The Letterseeker: Chapter Ten

ELIHH'S PASSION WAS FULFILLED

COMMENT: Elihh knew both thought and love by the reflections of his desire in the frozen waves of Anash. He became endlessly absorbed in contemplation of the Sea, which by its resistance gave him knowledge.

—Bard-Oggmh, Translation and Commentary:

THIRTEEN FRAGMENTS FROM THE BOOK OF WHISPERS

“The log of the Smrrcwet, out of Stallet,” said Quastid. “I recall it now. Abbal brought it to me, a merchant who had it from a dealer in curiosities along the weststrand. The story was that a family of the town kept it in a chest until the last of them died and their belongings were sold. One of their ancestors originally found it, Abbal said, in an oiled sack caught among drifting wreckage. Faugh! I am a fool! That was three—no, four years ago, and I am ashamed to say I never got around to reading it. But it should not have been gathering dust down there where I probably kicked it about thoughtlessly many times. I shall have the chamber swept more often!”

Stoneglow and Quastid began the difficult task of deciphering the smeared and deteriorating script. Delicately they handled it, for the parchment wanted to fall apart; and with equal delicacy but less scholarly purpose at that same moment Esnert and Gaunt Dimweal crept to a shadowed place beneath the walls of the tower garden. Ushtorth Seadog led them there after their beer had gone flat and they had slept a while, slumped over their table at the tavern until Ushtorth woke them. He was more eager than before to find the scarred stranger, for while the father and son slept Ushtorth had been visited by a mild trance and a wordless impulse entered his mind, a promise of power and favors upon the death of the bluecloak.

“See, see,” Ushtorth whispered, pointing out of the shadows upward. “The tower's lit. They'd be asleep now if there weren't big business brewing.”

Esnert gawked up at the windows. He could see no one inside, for the angle was too sharp. “Can't take 'em now,” he said and spat upon the street. “We'd be trapped neatly up above if they raised an alarm.”

“Nay, let's go,” said Gaunt. “I don't like the look of it. He's up there, the healer, working spells and the like. He's got magic crystals I've heard. He could know we're here if he looked in them.”

“Easy boy,” said Esnert. “That's old woman's talk. Likely they'll come down soon. I say we stay and watch. We've slipped into bigger houses than this 'un before. May be those crystals you heard about are jewels, see?”

“Aye, jewels you may find—but first you'll kill the stranger and take his gear,” insisted Ushtorth.

“Hee, hee,” Esnert chortled between his yellow teeth, fingering the handle of his knife. “We'll slit 'is throat sure if 'e knows 'ow to sleep. I like to catch 'em sleeping—you know it, Gaunt m'boy, ah?” He poked Gaunt in the ribs with his elbow. Gaunt rocked and grinned hesitantly, mollified by the talk of jewels and an easy victim.

“Sleepy he'll be if he's been up there all night with the healer,” said Usthorth, peering at the tower with a hungry look.

Stoneglow and Quastid learned from the log that the Smrrcwet, “Wavehollow,” had been captained by a man named Forohan who was a merchant bound for Esti with a cargo of wool. The ship was swept to sea by a violent northerly off 'Bshal Head—Zeneb Shal, the long high promontory at the far side of the bight of Shallath east of Esti. Then the waterstained writing became unreadable save for a few words on the crucial page: “South- driven, ten days. No use fighting current...” and in larger letters in the middle of the page, the word that had electrified them both: ATALATÉ. The last decipherable entry in the log was below this. It read “Marked Eshlrr at the zenith early in the fourth watch.”

“The fourth watch, the fourth watch,” muttered Quastid. “That is morning, not long before light. Faithful Forohan! He has given us the location of the Treegorge!”

“How?” queried Stoneglow. “I see that we have the latitude. If Eshlrr is a star, it could only be overhead at a latitude equal to its declination. But we don't have the date, Quastid. We need the time of year, with some accuracy.”

Quastid smiled, the wrinkles netting about his sharp bright eyes. “You have skill in these matters also? Surely you are a man of great wisdom in your land, Lord Threescar.”

“Not at all, Quastid,” said Stoneglow. “Where I am from such things are known to many. But am I right? Of course, ten days...the Smrrcwet may have been driven due south; but at what speed? Without the time of year we could only make a guess not worth following.”

“Nay, nay, wise lord,” said Quastid. “We know the season almost to the day. North-storms of that force come only during the last half of Drra the oak-month, increasing in violence until they end near the beginning of Hath the month of the hawthorne. This was a fierce gale such as those which come only in twenty- five year cycles, else it would never have taken Forohan so easily. Mariners of today never ply Shallath at such times, but this log is one hundred-fifty years old. Forohan did not know of the cycle and his error is our aid. I would place the date of the storm that drove the Smrrcwet as the first or second day of Hath—about two weeks past midsummer.”

Stoneglow performed a silent calculation. July eighth or ninth, he thought, wishing he had a Nautical Almanac and a set of navigation tables.

“He was driven south and disabled,” Quastid continued. “Thus the ship stayed close upon the great vertical of 'Bshal head. With that I can determine the hour when Eshlrr, a star as you have guessed, will be in the same case but at our time of year. Let me see...”

There was a wait while Quastid consulted charts and tables of his own making, writing out figures with a quill. At last he announced in triumph, “So. Five days from now—allowing that much time for preparation and sea-making to Zeneb Shal—Eshlrr will be on the same vertical as it was when Forohan made his notation, but in the middle of the first watch. If you take departure from Zeneb Shal and follow the place of Eshlrr as it is at that hour until the star reaches your zenith at that same time, you will find Drred Srrnyo.”

“If, if, if,” repeated Quastid. “Why else would he write so? And what else is there to go by? In all the Broad Lands this must be the only reference to the true location of the Treegorge. Did I not tell you that my papers would aid us? Here, look—this is Eshlrr.” Quastid pointed to a dot on a star chart. “It is one corner of the Fortress, as we call this group of stars.”

Stoneglow knew the star: Markab, one of those in the Great Square of Pegasus. But the declination! Fifteen degrees south!

“Quastid, that is a difference in latitude of twenty-five degrees—fifteen hundred miles.”

“Yes, yes, the land must be very far from here,” said Quastid, his eyes glowing. “One wonders if Artil ever came to it. But whatever the distance, Lord Threescar, you must go there. Is that not so?”

The Letterseeker stared at the healer, half-stunned by his last words. But his pause was broken by a rustle and a gentle cry, signalling the arrival of Itu, who landed upon the south windowsill, hopped with a flutter to the telescope, then, finding no sure footing on the polished metal, flew across the chamber to Stoneglow's shoulder.

Quastid dropped the chart he was holding, looking in amazement at the yulet as the parchment fluttered to the floor at his feet. Stoneglow, used to the owl's finding him in the early hours, gave no word of explanation. Instead, Itu's arrival spurred him to action. With a sudden gesture he walked to the telescope.

“Quastid, who made the base for this? I don't mean the wood, but the swivel.” He indicated the double cradle that allowed the tube to swing in any direction. It was a carefully wrought piece of metalcraft.

“Why, Sarnad, son of Saranat, on the Street of Smiths,” said Quastid, stooping to recover the dropped chart while he kept his eyes on the bird. “His father was the finest blacksmith in Esti.”

Fog gathered in the gulf of Meiush-Srrnyo before first light. Its shifting densities twisted the echoes until they became useless for guidance. Then the horns were put aside and the Ashgar pressed silently on through a greying mist without hint of cliff or sky. Ferenth now opened all his sea-sense, sniffing the air, listening for every nuance of sound, reading the slight pressures where his fingers rested upon the tiller.

At last the lead-man cried out, “Six fathoms, gravel,” and quickly after, “Five now, five!”

The oars backed. The anchor found the bottom. Ferenth, not sure of their swinging room, snubbed the line early—he expected little strain upon it anyway. The oar watch went to food and sleep, but the captain replaced the men, desiring to remain maneuverable until the mist cleared and he was satisfied with their position.

Ashgar scarcely moved. No wind, no perceptible drift. The rode hung loosely from the bow. A fresh deck crew was called and preparation made for shoregoing. The long double ended dory was wrestled overside. Then Garufel came on deck full-garbed and armed.

“Well done, Waryman,” he said to Ferenth. “Now you will rest I hope. Two sleepless nights is enough even for a sea-lion such as yourself.”

The captain smiled and rubbed an eyelid. “Aye Master, I am weary. I'll leave the shore party to you while I catch a nap. Almost ready—but for this weather.”

“Yes, the bottom shows only at fjord's end. That's our position for sure. Here comes Driek.”

Driek came on deck followed by a dozen or more of the prince's soldiers. Rumor was spreading that they had reached their destination and the southerners were eager to set foot on land. They looked about in dismay when they saw nothing but an oppressive wall of mist.

Ferenth sent them back, bidding all abide below until the deck-work was finished. There were protests, but Driek commanded them and they went, mollified by a promise of good breakfast. Driek remained on deck looking about curiously.

Then Flarann appeared ushering Gretta. The archer was clad in green, bow and quiver shoulder-slung. Gretta was well-bundled against the cold in a brown dress that reached to her boot-tops and good furs besides. She was unarmed, not seeing a need for it, and not wishing to attract Thierknut's stares by showing her legs in war-clothing. But he was not on deck.

“Indisposed, Lady Gretta,” said Driek. “He found a chill last night and shrugs it off by sleep. He'll join us later.”

“To put them on, over good wool wrap; this northern cold slips in easily through the feet.”

Garufel made a sign for silence. He stood against the port rail and cupped his hands before his mouth. Then he called out in a powerful voice.

A muffled echo was the only reply. The wizard repeated the call several times, until Driek began to fidget nervously.

An answer came from behind the mist-shroud, and an unreasoning fear blossomed in Driek's breast, for there were seeming words in it but the pitch was not human and it cut through the heavy air like a ripping of claws.

The crew muttered. There were whispers of Vhialla guard us! and Berainn! But Garufel turned to Ferenth and the others with a satisfied expression.

“All is well. I have spoken to the Leen-Csah, Guardians of The Stair and of the mote above. They will receive us ashore.”

“I will. Evram will stand in my place.” Ferenth nodded to his second-in-command, old Evram, who now came up reporting all in readiness.

The boat held twelve easily, but they did not fill it. Two sailors took up oars; Garufel occupied the bow with Gretta, and Flarann sat upon the sternseat. Driek said he could not go, and they were about to push off when Thierknut appeared in cloak-and- mail. The red cloth of it was rumpled and the prince's nose was inflamed as if he had been rubbing it. The prince had a word with Driek, then lowered himself stiffly into the stern next to Flarann.

“I'd a-slept more,” he said to Garufel, “but I heard a fearsome sound and was reminded of my charge to protect the Lady.”

“Fearsome, but not to us, prince,” said Garufel. “As long as we keep within proper bounds. Lady Gretta shall be ne'er so safe as among the Leen-Csah who favor virtue and beauty above all else.”

Virtue! thought the prince, but he said: “Is it so, then, that was speech indeed? Driek said as much.”

But the sailors pushed off then and began to row in the direction Garufel indicated. Since the wizard did not answer Thierknut took out a kerchief and blew loudly into it.

Gretta turned away, looking ahead into the fog-bank where the wizard's keen glance went; stifling a giggle with her hand.

Ushtorth's vigil was rewarded in the pre-dawn twilight as the quartz imbedded in the tower stone began to catch the growing glare and shimmer: two men descended the tower stairs and shortly came out the front door into the street. One was Quastid himself, the other a man wearing the cloth of Quastid's household but of an unfamiliar bearing. Ushtorth took Esnert by the shoulder where he and Gaunt lay snoozing, propped against the wall in the shadows.

“Arr,” grunted Esnert, pulling at the baggy skin beneath his eyes. But Gaunt came to his feet at once, for he had been half- awake weighing in his mind the difference between jewels and crystal-balls.

“Let's get them now, father,” he whispered to Esnert as the older man stood up slowly. “There's three of us to two of them, and no one about to see.”

“Calm yerself,” said Esnert. He turned to Ushtorth. “Is 'e the one? 'E's got no blue cloak.”

“It's him all right. He's wearing Quastid's cloth now but that's no citizen of Esti.”

“What'll we do, then? Kill 'em both, as Gaunt says? Nay— hold up. I'd not harm Quastid. 'E's a friend of the king. The stranger's one thing, Quastid another.”

“Now you're thinking straight, Esnert,” said Ushtorth. “We're after his gear as well as his head, remember? Send Gaunt to follow them. Gaunt moves quietly, and I'd like to know what they're up to at this hour.”

“Done,” said Esnert, and he told Gaunt to keep track of the pair. “Meantime we'll snoop about the walls. Where's the sleeping-quarters?”

Young Sarnad, bewildered and sleepy, kept looking from Quastid to the scarred stranger, then to the bird perched upon the latter's shoulder, then back again to Quastid as if asking for reassurance that he was not still dreaming. In the end he was drawn into an hour's conversation with Threescar, whom Quastid called Lord Stoneglow, and he was left with a set of three drawings for a gimballed northseeker in the form of an oil-filled dish which was to be covered by glass.

Sarnad promised it in three days, payment assured by Quastid. The healer, grasping at once the principle Stoneglow had outlined, offered on the spot to pay for the device and for any other such work Stoneglow wished done—as long as Quastid was left with the drawings and other notations. Stoneglow, for his part, did not miscalculate the value the “invention” would have for the healer. He exacted also the loan of the telescope and the quadrant for the voyage, along with a promise of other supplies including copies of Quastid's star charts and coastal maps.

A bit later, the sun just up and the city stirring about the waterfront but not yet upon the hills, Esnert and Ushtorth saw the two men returning. As they re-entered Quastid's house Gaunt came up. Aye, the man had scars, Gaunt said. They had gone to the Street of Smiths and undertaken some business with the son of Saranat.

Now the murderers would have waited for night again to try their dirty work, for the citizens would soon be about the streets. But the stranger might leave during the day, their opportunity lost. And the Image Nameless, attracted to anything that hinted of the scarface and the Bodla, wrapped itself about all their thoughts, kneading softly to the designs of Asli-Trrgja. Their habitual greed flamed beyond its accustomed limits and Ushtorth's urging pushed them into action. Esnert led Gaunt to a place where vines gave footing against the wall of the east garden. They pulled themselves over while Ushtorth stood watch at the wall.

Inside the house Stoneglow was taken to a small quiet room that looked out upon the east garden. There was a down mattress with fresh linen and blankets upon it. On a stool nearby lay his shirt, washed and neatly folded, together with new clothing, a gift from Edis: black leather breeches, a leather vest to match, and on the floor a pair of knee-length black boots freshly oiled. His sword leaned against the stool unsheathed, inviting his inspection of the polish and the honing.

With a wry smile he took up the blade and looked at it. It had been improved. It was razor-sharp, and the metal had a bluewhite gleam that came from no common polish but some tempering mixture of Quastid's science. Stoneglow whistled softly as he brushed a fingertip carefully across the edge.

At the sound Itu woke and flew from Stoneglow's shoulder to a narrow ledge near the ceiling. Stoneglow put the sword down beside the bed. Then he removed his sandals and the grey tunic. The Bodla case he had beneath it, for he had not relinquished it even at the baths. He placed it now, with its precious contents, beneath his pillow as he slipped into bed.

A long sigh escaped his lips. He was tired but satisfied: They had reached Esti safely despite the black ships, and he had discovered the probable location of the Treegorge. That secret, which the Blue Tower had held for years unknown even to Quastid, was now his. Soon, aided by the instruments of navigation he had also discovered there and the new compass Sarnad was making, he would reach Atalaté, refashion the Bodla, and return it to Stonehenge. Then he would surely see Gretta again—for his heart told him that the Stoneshield was the way back to her.

With that hope growing the Letterseeker fell asleep, unmindful of the growing morn and the faint sounds of the waking city that drifted through the window from beyond the garden wall.