Voyage of the Fox Rider (60 page)

The flat-bottomed dinghies skimmed over the surface, the rounded bows riding the weed down and under. With the steering oars being used as rudders, toward the rocky isle all boats fared, running in a ragged file beneath the cold grey skies, wending past waterlogged hulks half-drowned in the clutching weed.

Jinnarin and Rux had moved to the bow where she could better view the course ahead. And in the distance perhaps seven miles away rocky crags reared up from the sea. This was their goal, the Lair of the Spider—Jinnarin thought of it as such. Bleak and windswept it appeared from here, grey stone tors jutting up, barren of greenery, perhaps devoid of life altogether. In grim premonition Jinnarin shuddered and clutched her cloak tighter about. And she threw an arm over Rux’s neck and whispered, “Don’t worry, old fox, we will be all right.” Yet whether she said so to assure herself or her companion, she did not know. Sensing her uneasiness, Rux freed himself and turned and cocked his head this way and that and peered at her, his cat-eyes seeking assurance that she was fit. She smiled at him and ruffled his ears, and heartened, he took a lick at her cheek then faced front once more.

Past relics they sailed, hulls drawn down into the weed and awash, algae and sea moss enshrouding all that remained above. In one place only a mast jutted out from the brine, and to Jinnarin’s eye it seemed thickly covered by pallid mushrooms growing up the length of the shaft. On they fared and Jinnarin looked down into the water, trying to see past the weed. Of a sudden she gasped and drew back in apprehension, for below she saw the curve of a hull on its side, the ship dragged completely under and drowned, and her mind conjured up visions of dead sailors trapped within and clawing at the hull to get out.

“Oh, what a horrid place,” she murmured, glancing about at the drifting graveyard, Rux the only one to hear.

They sailed onward for perhaps an hour, the island looming larger, the dinghies running slower as the weed thickened, until they were but moving at a crawl. “Fend weed,” bade Jamie, and as Dwarves took up oars to do so, Jinnarin and Rux moved back to the stern. But even with the Dwarves kneeling in the bow and along the sides and sweeping the sea plant aside and back, still the craft slowed, the wind no longer able to overcome the drag, the weed was so heavily grown. Not even the Children of the Sea could have swum through such without the aid of a
¡th!rix
.

“We’ll try to row from here,” said Jamie. “I’ll leave the sail up for whatever push it can give.”

Oars were settled in oarlocks, and with Jamie canting a chant, the Dwarves began to row. Steadily they haled across the clutching waters, molasses thick, or so it seemed, the rowers grunting with the effort, sweat pouring down. And Jinnarin was glad that it was not she who had to row, though in looking down at the brine she thought she might almost be able to run upon the weed-thick surface, as if she were Alamar himself.

The other boats, too, rowed through the weed, the last one struggling the most, for it was crewed by three Dwarves and three Men, hence could not bring the same force to bear. But then Bokar hit upon a scheme, and he ordered all boats in close file behind his, the thought being that his craft would break a channel, just as the giant turtle had done when bringing them here. And so all the dinghies lined up behind Bokar’s, and thereafter
the rowing became easier for all but the lead craft, the other boats switching off at intervals to break the trail, sharing the burden.

They fared this way for another mile, and
lo!
of a sudden the weed came to an end, the dinghies breaking into clear water, the growth behind like a great green wall falling sheer into the abyssal depths.

And some two miles ahead lay the island, be-ringed by this clear water, or so it seemed.

“Ship oars,” called Aravan, “and form up on me—geese on the wing.”

Swiftly the boats were maneuvered into a vee formation, Aravan at the point of the wedge, with three craft trailing to the right and three to the left. And across the open water and toward the isle they sailed.

Stem and forbidding towered the land, jutting up from the sea, and to left and right for as far as the eye could range steep-sided rocky bluffs rose sheer two hundred feet or so, and the long ocean swells crashed upon the adamant stone, hammering against the base. Atop the cliffs Jinnarin could see wind-twisted trees desperately clutching at the rocky land, but of shrubs or grass or other growth, there was no sign. Jinnarin judged the island itself to be roughly three miles wide, but as to its length, she could not tell from where they now fared.

“Cor, that’s strange,” muttered Jamie.

“What?” asked Jinnarin.

“No birds, Lady Jinnarin. No birds at all. In fact, there ain’t been no birds ever since we came to the waters of the Great Swirl.”

Jamie’s words caused Jinnarin’s heart to pound, and she reached out and stroked Rux, her gaze vainly searching the grey cliffs and leaden sky above for sign of bird life. As she eyed the barren steeps, word came from Aravan’s boat that they would sail deosil about the island until they came to a place to land. And swinging to larboard, all craft followed Aravan’s lead.

Faring along the towering bluffs, they had covered some four miles when they came upon a place where a portion of the cliffs had crumbled, a long, scree-filled, vee-shaped notch clove down from high stone to the water, a rubble-strewn shingle of beach at the base.

Toward this strand they made their way, Aravan calling out, “’Ware the landing, the water is deep!”

As they neared the crumble of stone, Jinnarin looked down through the clear water into the blackness below, and she could see no bottom. But suddenly they passed over an underwater precipice rising up sheer from the abyss to a flat underwater shelf, the ledge some twenty feet down, or so she judged, and strewn with a scattering of talus from the collapsed cliff above, pebbles and rocks and boulders—now becoming more and more densely packed as they sailed inward, finally ramping up toward the wide notch cleaving down through the grey bluff.

As their boat neared, Jinnarin strapped on her quiver of arrows and slung her bow across her back. Then she fastened the travelling packs on Rux, the fox in the prow and yipping in joy, his head bobbing up and down, Rux eager to take to land, as were they all. One after another the sailors grounded the dinghies on the rocks of the gravelly shore, flat-bottomed hulls grinding onto stone. And with Jinnarin mounted, Rux leapt out onto the slope of rubble, the warriors and Jamie coming after and dragging the boat well up the rock-laden shore.

Scrambling across the talus, Rux came to where Bokar and Aravan stood eyeing the cliffs above, while Dask and Brekka, the Dwarven scouts—crossbows in hand—started up the gloom-laden notch toward the top of the bluff, pebbles and stones sliding down from their footsteps. The Pysk dismounted and whispered a command in Rux’s ear, letting the fox roam free nearby, the animal darting about here and there and marking the ‘beach as his own. Jatu joined the trio, as did Kelek, then Aylis, and finally Alamar, the eld Mage picking his way across the scree and muttering something about it being a trap to turn unwary ankles. As he arrived, he looked up at the steep slope of loose stone and groaned, “Uphill. I might have known.”

“Captain,” asked Jatu, “it is near high tide; shall we secure the boats?”

Bokar glanced toward the scouts, now a third of the way up, and said, “When we are given the all clear by the scouts, then will be the time to make the boats fast; not before.”

“Scouts?” blurted Jinnarin. “Why, there aren’t any
better than Rux and I.” With that she put her fingers to her lips and her cheeks puffed out. Neither the Dwarves nor the Men nor Alamar heard anything, though Rux’s head snapped up alertly and he came running.

“What are you doing, Lady Jinnarin?” barked Bokar.

“She whistles,” said Aravan, Aylis nodding in agreement, for both the Elf and the Lady Mage could hear the sound beyond earshot of the others.

As Jinnarin leapt on Rux’s back, Bokar stepped out as if to block her way, saying, “My Lady, it may not be safe for you to—” but the red fox dodged past the armsmaster and darted up the ramp of scree.

“Kruk!” spat Bokar.

Alamar nodded in agreement, muttering, “Might as well talk to one of these pebbles, for all the good it does.”

As Rux scrambled up the talus and passed beyond Dask and Brekka, Bokar growled, “I like this not. There may be foe atop.”

Aylis turned to Aravan. “What says your stone, Aravan?”

Aravan touched the amulet at his throat. “‘Tis slightly chill, as if danger lies far off.”

Jatu peered out past the clear water at half-sunken relics trapped in the weed beyond. “Could it be something aboard the hulks?”

“Mayhap, Jatu. Many of those wrecks held something to cause the stone to chill. In any event, the danger the amulet now detects is not nigh.”

Bokar growled and shook his head. “Take no comfort, Jatu, for the blue stone does not scent all foe.”

Kelek turned to Bokar. “Armsmaster, shall I assemble a squad to go up after? I would not have Lady Jinnarin face a foe alone.”

Bokar nodded, and Kelek barked out orders in Châkur, the hidden tongue. As members of the squad stepped forward, Pysk and fox, now shadow-wrapped, skittered out through the top of the slot and were gone.

A chill wind blew ‘neath cold dark skies, and Jinnarin’s eager gaze swept across the stony mesa, seeing craggy tors jutting up here and there, snaglike peaks clutching at the blustering air. Gnarled trees and clumps of scrub grass were scattered among the grey rock, the
plants clinging tenuously to the adamant land. Jinnarin’s face fell, and tears blurred her vision. “Oh, Rux, we’ve come all this way and there is no castle—no castle at all. Perhaps this is not even the place.”

A scrape of stone sounded hindward, and up through the slot came Dask and Brekka, just now topping the slope. “Now where has she got to, her and her fox?” asked Brekka.

Dask shrugged, peering about.

“I’m right here,” said Jinnarin, dropping the cloaking shade.

The scouts started in surprise, for it seemed to them that she and Rux had sprung from thin air. Dask laughed and squatted down, peering at the Pysk. But then, swift as quicksilver his expression changed. “Why so chapfallen, tiny one?”

“Oh, Dask, there is no castle.”

The Dwarf looked up and about. “Be not certain of that, Lady Jinnarin. Although we cannot see one from here, a castle could stand among the tors…or beyond.”

“Too,” added Brekka, “a castle might be set down at the water’s edge over the cliffs afar.”

Dask nodded in agreement. “Take heart, my Lady, for as of yet there is no cause for gloom.” He turned and gestured at the stone bluff behind, saying, “The castle of your dreams could just as well be a bartizan clinging to the face of the island.”

Jinnarin brightened, then frowned. “Bartizan?”

“Aye,” answered Dask. “a turret, a chamber, clutched against a wall.”

Jinnarin looked out at the mesa and nodded and sighed. “I suppose. —It was just that I was expecting a crystal palace in plain view.”

Brekka smiled ruefully and shook his head. “Nothing about this venture would be that easy, Lady Jinnarin.”

Dask took one last sweeping look across the isle. “I will signal the others.”

As Dask stepped to the precipice, there sounded the clack of sliding scree as Kelek and the squad came up through the slot. Dask signalled the all clear to those yet waiting down at the water’s edge.

While the boats were beached well above the mark of the high tide and anchored to large boulders, Kelek set
a perimeter of sentries out around the head of the slot. The remainder he sent back down to aid in the hauling of the supplies to the mesa, some goods to be left cached in the boats for the return journey—stored there in case of a hasty retreat, for who knew if there would be time to reload all? And so, some supplies were left stowed while others were set out on the rocky slant, and Dwarves and Men alike shouldered loads and began the climb.

The first one up was Bokar, bearing a keg of water. He set the cask down and peered about, announcing, “We will found our base camp here at the top of the fissure. Then we will send out scouting parties to see what we can see.” With that pronouncement Bokar turned and started back down for another load, passing by Aylis and Aravan and a train of sailors and warriors, each bearing cargo and climbing up the sliding scree.

Aided by two sturdy Dwarves, last of all came Alamar struggling up the slope, cursing at those ahead for deliberately kicking rocks at him.

Within an hour they had established their camp at the top of the notch. Bokar then laid out the scouting assignments, and patrols fared forth to discover the width and breadth of the isle and to seek sign of a castle or bartizan or the like, as well as anything else of interest. The Dwarves were particularly suited for this mission, for with their uncanny ability to unerringly retrace their steps, they would soon know the measure of this bit of land. “Location sense,” Alamar called it, but at one and the same time it was both much more and much less.