Dreamwielder (12 page)

“You needn't worry yourself about it anymore,” Roanna said, turning to get back into the rowboat. “Return to your normal duties for the Emperor. This conversation never happened.”

“And my money?”

The big man in the boat flung a coin purse, smacking Natarios square in the sternum and knocking him backward over a root into a mud puddle.

“You'll get the rest when we have the Princess and the Emperor is dead,” Roanna said as the big man pushed the boat off and began rowing toward their ship.

Good luck getting past Wulfram first,
Natarios quipped silently as he opened the drawstring on the purse and counted his money. It was less than he had hoped for but more than enough to be worthwhile. He had no love for Wulfram and the Emperor, and as much as he'd like to see the both of them dead and get paid the rest of his money, he'd seen well enough what Wulfram was capable of. He was skeptical any sorceress could pose harm to him. In all likelihood Wulfram would return soon, and Natarios would have to tell him that the Princess had fled. Wulfram would go after
Pyrthin's Fire,
and if Roanna got in the way, he'd kill her.
Serve her right for not letting me talk.

Natarios pushed himself to his feet, intent on getting away from the river and trees and back to his tower as quickly as possible, but Roanna's ship caught his eye, and he turned just in time to see it pull up anchor. He stood there staring in disbelief, because rather than drifting downstream, it drifted up into the air.

“An air-ship,” he marveled. “Even the Emperor doesn't have one of those.”

With the sun at his back, Parmo could see for miles on the eastern horizon: nothing but blue sea and a few puffy white clouds. They were heading east again, toward the East Islands, as luck would have it. Parmo could still hardly believe it. The captain of
Pyrthin's Flame
had told Parmo that they would return to Kal Pyrthin afterward, and Parmo readily agreed to work on the ship in exchange for passage. He didn't tell the captain that he meant to stay on the East Islands with Makarria. The man seemed nice enough, but Parmo didn't trust anyone. It would be an easy enough task, and safer for everyone, for Parmo to slip away with Makarria once they were in port in the East Islands.

“Hey there,” one of the sailors barked, interrupting Parmo's reverie, “those whippings aren't going to finish themselves.”

“Aye, right you are,” Parmo said pleasantly enough, but inwardly he cursed the man.
I know more about sailing than you and the rest of this fool crew combined.
Still, Parmo took pride in his work, and he turned his attention back to the whippings he'd been at all day. There were nearly one hundred and forty lines on
Pyrthin's Flame
, and the ship still being new, none of the ends had been finished. The captain had tasked Parmo with finishing them all, which involved binding the ends of the three-stranded ropes with an intricate combination of sewing and knotting to keep the ends from unraveling. Parmo was not yet even a quarter of the way done. He picked up his sail-needle with a sigh and tightened the leather palm he wore over his right hand. It was tedious work, but at least it passed the time he figured. He would have preferred to spend his time with Makarria, but the Princess on board had more or less adopted her. Parmo still could not fathom why the Princess was on board in the first place, but he knew better than to ask questions and arouse any suspicion.
Just stay quiet and Makarria will tell me all about it when we get safely off ship in the East Islands,
he reminded himself.

Makarria, for her part, was having a perfectly wonderful time with Taera. The Princess had helped her bathe the day before when they'd been rescued, then insisted that Makarria stay with her in her cabin. The cabin did not have a particularly comfortable bed by Taera's standards, but to Makarria it was the most luxurious thing she had ever experienced, especially after sleeping in a skiff for the last week or more. Makarria still couldn't believe that she had met a princess. Taera, with her long blond hair and clear blue eyes, was more beautiful than Makarria ever imagined a woman could be. By comparison, Makarria with her brown hair and dark-tanned skin felt like a wretched-looking whelp.

“You don't speak much, do you?” Taera asked her.

Makarria looked up to see Taera staring at her from across the bed where she sat combing her hair. “I don't?”

“No, you're very quiet, and sometimes you're not even listening when I speak. Your eyes see me, but you're somewhere else.”

Makarria glanced away, embarrassed. “My mother says that too. She says whenever there's work to do I go off into my own little world.”

Taera smiled and rubbed Makarria's shoulder. “Don't worry, I was the same when I was your age.”

“Really? Did your mother yell at you too?”

“No. I didn't have my mother around much growing up. She died when I was very young.”

Makarria covered her mouth in shock.

“It's alright, sweetie,” Taera assured her. “As I said, I was very young and I barely remember her. I was well taken care of. I imagine it's quite different being a farmer than it is being a princess. No one has ever depended on me to milk goats or tend to a garden.”

Makarria shrugged. “It's not so bad. If I work hard, I'm usually done with all my chores before dark, and then I can hike around by myself or go out on the skiff to help my grampy get the crab traps.”

“Your grandfather or your uncle?” Taera asked.

“My grandfather. Parmo is my…” Makarria caught herself and remembered the story she was supposed to tell. “Parmo is my uncle, not my grandfather. A different skiff. They each have their own.”

Taera stood up and placed her hairbrush in a drawer of the tiny dresser secured to the far wall of the tiny cabin. “I want you to know that you can trust me, Makarria,” Taera said. “You don't have to keep secrets.”

“I'm not keeping secrets. It's just, I'm nervous, you being a princess and all.”

“I don't think that's it. You're scared but not because I'm a princess.”

Makarria averted her eyes and adjusted her tunic.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Taera asked. “You can't tell anyone, otherwise my life will be in grave danger, but I trust you.”

“Alright,” Makarria agreed.

Taera sat back down on the bed and leaned in close to Makarria. “I can see things before they happen,” she whispered. “I'm a seer, Makarria. My father is sending me away so that the Emperor can't kill me. I'm to hide away on the East Islands and hope Guderian and Wulfram never find me.”

Makarria's eyes went wide. “The Emperor is real, then? And Wulfram? They'd really want to kill you because you see things?”

“Yes, very much so. And I think you are running from them too, Makarria. I've seen you in my visions. Our fates are tied together somehow. It's not clear to me yet, but you are a very important young woman, and I swear to you, I mean to do whatever I can to keep you safe.”

Makarria nodded. She knew that Parmo would be mad at her for talking, but she couldn't help it—she trusted Taera. “I can make things when I sleep,” she blurted out. “Grampy says I'm a dreamwielder.”

Now it was Taera's turn to go wide-eyed. “A dreamwielder? You're sure?”

“Yes. Grampy was taking me to go hide at the East Islands, just like you, but a storm came and ruined our boat.”

“Parmo is your grandfather?”

“Yes.”

“But he's far too young to—” Taera stopped mid-sentence as a vision of Parmo's face transforming from old to young flashed through her mind. “You changed him,” she said, hardly believing it.

“Yes,” Makarria admitted. “It was an accident, and I killed a lot of fish. It's alright though. Grampy says when we get to the East Islands he's going to help me try to learn to control my dreams. And if you're there too… we'll be safe, right?”

Taera closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. “Yes, we probably would be safe there, but I have a bad feeling we're not going to the East Islands, Makarria. I've not seen the islands in my mind. Our fate lies elsewhere I'm afraid.”

King Casstian Delios rubbed his eyes to get the bleariness out of them. The stack of documents on his desk was a cluttered mess, and Casstian hardly knew what to make of it all. He had been King of Pyrthinia since the age of fourteen when his father was killed, and in all that time Pyrthinia had never been at war. There'd been a few naval skirmishes with pirates from the Old World and the squelching of a small uprising in Tyrna when two stormbringers riled up the townspeople against the Emperor, but Pyrthinia had not fully mobilized for war since the Dreamwielder War, a year before Casstian was even born.
I've spent my whole life trying to forge peace between Pyrthinia and Sargoth,
Casstian mused,
and now here I am—an old man—considering rebellion.

Casstian had been meeting with his most trusted advisors and looking at numbers and reports all day. As it stood, Pyrthinia did not have anywhere near a large enough standing army to march on Col Sargoth. There was also Valaróz to consider. Don Bricio would be the first to come to the Emperor's aid, and the Pyrthin navy simply could not compete with the Valarion navy. The best Casstian could hope for would be for the Pyrthin navy to blockade Kal Pyrthin Bay and keep the Valarion ships out, while ground troops marched on Sol Valaróz. That would mean fighting on two fronts though. Even if Casstian marshaled every able-bodied Pyrthinian into service, they would still be undermanned. At best, Casstian could hope to surprise Sol Valaróz by attacking there first, but the casualties would be massive, leaving them with too few troops to march on Col Sargoth. Plus, attacking Valaróz first would give the Emperor too much time to prepare, and give Lorimer, King of Golier, time to send reinforcements. And then there was Wulfram to contend with, whom Casstian had no answer for. The odds seemed insurmountable. Casstian knew he had to do something though. The Emperor would find out sooner or later that Casstian had sent Taera away, if he didn't know already, and that would be reason enough for the Emperor to come after him.
It's either strike first or give up and surrender myself,
Casstian decided.
Is my life worth the lives of thousands of Pyrthinians?

An odd clank at the window roused Casstian from his thoughts, and he got up from his desk to peer out the window. He saw nothing at first except for the night sky and the dimly lit windows of the city below him. Directly below his study tower, however, a small regiment of troops was marching toward the main gates of the keep, and they weren't Pyrthinian troops. Casstian spun around to go find his chamberlain but stopped dead in his tracks.

“Greetings, King Casstian,” Wulfram spoke, his voice more a growl than human speech.

Cold fear surged through Casstian's gut. “How did you get in here?”

“That's not important, King. What is important is what
you've
been doing. Why have your captains been marshaling troops? And where is your sick daughter?”

“I've sent her away to keep her out of your hands, you filthy animal,” Casstian said, drawing himself up to his full height and pushing aside the fear in his belly. A deep wheezing groan emanated from beneath Wulfram's robes, and Casstian realized Wulfram was laughing.

“I admire your honesty,” Wulfram said. “But you've needlessly sacrificed yourself. I'll find your daughter eventually, and she will still die.”

“You first,” Casstian said, lunging forward as he drew a dagger from his belt. Wulfram merely stood there, and for a fleeting moment Casstian thought he had been quick enough, but then Wulfram struck with such speed that Casstian was on the ground with his arm slashed open before he even realized what had happened.

“Fool old man,” Wulfram growled, his clawed right hand still protruding from the sleeve of his black cloak, his talons dripping with Casstian's blood. Casstian watched in horror as he lifted his hand to his shrouded face and licked the blood away with his elongated tongue.

There was a ruckus in the corridor outside the study and Casstian's chamberlain barged in through the door.

“Your Majesty—” the chamberlain started to say, but he stopped in stunned silence when he saw Wulfram standing over Casstian. His mouth kept moving for a few seconds more before he could get words out again. “…I, I'm sorry, Your Majesty, I tried to keep them out.”

Heavy footsteps approached from the corridor and in barged Natarios, followed by a dozen of the houndkeeper's henchmen in dark uniforms emblazoned with the symbol of Sargoth.

“Excellent work, houndkeeper,” Wulfram said. “Shackle the King and take him to the dungeon.”

“Not man enough to kill me?” Casstian spat, clutching at his rent open forearm to stop the bleeding.

“I'll leave that honor to your son when he returns with the Emperor.”

“What? Caile? He wouldn't.”

“He will if he wants your throne,” Wulfram stated simply, and with that he turned and strode out the door.

Taera woke with a start. She had seen the cavern beneath the ice in her dreams again and a new face: a woman who was smiling, beckoning from above. When Taera had first seen the cavern in her dreams, weeks before, it carried a foreboding sense of danger with it, but now it was different. The thought of the cave warmed her somehow. And the woman, too. Taera sat up and checked on Makarria, who lay sound asleep beside her. Taera hated to wake her, but she felt compelled to go up onto deck.
The woman is waiting for us,
Taera realized.

“Wake up, sweetie,” Taera whispered, shaking Makarria's shoulders.

“What's wrong?” Makarria asked, sitting bolt upright. “Was I dreaming?”