Magician’s End (17 page)

Brendan cursed every god of weather in every nation of every world that had gods of weather. He had made an uneventful journey down the coast, staying close and putting in whenever he caught sight of a sail on the horizon. As he moved south of the headlands known as Schull’s Rock, he took his bearing off the rising sun and pushed through straight on to Sarth. He knew the Quegan fleet would not put in that close to the Kingdom coast and felt safe hurrying along.

When he came into sight of Sarth, he took a quick inventory and discovered he had four days of food and five of water on board. Rather than stop at Sarth, he put the helm over to starboard and beat a course dead south. He ran out a Kingdom pennant he had liberated from the mayor’s library in Ylith, used by Kingdom couriers, in case he encountered Kingdom warships that might otherwise stop and board his vessel. It was providential, as twice Kingdom ships altered course to give him a closer look, but catching sight of the snapping guidon in the royal blue and gold and Brendan giving a cheery wave, they returned to their original course, assuming Brendan was seeking out another ship.

Now he was caught up in one of the Bitter Sea’s sudden weather changes. It wasn’t raining yet, but he could smell the moisture in the air. Lightning was cracking overhead, followed by thunderclaps that felt like physical slaps.

The little smack was starting to climb up crests and dive into troughs and Brendan was starting to worry. In clear weather, if the charts and maps he had studied were correct, he should be seeing the smudge on the horizon that would have marked Sorcerer’s Isle, but now visibility was down by half as rain from the south-west formed a curtain on the horizon. If he was lucky, it would pass to the west of him, or only get him a little wet, and prove to be just another sudden squall.

If it was a big storm, he could be sailing and bailing for days, and literally sail right past the island and be halfway to the Keshian coast before he realized his error.

Or he could sail right onto the rocks of Sorcerer’s Isle’s north shore.

Brendan checked his jib and saw it was well extended as the wind picked up, and knew that he would soon have too much sail. He tied off the tiller and quickly lashed the boom with a preventer, a short rope that would keep the wind from suddenly jibbing the boat while he pulled in the jib sail. Normally this type of smack had two masts, but this one had sacrificed the smaller abaft mast for the fish well. Usually two men manned this craft, but Brendan could find no one in Ylith willing to make the journey with him. He was young and had spent his life sailing the Far Coast near Crydee, and felt able to sail her solo. Until now, he realized. Right now a second man to man the sheets or bail out the bilge would have been most welcome. He had a small bailing bucket nearby, and if a wave crested the bow, he could hold the rudder with one hand while dumping some water overboard with the other. But it was tedious, fatiguing, and ineffective.

Dropping the jib, he decided to sacrifice order for speed, wadded up the mass of canvas and dumped it in the fish well. He returned to the rudder, unlashed it and the boom and set his eyes on the horizon.

Lightning flashed and he waited for the following thunder, but there wasn’t any. And then he realized most of the lightning was behind him. Then the lightning flashed again, and he realized it was in the same place as the last time he had seen it.

He kept his eyes focused on the same place, as well as he could with a pitching craft and moving horizon, but after about half a minute, he was rewarded with another flash. Still no thunder.

He tried to judge his direction, for the sky was heavy with clouds that blocked any hint of the sun’s position, save that the light was failing, so he knew it was late afternoon. And with the curtain of rain coming up from the south-west, visibility was dropping by the minute.

Another flash, and this time he could make out what looked to be lightning traces, all near the surface. It was most definitely odd, though he had seen ground lightning ashore once. But at sea? Never. Usually the bolts streaked across the sky, or struck the surface, but … this? It was unlike anything he knew.

Lacking a better guide, he tried to keep the boat pointed off the port side of where he first saw the flash, judging it to be as good a landmark as any he’d likely find.

Slowly the display grew in size, and then in the distance he heard a faint sound, which quickly resolved itself into the crash of waves on rocks.

A sheet of rain struck him like a thousand tiny whips, driving so hard that his eyes stung and water got up his nose; then it passed. Those tiny thunder showers were nothing he hadn’t seen before, but none had been this intense. Now he felt worry, for it was beginning to feel like a major storm was building up all around him.

He cleared his vision and he saw it: the black castle.

And then he saw the lightning.

The castle was perched upon a massive upthrust of rock which formed a table, one separated from the main body of the island by crashing waves and boulders. A single, long drawbridge linked the castle to the bluffs opposite its entrance.

Lighting erupted from the highest tower of the castle – long, actinic, jagged arcs of white with a hint of purple which left the eyes dazzled for a moment and lingered in afterimages of green. Brendan blinked and realized that was the ‘lightning’ he had been seeing for some time.

He ported his helm and pulled hard on the sheets to tack over and move away from this invitation to wreck on the rocks below. From what he had been told, there was a beach on the south shore. He felt the boat fight against a sideways tide and realized he was perilously close to a hidden tide-race.

If the tide was pulling in that direction, it had to be the result of something unseen, either underwater rocks or magic: whatever the reason, it was a death trap for any vessel caught in it.

Brendan ducked under the boom, and turned, tightly holding the boom sheet taut with his hand on the rudder while he loosened the outhaul, and the small craft heeled over. He could hear the mast creak as waves slammed into the hull.

An odd calm settled over Brendan. He knew he could manage this balky craft. He settled into a series of movements, pointing the vessel in the right direction, moving almost casually against a mounting storm, climbing crests and dipping into troughs as the waves grew, keeping one eye on the malevolent marker that was the castle.

Despite its baleful appearance, he had been told it was a showpiece, that the real community he was seeking was inland. Brendan considered the workmanship of the display, for whenever the lightning erupted from the tower he still recoiled slightly. He was now close enough that he could hear the sizzle of energy with the discharge and realized a very powerful magic must be at work. It might not pose a direct threat, but anyone approaching this island would be exposed to a demonstration of danger powerful enough to discourage further exploration.

The artistry was all very well, but Brendan’s concerns turned quickly back to the state of his boat and his personal safety. Everywhere he looked, there were rocks along the coastline and the little craft was hardly able to make headway against both tide and wind. He was forced to take a very long tack away from the island and soon his back and shoulders were burning with the effort of keeping the bow pointed towards land against the combination of tide and wind which was trying to pull him back towards the rocky shore and away from whatever sandy beach was supposed to be there, beyond the surf and the limit of his vision.

Feeling the hull under him moving the wrong way, Brendan yanked over hard on the tiller and ducked under the swinging boom, trying to fill the sail with enough wind to get moving forward again, even if in the wrong direction. But the boat was having none of it. It continued to move backwards while the sail luffed, snapping uselessly in the wind and giving him no momentum. The tiller and rudder caused the skiff to turn slowly on its centre line as the tide pushed it along. The boom continued to swing as Brendan sought to fill the sail with wind, and suddenly the bow of the boat swung around and it began to wallow, keeling over on the lee side, and then the boom tip was in the water.

Brendan let go of the tiller for a moment to yank hard on the boom sheet, and the boat shook, then rolled back as it turned to follow the tide-race. That’s when Brendan knew he was in dire trouble, for he felt the craft take off as if it was a dog leaping after a rabbit.

A tide-race meant shallows where the energy of deep waves was forced over an abruptly-rising sea floor. Which simply meant the mass of rocks he saw between himself and the castle was not starting close into the island, but was under his keel at this moment.

He pulled the boom sheet and grabbed the tiller, pulling them over and trying to pick up speed so he could move off at a tangent to his current course, looping out and coming back in a far bigger circular course, adding hours to the journey if need be. The storm was growing and now he was starting to feel the rain pelt him, and he knew it would be a downpour in minutes. He lacked foul-weather gear, having to rely on the cloak he currently wore, which would soon be soaked.

The bow lifted, and Brendan tried to keep focused and not panic. If the boat crested the wave and came down into the trough, everything would be well. If he heard wood scrape or, worse, splinter, he would be swimming in minutes.

The vessel came down smoothly, and he pulled it over and got it set on a north-east course away from the island. He felt a momentary giddy relief.

Then the boat crashed into underwater rocks.

Brendan was thrown forward into the fish well, landing on his neck and shoulder with enough force that his vision swam. He lay in reeking water up to his chin while the boat shook and groaned as it was pushed across the rocks. He got up spitting foul water and could barely get to his feet. His head throbbed and keeping his wits was proving a challenge. Pulling hard, he got over the lip of the fish well, but as he tried to climb, the boom swung wildly, striking him forcefully.

The world spun out of control and fell sideways, his senses fleeing as the boat started to break up on the rocks.

Images swam above him as Brendan regained consciousness. He had trouble focusing and he ached from his head to his feet.

A man’s voice said, ‘Quite a beating you took there, young sir.’

The speaker was just a little out of his field of vision. He managed to croak out a sound and felt someone put an arm behind his shoulder and lift him as a cup of water was put to his lips. He drank a little and felt his throat relax a bit. ‘Sorcerer’s Isle?’

A face hove into view. Female, but something decidedly unusual about her. He blinked and said, ‘Who are you?’

With a slightly accented King’s Tongue, she answered, ‘I am Dilyna.’

He blinked again and finally she came into focus. ‘Is this Sorcerer’s Isle?’

She nodded and he noticed there was something odd about her eyes: they were a brown bordering on red. Her hair was a deep brownish red, but her skin was pale. She answered. ‘This is the Isla Beata, but some call it Sorcerer’s Isle.’

‘Oh,’ he said as he tried to move. ‘Anything broken?’

‘Here,’ she said, holding up a shallow bowl with a pungent-smelling liquid in it. ‘This will heal you faster and make the pain less.’

He endured the draught, and finally said, ‘I’m Brendan. My brother is Henry, Duke of Crydee, and I’m looking for—’

A voice from behind said, ‘Me, I should think.’ A man came into view and sat on the edge of the bed. ‘I received word yesterday that a small fishing boat had crashed into the rocks, and tied up in the wreckage was a young man wearing a signet that identified him as a member of the royal family.’ He tapped on the ring on Brendan’s right hand. ‘So I came to have a look.’

Brendan felt a warm glow creep into his body and the pain subsided. ‘Ruffio!’ he said, grabbing the dark-haired magician by the arm. ‘My brother needs you in Krondor …’ He blinked. ‘Or maybe he doesn’t, now that I’ve found you.’ He felt his eyelids grow heavy.

‘Dilyna failed to mention that she gave you a healing draught that makes you fall asleep.’

A moment later, Brendan was snoring loudly.

Hours later, Brendan awoke. The draught had done its work. He was stiff and a little sore, but nothing like the mass of pain he had been before. He saw the room was dark and wondered if he had slept through a day and night. There was a hint of grey light coming through a crack in the shutters. He raised himself up on his elbows and saw Dilyna sitting in the corner, reading something by lantern light. ‘Hello, again,’ he croaked.

He saw a pewter pitcher and cup on the nightstand next to his bed. He sat up and managed to fill the cup and drink. ‘I should do that,’ she said, looking down at him.

Brendan grinned. ‘I thank you, but I’m feeling much better now.’ He must feel better: he realized Dilyna was far more attractive than he had first thought. Of the three brothers, Brendan was the ladies’ man, with Hal being relatively shy due to being the heir, and their mother watching him like a hawk. Martin had been in love with Bethany before Martin knew he was in love with Bethany, and whatever encounters he had had with town girls at Crydee had been the result of a festival, lots of wine or ale, and the girl being the predator, often thinking she might land the duke’s son. Brendan, on the other hand, had discovered the difference between girls and boys at a very early age and had also discovered he very much liked the difference. He had probably bedded more girls in Crydee and the rest of the Far Coast than both his brothers combined, despite being the youngest.

Dilyna was not particularly tall, but he judged she had long legs and a well-rounded backside from the way her dress fitted her.

When she realised she was being appraised, the colour rose in Dilyna’s cheeks. ‘I should fetch Ruffio,’ she said, and hurried out of the room.

The young magician appeared a moment later, followed by the girl. He smiled. ‘Feeling better?’

‘Yes, thank you,’ replied Brendan. ‘How long have I been here?’