Chapter 15: A Prophesy Ulya Shek gripped a handrail and smiled in satisfaction as her Silverfish slammed into the side of the pirate ship, ripping through the hull like it was balsa. The submarine lurched slightly, slowing only for a moment as it impacted the wooden vessel. Then the engines rose in pitch and it surged on ahead, leaving a broken hull in its wake. The Dragon could have assumed her true form and torn the craft to pieces herself of course, but there was something satisfying about this… machine doing it for her. She had to admit, she could understand Jenkyna’s preoccupation with her K’ta’viir technology. Still, that drone bodyguard was somehow… unnerving. The Black Dragon suppressed a shudder. “Status!” She barked. The captain surveyed a bank of gauges. “We suffered no damage, my Lady.” “Excellent. Stand off at two hundred yards and prepare to strike the other ship… though I don’t think that will be necessary.” She ducked out of the bridge and back down the stairs towards her salon. “Aye, mistress.” The captain said in a low voice. Kalen and Jad ran across the deck, dodging between the scattered crewmen—some of whom had minor injuries, though most were merely confused—to where Lukas had fallen. They found him sprawled in the doorway, half sitting against the wall. He was pale and looked frightened, though he managed a weak smile as they approached. A dark wet stain spread from where the crossbow bolt protruded from his shoulder. Yandar Vit hovered near him, looking uncharacteristically at a loss. “This hurts… way more than I would have expected.” Lukas hissed through clenched teeth. “Try to keep still.” Jad crouched next to him. “It didn’t go all the way through, and I don’t think their bolts had barbed heads.” He looked uncertainly up at Kalen. . We… uh… need to stop the bleeding…” The Marquess turned—and almost ran into Ruuth the Herbalist. She gave him a cursory nod then slipped past to the Viscount. In one motion she knelt by Lukas and unslung a leather satchel. “That was very foolish,” She muttered, her expression stern. “You could have been killed—and I doubt anyone on this ship can raise the dead.” All business, she extracted some white cloth, a mortar and pestle, and two little corked vials from inside her bag, then looked up at Kalen. “Get me a cup of clean water and something strongly alcoholic.” He rushed off towards the upper aft deck, figuring the Captain would be the best source for the latter. He was deeply relieved to have someone like Ruuth take charge of Lukas’ condition. Suddenly he felt that the Viscount was no longer in danger. The Herbalist handed a thick cloth to Jad. “We’re going to pull the bolt in a moment, and you’re going to hold this to the wound when I tell you. Press firmly until I have the poultice ready to apply.” She said in a no-nonsense tone. He nodded, though already was starting to look almost as pale as Lukas. Jad took the Viscount’s hand, and Lukas returned the grip until his knuckles went white. By the time Kalen returned a minute later--out of breath and with an armload--Ruuth had measured brownish flakes from the two vials into the mortar. “I have whiskey, brandy, and something the captain said was almost pure alcohol.” He set three bottles and two cups on the deck; one cup sloshed with water. “Excellent. Now, get me some blankets.” She gave Lukas a sidelong look. He was white as a sheet now and starting to shiver. His eyes were closed. He was going into shock. “Stay with us, my foolish Viscount.” She sighed, then glanced up at Yandar Vit. The Tutor had retreated further back into the shadows, his expression unreadable. By Iloura, he gives me the creepy-crawlies, and didn’t he say at dinner the other night that he had some skill with healing? Apparently not. She filed that bit of information away, while pouring a small amount of water into the mortar. She began to gently combine it with the powdered herbs with her pestle, and little golden glimmers sparked in the mash as she did so. “What are you mixing?” Jad asked, trying to get his—and Lukas’—attention distracted from the wound. “My own recipe: Shuab and Inexes in a poultice. It will stop the bleeding, reduce the pain and speed healing, and should also help prevent infection.” Kalen was back a moment later, now having to push past crewmen crowding the doorway. He knelt and spread the blankets over Lukas’ lower body. “Very good, now get those people back! He needs air!” Ruuth snapped. The spectators moved away from the door: there was no question who was in charge here. She nodded to Kalen again. “Pour a little brandy and get him to drink it. You,” She turned back to Jad, “Get out your dagger and cut away his tunic—I need bare skin to apply the poultice to. Try not to jar the bolt.” The Marquess poured the liquor with shaking hands while Jad pried his fingers free from Lukas’ grip and went to work with his dagger. As careful as he was, he bumped the crossbow bolt once and the Viscount Ridgeston gasped in pain. “Ah still with us, I see.” Ruuth smiled grimly. “Barely.” Lukas whimpered. His brave face was gone. “Am I going to… die?” “If the bolt had hit the other side of your chest a little lower you wouldn’t even be asking me; it would have gone through your heart.” Ruuth scolded, continuing to blend the glowing mixture. “As it is, it may have punctured your lung. I am not a Healer or a physician, so I can’t be sure, but this mixture should take care of the bleeding if there isn’t too much internal damage. You won’t die, my Lord; you just won’t be running about casting spells for a few days.” “You don’t have to worry about that!” Lukas muttered—then coughed—the motion causing him to grimace. Kalen held the brandy to his lips, and he managed to get about half in his mouth, the rest down his chin. As he tried to wipe it up, Kalen got one good look at Lukas’ now bare shoulder with the wooden shaft protruding from the dark bloody wound and poured himself a drink. “Almost ready.” Ruuth smeared the greenish paste onto a square of gauze. “Kalen, take his hand and hold his left shoulder; try to keep him immobile. Jad, get a grip on the crossbow shaft. When I say pull, extract it with a steady straight motion, but don’t yank it. If you get a lot of resistance, stop. When it’s out, we’ll pour some of the alcohol on the wound to clean it, then you hold the cloth on it a moment to dry it. Then we’ll apply the poultice.” Jad gripped the shaft, his lips pressed tight. “This is going to hurt.” She advised the shivering Lukas. “Very funny.” He mumbled, trying to smile. “Ready?” She looked at them each in turn. They nodded. “Pull!” Jad clenched his teeth and pulled. The bolt came out with a nauseating sucking sound that they could hear even over Lukas’ yell. Ruuth generously splashed the pure alcohol on the wound, causing another cry of pain from their patient, but he managed to stay fairly still even as he started hyperventilating. Kalen just held onto him and shut his eyes; he thought Lukas’ grip would break his fingers. Jad pressed the cloth onto the bloody hole; by then the Viscount was almost numb to the pain. He held it there for a moment, then when Ruuth nodded again he lifted it away and she placed the now-luminous poultice into the wound, rubbing it just enough to press the paste into the opening. As she did, it seemed to brighten almost like a light shining through the gauze, then it dimmed. “By all the gods on Orhan, that hurts.” Lukas murmered. He was shivering, his breathing now fast and shallow. “The worst is over.” Ruuth tried to reassure him. “Try to take slow, even breaths.” She extracted more cloth from her bag and a little jar. “Jad, get his bloody shirt the rest of the way off; let’s secure the bandage in place.” The jar held a pungent smelling goo that Ruuth smeared on the edges of a square of cloth, explaining that it was a kind of sticky gum, and that it would hold the bandage in place securely without bindings. Jad cut Lukas’ shirt off and set it aside, and Ruuth applied the square, pressing the edges into place. It clung firmly to the Viscount’s smooth skin. She sat back to appraise her work with a critical eye for a moment, then nodded to Lukas. “You’re all done.” She proceeded to pack up her supplies. “Leave that bandage in place and don’t do anything strenuous for at least two days. I suggest that you stay in bed for a full day. I’ll come and check on you, but if all goes well you should be good as new in a couple of days—certainly by the time we reach Sel-kai. You boys--” She glanced up at Kalen and Jad “—help him to his bed, if you don’t mind. You both did well; I thank you for your assistance.” She patted Jad on the shoulder then added with a little smile. “No one fainted!” “Thank you.” Lukas said weakly, but managed a shadow of his usual charming smile. “Just think before you act next time, young man.” Ruuth admonished him gently. As she stood and looked around as if making sure she hadn’t forgotten anything, Vit drifted forward again. “We… I appreciate what you have done.” “I’m sure you do, in your way.” Ruuth said in clipped syllables, narrowing her eyes at the tutor. “You’ll get the bill for my supplies before the trip is concluded.” Behind them, Lukas winced as Jad and Kalen helped him to his feet. The trio slowly made their way to his forward cabin. They got him comfortable in his berth and said their good-nights. “Thank you my friends, I shall not forget your kindness this day.” The Viscount vowed solemnly. “You would have done the same for us.” Jad said, looking a little surprised at Lukas’ serious tone. “I hope so.” Just as they were leaving the cabin, Yandar Vit appeared, favoring them with one of his blank stares. Kalen shrunk away from the tutor and started aft. But what he saw in the sky brought him to a sudden stop—causing Jad to bump into him. “Cousin, wha—“ Then the Squire saw it. To the northeast, off the starboard stern, the low clouds had begun to swirl in a huge spiral, like water spinning down a drain but very slowly. He had heard of tornadoes, though he had never actually seen one before. But this slowly twisting cone was taking on a strange greenish luminescence, and lightnings flickered in the clouds above. “By the Lords… what is that?” Jad whispered. “I think it’s a Flowstorm. And I was wondering what else could happen.” Kalen muttered. “Let’s get a better look.” Without waiting for his cousin’s response, Jad sprinted for the aft deck. Kalen pursed his lips and followed, though he felt his stomach knotting yet again. “More tea, sir?” Drey Laachek snapped out of his reverie and smiled blandly up at the Elven girl who stood by him holding a delicate teapot. “Oh, yes, thank you.” He held up his cup. She smiled shyly at him then lowered her gaze quickly. Since arriving at Elor’s hidden home, Drey had noticed two things about the former Loremaster’s servants. They all had a subservient manner that he found a little disturbing, and nearly all of them were female Elves. The exception was a quartet of Ky’taari warrior monks who had separate quarters in the compound—and Drey rarely saw them. Elor said they were refugees from the Mur Fostisyr and now were his house guards. “Dinner will be on the second chime of the Evening Quintar, my master looks forward to seeing you then.” The girl bowed and slipped out of the drawing room, and Drey returned his gaze to the scene beyond the nearby window. Snow was falling steadily, large heavy flakes piling on top of the couple of inches already blanketing the ground. Elor had mentioned that his home was in the ‘Saralis Hills,’ but beyond that, Drey had little idea where he was. He had tarried here long enough, though: over two days now. Drey needed to get his news about Prince Kier to the Loremasters as soon as possible; the problem was that he was at Elor’s mercy. Without knowing where he was in this wilderness it was pointless to just set out from the house in a random direction. Even if he did know where he was going, it could take several days to even reach civilization, then he would have to locate a Navigator obelisk (and get a Jump on credit, no mean feat in itself) to a major city where he could find a Loremaster to report to. It was either that or wait till Elor volunteered to Teleport him somewhere. He was leery of asking the former Loremaster for favors, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. Certainly he was intimidated by Elor—the man was legendary. But there was also something disturbing about him, something not quite… right. Maybe you never were the same after a flirtation with Darkness… Tad’s skiff was quiet as he poled back towards the Manse. Only the quiet lap of the water and the about the skiff and pole broke the silence. Randae and Kim both seemed lost in their thoughts: Kim huddled in his robe with the hood pulled up, and the Elf sat with fingers templed, his eyes half closed. The youth decided it would be best to keep his own mouth shut and poled on in silence. The fog’s coming up; by dawn it’ll be thicker than Div’s potato soup—though that isn’t saying much. Tad thought with a wry smile. It rose from the canal water in swirling tendrils, giving the buildings on either side a dreamy, insubstantial look. As they neared the inn, the monk sat up suddenly. “I almost forgot. Randae,” he said softly, speaking in the Erlin-elven tongue rather than Shay, which was the common Emerian speech used in Sel-kai and much of northern Emer, “I have a message for you, supposedly from a seer named Veriak.” He searched in his robes. “Indeed! Now you tell me!” Randae said indignantly. His hand whipped out, fingers wiggling. “Well, hand it over!” “I’m sorry, I didn’t think it was important. He’s just some neighborhood fortune-teller. One of Tad’s friends gave me the note.” Kim gingerly handed the folded parchment over, as if he was half expecting to be burned by the Loremaster’s touch. “Is that so?” Randae glanced over at Tad appraisingly (who was pretending to diplomatically ignore them but not doing a very good job), then back at Kim. “Well, I can see where you might not think it was important.” He added with a little smirk and noted how the corners of Tad’s mouth tightened. So perhaps the boy knows a few words of Erlin—or at least how to read inflection. “Let us see what ‘Veriak the Seer’ has to say to me…” He examined the wax seal, then broke it and unfolded the stiff blue-green paper. Inside were just a few lines, written in the language and elegant script of Iylar, the language of High Elves: Randae Terisonen: What you seek comes to you, And in fact one is two. One bears the bird of fire, The other has no sire. Ancient crime comes undone, By the other sister’s son. Two Souls will break the stone; The Sword cannot alone. I am at your service, Loremaster. Veriak rin Thrallion The Serpent’s Eye Number 7 Revenant Way, Old City. Randae read the verse twice, then carefully folded the parchment and hid it away in a pocket in his tunic. Damn Seers can’t just come out and say something straight-up; it has to be couched in some thrice-cursed cryptic verse. But then I suppose that’s how they get their visions from Jaysek or Valris, the Lords so taken with their little word games. “Anything interesting?” Kim asked, after observing the Loremaster’s intense concentration over the document. “Could be.” Randae said pensively, peering into the thickening fog. “See if you can discreetly arrange a private appointment with this Veriak tomorrow evening, say the first bell of the night quintar. Send me a message tomorrow before sundown to let me know it is confirmed, then you and Tad pick me up.” “A day meeting might be safer…” Kim suggested hesitantly. “But less discreet. And I think that between us we can take care of ourselves, don’t you?” Randae grinned, as if he would almost welcome some trouble along the way. Tad eased his skiff up to the Manse’s dock with hardly a bump, though the porters shot him disparaging looks nonetheless. As he disembarked Randae slipped an orlin into Tad’s palm: a gold piece—easily two hundred times the normal fare—and whispered “I trust you will keep tonight’s trip a secret, and I may call on you again as soon as tomorrow. Be sure Kim knows how to reach you on short notice.” Immediately recognizing the size and weight of the coin in his hand, Tad nodded dumbly. To the Loremaster this was a relatively small token to encourage a boy’s silence and—hopefully—loyalty. But to Tad this was a small fortune, a month’s income at least. He had rarely even seen such a thing as an orlin, much less owned one. Randae vanished inside the inn and Tad (after very carefully stowing the gold coin in a secret pocket in his breeches) eased back into the canal. “Back to Taminger’s, sur Kim?” “Yes I suppose so. It’s after the midnight chime, and been a long day. “
		PREVIOUS Chapter Table of Contents NEXT Chapter PREVIOUS Chapter NEXT Chapter Return to the Haalkitane Library Foyer Copyright © 1997-2003 Terry K. Amthor Shadow World© is a trademark of Iron Crown Enterprises. All rights reserved