Chapter Seven Elvine #3
The material she had gathered in Olversahl had helped identify Lore’s interest in The Map of Veils, but was too limited in scope to allow for proper research as to what its contents might be.
Her sole glimmer of progress came when she once again perused the foreign merchant’s letter.
Upon second reading, she recognised an echo of Ishtan grammar among what she had first taken as the clumsy phrasing of the barely literate.
The merchant came from Ishtakar, she realised. Perhaps so too did the book.
Groaning at the sharp ache in her gut, she rolled on her bunk to jab a toe in Colvyn’s back. He hadn’t strayed from her side since the storm began, holding the bucket when she spewed and keeping her supplied with clean water. “‘Map of Veils’ in Ishtan,” she said. “Ilkra mihl Salista.”
“For once, your Ishtan fails you, esteemed sister,” he told her with a small, triumphant grin.
“‘Salista’ refers only to the veil worn by noblewomen at formal gatherings. And, as you know, it is therefore always preceded by the honorific ‘Uhil’. There is, however, another word to which the term ‘veil’ could be ascribed. ‘Guhlsta’ which most closely equates to ‘covering’ in Ascarlian.”
“‘Map of Coverings’ doesn’t sound particularly arcane.” Elvine let out another groan that was more of a whimper and slumped back on her thin, down-filled mattress.
“In Ishtakar, Guhlsta are typically made of a very light form of silk,” Colvyn continued.
She noticed how his already pronounced verbosity tended to increase when presented with a chance to demonstrate superior knowledge.
“Often elaborately decorated in threads of gold and silver. They are beloved of magicians who will draw them away to reveal the jewel they have conjured from thin air. Hence, it wouldn’t be unusual to find mention of one in relation to matters arcane.
The question is, of course, what secrets might be revealed by the book itself? ”
Elvine tightened her throat against another upsurge of bile and reached for the spear. She preferred to commune with its inhabitant in private but her pains made her indifferent to such niceties. “Do you know what this means?” she asked, gripping the iron haft below the blade.
The answer was slow in coming, a contrast to the spirit’s typical promptness. Only that concealment of a secret implies great value, she replied. The vagueness, coupled with a painful lurch from Elvine’s gut, combined to strip away her usual reserve.
“Don’t spin riddles at me!” she grated, her grip on the ancient metal growing fierce. “You know more than you’re telling. I sense it. What is The Map of Veils?”
I speak truth when I say I do not know, child. A pause followed, Elvine sensing reluctance in her next words. But I can feel your enemy’s lust for it, which means it must be powerful indeed. Also, it must still exist for her to claim it.
More vagary, albeit laced with information in an attempt to placate her.
Elvine cast the spear from her with a disgusted gasp, one she instantly regretted for it summoned a fresh wave of vomit from her belly.
“Bucket…” she managed before leaning over the bunk as Colvyn scrambled to place the receptacle.
Morning saw a bright sun break over becalmed seas bare of other ships.
The storm had scattered the queen’s fleet and it wasn’t until noon that they spied another vessel, the Chainbreaker.
She was a sleek warship crewed by freed Nihlvarian slaves under the command of a shaven-headed young woman with a disfigured ear.
As the Ohlnir drew alongside the smaller vessel, Kahlvik and the scarred woman exchanged shouted counsel, agreeing that the most likely rendezvous point would be found at the mouth to Linsker Fjord.
Yet, nigh three days later, they trimmed sails to find the fjord and surrounding waters vacant of other ships.
“Ohlnir and Chainbreaker are the two swiftest craft in the fleet,” Kahlvik explained to Elvine. “It’s to be expected we would arrive ahead of the others.”
“The way to Skar Magnol stands open,” Elvine said, nodding to the empty estuary beyond the prow. “While we wallow here. I’m sure the queen will reward boldness, Vellihr.”
“She also rewards sound reasoning and adherence to her commands.” Kahlvik’s smile was deferential but his tone firm. “And, forgive me, Spear Maiden, I would hazard that I know her mind better than you.”
Elvine kept the reluctant wince from her features as she straightened.
This renowned explorer’s judgement was hard to argue with, but so was her need to find Lore as quickly as possible.
And, of course, the book. “And I know the mind of the Altvar. They command me to sail forthwith to Skar Magnol, there to visit justice upon the traitor Lore. Therefore they also command that you take me there.”
She watched Kahlvik swallow an impatient sigh. “It is likely that the traitor will have Vellihr Ilvar’s full menda with her, and Ulthnir knows how many Skyrnloch warriors at her command. I’ll match my crew and the Chainbreaker’s lot to long odds, but not that long.”
Elvine slammed the butt of the spear hard to the deck.
“Odds long or short mean nothing when I wield this, Vellihr,” she told him, adopting the Spear Maiden’s voice.
Kahlvik, not having heard it before, blinked and took an involuntary backward step before mastering himself, his gaze shifting between Elvine’s implacable gaze and the spear.
“Now,” she said, “just get me there.”