Part 44 (2/2)

”Perhaps they have.” Josua poured a bit of wine into his cup. ”I find it strange that the kilpa should rise and the ghants should come pouring out of the swamps at just the same moment. Our enemy's reach is long, Isgrimnur.”

”Little Tiamak believes that was happening in the ghant nest when we found him-that somehow Stormspike was using him and the other Wrannamen to talk to those bugs.” The thought of Tiamak's countrymen used by the ghants, burned up like candles and then discarded, and of the hundreds of Nabbanai mariners dragged away to a hideous death by the kilpa, made Isgrimnur curl his fist and wish for something to hit. ”What kind of a demon could do such things, Josua? What kind of an enemy is this, that we cannot see and cannot strike?”

”The greatest enemy we have.” The prince sipped his wine, swaying as the s.h.i.+p pitched again. ”An enemy we must defeat, no matter the cost.”

The cabin door swung open. Camaris steadied himself, then entered, his scabbard sc.r.a.ping the doorframe. The old knight's cloak drizzled water on the floor.

”What did Nin Reisu say?” Josua asked as he poured wine for Camaris. ”Will Emettin's Jewel Emettin's Jewel hold together for one more night?” hold together for one more night?”

The old man drained his cup and stared at the lees.

”Camaris?” Josua moved toward him. ”What did Nin Reisu say?”

After a moment, the knight looked up. ”I cannot sleep.”

The prince shared a worried look with Isgrimnur. ”I do not understand.”

”I have been up on deck.”

Isgrimnur thought that was obvious from the water puddling on the floor. The old knight seemed even more fearfully distracted than was usual. ”What's wrong, Camaris?”

”I cannot sleep. This sword is in my dreams.” He pawed fitfully at Thorn's hilt. ”I hear it ... singing to me.” Camaris tugged it a short way out of the scabbard, a length of pure darkness. ”I carried this sword for years.” He struggled for words. ”I ... felt it sometimes, especially in battle. But never this way. I think ... I think it is alive.”

Josua looked at the blade with more than a little distrust. ”Perhaps you should not carry it, Camaris. You will be forced to take it up soon enough. Put it somewhere safe.”

”No.” The old man shook his head. His voice was heavy. ”No, I dare not. There are things to learn. We do not know how to use these Great Swords against our enemy. As you said, the time is fast coming. Perhaps I can understand the song it sings. Perhaps ...”

The prince lifted his hand as if to dispute him, then let it fall. ”You must do as you think best., You are Thorn's master.”

Camaris looked up solemnly. ”Am I? I thought so, once.”

”Come, have some more wine,” Isgrimnur urged him. He tried to rise from his stool but decided against it. The battles with the kilpa had set back his recovery. Wincing, he signaled to Josua to refill the old man's cup. ”It is hard not to feel haunted when the wind howls and the sea flings us about like dice in a cup.”

”Isgrimnur is right.” Josua smiled., ”Here, drink up.” The room lurched once more, and wine splashed onto his wrist. ”Come, while there is more in the cup than on the floor.”

Camaris was silent for long moments. ”I must speak to you, Josua,” he said abruptly. ”Something weighs upon my soul.”

Puzzled, the prince waited.

The knight's face seemed almost gray as he turned to the duke. ”Please, Isgrimnur, I must talk with Josua alone.”

”I am your friend, Camaris,” said the duke. ”If anyone is to blame for bringing you here, it's me. If something is plaguing you, I want to help.”

”This is a shame that burns. I would not tell Josua, but that he needs to hear it. Even as I lie sleepless for fear of what the sword will do, G.o.d punishes me for my secret sin. I pray that if I make this right, He will give me the strength to understand Thorn and its brother swords. But please do not force me to bare this shame to you as well.” Camaris looked truly old, his features slack, his eyes wandering. ”Please. I beg you.”

Confused and more than a little frightened, Isgrimnur nodded. ”As you wish, Camaris. Of course.”

Isgrimnur was debating whether he should wait in the narrow pa.s.sageway any longer when the cabin door opened and Camaris emerged. The old knight brushed past, hunched beneath the low ceiling. Before Isgrimnur could get more than half his question out, Camaris was gone down the pa.s.sageway, thumping from wall to wall as Emettin's Jewel Emettin's Jewel heaved in the storm's grip. heaved in the storm's grip.

Isgrimnur knocked at the cabin door. When the prince did not answer, he carefully pushed it open. The prince was staring at the lamp, his blasted expression that of a man who has seen his own death.

”Josua?”

The prince's hand rose as though tugged by a string. He seemed entirely leeched of spirit. His voice was flat, terrible. ”Go away, Isgrimnur. Let me be alone.”

The duke hesitated, but Josua's face decided him. Whatever had happened in the cabin, there was nothing he could give the prince at this moment but solitude.

”Send for me when you want me.” Isgrimnur backed out of the room. Josua did not look up or speak, but continued to watch the lamp as though it were the only thing that might lead him out of ultimate darkness.

”I am trying to understand.” Miriamele's head ached. ”Tell me again about the swords.”

She had been with the dwarrows for several days, as far as she could tell: it was hard to know for certain here in the rocky fastness below the Hayholt. The shy earth-dwellers had continued to treat her well, but still refused to free her. Miriamele had argued, pleaded-even raged for a long hour, demanding to be released, threatening, cursing. As her anger spent itself, the dwarrows had murmured among themselves worriedly. They seemed so shocked and unsettled by her fury that she had almost felt ashamed of herself, but the embarra.s.sment pa.s.sed as quickly as the anger.

After all, she had decided, she had decided, I did not ask to be brought here. They say their reasons are good I did not ask to be brought here. They say their reasons are good-then let their reasons make them feel better. I shouldn't have to.

She was convinced of, if not reconciled to, the reasons for her captivity. The dwarrows seemed to sleep very little if at all, and only a few of them at a time ever left the wide cavern. Whether they were telling her the entire truth or not, she did not doubt that there was something out there that frightened the slender, wide-eyed creatures very badly.

”The swords,” said Yis-fidri. ”Very well, I will try better to explain. You saw that we knew the arrow, even though we did not make it?”

”Yes.” They had certainly seemed to know something something significant was in the saddlebags, although it was possible they could have made up the story on the spot after finding it. significant was in the saddlebags, although it was possible they could have made up the story on the spot after finding it.

”We did not make the arrow, but it was crafted by one who learned from us. The three Great Swords are are of our making, and we are bound to them.” of our making, and we are bound to them.”

”You made the three swords?” This was what had confused her. It did not match what she had been told. ”I knew that your people made Minneyar for King Elvrit of Rimmsersgard-but not that they forged the other two as well. Jarnauga said that the sword Sorrow was made by Ineluki himself.”

”Speak not his name!” Several of the other dwarrows looked up and chimed a few unsettled words which Yis-fidri answered before turning back to Miriamele. ”Speak not his name. He is closer than he has been in centuries. Do not call his attention!”

It's like being in a whole cave full of Strangyeards, thought Miriamele thought Miriamele. They seem afraid of everything. Still, Binabik had said much the same thing. ”Very well. I won't say ... his name. But that story is not what I was told. A learned man said that ... he ... made it himself in the forges of Asu'a.” Still, Binabik had said much the same thing. ”Very well. I won't say ... his name. But that story is not what I was told. A learned man said that ... he ... made it himself in the forges of Asu'a.”

The dwarrow sighed. ”Indeed. We were the smiths of Asu'a-or at least some of our people were ... some who had not fled our Zida'ya masters, but who were still Navigator's Children for all that, still as like to us as two chunks of ore from the same vein. They all died when the castle fell.” Yis-fidri chanted a brief lament in the dwarrow tongue; his wife Yis-hadra echoed him. ”He used the Hammer that Shapes to forge it-our it-our Hammer-and the Words of Making that we taught to him. It might as well have been our own High Smith's hand that crafted it. In that terrible instant, wheresoever we were, scattered across the world's face ... we felt Sorrow's making. The pain of it is with us still.” He fell silent for a long time. ”That the Zida'ya allowed such a thing,” he said at last, ”is one of the reasons we have turned away from them. We were so sorely diminished by that one act that we have ever since been crippled.” Hammer-and the Words of Making that we taught to him. It might as well have been our own High Smith's hand that crafted it. In that terrible instant, wheresoever we were, scattered across the world's face ... we felt Sorrow's making. The pain of it is with us still.” He fell silent for a long time. ”That the Zida'ya allowed such a thing,” he said at last, ”is one of the reasons we have turned away from them. We were so sorely diminished by that one act that we have ever since been crippled.”

”And Thorn?”

Yis-fidri nodded his heavy head. ”The mortal smiths of Nabban tried to work the star-stone. They could not. Certain of our people were sought out and brought secretly to the Imperator's palace. These kin of ours were thought by most mortals to be only strange folk who watched the oceans and kept the s.h.i.+ps safe from harm, but a small number knew that the old lore of Making and Shaping ran deep in all the Tinukeda'ya, even those who had chosen to remain with the sea.”

”Tinukeda'ya?” It took a moment to sink in. ”But that's what Gan Itai ... those are Niskies!”

”We are all Ocean Children,” said the dwarrow gravely. ”Some decided to stay near the sea which forever separates us from the Garden of our birth. Others chose more hidden and secretive ways, like the earth's dark places and the task of shaping-stone. You see, unlike our cousins the Zida'ya and Hikeda'ya, we Children of the Navigator can shape ourselves just as we shape other things.”

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