Orania’s speed increased to the point where a distinct bow wave was breaking before her neck and chest. Staring at her, Madrenga wondered how she could move so fast in the water. He could not, of course, see her feet. Her tail and mane, however, had adopted a peculiar flatness, as if the hairs had somehow been welding together. Both were now moving from side to side so fast that they were a blur. From behind her water rose and fell in an arc, looking like the tail of a rooster. Driven by more than mere equine muscle, the upper portion of her body began to rise out of the water. The fascinated murmuring on deck gave rise to uncertain queries, then to a few exclamations of alarm. Those who had not gone to help with the cargo net and hoist began retreating, moving away from the railing. Even Madrenga stepped off the rail and down onto to the deck, though he did not back away.
The wake generated by the oncoming horse grew large enough to capsize a rowboat carrying a trio of fishermen. Madrenga was relieved to see that none of them suffered any injury from the encounter. As soon as they were dumped into the harbor, they surfaced with fists waving and foul language flying.
Like a bird reconnoitering a landing on a small, steep-sided island, Orania raced in a circle around the Thranskirr. Astounded sailors rushed from port to starboard and back again as they tried to keep track of the horse’s progress. Lost in their continuing fascination they ignored the water she kicked up on deck.
Coming around one more time to port she backed off, braced herself, and then headed straight on amidships. Someone cried out that she was going to break herself on the solid pigo. Putting on a burst of speed that made it appear as if she had previously been doing little more than treading water, she exploded from the sea on the outside of the outrigger. As she descended, her feet touched down on its slightly rounded upper surface and kicked off with the precision of an acrobat. Jaws dropped and eyes widened as horse, saddle, and backpack soared through the air to land with a solid bang on the deck.
As she stood shaking herself off, Bit trotted over and began licking salt water from her legs, starting at the fetlocks and working his way upwards. Turning her head, she started to do the same to her neck and torso.
Seeing that a number of the sailors were looking at her and muttering darkly to themselves, Madrenga hurried over to his mount and began to stroke her neck.
“She’s—she’s very comfortable in the water,” he explained lamely.
“Ay, and in the air too, it would seem,” commented one man.
“In what other realms is she welcome?” asked another, his eyes narrowing as he stared at the horse.
To Madrenga’s relief Quilpit arrived and reached up to put a hand on the youth’s shoulder.
“This fine young man, Madrenga by name, will be traveling with us as a passenger until we reach his intended destination. For company he travels with some unusual animals. I grant you their appearance and abilities may be disconcerting to some, but there is no harm in them. His horse causes no trouble and his dog is a fighter.” The first mate’s gaze flicked from one uncertain seaman to the next. “I know the lot of you are fighters as well, so you should understand that one person we do not fight with, either with deed or word, is a paying passenger. Those of you who know the Captain also know he would sooner throw any one of you overboard than a stranger who has more than paid his way.”
“Sorcery,” mumbled one man from within the security of the crowd.
It did not provide the anonymity the speaker had sought. “And what business is it of yours, Baycrake?” the first mate challenged him. “Were I you, I would be looking to seek out the talents of a sorcerer, in the hope that he might, through his powers, negate the vengeance that was called down on you by the woman you entrapped in Poruu Valence.”
“That would require the powers of a god, not a mere wizard,” asserted another of the assembled sailors. At this observation the entire group roared, while the accused looked abashed.
Mollified for the moment if not entirely put at ease, the crewmen dispersed to their assigned tasks, still chuckling among themselves. Quilpit smiled reassuringly at the new passenger.
“Don’t mind them, boy. Men at sea have little to do in their spare time but complain. In your absence they would concoct a conspiracy of shrimp. Best get used to the sidelong glances and hushed comments. Their paranoia will do you no harm.” Reaching out, he tentatively patted Orania’s still dripping flank. “Let’s settle your horse on deck astern. She’s not the first piece of four-legged cargo the Thranskirr has seen. We’ve carried cattle, shreep, and hogs. As the only livestock on board she’ll have space and feed and fresh air all to herself, and you’ll see her whenever you’re on deck.” He glanced down at Bit. “Your dog, I suppose, you’ll want to keep with you.”
“He’s always slept near me,” Madrenga admitted. “For warmth and for his safety.”
“And now his presence will assure your own safety. That’s how it is with dogs, boyo.”
“Captain on deck!” someone yelled. The members of the crew abruptly became busier than they had been since Madrenga had stepped aboard.
Joining mate and visitor, Hammaghiri stared long and hard at the dog that was drying the horse and the horse that was drying herself. “You said that your animal alone might be able to raise the anchor. As I commented, while I dislike unnecessarily easing the burden of my crew, turning the capstan is an activity that in the past has occasionally resulted in a sprained leg or pulled ligament. Any opportunity to avoid such injuries is to be welcomed.” Stepping past them he headed for the bow. “Bring her.”
“Sir,” Madrenga began uneasily, “she’s just had a hard swim out to the ship and …”
“What can I say? Life is harder for men than for horses. Bring her.” Hammaghiri gestured toward the quay. “Or you can return her to shore and pick her up whenever you return. The choice is yours.”
Exhaling deeply, Madrenga took his mount by the dripping reins. “Come on, girl.” Leaning close, he whispered into one ear. “I hope you can do this. You know I won’t go anywhere without you, even if it means delaying the directives of counselors and queens.”
She responded with a short, sharp, snort. Or maybe she was just sneezing out some sawdust the wind had blown over from where the ship’s carpenter was repairing a sea chest.
A good-sized ship, the Thranskirr required an anchor of proportionate dimensions. Normally she would have been secured to a fixed mooring, but when Hammaghiri had brought her into port the harbor had been packed with other ships and every mooring taken. As with any other captain in his position, time was more important than convenience. To get his cargo off quickly he had simply dropped anchor in a suitable spot. Safely behind Churrash’s formidable breakwater, he did not even have to worry about ensuring that the anchor acquired a secure hold. Since the huge double-iron bar had been dropped over the side, the Thranskirr had not budged.
New cargo had been brought aboard and stowed, supplies loaded, and the last of the ship’s drunken and debauched crew winched aboard. It was time to leave. Anticipating the call to the capstan, the members of the crew responsible for raising the anchor had begun to report for the duty, only to find themselves held back by their first mate.
“Rest awhile, boyos, while we see what the passenger’s animal can do besides swim like a dolphin.”
Biggest of a burly lot, the seaman called Kurron-bey folded huge arms and frowned. “It takes eight of us pushing hard on the four arms to bring up the weight, Quilpit. What makes you think one horse can do the same?”
“Eyewrath’s truth, Kurron speaks.” Hairiest of the hirsute, Ornym the Harund gazed with all three eyes on the horse and men who had reached the capstan. “If boy not careful, horse will maybe pull chain halfway up. Gets heavier the nearer it gets to deck. Horse strains, runs out of pull, boom!” He clapped thick, hairy hands together. “Anchor falls back in water, pulls horse with it, horse hits anchor channel, horse breaks neck.” A huge grin appeared in the center of the fulsome beard. “Is not necessarily bad ending. Crew eats horse steak for next few days, has horse jerky for rest of voyage.”
By this time everyone not busy at another assigned task had turned to watch what they believed to be an incipient failure. Hammaghiri and Quilpit stood off to one side. Three backup ropes, each as thick as a man’s upper arm, were fastened to the iron anchor chain. In the event the chain broke, they would hold the anchor and keep it from being lost. Removing the sturdy saddle, Madrenga positioned it over the armored breastplate and perpendicular to the ground. He then drew one of the backup anchor ropes to Orania’s left side, a second to her right, and bound them securely together over the saddle. The armor would protect her skin from harm while the leather would provide a groove through which the attached ropes could slide, making make it easier for her to push against the weight.
When he had done all he felt that he could, he stepped back, gave her an encouraging slap on the rump, and hollered, “Go, girl—go!”
Orania put one foot forward, followed it with the other, leaned her weight into it, dug in, and—nothing happened. Neither she nor the anchor chain moved. Guffaws began to rise from those members of the crew who had assembled to watch.
“Maybe a team of mulers would be a better idea, boy!”
“Or a team of bears,” quipped another. “Thought for certain you were older than your animal. Now I ain’t so sure!”
Madrenga bit his lip and did not respond. Orania was a slow riser in the morning. Maybe it was going to take some time for her to get her footing.
“Come on, girl. Press it!”
Hooves moved anew. Orania lowered her head until her muzzle nearly scraped the deck. Slowly but perceptibly, she began to move forward, one step at a time. The chain’s thick iron links snapped straight. On the port side near the bow the open iron-lined channel where the chain vanished over the side and into the dark green water below began to squeal as first one link, then another, then a third, rose onto the deck.
“Three damns and a fool’s fart, she’s doing it!” exclaimed one of the other seamen.
“But slowly, slowly,” argued another. “At this rate she’ll tire out before she’s halfway done.” He chuckled. “Will be interesting to see which body part comes off first when the anchor falls back and pulls her with it.”
As had Bit and her owner, ever since they had left Harup-taw-shet Orania had changed greatly under circumstances Madrenga could not explain. But he did not think, and he had seen nothing to indicate, that her transformation included a newfound ability to understand human language. The fact that she had looked over sharply at the last speaker was confirmation of nothing. She heard speech: that was all. But he knew from experience that she could be just as susceptible as Bit to the sounds of mockery and scorn. All animals were sensitive to such comments. None of the sailors would have dared taken that tone with Bit, he knew. Whether they or anyone else could safely do so with Orania was something he did not wish to find out. Taking a couple of steps toward the assembled, smirking onlookers, he raised both hands warningly and pleaded for understanding.
“Caution, if you will! You’re making her angry!”
It was too late. That smoke seemed to emerge from the horse’s nostrils could have been put down to the collision of equine exhalation with colder sea air. Harder to explain were the testimonies of two members of the crew who swore the smoke was accompanied by sparks.
Leaning even more sharply into the heavy ropes Orania began to pick up speed. As the rattle of the rising anchor chain changed from a metallic squeal to a steady hum of links sliding onto the deck, derisive laughter turned to cheers, which in turn soon surrendered to awe. By the time Orania had become a piebald blur around the capstan, this gave way to concern.
Smoke began to rise from the horse’s hooves as friction threatened to set a circle of the foredeck on fire. Sparks flew from the iron brace where the anchor chain was now streaking onto the deck. So swiftly were the links winding tight around the capstan that it too had begun smoking. A moment later the first flames could be seen spurting from between iron and the black pigo cylinder.
“That’s enough.” Hammaghiri too had retreated. “Slow her down, boy, before she sets the whole ship afire!”
Stepping forward, Madrenga tried to do exactly that. Driven to excess by the taunts of the crew, Orania was moving so fast it was doubtful she could hear her master’s commands—or anything else. Just as the capstan and the wooden decking beneath her hooves threatened to burst into full flame, a dark metal V-shape came flying over the side of the ship. Even though few of them were within the danger zone, every one of the watching sailors scrambled for cover.
The twin-barred anchor of solid, rusting iron flew through the air to land with a crash between railing and capstan. Even the strong decking of the Thranskirr could not resist such an impact. Though slowed by the tough, weathered planks, the anchor crashed through to the lower deck beneath. It was only through good fortune that no one was working beneath the spot.
Advancing cautiously, Hammaghiri and Quilpit moved to the edge of the hole. Madrenga did not join them, having chosen to attend to Orania. Having finally come to a complete stop, the horse was perspiring profusely.
“She needs a blanket,” he called to them.
The Captain made a rude noise as he examined the gap. “Here’s work for the ship’s carpenter.” He looked over at the horse’s master. “You’re lucky, paying passenger, that she didn’t hull the ship. Were that the case we’d all be in the water shortly, with me pressing down hard on your head.”
Ever a voice of common sense at such moments, Quilpit spoke softly. “The crew teased her to it, sir. She was only responding to their goading.”
Hammaghiri hated it when his first mate was logical, and even more so when he was right. “Since she has so much energy, the first port we come to we’ll harness her to the loading crane. The two of them, man and horse, will work off this damage.” Turning, he raised his voice so that the men now slowly emerging from the places where they had sought hasty refuge would be sure to hear him.
“New ship’s order!” he bellowed, his voice carrying from bow to stern and well out over the water as well. “From now on, as long as she’s on this ship, nobody dares the mare!”
He did not have explain what he meant.
Having taken shelter with the others when the anchor had come flying onto the deck, second mate Korufh did not linger to discuss the remarkable incident with his fellows. Quietly he retired to his cabin, there to contemplate a newly uncertain future. It was all beginning to make a certain perverted sort of sense now: the passenger with the body of a soldier and a face still redolent of adolescence, the dog-monster and the story Quilpit had told of it, and now this cursed horse-creature. As he laid down on his bunk and stared at the old wood overhead, he closed his eyes. One of the first things anyone who makes their life at sea learns is to take advantage of a sound sleep whenever the opportunity presents itself. Korufh did so now, a last thought loitering as he embarked on his nap.
Demons, the lot of them, he had decided firmly.
Bolted securely to the aft deck, the three concentric circles of the ship’s wheel gleamed brightly, their stark whiteness visible from nearly anywhere on deck or in the rigging. Fashioned from the lashed-and-glued-together rib bones of a calianc sea serpent, the bones had been inscribed with symbols and sayings recognizable to any mariner. All five points of the compass, the directions taken by the known winds, safe harbors, dangerous shoals, famous ports—even the legendary lands of lost Nalduu, all had been inscribed on the bone by the Thranskirr’s shipbuilder’s master artist. The same man had carved the masts whose tops terminated in birds of prey, and the figurehead of an atypically buxom fairy princess.
Standing behind the great wheel, Bolandri, the Thranskirr’s navigator, seemed a part of the ship itself, as much a fixture as rudder or ram. Every time Madrenga had come on deck since they had left Charrush behind, the helmsman was to be found at his station. It would not have surprised the youth to learn that the man slept there, his long arms embracing the wheel bones and his large spatulate hands gripping them like a necrophilic lover. His eyes fixed straight ahead, Bolandri did not glance in the passenger’s direction, though a slight nod indicated that he was aware of Madrenga’s presence.
Orania had been settled in forward where she had been provided with a makeshift bed of hay and straw. As she munched contentedly through her bedding, new fodder-filling was brought up from below. Bit, as always, trotted along happily by his master’s side. By now every member of the crew had been subject to Quilpit’s retelling of what had taken place at the animal fighting arena. While their reactions to the first mate’s narrative ranged from dubious to apprehensive, each of them nonetheless continued to give the dog a wide berth. Bit found this standoffishness unutterably depressing, as he was naturally friendly and inquisitive. In his still puppyish innocence he was unable to understand that his recently acquired body armor, spiked collar, and dragon’s teeth had a tendency to make even hardened seamen wary of becoming too friendly.
Hammaghiri stood at the very rear of the aft deck, behind his helmsman. From where he was relaxing in the elevated chair that was reached by a series of short steps he could see all of the deck, from bowsprit to topmast. The pair of special seaman’s glasses he wore had been made in Charrush. Darkened to shield eyes from the sun, they also prevented each member of the crew from telling if their captain was watching them, studying the sea, or sleeping.
As Madrenga approached the captain’s seat, a school of boomers broke from the water off to starboard. Inflating the sacs at the tips of their fins, they rose into the air and began to drift eastward with the wind. If only he could travel due east with such ease, the youth thought. Attached to their gills, sacs filled with water would allow the boomers to breathe while staying aloft for some time.
The reason for their eruption from the surface showed itself a moment after the last member of the school had risen from the water. Bursting upward, the pipe dragon opened its wide, bulging jaws. Connected by an expandable membrane, they formed a perfectly circular, fang-lined mouth. Late in inflating, the last of the boomers hung low over the water an instant too long. The pipe dragon’s mouth closed around it as neatly as a pelican’s and snapped shut.
A distant, low boom sounded as the dragon arced back into the sea and disappeared in a gout of water and foam.
“Sleep well, Mr. Madrenga?” The Captain was not asleep behind his dark lenses.
“Better than I have a right to expect, sir. I confess I was uncertain as to how I would fare once we left Charrush and found ourselves out on the open ocean, but having been many times forced to catch my sleep in far more trying conditions, I find the rocking of the ship greatly to my liking.”
Hammaghiri was clearly pleased. “Perhaps we’ll make a sailor of you, Mr. Madrenga, and you’ll have no need to return to your dry, desolate, depressing landsman home.”
“Three negatives you cast on my choice of residence, sir, none of which apply. But however misguided, I appreciate your concern for my welfare.” He paused awhile to study the now quiet surface of the sea before continuing. “Much as I would appreciate finalizing the matter of my destination. Isn’t it time to do so?”
“Oh, that.” Hammaghiri grinned. “A small matter. You have paid enough to be set ashore anywhere along our transit. Where would you and your animals like to land?”
While far more confident in body, in mind Madrenga was still the inexperienced youth who had barely escaped an ordinary mugging in Harup-taw-shet. He was street smart enough to know that in an argument he was no match for the widely-traveled Hammaghiri. So, as he spoke, he kept his gaze aimed out to sea and avoided meeting the older man’s eyes. As they had for days, mountains and canyons framed the coast, their presence interrupted only by the occasional broad river valley flush with forest and fishing villages.
“Ever since leaving Charrush we’ve not sailed out of sight of the coast.”
The Captain nodded. “Time is cheaper than life. Safer to follow the shore than risk the dangers of the open ocean. In case of emergency the Thranskirr, like any mouse, likes to have handy a ready bolthole.”
“But you and your ship have made ocean crossings before.” Its four leathery green wings catching the wind, a male peurlu soared low over the topmast, forcing the lookout stationed there to briefly duck back into his protective cage. Indifference rather than curses caused the aerial predator to continue on a course that took it away from the ship and toward the coast, there to seek out potential prey that was more vulnerable and less voluble.
“Truth. Which exact line the ship takes depends on many factors. The weather, the time of year, reports of piratical activity, stories of encounters with or sightings of the more fearsome seabeasts, and of course where we are contracted to pick up and drop off cargo.” He looked evenly at the youth. “So tell me, cargo; it sounds like you have decided where you would like to be put ashore.”
“Yes.” He took a deep breath. “Daria.”
“Daria? You did say Daria, my young friend?” Madrenga nodded; the Captain considered. “First of all, Daria lies well inland from the coast. Having neither legs nor wings, the Thranskirr cannot get you there.”
“I will settle for being set down as close as possible,” Madrenga responded.
Hammaghiri pursed his lips. “That would be the seaport of Yordd, where much of the cargo that travels the waters of the world and is bound for Daria is landed. Yordd, Mr. Madrenga, lies almost directly across the Sea of Shadows from where you and I now converse. I can certainly land you there—in several months’ time.”
Madrenga pondered the Captain’s response. Did he have months? While neither Counselor Natoum nor the Queen herself had given him a specific date by which the scroll had to be delivered, among Natoum’s last words to him prior to their parting was the unmistakable implication that its contents were time-sensitive. He therefore did not think that a delay of several months would be acceptable.
He could ask to be put ashore at the next seaport of size and there hope to book more direct transport. But if Hammaghiri was reluctant at this time to make a direct crossing of the Shadows, none of his shipmastering counterparts were likely to be more bold. Besides, Madrenga told himself, he knew Hammaghiri now. Knew his ship, and most if not all of the crew by sight if not always by name. By leaving the Thranskirr in a new port he would be abandoning a familiarity as comforting as it was useful—and he would have to start all over again.
Having come up behind them and listened silently to the exchange, Quilpit now ventured a suggestion.
“We have two more stops to make on the western coast, Captain: Colankka and Bis-on-Brevay. Then we face the long tack to Florask-ah.”
Hammaghiri nodded. “Which we shall reach by following the southern coast before making the quick dash across the Straits of Berembrean.”
“The Straits fertilize ambuscades, sir.” The first mate glanced at an increasingly hopeful Madrenga. “We could avoid them by heading direct across the sea from Bis-on-Brevay to Florask-ah.” He paused briefly. “Yordd lies on the eastern coast of the Shadows—and is but a short detour through Nazbay on the way to Florask-ah.”
Hammaghiri harrumphed. “Yes, we could do that—and risk whatever greater perils the Shadows might choose to cast our way.”
Quilpit smiled. “Every day of a life at sea is a gamble, sir. I know you.” He gestured toward the main deck. “I know the crew. Offer them the chance to cut a few months sea time from their contract with the promise of the same pay at the end, and there would be few among them who would not jump at the opportunity. They’ll take the risk.”
“They’d only be risking their lives,” Hammaghiri countered. “While I am responsible for the ship.”
The first mate stared back at his superior. “Less time at sea, less wear on the ship as well as the men.”
“Don’t tell me my business, Mr. Quilpit.”
“Never, sir—I wouldn’t presume to …!”
“Calm yourself. Let me think.”
It was all a matter of balancing risk versus savings. The months that would not be spent rounding the southern reaches could be used to extend the voyage. The additional potential income that could materialize from such a decision was substantial. He would certainly prefer to avoid having to cross the Straits of Berembrean.
But the dangers of the open sea, far away from land …
Those were always unknown, he reminded himself firmly. On this voyage, at least, perhaps it was time to put aside the fear of the unknown. Respect for it he would retain. Anyway, there was a girl in Florask-ah who would not wait forever and …
Turning, he cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed in the direction of the Thranskirr’s helmsman. “Mr. Bolandri! Change of heading! Set us due northeast!”
“Yes sir!” In the helmsman’s limber hands the great triple bone wheel began to spin to starboard. Stepping down from his seat and moving to the railing that lined the aft deck, Hammaghiri sought out the second mate. “Mr. Korufh! We’re changing course.” He pointed aloft. “Blocks and braces—we’re coming around to starboard!”
“Yes Captain!” Even as he began giving orders to the men Korufh wondered at the sudden change of course. It was plain to see they were heading out to sea and leaving behind the safety and protection of the coast. To what purpose? Like every other member of the crew who had enjoyed shore leave in Charrush he had heard the stories of ships recently gone missing in the middle of the Shadows. He trusted Hammaghiri, both as an individual and a Captain, but knowing him as he did it was unlike the man to order such a change in plans while not in port and …
The passenger! Whirling, Korufh gazed at the aft deck where the strange young man could be seen deep in conversation with the Captain and first mate. What unknown words had this Madrenga whispered into Hammaghiri’s ear to persuade him to alter course? For surely that was the reason for the unusual decision. Korufh could think of no other suitable explanation for the abrupt change. Had the youth somehow magicked both men?
Near the foredeck the passenger’s deviant steed dozed contentedly on its edible bedding. As Korufh stared, the animal raised its head and looked directly at him. Eyes widening in fear, the second mate turned away, only to nearly stumble over the blocky shape of the passenger’s shovel-mouthed dog. Panting agreeably, it licked his leg. While the gesture was nominally one of affection, the fact that the dog’s red tongue extended outward the length of a man’s arm only further flustered an already unsettled Korufh. He fled toward the open hatch that beckoned between the masts, badly in need of some privacy for his jangled thoughts.
Meanwhile the Thranskirr wheeled smartly about and struck a course across an increasingly deep line of olive-green swells.