[Ulthuan 01] - Defenders of Ulthuan Page 7

  He stood at the side of the ship, wrapped tightly in a cloak of sapphire blue, though the temperature was balmy and the wind filling the sails was fresh.

  He shivered as he remembered the last time he had left shore and travelled on a ship to a distant land. Caelir had been beside him and a seed planted that was to bear bitter fruit in the land of the dark elves. On those rare days he allowed the sun to warm his skin, he could convince himself that it had been the evil influence of the Land of Chill that had caused that seed to flower, but he knew only too well that the capacity for his actions had their roots within him all along.

  It had been nearly a year since he had seen Tor Elyr, but it was as beautiful as he remembered, the crystal and white spires of its island castles rising from the peaked rocks of the water like cleft shards of a glacier. A web of silver bridges linked the castles to each other and Eldain’s heart ached to see it diminish behind him.

  “We’ll be back soon enough,” said Rhianna, slipping her arms around him and resting her chin on his shoulder as she approached from behind.

  “I know.”

  “It will be good for us to travel. We’ve spent too long cooped up in Ellyr-Charoi. I’ve missed the sun on my face and the sea air in my lungs. I can already feel the magic of Ulthuan growing stronger all around me.”

  Eldain smiled, reminded once again that his wife was a mage of no little power.

  “You’re right, of course,” he said, surprised to find that he actually meant it.

  Perhaps it would be good to travel, to see cities and places in Ulthuan he had not seen before. When this business with Rhianna’s father was concluded, perhaps they might travel to Lothern and sample some of the fare from distant lands.

  He turned within her grip and placed his own arms around her. “I do love you.”

  “I know you do, Eldain,” said Rhianna, and the hope in her eyes was like a ray of sunshine after a storm, full of the promise that all will be well. He held her close and together they watched the jewel of Ellyrion as it slid towards the horizon.

  The journey from Ellyr-Charoi had taken longer than normal, for Yvraine was not as skilled a rider as he and Rhianna. Their own steeds could carry them swift as the wind through the forests and across the plains, but Yvraine did not possess the innate skill of an Ellyrion rider. As a result, by the time they reached Tor Elyr, their progress onwards was stymied by the news that a Black Ark had attacked the ships of Lord Aislin as they patrolled the western coasts of Ulthuan. Only a single ship had survived the encounter but its captain had managed to bring warning of the druchii’s attack, and now as many ships as could be mustered were being gathered in Lothern to mount a defence in the event of an attack.

  As a consequence, the three travellers had been forced to await the arrival of a small sloop from Caledor to transport them across the Inner Sea to Saphery. This setback chafed at Yvraine, who paced like a caged Chracian lion at the enforced delay, though Eldain and Rhianna had taken the opportunity to dine in Tor Elyr’s exquisite eating houses and indulge in some wild riding across the grassy steppes.

  In truth, Eldain had not been displeased at the delay, now relishing his time away from the stifling confines of the Hippocrene Tower and his guilt. Just being out in the open air had improved his mood immeasurably and he had laughed for what seemed like the first time in an age when he and Rhianna had first gone riding for the sheer joy of it.

  As the days passed, it quickly became apparent that Yvraine had not long been in the service of the Loremasters, the subject coming up one evening while the three of them dined atop the highest spire of Tor Elyr in a crystal-walled dining room.

  Rhianna had asked of the lands Yvraine had visited in her duties, only to be met by a rather embarrassed pause before the Sword Master said, “Merely Ellyrion.”

  “Is that all?” Eldain had said. “I though you travelled all across Ulthuan?”

  “I shall when I complete this mission for Mitherion Silverfawn.”

  Eldain had quickly realised what that meant and said, “Then this is your first mission?”

  “It is, everyone must begin somewhere.”

  “Indeed they must,” said Rhianna. “Even those born to be kings do not become great without taking their first humble step on a long and winding road.”

  Yvraine had looked gratefully at Rhianna and Eldain was struck by the realisation that, for all her outward inscrutability, Yvraine Hawkblade was desperately afraid to fail.

  Thinking of the Sword Master, Eldain watched her sitting in the bow with her sword held before her as she tried to meditate. She had spoken of the difficulties in meditating while previously aboard ship, but he could only imagine how difficult it must be to achieve any sort of silent contemplation on a vessel this small.

  “She’s so young,” said Eldain.

  Rhianna followed his gaze and said. “Yes, she is, but she has a good heart.”

  “How do you know?”

  “The Loremasters do not take just anyone into the ranks of the Sword Masters. Only those who desire wisdom ever reach the White Tower; all others find their footsteps confounded until they are back where they began.”

  “Where is the wisdom in using a big sword?”

  Rhianna smiled and shook her head. “Don’t mock, Eldain. For some the path of wisdom lies in the exercise of physical mastery of the ways of the warrior. Yvraine will have spent many years training at the feet of the Loremasters.”

  “I know,” said Eldain, “I’m just teasing. I’m sure she is pure of heart, but it’s like she’s shut part of herself off from the world around her. Surely there must be more to life than meditating and practising with a sword.”

  “There is, but for each of us there is a path and if hers takes her on the road to mastery of weapons, then we are fortunate indeed to have her travel with us. She may be an inexperienced traveller, but she will be a formidable warrior, have no doubt of that.”

  “We are only sailing across the Inner Sea,” said Eldain. “What could happen to us here? We are perfectly safe.”

  “As I’m sure Caledor thought, right before he was attacked by assassins on his way from Chrace to become the Phoenix King all those years ago.”

  “Ah, but he was perfectly safe,” said Eldain, “for the hunters of Chrace saved his life.”

  She sighed indulgently and said, “But the point remains. Better to have a Sword Master and not need her help, than to need it and not have her.”

  “Very true,” he said. “But have you actually seen her do anything with that sword?”

  “No, I have not, but the exercise of her art is a private thing, Eldain.”

  “Well let’s just hope she knows how to use it if the need arises.”

  “I don’t think you need worry about that,” said Rhianna.

  “Hmmm… aside from the wound to the head, there is nothing that would suggest an injury severe enough to result in the loss of one’s memory,” said Anurion the Green, removing a set of silver callipers from Daroir’s head. The archmage checked the readings on the measuring device and nodded to himself before frowning and placing the callipers over his own skull and comparing the results.

  They sat in Anurion’s study, though to call it a study gave it a degree of formality it did not possess. Formed from a hybrid of marble walls and living matter, tall trees curved overhead to form a graceful arch with trailing fronds reaching to the ground like feathered ropes. Plants and parts of plants covered every surface, hanging from baskets floating in the air or suspended by streamers of magical light that bubbled upwards from silver bowls. Budding flowers climbed the legs of the chairs and tables, each of which had been grown into its current form instead of being fashioned by the hand of a craftsman.

  A dense, earthy aroma hung in the air alongside a million scents from the dizzyingly varied species of blooms that covered almost every surface in the chamber. The scents of so many living things should have been overpowering, but Daroir found it entirely pleasant, as though Anurio
n had somehow managed to find the exact combination to ensure that the air remained pleasingly fragrant.

  Once Kyrielle and her father had contained the vicious bees, the archmage had turned to Daroir and said, “So you’re the one without his memory, yes?”

  “I am, my lord,” said Daroir, for it was never a good idea to show discourtesy to a powerful archmage.

  Anurion waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, stop all this ‘my lord’ nonsense, boy. Flattery won’t help me restore your memory. I’ll either be able to do it or I won’t. Now come on, follow me to my study.”

  Without another word, Anurion had stalked into the depths of his organic palace, leading them through great cathedrals of mighty trees and grottoes of unsurpassed beauty. With each new and magnificent vista, Daroir had to remind himself that this was one of the archmage’s lesser palaces. Though more pressing matters occupied his thoughts as he and Kyrielle set off after her father, he hoped that one day he would be able to visit Anurion’s great palace in Saphery.

  It seemed to Daroir that their route took them through a number of arbours and clearings of marble and leaf they had passed before and he wondered if even Anurion knew his way around his palace—or if such knowledge was even possible.

  At last, their journey had ended in Anurion’s study and both he and Kyrielle looked in wonder at the sheer diversity of life that flowered here. Plants and trees that Daroir had never seen before and had probably never existed before the tinkering of Anurion the Green surrounded them.

  “Sit, sit…” Anurion had said, waving him over beside a long table strewn with ancient looking texts and a host of clear bottles containing variously coloured liquids. Daroir had been about to ask where he should sit when a twisting collection of branches erupted from the earthen floor and entwined themselves into the form of an elegant chair.

  And so had begun an exhausting series of tests that Daroir could not fathom. Anurion had taken samples of his saliva and his blood before proceeding to measure his body, his height, weight and lastly the dimensions of his skull.

  “Right,” said Anurion. “I have the physical information I need, boy, but you’ll need to tell me everything you remember prior to my daughter fishing you from the ocean. Omit nothing; the tiniest detail could be vital. Vital!”

  “There’s not much to tell,” said Daroir. “I remember floating in the sea, holding onto a piece of wreckage… and that’s it.”

  “This wreckage, was it part of your ship?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  Anurion turned to his daughter and said, “Did your guards bring the wreckage back to the palace as well as this poor unfortunate?”

  Kyrielle shook her head. “No, we didn’t think to bring it.”

  “Hmmm, a shame. It could have held the key,” said Anurion. “Still, never mind, one does what one can with the tools available, yes? Right, so we know nothing about your ship, and you say you remember nothing except being in the sea, is that correct?”

  “It is. All I remember is the sea,” said Daroir.

  Anurion swept up a strange, multi-pronged device that he attached to a number of coils of copper wire, which he then looped over Daroir’s head, pulling the wire tight at his forehead.

  “What are these for?” he said.

  “Quiet, boy,” said Anurion. “My daughter tells me that you were muttering something when she found you. What were you saying?”

  “I don’t know, I wish I did, but I don’t,” said Daroir.

  “Unfortunate,” said Anurion, adjusting the wires on his head, pulling them tight and leaving a trailing length of copper over his shoulder. “Kyrielle, I do hope you remember what he was babbling.”

  “Yes, father,” said Kyrielle. “It was something about Teclis, about how he had to be told something. Something he needed to know.”

  “And that doesn’t sound familiar to you, boy?” said Anurion, turning his attention back to Daroir.

  “No, not even a little.”

  “Fascinating,” said Anurion. “Frustrating, but fascinating. What information could a lowly sailor have that would be of interest to the great Loremaster of the White Tower?”

  “I have no idea,” said Daroir. “You keep asking me questions to which I have no answer.”

  “Hold your ire, boy,” said Anurion. “I am taking time from valuable research to deal with you, so spare me your biliousness and simply answer what I ask. Now… Kyrielle tells me that you possess a dagger that cannot be drawn, yes? Let me see it.”

  Daroir stood from the chair of branches and unbuckled his belt, handing the scabbarded dagger to the archmage.

  “Heavy,” said Anurion, closing his eyes and running his long fingers along the length of the scabbard. “And clearly enchanted. This weapon has shed blood, a great deal of blood.”

  Anurion gripped the hilt, but like Daroir, he could not force it from its sheath.

  “How can it be drawn?” said Kyrielle.

  “Perhaps it cannot,” said Anurion. “At least not by us.”

  “A poor kind of enchantment then,” said Daroir.

  “I mean that perhaps it cannot be drawn by any other than he who crafted it or without the appropriate word of power. Only the most powerful magic can undo such enchantment.”

  “More powerful than yours?” said Daroir.

  “That remains to be seen,” said Anurion. “But the question that intrigues me more is how you came to be in possession of such a weapon. You are a conundrum and no mistake, young… what was it my daughter christened you? Daroir, oh yes, how appropriate. You bear an enchanted dagger and have no memory, yet it seems you possess some knowledge that your unconscious mind deems necessary to present to Lord Teclis. Yes, most intriguing…”

  Daroir felt his patience beginning to wear thin at the eccentric archmage’s pronouncements and a strange heat began to build across his skull, further shortening his temper’s fuse.

  “Look, can you help me or not?”

  “Perhaps,” said Anurion, without looking up from his desk.

  “That’s no answer,” said Daroir. “Just tell me, can you restore my memory?”

  “What manner of answer would you have me give, boy?” said Anurion, rounding on him and gripping his shoulders. “You have no idea of the complexity of the living material that makes up your flesh. Even the simplest of plants is made up of millions upon millions of elements that make it a plant and allow it to function as such. Now despite the evidence of your foolish words, your mind is infinitely more complex, so I would be obliged if you would indulge my thoroughness, as I do not want to reduce your intelligence any further by acting rashly.”

  Anurion released his grip as an expression of surprise spread across his face and he once again adjusted the coils of copper wire around Daroir’s head.

  “What? What it is?”

  “Magic…” said Anurion.

  Kyrielle stood and joined her father and an expression of academic interest blossomed on her features.

  Daroir frowned at their scrutiny, feeling like a butterfly pinned to the page of a collector’s notebook. He glanced over at the table next to him and saw the stem and blooms of some unknown plant laid open like a corpse on an anatomist’s table and felt a sudden sense of unease at whatever had piqued their sudden interest.

  “What is it?” he said. “What do you mean, ‘magic’?”

  Anurion turned from him and lifted a golden bowl filled with a silver fluid that rippled and threw back the light like mercury. He returned to stand before Daroir and lifted the trail of copper wires that dangled at his shoulder, unravelling them and placing the ends into the golden bowl.

  So faint that at first he wasn’t sure what he was seeing, a nimbus of light built in the depths of the liquid, slowly intensifying until it seemed that Anurion held a miniature sun in his hands.

  “I mean that whatever is causing your amnesia, it is not thanks to some blow to the head or near drowning.”

  “Then what is it? What happened to my
memory?”

  “You have been ensorcelled, boy,” said Anurion, removing the copper wires from the bowl. “This was done to you deliberately. Someone did not want you to remember anything before you went into the sea.”

  The idea of someone tampering with his memories appalled Daroir, and the horror of such mental violation made him almost physically sick.

  “Can you undo the magic?” said Kyrielle.

  Anurion folded his arms and Daroir saw the reticence in his eyes.

  “Please,” he said. “You have to try. Please, I can’t go on not knowing who I am or where I am from. Help me!”

  “It will be dangerous,” said Anurion. “Such magic is not employed lightly and I can offer you no guarantees that what memories you retain will survive.”

  “I don’t care,” he said. “After all, what am I but the sum of my memories? Without them, I am nothing, a cipher…”

  He pulled the coils of copper wire from his head and threw them onto the table, standing square before Anurion the Green.

  “Do it,” he said. “Whatever it takes, just do it. Please.”

  Anurion nodded. “As you wish. We will begin in the morning.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Memories

  Shimmering lights chased the Dragonkin as she plied the mirror smooth waters of the Inner Sea, the ship silent aside from the creak of her timbers and the occasional soft conversations of her small crew. Eldain watched these elves as they calmly went about their duties and wished a portion of their calm would pass to him. Even he could feel the magical energies of Ulthuan here, the ripple of half glimpsed shapes beneath the waves and the prickling sensation of always being watched.

  Captain Bellaeir stood at the vessel’s prow, standing high on the bowsprit and periodically issuing orders to his steersman.

  “I am beginning to understand your reticence about travelling by ship,” he said to Yvraine as a jutting series of brightly coloured islets passed alongside.

  The Sword Master looked up with a smile and he returned the gesture, glad to see a less ascetic side to her. As had become customary, she sat cross-legged on the deck with her sword across her lap as she tried to meditate.