Keys of Awakening

Argolan, her eyes never straying from the scholar, barred Illiom’s way with a hand.

“Do not go near her,” she ordered. “She must be checked first.”

“Checked?”

The scholar’s presence on the Diamantine seemed incomprehensible.

“For the taint,” Argolan answered. “Then, if she is cleared, you may talk to her. Grifor, Wind … take over.

The two female Riders took over from Angar and Pell and held the scholar by the arms.

“What is the meaning of this?” Shrian shrieked. “How dare you lay your hands on me?!”

“My apologies, scholar,” the Shieldarm said, without a trace of apology in her tone, “but if you had not left Kuon in such a hurry you would know what happened there. We had to rout out an infiltration within our own ranks. No one was exempt from the inspection that you must now also submit to.”

“What is going on?” Shrian continued to bellow and curse. “Let go of me …”

Argolan ignored her.

“There is no way around this, Scholar Shrian Olum; it must be done. If you are not tainted, then you have nothing to fear.”

She reached for Shrian’s collar and undid the ties that held her vest fastened at the neck. As soon as these were sufficiently loose, she parted the vest and exposed the scholar’s undergarment. She pulled this down in turn to reveal the cleft between her breasts.

There was no sign of the taint.

Illiom released her breath.

“Very well, let her go,” Argolan said.

Shrian Olum was trembling with rage.

“I will have your rank for this outrage.” She spat her vehemence at the Shieldarm and the asymmetry of her features, compounded by her anger, gave her the appearance of someone deranged.

Argolan sighed.

“I doubt that very much. Everyone has had to submit to the indignity of the Cleanse, including the Black Ward and every individual upon Varadon’s Keep. Even members of the Triune were not exempt. I fear that your complaints will not find a sympathetic ear in the whole of Kuon.”

Argolan was making no effort to disguise her dislike for the scholar, whom Illiom was beginning to feel sorry for.

“Shrian, what are you doing here?” she asked again.

Shrian turned towards her and her expression softened a little with recognition.

“Illiom? Oh, it is so good to see you! But did I not say that I was coming to Iol?”

Illiom remembered that she had, but with all that had happened she had completely forgotten. She said as much to the scholar.

“I have completed my work in Calestor,” continued Shrian. “I am now making my way to Cevaram before returning home to Kuon …”

As she talked, Shrian went to touch her arm but Illiom, remembering the effects of the scholar’s touch, recoiled almost instinctively from the woman’s hand. Shrian’s eyes acquired a pained expression.

“Even you? What have I done to deserve all this distrust and suspicion?”

Illiom was about to reassure her, but Argolan cut in before she could speak.

“I can answer that. The last time we saw you the whole palace was up in arms. The Chosen here had just escaped a deadly attack and I had given clear orders to let no one who was not directly involved with the Chosen to come anywhere near them. So what happens? You turn up at the door and somehow I forget all of my training and let you in to speak with Illiom. I do not know what you did or how you did it, but I know that you did something.”

She looked at Shrian questioningly.

Shrian’s jaw dropped.

“Is that what concerns you? Oh, dear, I … I did not think anyone would notice …” The scholar looked from Argolan to Illiom and then back. “I am so sorry, Shieldarm; I must confess that I did do something.” Her gaze dropped to the ground, with a look of regret.

“I … with all that had happened ... I was worried that you would not let me see Illiom to say my goodbyes. So yes, I did use something … just a little something I picked up in Calestor the last time I was there. Something to help me be more … persuasive.”

Shrian looked genuinely distraught. She swallowed several times before she was finally able to continue.

“I am much less endowed with the charm that even ordinary people enjoy. My … appearance has often been disconcerting to many and even repugnant to some. Even at the College I have always had to work harder than most to make any headway at all.”

For a moment Illiom thought the scholar would break down, but she managed to clamp down on her feelings.

“When I was in Iol last year, I managed to procure something to help me counterbalance my unfortunate countenance. I … I did use it on you, Shieldarm, I admit, and for that I am truly sorry, but you must believe that I meant no harm. When I heard of the attack, and that Illiom herself had been one of those wounded, I wanted to see her for myself … as well as to say my farewells before leaving. I did not think that I would see her again quite so soon …”

Illiom felt a pang of sadness for the scholar. She saw the truth in Shrian’s words, of how her appearance would indeed be an obstacle. Her uneven features verged on the grotesque and generated an almost instinctive mistrust, as if only one shunned by the Gods could be afflicted in such a disfiguring way. Even Argolan appeared somewhat mollified.

“Well and good then,” the Shieldarm said, nodding at the scholar. “I accept both your apology and your explanation; but I in turn make no apology for the way we have just treated you. My first and foremost duty lies in the safety of my charges.”

Shrian looked at her gratefully.

“Oh, but I do understand,” she said, energetically. “And I commend you for it. I can see that Illiom and her companions are in the best of hands.”

With the resolution of the confrontation, the Diamantine’s crew soon lost interest in the niceties that followed and dispersed.

Before long, Shrian excused herself and vanished below deck for a time. Illiom was at the port railing when the scholar approached her once more. Iod was cresting over the browns and ochres of the Iolan coastline. The cliffs that had protected the harbour of Flax were already far behind and a sequence of sandy beaches now extended towards the south as far as the eye could see.

Both of the Diamantine’s square sails were billowing in the westerly, their ropes as taut as iron shafts. The ship’s elegant prow rose and fell gently, parting the waters on its way towards Evárudas. She still heeled dramatically to leeward under her press of sail and Illiom stared with a degree of alarm at how close the sea came to swamping the deck.

She looked up as the scholar approached her.

“That was candid of you,” Illiom commented benignly, and watched the scholar’s face shape into her strange, lopsided smile.

“What was?”

“Your comment about charm … your admission of using something to counterbalance it …”

“Oh, that. Well, I do find that honesty goes a long way towards mending awkward situations. I was at fault and had no recourse but to admit it.”

They stood watching the sea together for some time.

A few hopeful seagulls followed the ship at a distance, watching the waves for any discarded scraps of food. Seeing them reminded Illiom of Who. Where was he and what was he doing? She tried reaching out to him but met only with silence.

“Have you ever been on a ship before?” Shrian asked, bringing her back from her thoughts.

Illiom shook her head.

“Have you?”

“Oh yes, almost every time I go to Calestor. I try to make my trips coincide with the trade ship that leaves Healung Harbour; that way my return is guaranteed and the whole voyage is far less exhausting and time consuming.”

“Do you go there often?”

“To Calestor? I try to go at least once every three or four years. There are always new thoughts or developments that are of interest to me, and it is fruitful to exchange insights with one’s peers. It is far too easy to delude oneself when living in isolation from the rest of the world. Debate and comparisons are great for furthering our knowledge of the world and to test new strands of thought.”

A question arose in Illiom’s mind and she voiced it.

“Why are there no men on the Diamantine?”

“Well, that is easy enough to answer,” Shrian replied. “Things are organised very differently in the Queendom of Evárudas. You could say that women are at the helm there, not men. Evárudani men do not concern themselves with governance or even with war. They are the artists, the architects and the engineers. They rear all of the children, from the moment they are weaned from the breast up to the age of seven, at which point the girls are taken away and trained by the women to become leaders and warriors. It is the way of Evárudas.”

Illiom frowned. It seemed an odd way of doing things, but no more odd than being raised in a monastery full of monks.

The scholar was silent for a time, watching the Iolan coastline drift slowly by.

“What about Kroen, do you go there as well?”

Shrian turned to face her.

“If it were not for all the current troubles with Kroen, yes, I would like to have gone to Lodeh. But alas, that no longer seems likely this time around.”

“Have you been there at all?” Illiom repeated.

“No, I fear not. Kroen is a harsh land and never gentle to its visitors, even when they are not at war … they do not treat their women well there. The Kroeni men tend to be … rather noxious. It is a brutal place.”

“In some ways Kroen sounds almost like the opposite of Evárudas,” Illiom mused. “Do you know how it began? How Kroen came to be as brutal as you say it is?”

Shrian looked out towards the land, pondering the question.

The Diamantine’s prow chose that moment to rise high and then slammed down harder into the waves, sending a fine spray of seawater all across the foredeck. Illiom turned to look with some concern but, as Shrian remained undisturbed, she realised that it must be a commonplace happening.

“I am not sure that I can say,” the scholar admitted at last. “The kings of Kroen have always held their realm in a tight grip. The Houses that vie for the throne of Lodeh have nothing but hatred for each other. Each king must constantly ward himself against treachery and assassination, for these are considered legitimate tools for any rivals to wrest the reins of the realm from the current regent. As to how this state of affairs first began …” Shrian raised her shoulders in an eloquent shrug, “… who knows? It is certainly something that came about during Dur Egon, the age before ours. Most of what we now call Theregon was afflicted by incessant conflict. If anything the true wonder is that a place like Evárudas emerged from that chaotic age.”

Illiom watched the scholar in fascination.

“Do you know why?” she pressed.

“Mmm … some say that it happened because the islands are more isolated than any other part of Theregon. Others say that it is because of the system of governance endorsed by some of the Qwa’kol tribes.” She turned to look at Illiom and saw fit to add, “The tribals of Evárudas. It seems that some of the tribes hold their women in much greater esteem than they hold their men … a perfectly reasonable state of affairs, if you ask me!”

Shrian’s grin could not be misconstrued, Illiom smiled back openly.

“Are these tribals like the Pelonui? Like Undina?”

Shrian shrugged again.

“I do not know. I have never laid eyes on any.”

The two gazed at the shoreline in silence for a time.

“What about Altra?” Illiom asked. “Have you ever visited there?”

“Ah, the mysterious Altra …” Shrian sighed before answering. “I would go there if there was anywhere to stay, but I do not think Altra has any kind of College of learning, as such … and given that they do not even have a capital …”

Illiom had heard this said before about the northern kingdom.

“Where do the people live?”

Shrian shrugged uncertainly.

“I do not know because I have not been there, but if there is any truth in what I have been told, it seems that they live in caves.”

“Caves?” Illiom asked, surprised.

“Apparently, yes. Not a terribly inviting prospect, is it?” Shrian shuddered. “I suppose I am spoiled and have grown accustomed to a certain degree of comfort … I think that more than anything else deters people from visiting Altra. Some traders do go there, of course - traders will always go wherever there is any money to be made, even to Kroen. But I have never met one who has ventured beyond Nostum – which incidentally is the name for the main Altran meeting ground, an empty space with no structures at all. There the traders pitch their tents and wait for the Altrans to bring their wares to them.”

“They sound like a tribal people,” Illiom remarked.

“I suppose they do. Come to think of it, I seem to remember that there was a tribe that once lived in the northern mountains – in Kroen as well as across Altra – I forget their name now, but I believe that they died out quite some time ago …”

Shrian continued to talk for a while longer about the mysterious kingdom, conveying different stories that she had heard. But as all of her information was second-hand, Illiom did not know how much of it was true.

Glancing around, Illiom noticed that most of her companions had dispersed into small groups. Pell was leaning against the railing nearby, in obvious discomfort, retching into the sea. Concerned, Illiom moved to help him, but the scholar, with a laugh, gently pulled her back.

“Not everyone is immune to the power of the sea, he has simply fallen victim to seasickness.”

“Seasickness? Is it contagious?” asked Illiom, alarmed.

Shrian chuckled.

“Goodness no, child! It is caused by the constant motion of the ship.”

The few crew members presently on deck went about their tasks and paid little heed to their passengers, except to sneer at Pell’s misery.

“He is but the first,” Shrian added, “more are bound to follow.”

As she watched the Rider, Illiom too began to feel the first stirring of queasiness in her belly. Shrian took her by the arm and made her turn away.

“One of the best ways to become seasick yourself is to look at people who already are. Cast him from your awareness, Illiom; breathe deep and you will be fine.”

The scholar’s prophecy was soon fulfilled.

By early afternoon, Wind, Elan, and Malco each had their turn at the rail. Even Azulya, in her guise as Kassargan, reported feeling nauseous, though she did not purge like the others.

Illiom also experienced a few queasy moments, especially when she went below deck with Azulya to fetch the herbs needed to help steady the worst cases.

“The worst thing is taking that damn potion,” the Kroeni woman confided in a whisper while they were below deck. “It is a miracle that I do not throw up every time I ingest it …”

She shuddered at the thought.

But Illiom had little room for sympathy; the smells trapped within the hold, coupled with the ship’s rocking motion, sent her quickly back on deck, to lean over the railing for a while. Nothing came of it, but she decided to stay out in the fresh sea air as much as possible after that.

When the salted fish and hard bread that passed for food on board the Diamantine was served, no one ate much, except for the scholar and Scald, who praised the cook for the quality of the salt. Despite his sarcasm he was one of the few to consume his meal in its entirety.

They soon made another nasty discovery. To the dismay of several of the Chosen, the Diamantine was not equipped with a privy, or head, as the sailors referred to it. Just beyond the starboard side of the stern a webbing of ropes extended out over the water. That was the nearest thing to a privy on the ship. The mere thought of it was enough to make Illiom want to fast for the duration of the journey.

The coastline changed later in the afternoon. The arid colours that marked Iol as a desert kingdom still persisted but the washed-out dusting of green that had betrayed the presence of at least some vegetation near Flax was long gone, replaced by tiers of rolling sand dunes. Occasionally these were pierced by dark, jagged rocks that slanted skyward like sinister fortifications. For the remainder of the day they sailed past tracts of coastline that were intermittently sandy and rocky.

When Iod began to set, Illiom stayed on deck for as long as she dared, watching the stars come out and noticing how quickly the world cooled here on the ocean once the God’s light was gone. After a spell of shivering from the cold, she decided to brave the hold and descended with Tarmel to claim her berth. She climbed into the hammock and fell immediately asleep.

She awoke once during the night to the violent pitching and rocking of the boat. She understood then the wisdom of sleeping in a hammock; it went a long way towards lessening the impact of the ship’s motion.

She found, when she attempted to leave the hold, that walking without help was impossible. It explained the rope railing affixed to the walls and she used it to steady herself as she groped her way up.

Choice had little to do with her decision to go up. She had avoided using the privy for as long as was possible: it was time to face that ordeal as well.

At least, she thought resignedly, I have darkness on my side.

It was an alarming experience, especially with the ship heaving as it did, yet Illiom stayed on deck for a while afterwards, contemplating the impenetrable quality of the night that surrounded the Diamantine. She wondered how the sailor at the helm knew to steer clear of the coast.

There were no lights to be seen anywhere, only the stars that shone down cold and distant upon the watery world.

“The sea is so rough! Is there a storm coming?” she asked the woman at the wheel.

The sailor shook her head.

“Nah, no storm; ‘tis just that we’re comin’ up to the south’n tip of Theregon,” she explained. “The sea‘ll be as rough as guts until we breach the cape. After that she’ll settle down again, ye’ll see.”

Illiom nodded and was quiet for a time.

“What kind of a ship is this? I noticed that you have oars as well as sails … are they just for use in ports and harbours?”

“The Diamantine be a triaconter; an’ ‘em oars are fer travellin’ when there be no wind, so she don’t jest bob up ‘n down like a cork in the middle o’ the sea.”

Illiom yawned, thanked the woman, and climbed unsteadily back to her hammock. She lay there feeling the ship’s movements and listening to all the other sounds: the creaking and groaning of timbers and the squeaking of ropes straining against the tug of wind. Somewhere a barrel must have worked itself loose and was rolling and thudding, over and over, backwards and forwards.

Much as she tried, Illiom could not shut out all the noises. They were as continuous and rhythmic as the ship’s progress into the night.

Roll, thud … silence.

Roll, thud … silence …

Illiom was one of the last to rise the next morning.

Iod had not yet risen and the sky was covered in a thin layer of high cloud. The Diamantine’s direction had shifted and she was now heading directly into the sunrise. With the wind directly behind her she had righted and was travelling straight and true.

The shore was much closer than it had been yesterday, and tall, white cliffs protected the land from the ravaging sea. They plunged down upon a ribbon of black beach that stretched into the distance. Ahead, a cluster of ruins replaced the cliffs and stretched up towards the hills.

“Gost,” Tarmel said, materialising by her side.

“They look just like Akta,” Illiom commented.

“All the ruins look much the same,” Sereth said. “All alike in colour and with the same liquefied aspect, regardless of their location or their lay. They all met the same fate and were destroyed by the same power.”

The Diamantine slammed into a swell and none of them escaped the spray that followed.

“Is it always like this here?” asked Elan, wiping seawater from her face.

“Always,” confirmed Shrian behind her. “And this is just the beginning. In about half an hour the sea will quickly separate the seafarers from the land folk.”

The scholar had not exaggerated.

Within the hour the Diamantine was lurching and tilting dangerously to the four quarters, as if a giant hand had risen up from the depths and was attempting to tear the ship apart. She rose up high and then fell down hard into the deep hollow between swells.

Pell gripped the railing for dear life. He was as pale as death itself. Wind was attempting to comfort him as best she could.

Illiom was not feeling the best herself but, following Shrian’s advice, she had taken up a position amidships, where the turbulence seemed less dramatic. She held onto a rope and tried, as Shrian had suggested, to ‘ride the waves’, adjusting her posture to match the movement of the Diamantine.

The ship continued to lurch in this fashion for almost two hours then suddenly the sea became calm once more and the ordeal was over; the rest of the day passed by uneventfully as they now sailed towards the north, following the eastern coast of Albradan.

Undina found a new way to distract herself that afternoon. To the amused curiosity of the crew, she threw a rope out behind the ship and then lowered herself into the water. Illiom watched the girl laughing, dipping and diving in the wake of the Diamantine.

“She is making up for all the time we spent crossing that desert,” said Angar, with a fond look at his charge.

As if the ordeal of crossing Gost had marked a significant passage, all the passengers - including Pell - were sufficiently recovered by dusk to partake in the evening meal. The fare was much the same as the previous nights, but this time there were no complaints. The calm sea meant that no one needed to tend to the helm. The wheel had been fixed into the desired position by a thick wooden stave driven into one of a number of holes spaced around the wheel’s hub. All the sailor had to do was to periodically check on the Diamantine’s course and make any necessary adjustments.

So, for the first time since leaving Flax, the Chosen and their Riders sat down with the Diamantine’s entire crew upon the relatively still deck and consumed their evening meal together.

After the meal, the captain turned to Gita.

“Go to my cabin,” she instructed. “Fetch one of the barrels.”

Gita returned with a small barrel under her arm. The wine was as dark as old blood and Illiom felt queasy after just one sip.

“To those fallen under the blades of the Kroeni barbarians,” intoned Grena, and her crew responded with one voice. “To the fallen!”

As the toast continued and the wine continued to flow, the crew’s anger was fuelled, until the predominant cry that Illiom heard was that of ‘Death to the Kroeni!’

She stole a look in Azulya’s direction and saw Kassargan’s calm and serene face, but Illiom wondered what simmered beneath the Kroeni’s disguise. Therefore, she was more than a little surprised when Azulya also raised her cup to the toast and threw back the fiery liquid along with the rest.

Sereth rose to his feet.

“May I also offer a toast?” he asked, tilting his head questioningly towards the captain. Grena nodded.

“I too drink to swift justice, but also raise my cup to an equally swift end to this conflict; for in war it is not just the wicked who suffer, but also the innocent. May reason prevail!”

Not all of the crew looked happy with his toast, but when Grena raised her cup in response, they followed suit.

To Illiom’s immense relief, that marked the ending of the toasts and the drinking - for her at least. Her head was already spinning from the effects of the potent liquid.

Much to the crew’s delight, Sereth brought out his harp. All anger forgotten, they clamoured around him and roared with pleasure when he launched into a series of bawdy ballads. A space was quickly cleared as the dancing began.

Scald tried to cajole Wind to dance and at first the fey Rider would not hear of it, but eventually she yielded to his persistent demands and the two began twirling and gyrating with the rest of the crew. Spurred on by the contagious atmosphere and the effects of the wine, Grifor too rose to the occasion. He was soon joined by Angar and Mist, and it was not long before even Elan and Malco joined in.

The rest clapped and stomped so loudly that they almost drowned out the sound of the harp.

Illiom approached Azulya.

“All that nonsense with the toasting … it must have been difficult for you to hear,” she said, speaking softly so that her words would not carry.

Azulya shrugged lightly.

“They are angry. They are grieving and in pain. They are just like people everywhere else. They bond together and give vent to their frustrations and fears lest they are overwhelmed by them.”

She looked at Illiom with eyes that the descrier would never be using again.

“It is not me whom they hate; they hate what has been done to them.”

Illiom nodded.

“I know that you are right … Kassargan; but sometimes I fail to comprehend how you can be so understanding and compassionate, when these women would probably tear you apart without a moment’s hesitation if they found out who you were.”

“Well then, let us be sure that they do not find out.”

Their exchange was interrupted by Sereth’s announcement that he would sing a song of the sea that he had learned from the fisher folk of Breth. And so he launched into a plaintive tune that spoke of the cruel waves that stole a good-woman’s husband, leaving her a widow and their children orphans, all to fend for themselves against the encroaching winter and the spectre of hunger. It was a sad tale of despair and regret that culminated in the woman leaping with her children from the cliffs near their home. Here, the waves teased their bodies free of the rocks, and the spirits of the sea reunited the family by taking their souls and placing them in the bodies of dolphins that, to this day, can be seen swimming near the village, calling out to the descendants of the ones they once knew and loved.

On the third morning after leaving Flax, Illiom was awakened by raised voices tense with urgency, so she dressed hurriedly and made her way up to the deck.

The sky was grey and heavy with cloud.

Illiom followed the direction of everyone’s attention to see a single dark dot upon the horizon. After a few moments she made out another, further out at sea, towards the north east.

“They are Kroeni ships,” Grena informed them.

Kroeni?

“What are they doing all the way down here?” Scald asked.

“That is precisely what I have been asking myself,” the captain said, coming to stand alongside them at the rail. “And I have concluded that I do not care. Whatever they are doing, they are our enemy and now they are in our way. Without a doubt they have already seen us so we cannot avoid them, even if I wanted to – which I do not.”

The Kroeni ships were distinctly different from the Diamantine: large, ungainly, they seemed designed more for carrying cargo than for speed at sea.

“There is another,” Grifor said and pointed. “And I think … yes, there is a fourth as well, way over there.”

Illiom scanned the horizon but for a time was only able to see the first two. The third finally came into view, but the fourth continued to elude her.

“Cap’n!” came a cry from the crow’s nest at the top of the main mast. “There be four ships, all heading this way.”

The captain stared at Grifor for a long moment before returning her attention to the sea. It was long minutes before Illiom could see all four, by which time the first ship loomed large and was significantly closer.

Grena barked orders and her crew sprang into action. Argolan turned to Grena.

“What do you plan to do?”

“Nothing yet, but I am preparing for any eventuality.”

Argolan nodded.

“Surely they are not as fast as this ship,” Scald said, his voice laced with trepidation.

“Nothing can best our ships for speed,” confirmed the captain. “But there are other concerns besides speed upon the high seas.”

With that remark, Grena Sarp turned and walked towards the wheelhouse.

Illiom looked at the northern ships. The first was growing larger alarmingly fast, already appearing to be four times the size of the farthest. Her bearing seemed to be aimed directly at the Diamantine.

“I want you all to go below deck and out of harm’s way at my say-so,” Argolan instructed. When no one responded she added, “Is that clear?”

Only when she received a verbal assurance from each of the Chosen did she turn to address the Riders.

“Get whatever weapons you think you may need up here. Ranged, as well as mêlée weapons – we do not know yet if there will be a fight or what form this encounter will take, so best to be ready. Lend the crew any assistance you can, but do not hinder them. Remember, Grena Sarp is the ultimate authority here; obey her instructions as if they were my own.”

Illiom looked towards the Kroeni ships. The closest one was unmistakably bearing down upon them.

Suddenly the Diamantine swung towards starboard and the open sea. Illiom watched as the Kroeni ship adjusted her own course to match.

The second ship, further out at sea, also adjusted her bearing with the clear intent of cutting ahead.

Behind the Diamantine, the two remaining vessels fanned out in opposite directions, their intent a complete mystery to Illiom. The ship nearest them loomed closer but was no match for the Diamantine’s speed and gradually the distance between them grew.

Grena Sarp had taken over the wheel and the Diamantine sped over the waves.

A hoarse shout came from the crow’s nest.

“Archers! Take cover!”

Before the warning could register, strong arms clamped around Illiom, forcing her down upon the deck. Tarmel screened her with his body. She struggled against his hold, crying out in protest, her voice lost amongst the shouts and cries clamouring all around them. The Rider’s grip was iron strong and she could not budge him from his protective resolve.

“Chosen, below deck …!” Argolan bellowed, even as the first arrows began to thud onto the deck, a few embedding themselves into the planking far too close for comfort.

A muffled groan of pain from above told Illiom that at least one arrow had found its mark. She twisted and looked up to see the unfortunate sailor fall from the crow’s nest. As the young woman’s body slammed onto the deck with a dull thud and a splatter of blood, Illiom looked away, but not before she saw the two red-dyed arrows protruding from her chest.

As soon as there was a pause in the barrage, Tarmel was up, pulling her to her feet and dragging her towards the hatch. Illiom, numbed by the speed of events, offered no resistance. No sooner had they reached the hatch when a second volley of arrows peppered the ship. Illiom felt Tarmel’s body wrap itself around her once more.

She struggled to free herself in an attempt to stop him from using his body as a shield.

If something happens to him …

Arrows peppered the deck, accompanied by more cries and screams of pain. But before Illiom had time to look up and see who had been hurt, Tarmel was pushing her unceremoniously down the hatch and all that she could do to break her fall was to clutch at the ladder.

Hands reached out to assist her and she scuttled down as fast as she could, to make room for others to follow. Azulya, Undina and Scald were already there. Sereth, Elan and Malco soon joined them, but none of the Riders did.

“Tarmel!” she shouted. “Tarmel!”

Azulya came up to her and wrapped her arms around her.

“It is alright, Illiom,” she soothed. “He is a warrior, he is in his element.”

Illiom extricated herself from the other’s grip with a sob of impotent anger before running headlong towards one of the slits that served as portholes. She saw that although the distance between the two vessels had continued to grow, their own ship was still within arrow range.

Illiom felt the blood pumping fast through her veins.

She bolted towards her hammock and pulled her bow free; then grabbing her quiver, ran to another porthole, one further aft which brought her closer to the enemy ship. She groped for an arrow and, as she notched it, saw that it was not one of her Altran ones.

The gap through the slit was not great, but it was enough for her to use.

Now Illiom learned the difference between firing at a stationary target and firing from a boat speeding across the sea. Her first and second arrows fell far short of the Kroeni ship and were swallowed up by the waves.

She clenched her jaw and snarled. Anger and frustration made her fumble as she grabbed a third. Illiom desperately wanted to kill one of those archers, seeing them only as enemies bent on destroying her and those she had come to care for.

She notched the arrow and this time it was one of her precious Altran ones. No matter. She drew the sinew back and listened for the bow’s song. The sound came and had an immediate soothing effect on her.

The arrow flew unerringly towards its mark.

After a moment, a lone figure slipped from the side of the Kroeni ship to fall headlong into the waves.

Illiom was stunned. She had murdered a man. She had killed an enemy. Gripped by both horror and elation she was momentarily frozen.

She shook herself free, and the battle took command.

She took a second Altran arrow, aimed it and fired.

I will get more when we reach Altra, she promised herself.

The Kroeni ship was even further away now and she could not see if her arrow had found its mark.

Maybe one more arrow, she thought. After that the Kroeni vessel would probably be completely out of range, even for an Altran arrow.

But as she reached for her third arrow she stopped and stared at the contents of the quiver. It still contained six eagle-fletched arrows, the one in her hand made the tally seven.

Confused, she recounted her arrows.

Had she been mistaken, had the first two been normal arrows? No, that was not possible; she had distinctly heard their song.

It is so much more than that!

The voice of the Altran trader echoed from that distant past. Illiom looked at her quiver with deep gratitude.

She was brought back to the present by Grena’s shouted commands.

No more arrows were fired; the ships were well out of firing range of each other.

Illiom came to a sudden decision.

She ran for the ladder and climbed up onto the deck as quickly as she could.

The scene that met her was not as bad as she had anticipated.

The sailor who had been their lookout lay lifeless where she had fallen.

Azulya was tending to another.

She saw three more bodies lying on the deck.

Grena Sarp was at the wheel.

Tarmel, together with most of the Riders and crew members, had seized the shields fastened to the ship’s railings in order to protect themselves. The danger had not yet passed.

Although the ship she had fired at was no longer an immediate threat, the one directly ahead was closing in fast and two others were not far behind her.

“Illiom!” Tarmel’s shout made her jump. “Get back below, now!”

She shook her head.

“No!” she snapped right back. “I can help.”

The ship suddenly banked to starboard as Grena turned the Diamantine around, heading back towards shore.

Ahead, the closest ship changed its course immediately. Further away, the other two seemed to hold their course.

“Illiom, what are you doing up here?” demanded Argolan.

She looked at the Shieldarm and raised her bow.

“I can help!” she repeated.

Tarmel sped towards her, frowning with anxiety and anger. Ignoring him, she turned to look at the ship that was behind them. She saw how the Diamantine’s new course would soon bring her back within range, so she dashed to stern.

Grena watched as she ran past, but said nothing.

Illiom peered at the approaching ship, trying to make out the sailor at the helm. It took a little while, but eventually she spotted him. Because of the distance, she took great care with her aim and only released the sinew when her bow’s song was as high-pitched and pure as she had ever heard it.

Long moments later, the pursuing ship banked suddenly port-wards and her prow turned out towards the coast line. Her sails billowed briefly and then sagged, deflating as the ship turned her flank to the wind.

“How in the Holy Mystery of Kolost did you do that?” The captain looked at Illiom, her eyes filled with astonishment.

Illiom, too focused on her task to answer, made her way towards Tarmel instead. The Rider clearly did not know whether to congratulate her or berate her, but Illiom was not concerned. For the first time since this whole business had started, she felt like she was actually contributing something of value to their mission.

She liked the feeling, and she wanted more.

The crew of the ship in pursuit had not regained control of their vessel and it was falling further and further behind. Ahead, the three remaining ships converged upon the Diamantine like a pack of wolves.

But the Diamantine was no lamb.

She was fast, and continued to ride the waves, making towards shore. The closest Kroeni ship was now almost within range, but try as she may, Illiom was unable to make out her wheelhouse or the sailor at the helm. The black vessel bore down on them, looming larger and more threatening with every passing moment.

“Time to go below deck, Illiom,” Tarmel ordered.

Illiom shook her head.

“Only if you come down too, otherwise I am staying up here. I told you I could help.”

He pursed his lips.

“Then take this,” he said, thrusting a shield at her. “Just hold it away from your body, like this.”

He demonstrated the distance before handing it over. “A heavy arrow can pierce a shield by as much as a full hand-span …”

“What are you going to do?” she asked, accepting the shield.

“I will get an …” he started to say, but was interrupted by a warning shout.

“Swarm!!!”

This time most of the crew and Riders had availed themselves of shields. Those who had not, dashed behind what cover they could find. Illiom raised her shield and Tarmel had only just managed to do the same when the swarm hit.

The arrows had barely hit the deck when Illiom dropped her shield, nocked an arrow, and fired as quickly as she could before ducking back behind her shield as a second swarm of arrows fell upon them. She heard the screams of the wounded as some of the enemy arrows found purchase.

The Kroeni ship was almost upon them. Illiom peeked out to see a second lot of blue-skinned bowmen draw their weapons as those who had just fired reloaded theirs. She ducked behind cover again until they had discharged. In rapid succession two arrows punctured her shield, both heads protruding completely, vindicating Tarmel’s earlier warning. She did not hesitate.

She sprung up and put another archer out of action.

Grifor ran past her, holding her own bow. She was about to speak when the side of the Diamantine was slammed into.

The entire ship shuddered.

A breath later something swished just above the deck line, shattering an entire section of railing and taking one of their crew overboard with it. A long length of rope trailed after it until it snapped taut.

Simultaneously two new explosions impacted the ship.

The Diamantine listed heavily to starboard and then, with a violent lurch, she came to a complete stop, throwing everyone who had not been holding on to something sprawling across the deck.

Illiom picked herself up and scrambled for her bow. She had no idea what had just happened, but she heard Grena cry out.

“Cut those ropes! Quick!”

She dared to look and what she saw filled her with horror. The gap between the two ships was closing rapidly as three lines of thick rope now seemed to join the two vessels fast. They protruded from holes in the side of the Kroeni vessel.

She could not tell how many crew members the enemy had, but the forest of weapons that were raised against them, and the thunderous battle cry of their bearers, almost made her knees fold under her.

Their own sailors and the Riders were on their feet once more, firing arrows and bolts into the enemy. Some of the crew leapt at the ropes and hacked at them with their blades.

Exposed, they were swiftly cut down before they could free their ship, their pierced bodies falling overboard and out of sight. Three others immediately took their place, attempting to finish what the others had started.

Illiom’s blood was pounding in her temples and her mouth stretched open in a shout of frustrated defiance. An arrow passed so close that she felt the gust of air upon her cheek. She returned fire, arrow after arrow, at the Kroeni warriors, despite tears streaming down her face; nothing appeased the fury that was rearing up inside of her. She no longer even chose her arrows but pulled from the quiver whatever leapt into her hand.

One of the lines was finally cut but another crew member was also struck down. The two remaining crew hacked desperately at the last two lines but, before they could complete the task, the Kroeni vessel slammed into the side of the Diamantine. The two hulls groaned against one another before separating again, but not before a dozen Kroeni managed to jump the gap, landing heavily on the Evárudani ship.

They were slaughtered by Grena’s crew before they could even regain their balance.

The ropes joining the two ships had grown taut again. One of the two remaining lines snapped under the strain, lashing back at the attackers like an enraged viper. But the last line held and relentlessly drew the two hulls closer together again.

The Kroeni had now discarded their bows and drawn their blades. They raised their rounded shields to fend off the defenders’ missiles and made ready to leap across the narrowing gap and board the Evárudani ship, their eyes lusting for slaughter.

In that very instant the Kroeni mainsail burst into flames.

Astonished, Illiom stared up at the fire as it spread avidly along the length of the fabric. The Kroeni warriors also looked up and their initial confusion quickly gave way to terror.

This gave Grena’s crew the respite they needed: the final rope was severed and the Diamantine began to move free of the enemy’s grip. Meanwhile the crew and the Riders continued to storm the bewildered enemy with arrows and bolts. Slowly the Diamantine drifted away, leaving the Kroeni vessel immobilised behind them.

Illiom saw the burning sails fall in great flaming sheets onto the warriors, who were jostling to get out of the way. The dead and the dying were strewn across the Kroeni deck.

Only then did Illiom look at Tarmel. He met her gaze and she saw her own surprise and relief mirrored in his eyes.

The ship that had floundered earlier was back in action, but was still so far off that it posed no immediate threat. Freed at last, the Diamantine had already picked up speed and was sailing under full power once more.

The two remaining Kroeni vessels still ahead were now in turn closing in, but their movements seemed more uncertain. Grena bellowed for the crew to ready the oars and several of them obediently vanished below deck. They were quickly followed by the Riders, who helped carry the wounded to safety.

The dead were left to lie where they had fallen.

When Grifor came back on deck she walked straight up to Illiom and gripped her arm as an equal.

“Great archery,” she said, her eyes bright with approval.

Illiom nodded distractedly.

“But what happened?” Illiom asked, nodding towards the ruined section of railing. “How did they get those ropes onto us …?”

“Harpoons,” offered a nearby sailor who was intent on wiping away blood from her eyes, a jagged gash creasing her forehead like a frown. “Damn scum nearly got us that time, but we showed ’em, eh?”

Illiom was trying to formulate a reply when Elan emerged from the hatch, looking around wildly.

“Undina is hurt!” she cried breathlessly as Sereth, Malco, and Scald clambered up behind her, bearing the tribal girl between them.

Fast as a flood, Angar was by the girl’s side.

“What happened?” he demanded. “How did she get hurt?”

“Splinters,” Scald spat. “One of the harpoons struck near her and splinters went flying in all directions. Some are embedded in her back ... one of them looks quite nasty. So much for being safe below deck … it is a wonder no one was killed!”

Azulya pushed past him to examine her wounds. Undina’s eyes were open wide, filled with pain, and she was gulping air in an alarming manner. A splinter as thick as a thumb had lodged itself in one side of the girl’s back, just below the rib cage.

Azulya reassured her in soothing tones as she cut away the cloth around the wound, but Illiom nearly passed out when she saw the other end of the splinter protruding from the girl’s abdomen.

Even Azulya blanched when she saw the extent of the wound. Nevertheless she took Undina’s hand in hers and spoke in a quiet but firm manner.

“Undina, I have to pull this out and it has to be now. The sooner we do it, the better. This is going to hurt.”

Undina nodded her assent but could not help releasing a frightened whimper the moment Azulya rested her hand on the splinter. Bright blood dripped from the end of the wood and Illiom, covering her mouth, made herself move away. She had only taken a dozen steps when the screaming started and no matter how far she went after that, she could not put enough distance between herself and the girl’s agony.

Around her the Diamantine was a hive of activity as Grena, having relinquished the wheel to Telupa once more, was storming up and down the deck, barking orders and watching as her crew leapt to carry them out. The ship was heading out towards the open sea once more and heeling towards leeward, speeding over the waves.

The two ships directly ahead were still closing in, however. The nearest cut across the path of the other in order to block the Diamantine’s bid for the open sea. Soon the second also adjusted her course and now appeared to be intending to intercept the Diamantine from her port side.

Behind them, the third sailable ship continued to pose no threat.

Grena stared at the ships ahead as if she had the power to bore holes into their hulls with her gaze alone. She waited until the one to starboard was just beginning to bank back towards them and then ordered the pilot to turn and make directly for her.

The Diamantine’s prow turned slowly to do so and soon she was bearing straight down on the Kroeni ship.

“Now we will see what they are made of,” the captain snarled through gritted teeth.

The farther of the two ships continued on its course for a little longer but then it also turned sharply towards the Diamantine. Both ships were now on a collision course.

“Be ready against more archers!” the captain bellowed.

The crew, the Riders and the Chosen complied, all seizing shields. After what had happened to Undina no one asked the Chosen to go below deck again.

Illiom held her bow loosely and inspected her quiver. The number of regular arrows was somewhat depleted, but her Altran ones still numbered seven.

Soon, swarms of arrows began to fall onto the Diamantine’s deck once more. The enemy ship was directly ahead however and, as she did not have a clear shot of the sailor at the wheel, Illiom remained behind cover.

She peered out from time to time to see what was happening. This ship was bigger and taller than all the others and as she drew closer she loomed over the Diamantine.

Grena Sarp barked an order and Telupa banked the ship towards port. The Kroeni vessel tried to match the manoeuvre but was much slower in turning. Illiom suddenly felt that she knew Grena’s intent: that she would try to slip past the ships without engaging either of them. Yet when she checked the new course she saw that they were now bearing directly towards the second ship. A confrontation seemed inevitable. She was therefore surprised when Grena issued a counter order that saw the Diamantine reverse her previous change of course and bear down once again upon the nearest ship, the one that had still not succeeded in turning fully to meet them.

The prow of the Diamantine smashed into the Kroeni’s starboard side, close to the bow. Illiom was catapulted forward and fell heavily to the deck, someone else landing on top of her. She felt the deck heave upwards beneath her and at the same time her ears were filled with the sound of timbers groaning, bending, splintering and snapping.

As she picked herself up she looked to the prow, expecting to see it in ruin, but it appeared completely undamaged.

“Reverse!” Grena shouted.

Almost immediately, the Diamantine began to pull away from the enemy ship, but not quickly enough to prevent a score of enemy warriors from leaping across the gap and boarding her. They screamed obscenities as they engaged the crew in a deadly melee, hacking away at the women with their long crescent blades.

Illiom, paralysed by the horror of death’s proximity, watched the onslaught, completely powerless to act. She could not see how the crew could match the fury burning in the eyes of the Kroeni warriors.

Still their shields came up and their blades flashed, seeking a way past the attackers’ weapons to bite into pale blue flesh and draw away both blood and life. The Diamantine’s crew were not about to let themselves be butchered without a fight.

Despite their greater height and reach, the Kroeni were not as agile or as nimble as the Evárudani women, who fought tooth and nail, striking back savagely at the attackers.

Still, the enemy drove them hard, and Illiom saw a few of the crew fall under the assault, the tide of blue warriors washing straight over them, claiming the deck span by span.

With trembling hands Illiom reached for her quiver, loaded a shaft to her bow and drew back. But she could not fire.

The battle was too close, and the attackers and defenders too close to one another. Everything was a blur of movement and the fear in her belly was making her hand unsteady.

Tarmel, sword in one hand and a long knife in the other, ran past her and threw himself into the fray, slashing, ducking and pirouetting in the midst of all that deadly chaos. Illiom looked on, horrified as her Rider risked life and limb for her, for them.

But he was not alone.

All of the Riders, even Argolan herself, were in the thick of the battle, caught up in a frenzied dance of death. Malco too fought alongside them, exposing himself to the same danger. Illiom saw how Grifor fought alongside him, fending, parrying, and counterattacking whenever he floundered.

Three blue warriors had managed to breach the crew’s defence. One of them turned his attention to Scald, who seemed to have just then materialised out of nowhere, looking just as powerless and frustrated as Illiom herself felt.

The Kroeni snarled, baring white, pointy teeth, and lunged towards him, singling him out as his next victim. Wind, who had just started to engage another warrior, must have seen the attack out of the corner of her eye for, with an impossible twist and a leap, managed to intercept the man’s blade before he could skewer her Chosen. Her blade amputated the Kroeni’s sword arm. She turned back to meet the first opponent’s onslaught when a javelin came flying directly at her.

Again Wind achieved the near impossible and twisted just enough to let the javelin fly past, missing her by a hair’s breadth.

But the action left her flank exposed.

The warrior she had been sparring with saw his opportunity and swung his sword.

Illiom shouted, but more than a shout was needed to deflect the blade. It cut into Wind like a scythe through wheat, slicing armour and flesh. The pale Rider’s blood sprayed upwards in a wide arc.

Wind screamed, but still managed to lash back with a kick that impacted the man’s jaw and snapped his neck.

As the man crumpled, Wind slid on the bloodied deck and fell onto her back. The warrior whose javelin she had eluded was instantly upon her. He thrust his dagger up to the hilt into Wind’s belly.

She opened her mouth as if to take a breath of air.

Scald screamed like a jackal and threw himself at the Kroeni, pushing the tall man off balance; and as the man fell, Argolan delivered a blow to his neck that almost decapitated him.

The battle did not pause.

There was no room, no time for grief or for mourning. It continued to rage around them, demanding all of the warriors’ attention.

The only one with any time for Wind was Scald.

The Chosen, who had fallen to the deck when he had thrown himself at the Kroeni, crawled to his Rider’s side.

Wind’s eyes were half-closed, her mouth open, her chest heaving, desperately trying to draw breath.

“Wind!” he cried, looking down at the blood gushing from her abdomen. He cupped the wound, striving to staunch the flow of blood with trembling hands. He choked, and his shout became no more than a whimper.

“Wind … no! Wind …”

Illiom lost sight of the Chosen when Tarmel’s hand forced her head down to the deck as another Kroeni managed to break past the crew and the other Riders. What Tarmel did next, Illiom did not see, but a moment later the side of the man’s face hit the deck alongside her, his opal-eyes already dimming as the consciousness that had been there fled the ruins of its shell.

Behind his corpse the battle between the two sides raged on, but already Illiom could see the Kroeni vessel drifting backwards, away from the Diamantine.

It was listing crazily to one side.

The Kroeni soldiers who had not managed to make the leap onto the Diamantine were now trapped on their own ship. Outraged, they continued to fire arrows, but these were just as likely to hit their own soldiers as the enemy. Soon, however, they desisted; now more preoccupied with saving themselves as their ship shuddered and began to list even more heavily.

Realising that there would be no more reinforcements to swell their ranks, the Kroeni still on the Diamantine began to back away from the fighting. Illiom saw one warrior jump overboard into the waves rather than meet his end at the hands of the crew. Others followed or fell, and soon there were no Kroeni soldiers left on deck other than those who were dead or dying.

Remembering the other two Kroeni ships, Illiom craned her neck to see what had become of them and saw that neither was in a position to intervene.

Disentangled, the Diamantine turned away. Her sails filled with wind once more and she sped away from the scene, away from all the death and the ruin, and continued on her way towards Evárudas.

Illiom got up slowly, not sure that her legs would support her.

She staggered over to where Wind lay, broken. Scald, the irascible Chosen who had always shown a callous disregard for sensitivity and emotion, cradled his Rider’s head and looked up at Illiom with the eyes of a man who had just lost his only love.

Wind’s open eyes were staring at the Diamantine’s rigging. Azulya appeared alongside Scald, knelt down, and softly caressed the Rider’s pale cheek. Then she reached with her fingers and gently brought the Rider’s eyelids down over the staring, empty gaze.

Scald held his Rider to his heart, rocking gently.

His lips moved, but whether in prayer or in regret Illiom could not say. After a time he gently lowered Wind’s head to his lap, buried his face in his hands and wept like an abandoned child.

His sorrow pierced Illiom’s heart.