Star. Two Norn would go with each ship, and the four who had gone into Lytos Meer would remain with Malden. It would be a crowded ten days at sea, with every bunk and hammock occupied. Even the cargo hold would be strung with hammocks instead of being filled with goods for transport. Illion hoped that the cramped conditions and periods of forced inactivity would not have too serious an effect on the men’s temperaments. He spoke to the captains and requested that the men be put to work as much as possible, each squad in turn, to distract their minds. Jonas and Malden agreed only too readily. After the fight on the dock neither had a full complement of crew left and besides, some had already left for shore leave when Melbren’s men had attacked and would have discovered too late that the ships had left without them. Even with minimal experience on the open water, the men would be usefully employed as extra crew.

It took all morning to pack the wagons and see them off, then get everyone on board ship, ferried over in small groups in the row boats. Roween had said a tearful goodbye to the still stupefied Harson before climbing up beside Mister Fisher at the front of his wagon. By the time they were ready to sail the sun was high overhead and they raised the sails in the blistering noon heat. Jonas had spoken to Illion about his request to raise sail.

“There’s not a breath of wind. Maybe you don’ know how this works, but the sails don’ just billow out of their own accord, you know.”

“Just watch,” smiled Illion and he motioned to the two Norn in the stern of each ship. The tall women raised their arms and faces to the sky, chanting in Elvish and weaving power from the air. Then all at once they opened their hands to unleash the spell and the sails billowed out with a loud booming noise as the canvas was filled with a fierce wind. The ships began to move, slowly at first but gaining momentum, and headed away from the shore and out to the open sea.

Jonas was stunned. He looked across the port side rail at the Ennas-Star and saw Malden looking back at him in equal amazement. A slow grin spread over each man’s face as the same thought occurred to both of them at once. Jonas turned to Illion again.

“I don’ suppose any of your magic ladies would be interested in life at sea?” he asked hopefully. “That is a tremendous skill and one I would be willing to pay handsomely for. She would have her own cabin, see the realm and receive a cut of all our fortunes. If I could sail when there was no wind, or sail against the wind, I could corner the market – all the markets. I’d make millions!”

“I’m not sure any of the Norn would wish such a life, but of course you are free to ask them,” replied Illion carefully. “Elves don’t tend to travel far from Theyos Raal. Please don’t be too disappointed if none wish to accept your offer.”

Jonas frowned and pouted a little. He couldn’t understand why someone wouldn’t want to live on his ship, the best ship on the sea, and make their fortune joining his crew in their adventures. Perhaps the Prince’s prejudices were colouring his opinions. Jonas knew now that he had a wife and infant children, which he supposed might make a man wish to stay at home, at least for a while. Jonas had never married, though he had loved many women in his life, some of them even for more than a week. He slapped Illion heartily on the shoulder and breathed deeply of the now gusty sea air.

“We’ll see, my friend,” he grinned as Illion winced and rolled his now stinging joint. “We’ll see.”

Aboard the Ennas-Star Malden was having a similar conversation with Jaquor, who was also having trouble diluting the ambitious captain’s enthusiasm. Beyon, Tisha and Eliish sat on the deck nearby, enjoying the stiff wind as it relieved the baking heat, and looking out to sea as they finally moved into the next phase of their journey. Adajznia was perched half way up the rigging, the wind whipping through her hair and snatching her breath away. It was always thrilling to be skimming through the waves, the scent of adventure on the air. The prospect of flirting with the attentions of so many new compatriots was equally exciting. It was not that her own crew were immune to her charms, more that Malden would skin alive any one of them who dared to touch her. The captain had tried to impress on her that dalliances of an intimate nature between the first mate and any of the sailors would be more than a little inappropriate, but Dajz had a ferocious appetite for every type of adventure in life and often became frustrated during the long weeks at sea. She had the heart of a pirate; she embraced the chance for every new experience with a spirit of adventure and took from it as much treasure as possible. It didn’t matter if the treasure was gold and jewels, information or pleasure, she collected them all gleefully, shared willingly with the crew, but kept her own heart locked securely away. Adajznia had never been in love, but she loved life and was determined to make the most she could out of every day. Swinging down the mast on a rope, she landed beside a group of Manguin lads who she knew had been admiring the way she looked silhouetted against the sky. Smiling beguilingly, she challenged them to a game of dice.