Chapter 34
34
R HAIF LIFTED HIS palms toward Llyra, which only drew her sword’s attention his way. He scrambled for an argument to keep everyone on board. He considered ordering Shiya to toss the guildmaster off the ship, but to voice such a demand aloud would end any hope of accommodation. And in truth, he doubted Shiya would obey. Her will and actions had proven too capricious in the past.
Still, this thought offered him an argument.
Rhaif placed a hand on his chest and spoke rapidly, as if his life depended on it—which it did. “Listen, Llyra. Shiya will only mind me. If you hope to abscond with her, you’ll need her cooperation, which means you’ll need me.”
She shrugged and turned her blade toward Pratik, who backed a step.
Rhaif shifted in front of the Chaaen. “And surely you know I had a reason in freeing Pratik, chaaen-bound to Rellis im Malsh, a bastard who you know traded in alchymical secrets.”
This was a lie, but he suspected she would not admit to being ignorant of something he claimed to know.
He pressed the matter and pointed to Pratik. “This is his chief alchymist. He knows more about ancient mysteries and arcana than nearly anyone. He was the one who has kept Shiya moving, using alchymicals only he can craft to keep her fired and fueled.”
Rhaif turned for acknowledgment, lifting his brows at Pratik, hoping the man would carry this lie forward.
The Chaaen understood and crossed his arms. “Creatures such as Shiya are known to a few in the Southern Klashe. My master keeps a librarie of great import at his palacio in Kysalimri, stacked with the ancient tomes, some written shortly after Pantha re Gaas. The librarie is even visited by the Imri-Ka’s Dresh’ri.”
“The Forbidden Eye,” Llyra translated with a squinted expression of distaste.
Rhaif understood. Such a cabal was rumored to dredge through the ancient past, seeking dangerous knowledge. They were also said to employ cruel and bloody methods, even sacrificing infants, to achieve their ends.
Rhaif studied Pratik, wondering how much of what he had just revealed was true. He knew it was difficult for a Chaaen to lie. So, he suspected there must be some level of truth to Pratik’s story.
Llyra reached the same conclusion and lowered her blade. “Then what do you propose we do?”
Rhaif was ready for this question. He pointed out the window. “We might not be able to reach the Hálendiian coast to the north, or even the swamps to the south, but the cliffs of Landfall are nearer at hand. With the wind at our back, we should be able to glide our way over to Cloudreach.”
“To the east,” Pratik mumbled, glancing at Shiya.
Rhaif nodded. “It might take time for anyone to realize a certain bronze treasure isn’t sunk deep into the sea. In the meantime, if you wanted to lose yourself, those misty greenwoods might offer the perfect refuge.”
She turned to the raft’s drover. “Can we make it there?”
He sighed heavily and fired the nose of the craft toward the cliffs. “Maybe, but just barely.”
Llyra sheathed her sword but kept the blade in her fingers. “If you want to live, you’ll make that happen.”
They all gathered behind the drover. The dark-haired man hunched his lanky form over the wheel, deftly working the pedals with small squeaks of hidden wires and gears. From the open patch on his upper sleeve, he was Aglerolarpok. His ranch brand was scarred over with an X, like the scribe at the larder. An outcast, banished to forever ride the winds. It was a sorry fate, but one that had honed a skill that Rhaif definitely appreciated at this moment.
The sailraft continued to sink toward the seas. The cliffs rose ahead, as if intending to block them. But as they continued, the drover proved his skill. He finally reached that rising rampart and used the draft blowing up the cliff face to shoot them high over the edge of Landfall. Soon the keel of the raft was sailing smoothly above the mists that hid the greenwood below.
Rhaif searched ahead, studying his mother’s homeland. He ignored the peaks of black cliffs near the horizon, marking the distant Shrouds of Dalal?ea. Instead, he fixed on a pair of closer breaks in the white, fluffy sea. They marked the location of two forest lakes, the green Eitur and the blue Heilsa, known simply as The Twins.
Rhaif pointed between them. “Can you reach Havensfayre?”
“Aye,” the drover said. “With the winds blowing us toward there, we should just make it.”
Llyra lifted a brow toward Rhaif. It was as much of a compliment as the guildmaster ever offered. Still, he was not fooled. While they might be uneasy allies at the moment, that could all change once they reached the woodland town.
He turned his gaze back to Shiya, who stared ahead, too.
Strange…
He recognized the oddity of this. He frowned over her shoulder toward the open stern, to the west, the direction where she had always cast her gaze before. Pratik caught his eye, maybe noting his confusion. The Chaaen tilted his head back to the east as if he knew something.
What does he know?
But now was not the time to address that question.
Llyra had a more important one. “Are you sure we can make it?” She leaned threateningly over the drover.
Rhaif focused forward again. The raft had drifted frighteningly lower. Its keel now swept through the clouds, like a ship sailing across a white sea.
“Don’t fret. I’m seeking the strongest winds near the treetops,” he explained. “I need every push I can muster.”
The skiff did seem to be going faster.
Still, Rhaif reached to one of the hanging leather loops, expecting to hear branches scrape along their keel, for trees to grab their fleeing craft.
“Hang on,” the drover warned.
What do you think I’m doing?
The ship suddenly shot higher, propelled by the winds out of the clouds. In another few breaths, they reached the northern break in the white seas and sailed high over the emerald waters of the Eitur, a lake that was said to be poisonous. Not a place they would want to crash into.
But Rhaif didn’t worry about that.
Instead, he caught glimpses of lamps glowing south of the lake, marking the misty town of Havensfayre. It looked like they were going to overshoot it. He began to question their trajectory, when the drover hauled the wheel hard. As they cleared the far end of Eitur, the sailraft turned sharply. Its keel skidded across the clouds. The skiff swung full around until its nose was pointed back the way they’d come.
Rhaif recognized he should never have doubted the drover’s skill.
The man now used the headwinds to slow them as he aimed back toward the hidden town of Havensfayre.
“Well done,” Rhaif whispered, clapping the drover on the shoulder.
The man grinned proudly.
Another was not as enamored of his talent.
A low groan rose behind him. He turned and saw that Shiya faced the stern, which now pointed east. Her countenance—what little that he could see of it—was a mask of pain. As they glided toward the west, she took a step in the opposite direction, then another.
“No…” he called to her.
She ignored him, drawn by whatever force pulled at her.
He let go of his leather loop and rushed toward her.
But he was too late.
Without ever looking down, she walked straight out the back of the raft. He reached the stern in time to see her tumble away, toppling end over end, and vanish into the clouds.
Stunned, unable to speak, he turned to the others.
Llyra’s lips were stretched in a line of pure fury. She pulled her sword, ready to exact vengeance, clearly believing this was some ploy.
“We have to find her…” he muttered lamely.
Llyra crossed toward Pratik, thrusting her blade at the Chaaen’s exposed back. The only thing that stopped her from impaling the man clean through was Pratik’s next words.
“I know where Shiya’s headed.”