Chapter 2

‘We do have some time,’ stressed Alarus. ‘I have discovered that the Unsundering can be performed only during a total eclipse. Erieth and I have consulted Telion’s charts to see when that will next occur.’
      ‘And?’ said Quainen with much exasperation.
      ‘We’ve got a little over a month,’ replied Alarus.
      ‘A month?’ cried Quainen in disbelief. ‘How are we to organise our forces, march them over a thousand miles to Tath, defeat an entire Ghakhen horde, and overthrow a powerful deathlord, all in a month?’
      ‘It will be difficult,’ acknowledged Raavan, still hanging his head.
      ‘It is utterly impossible!’ cried Quainen. ‘How could you allow this to happen? You should have spared no effort in securing that codex in the first place! You should never have allowed it to fall into the hands of the enemy.’
      Caelebrin urged the royal advisor to calm himself. ‘There is no need to heap guilt here today upon anyone, least of all on Raavan. The Kastairi acted responsibly, given the circumstances. And indeed, it might be pointed out that responsibility for securing the copy of the codex at Ilimath lay originally with Pencairn, who I believe insisted on overseeing the Purging of Ilimath some twelve hundred years ago. Some might conclude that the greater share of fault belongs with your predecessors in the City of Lords.’
      The advisor was silent after this. Yet, there was much to discuss and little time to do so. The council members, previously sombre in mood, now were frantic. Tables were hastily set up, maps were unrolled, and the planning began in earnest. It continued for much the rest of the day and into the next, and then again the following day. By late in the afternoon on the third day it seemed that all of the gross military planning had been carried out as well as was possible given the time constraints. Yet none there entertained much hope that they could defeat Silgoth’s horde before the coming eclipse. It was Dreygor from Ihm-ennar who proposed another possibility.
      ‘What if we were to send a small team of assassins,’ suggested the Dwarf, ‘just four or five of our best warriors, to slip into Hélethrôn and seek out the Deathlord himself. After all, he is the one that we need to destroy before the eclipse.’
      ‘Then we could defeat his horde on our own schedule,’ said General Kelenir from Pencairn.
      ‘Right,’ said Dreygor.
      ‘How would our assassins get into Hélethrôn undetected?’ asked the Elf lord Cendil.
      Dreygor answered, ‘Dwarven lore has it that there are many secret ways in and out of Hélethrôn, ways which are likely still known to our brethren in Tolor.’
      ‘Unfortunately, none of the Dwarves of Tolor are present,’ observed Count Cenathon of Aglathrad.
      ‘True,’ conceded Dreygor, ‘yet if a team were to undertake such a task, they likely would need to pass through Tolor anyway. A stop at Druindor or Dalathrôn along the way would be easy enough to accommodate.’
      ‘What think you of this plan, Raavan?’ asked the Dwarven king, Khazâl.
      ‘It has some merit,’ answered the wizard. ‘It is much like what we did at Ilimath.’
      ‘Then won’t Silgoth be expecting us to try the same thing?’ asked Quainen.
      ‘He may,’ agreed Raavan. ‘But it would be very dangerous either way.’
      ‘I do not see that we have any choice,’ said Count Cenathon. ‘We must hedge our bets. If there is any chance that such an undertaking could succeed, then attempt it we must. The only cost is the handful of people that go.’
      ‘Yes, but which people, I wonder,’ said Burak.
      ‘Well, it was Dreygor’s idea,’ said Khazâl with a half smile. ‘What say you, Dreygor? Will you be the first of our brethren to step foot again in our Kâlandelf of old?’
      Dreygor did not look pleased by the proposition. Finally he agreed. ‘I suppose I must. But who will come with me?’
      None answered.
      ‘Raavan, did you not accompany the infiltrators at Ilimath?’ asked the Elf lord Cendil.
      ‘Yes, and so of course I shall go again,’ answered the wizard without delay.
      ‘Bravo!’ cheered Khazâl in his booming voice. ‘We have two volunteers! Now, who else would like to go along on this merry adventure?’
      Alatar rose from his seat. ‘I will go,’ said the man.
      ‘As will I,’ said Burak.
      ‘Very good, very good indeed!’ said Khazâl, quite pleased to see two Dwarves on the team.
      ‘I will represent the Elves on this mission,’ said Valainis, an Elven warrior from Avalesse.
      Then to Talen and Dannadar’s amazement and utter horror Falco stood and strode into the circle. ‘And I shall go to represent the Elflings, for as it is well known, even we have participated in the Great Wars of the past.’
      ‘Falco!’ exclaimed Talen, ‘Are you out of your mind?’
      ‘He is right, Falco,’ said Raavan, ‘this is a task more dark and dangerous than most which even I have undertaken. In Ilimath we did not expect to lose Fifin, yet all who enter Hélethrôn must be prepared to die before leaving that place again. Indeed, I am afraid that is the most likely outcome for each of us who venture into that pit.’
      ‘Then I will die aiding you to defeat the Deathlord,’ said Falco. ‘There is no goal more worthy, and indeed, if you do not succeed then there is likely no place in Entira which will be safe for any of us.’
      Raavan considered the Elfling’s words. Many in the assembly already had heard during their stay at Valassea of the Elflings’ exceptional prowess as archers, and none there took the offer lightly.
      ‘And there is this sword to consider,’ continued Falco as he drew the shiny blade which he had discovered in the hidden cave along the coast. ‘Caelebrin has sensed that it has upon it a bane-spell. I believe its destiny lies in Hélethrôn, in the bosom of the Deathlord, for why else would it have turned up just now? Indeed, if this sword was chosen for that task, then surely I who found the blade was chosen to deliver it into that bosom and so fulfil its destiny.’
      ‘Well said, Falco,’ said Khazâl solemnly, and with full approval.
      ‘Very well,’ said Raavan. ‘If you are resolute on this matter—’
      ‘I am,’ said Falco.
      ‘Then you shall join us,’ said Raavan. ‘And let it be known that I shall be grateful to have your deadly bow along, and you to wield it.’
      ‘Then you shall have another deadly bow to join his,’ said Talen, rising from his seat. ‘If Falco goes with you, then I will go with him, though my heart tells me that we walk into something far more terrible than any of us now realise.’
      ‘Your heart may tell you aright,’ said Raavan, ‘yet those of us who are destined to go must do so. Are you sure you wish to cast your lot with us? Are you sure this is your destiny?’
      At this, King Cenedain of Greycastle rose to speak: ‘Wilt thou instead consider commanding a company of mine archers when we march against the black hordes? My captains have indicated to me that such would please them mightily, for thy skill with the bow has in just a brief time become something of a legend in Greycastle.’
      Talen considered this for a moment, then answered, ‘It is quite an honour to receive such an offer from Your Highness. I am afraid, however, that I must stick with Falco.’
      ‘Then wilt thou consider mine offer, Sir Dannadar,’ pleaded Cenedain. ‘Thy brethren in arms have determined to fulfil their duty in this way. Wilt thou consider fulfilling thy duty on the battlefield instead, where thy skills will be not redundant? Thou shalt command a full company of my men, and with honour shalt thou cleave into the ranks of the horde.’
      Dannadar appeared troubled. ‘I think I should join Talen and Falco—’
      ‘You’re not coming with us,’ said Falco adamantly.
      ‘What do you mean?’ demanded Dannadar.
      ‘Fifin died in Ilimath because I did not make him stay behind as I should,’ said Falco. ‘His blood is on my conscience. I will not have yours on it as well.’
      ‘What!’ cried Dannadar. ‘How is it that—’
      ‘Please, please,’ said Caelebrin, urging the Elflings to calm themselves. ‘This matter need not be decided right this moment. I think we have roughly filled the required number for the party. Let us leave any additions or changes to the roster for later. What we need to do now is to arrive at a plan for the infiltration, and perhaps more importantly a schedule.’
      ‘Yes, the schedule is very important,’ agreed Alarus. ‘Indeed, it may be the most important aspect of the entire operation.’
      ‘What exactly do you mean?’ asked Lord Cendil.
      ‘Well,’ explained Alarus, ‘the very first objective must obviously be to prevent Silgoth from attaining the Unsundering. Beyond that we would like to see him and his horde utterly destroyed. But there also is a long term effect which the death of Silgoth may bring to our great benefit if it is done properly.’
      ‘Yes, of course!’ exclaimed Raavan.
      ‘I don’t understand,’ said General Kelenir.
      Raavan explained, ‘Even if we are able to overcome Silgoth and his horde there still remains the problem of the Thread: always it will be waiting as it has done for ages, lying dormant till another deathlord arises to rediscover its power. In this way it will always be a threat looming over the future of Entira. Indeed, there is even speculation that it may be the Thread itself which seeds the incarnation of each new deathlord upon the demise of his predecessor. I think that what Brother Alarus is suggesting is that—’
      ‘If the Deathlord were to die at the precise moment of the Unsundering,’ continued Alarus, ‘when the Thread is in the process of being re-channelled and has been diverted from its astral track, there is a chance that the Thread itself may be damaged or even destroyed. It is only a theory at this point, but one which does seem to be supported by what I’ve read of Omenaton’s researches. The period of transition is a very critical time, for the Thread is rendered quite vulnerable during the process of unsundering.’
      ‘So, what you’re saying is that by killing Silgoth during the Unsundering we can also prevent the emergence of other deathlords in the future, is that it?’ asked Quainen.
      ‘More or less,’ said Alarus.
      ‘Well, I think our first objective has got to be to overcome Silgoth, period,’ said Quainen. ‘If we also can stop this Thread, then that would be an added bonus.’
      ‘Naturally,’ said Raavan.
      ‘Then the infiltration must occur in time for the assassins to be in place on the day of the eclipse, and preferably not long before,’ said Caelebrin, ‘for the longer they have to wait inside Hélethrôn the greater their risk of discovery.’
      To this all agreed. They adjourned then for dinner, and afterward they gathered again to form a plan for the infiltrators.
      The first suggestion was that the party ride north through the Penyandil Pass and then proceed through Tolor to approach Hélethrôn from the east, but they were informed by Sildin that a rider from Merethir had come that very day bearing news that Penyandil Pass was held by a large force of Goblyns. It was decided that they would instead pass through Merethir and then on to the Foireách Pass. From there they would make for Thorwald or Dalathrôn, in which places they hoped to get additional guidance from the Dwarves of Tolor to help them on the final leg of their journey.
      On the following day plans were finalized as the council prepared to adjourn so that they all could return to their respective kingdoms and begin making preparations for the coming assault. The very idea of organising an attack on the Deathlord at Hélethrôn within a matter of weeks seemed almost ridiculous, but it was clear to all that there was no other choice. While the infiltrators slipped into Hélethrôn the allies would engage the enemy without, hopefully drawing his attention out onto the battlefield and away from his own halls.
      Talen and Falco spent much of that day trying to convince Dannadar that he should join the Arnedians rather than accompanying the infiltrators to Hélethrôn. In the end they were able to sway him by pointing out that in doing his best to aid the Arnedian archers in their offence against Silgoth’s horde he would be protecting Talen and Falco by creating a more effective distraction for the enemy out on the plains. Even so, the two older Elflings worried for the safety of their younger companion, for they knew there would be danger aplenty on the open battlefield. They could only hope the danger would be rather less, as Raavan seemed strongly inclined to believe.
      Once that was settled Talen and Falco began to worry instead about their own fate, for it began to dawn on them just what it was they had gotten themselves into. Fortunately, they had but little time to worry, for on the morrow King Telurin and his retinue would be returning in their tall ship to Pencairn and it was decided that the infiltrators would accompany them in order to save themselves the longer ride through Arvalla.
      Things were happening very quickly now—frighteningly so, to be sure—yet Talen mused that so much had they all changed since setting out from Laurelindor many months before that they were far more prepared now to deal with the momentous events which they saw unfolding about them.
      In the morning all the delegates prepared to go their separate ways. The Elflings said their teary eyed good-byes to one another and exchanged a strong embrace and not a few words of encouragement. Though they could not promise that they all would live to be reunited after the war, they did pledge that those among them that did survive would carry the story of the others back to their families in Laurelindor. In this way it would be known that they had died fighting for the safety of their homeland—and that included Fifin as well.
      In a show of solidarity the wielders of the three Swords of Power stood before all in a circle and drew their magical blades: Cenedain with Nifredir, the Sword of the West glowing red for the hot blood of the Westmen; Telurin with Niisilme, the Sword of the South, glowing blue for the ocean waves that lapped the shores of Pencairn; and Alatar with Noromendor, the Sword of the East, glowing green for the vast fields of grass that stretched from Anyar to Arenya. Holding the tips of the swords together these three men each pledged their mutual support during the dark times ahead.
      As they spoke the ancient words and as the swords came together the blades were seen to glow ever brighter, so that even their wielders were encased in a soft nimbus of light. All who saw this were filled with hope, for though the military strength of the allies was reckoned to be likely inadequate for the task that lay ahead, they saw that there was some other power on their side, an ancient power which none there could name, but all could sense.
      Soon the time had come to depart. Those bound for Pencairn mounted their steeds and headed east toward the Elven port where the king’s ship was docked. As they rode out from Valassea Talen turned back to look one last time at Dannadar. What he saw was an Elfling sitting bestride his pony, proudly wearing his Dwarven armour and his royal cloak of Greycastle: a warrior ready for battle. But in the younger Elfling’s eyes he saw a deep sadness, as of one who has allowed himself to be separated from his dearest friends and only too late has come to realise what pain that parting will bring.
      Then the path turned and all he saw behind him were trees.
       

* * *

       
      They arrived at the Elven port of Arbirloch in less than an hour. The port was again very rustic, not terribly different from Valassea, but without the cliffs and facing east rather than south. Indeed, Arbirloch was located along the southernmost stretch of eastward facing coast. South of this place the coast turned sharply round the tip of the Arvallan peninsula.
      When they arrived at the quay they saw docked there a fine ship of goodly proportions. Indeed, so large was the royal vessel that the company simply rode their steeds right onto the main deck. There they dismounted, passing the reins to waiting crew members who then would lead the beasts to their stalls below deck.
      Once on board the Elflings found there was much at which to marvel. Though they had been boating before on lakes and even recently out on the open sea in the Elven canoe, never had they been aboard a large sailing vessel such as this.
      The sails themselves were the main source of wonder for the Elflings. As the great ship was piloted out from dock and the sails were unfurled, the sheer quantity of canvas that the crew laid on was amazing to see. The masts and yards, gaffs and sprits which previously stood like lifeless wooden skeletons on the deck at berth were now fully clothed with sail. Soon they began to pick up some wind and then the Elflings watched the sails as they gracefully billowed and undulated against the clear blue sky. They marveled that this great, heavy vessel and all its cargo were driven swiftly across the sea by no more than the action of wind against sail.
      It was not long before the amount of canvas had to be reduced and then the Elflings watched as the sailors climbed the ratlines and then balancing on mere foot ropes hoisted the buntlines to reef the sail. Others adjusted the running rigging through the use of block and tackle or measured the ship’s speed with a long, knotted rope thrown over the side. And all was accomplished quickly and under the strict supervision of the boatswain and his senior deckhands.
      The captain of the ship was a thick, bearded man by the name of Bogley who never seemed quite satisfied with the performance of the ship and was constantly belting out orders to his officers. Though he seemed to the Elflings a rather stern man they noticed that none among the crew ever seemed to grumble or resent their treatment under his command, but rather went about their work in an efficient and undistracted manner. After some consideration Talen concluded that such discipline likely was necessary for the successful navigation of this complex vessel, with its many sails and jibs, blocks and lanyards, lines, hawsers, rudders, and lifts.
      In the early afternoon they were given a tour of the ship by the second mate, a wiry man named Mr. Harvey. This was done at the request of Telurin, who realised after encountering the Elflings on deck that they had never before sailed on a great ship. Mr. Harvey was instructed to give the Elflings the ‘royal tour’ and to satisfy all their questions and curiosities.
      So instructed, the second mate took the two and walked them over every inch of the ship, starting on the weather decks, where he explained the use of the winch and anchor, the helm and rudder, the compass and the windvane. He showed them the sextant and the astrolabe, the hourglass and the taffrail log, and all the major sails and lines as well as their points of attachment and respective components. He described the difficulties of navigation out on the open seas, the chain of command among the officers, and he delved even into some of the more advanced techniques of steering, such as tacking into the wind, kedging by anchor, and heaving-to in a heavy sea.
      Then they were shown the galley, the fore- and aft-castles, the grand cabin and its gallery, the lower decks, the cargo hold, and even the bilge well. Though he did point out the crow’s nests where were stationed lookouts atop the main and mizzen masts, the Elflings did not ask permission to climb up to them, nor did their guide invite them to do so. They were not overly disappointed, for neither of them were fond of heights.
      When they had completed their most thorough tour they thanked Mr. Harvey several times and then retired to an out-of-the way spot at the taffrail where they could sit and watch the waves go by. The coast was now but a distant shadow on the larboard horizon. In every other direction there was nothing but water and sky.
      Looking out on the endless miles of ocean the Elflings could not help but wonder at the sheer size of the world, and to meditate on their own smallness and the limited nature of all they knew and all they would see in their own lifetimes. They let their minds wander out to the distant lands that, were the helmsman to turn the ship in the right tack, they could reach simply by waiting as the wind blew the seas to slip under their keel.
      That evening all the party were invited to dine in the great cabin with the king and Captain Bogley. The cook, a strange, smelly man with several missing teeth, served them fried cod and dumplings followed by plum duff for dessert. Afterward the cook returned with brandy and rum and news that a storm was thought to be headed their way from the north-east. Already they could feel that the ship was in rather a heavier sea than what they had seen that day, and as they poured the liquor into their glasses they found it necessary to hold onto them lest they lose their drink onto the floor.
      At dinner it was revealed that some changes had been made to the roster, for Dreygor would return to Ihm-ennar to deliver his report directly rather than by messenger, and also it was announced that Berethir would be joining the party bound for Hélethrôn. This latter piece of news was rather a welcome one to the Elflings, for not only had they become fond of the big man during the brief time they had known him, but also he was clearly regarded by all as a mighty warrior, one of both great strength and extensive experience in battle. That he would be an indispensable asset to the team was beyond doubt.
      As the drink flowed the mood lightened somewhat, though the storm only continued to intensify as the night progressed. Sometime before midnight the Elflings retired to their hammocks in the forecastle, joining there the members of the crew not on the night watch. It was some time, however, before either Talen or Falco could fall asleep, with the sounds of rain and thunder and the lurching of the ship conspiring to keep the diminutive landlubbers awake longer than they would have liked.
      In the morning the Elflings woke to find that the tempest still raged about the ship. With a drunken stagger they made their way to the mess deck where they found Burak and the Elf Valainis. They appeared little happier than the Elflings about the storm and its effect on their stomachs. After a breakfast of warm bread and apple marmalade they each filled their cups with hot, black coffee and returned to the forecastle where several of the crew were idling about. Soon they all had taken to grumbling in concerted fashion over the weather.
      ‘Always dare ees storms coming dees way at end of de yeer,’ said one of the sailors to the companions. ‘Ees no fun, but de Capeetan, he know how to steer sheep even een de worse weather.’
      ‘Aye,’ agreed one of the others, ‘the ol’ cap’n, he’ll get us troo this’n alroyt. Good ol’ Bow-glee, e’d take us roight troo a ’urricane, if one dared t’get in ’is woy. Roight troo a ’urricane, I tells ya, an’ with a sturdy ’nough ship e’d come roight out troo the other soide, wi’out a man lost, ’e would. Oy seen ’im do it, too—on the Crisanth’mum, naow three years apast.’
      ‘Yer full o’cods an’ wallop, Skavely,’ said an old sailor with a gruff voice, now rising up in his hammock. ‘Ye’ve never shipped out on the Crisanth’mum!’
      ‘No,’ said Skavely, ‘but Oy was on the Sea Turtle, jus’ comin’ in t’port when the ol’ Crisanth’mum ’obbled in from Mornea with ’er jibs in tatters an’ ’er deck near washed clean. Oy seen ’em when they came in—’aggard they were, but oll the men ’counted for. An’ ’at was in ten oyteen, the year ’at ’urricane came through an’ woiped out ’af o’the fishin’ fleet. You ’member that ’un?’
      ‘Ah, yes,’ said the older sailor. ‘Now I do. That ’un was a daisy, it was. But the Cap-ting, he don’t surprise me none. Everybody knows ’e is the best. Why else would the King choose ’im t’ take ’im to Valsee?’
      ‘Roight.’
      ‘But there is one foe I don’ think even the Cap-ting could stand up to,’ said the old man.
      ‘What foe ees deese?’
      ‘Yeah, wot foe es dat?’
      ‘The ghost ship o’ Enleigh,’ said the elder.
      ‘Ah, yes.’
      ‘O, roight.’
      ‘What is this ghost ship?’ asked Talen.
      ‘’Tis a pyrate ship crewed by the souls o’ the damned, m’lad, cursed t’ roam the seas f’rever-more, lootin’ an’ pillagin’, but they don’t get t’enjoy the spoils none, for their leader is a cruel demon ’oo throws all the treasure o’erboard jus’ as soon as it’s taken. But they have t’keep pyratin’ an’ raidin’, ’cause that’s what their leader makes ’em do.’
      ‘And they’re ghosts?’ asked Falco.
      ‘More like walking corpses, they are, little more than skeletons w’ a bit of flesh on their bones. But they fight like mad, choppin’ and slashin’ their way through the crews o’ the poor vessels they o’ertake. An’ killin’ ’em don’t do no good, ’cause they’re already dead! Ye can cut off one arm an’ they’ll jus’ keep fightin’ wi’ the other one. Cut off their head, and they’ll just pick it up and stick it back on their neck!’
      ‘Roight. Ain’t no ship ever survoived an attack boy the ghost ship o’ Enleigh.’
      ‘No, deese ees true.’
      ‘Have you ever seen this ghost ship?’ asked Talen.
      ‘I seen it from afar, m’lad, an’ ’at was close ’nough for me. But the Cap-ting, ’e knows o’ several ships what fell victim to the terror o’ Enleigh. Matter o’ fact, ’is own brother narrowly escaped from one o’ those ships, ’bout ten years ago. Floated ashore on a log while ’is ship went up in flames, ’e did. Lost ’is right arm, too, an’ ’at’s proof o’ the encounter. But ’e’s lucky t’ be alive, and ’e knows it. Many a sailor’s seen the dreadful sight o’ that ghost ship slippin’ up astern in the black o’ night, and not many’s lived t’ tell the tale.’
      ‘Roight.’
      ‘An’ de ghost sheep, eet usually attack during storm, yes?’
      ‘That’s true. Black ’o night, or in the middle of a ragin’ storm.’
      The sailors could see that their stories were having quite an effect on the passengers.
      ‘Ah, but don’t ye worry none, lads. Much more likely it is that we’d be raided by normal pyrates than by the ghost ship o’ Enleigh. After all, there’s only one ghost ship, but there are plenty o’ pyrate ships wand’rin’ about these parts lookin’ for somebody t’ loot. Normally they’d avoid a militry ship like this one, but with His Highness on board, ye never know. Some ambitious pyrate might get it in ’is head that there’s a fine ransom t’ be had from takin’ the King prisoner, or maybe ’e’d fancy there was some royal treasure on board. O’ course, there ain’t, but pyrates wouldn’t know that till they’d already raided us and chopped most o’ our arms and legs off.’
      ‘Roight. An’ our tongues, too.’
      ‘That’s right, lads. Pyrates love t’ chop off their victim’s tongues, partly t’ keep ’em from describin’ their ship to the royal navy, but also t’ keep as souvenirs. Why, I’ve ’eard on some pyrate ships the main mast is plain covered wi’ tongues nailed to it.’
      ‘I tink dey also like take de ears, yes?’
      ‘O, sure. Sometimes. An’ ye know, the ears is easier to slice off. Cuttin’ a tongue out o’ a man’s mouth ain’t as easy as it sounds. I’d think it’d almost be easier t’ jes’ take the whole head.’
      Before Talen could change the subject Falco turned to him and mused, ‘You know, I’ll bet that chest we found in that little cave was the plunder of some pyrate ship or other.’
      ‘Ho, now! What chest moight that be, mateys?’
      ‘We found a chest in a cave near Valassea,’ answered Talen.
      ‘And what was insoide?’
      ‘It was locked,’ answered Talen. ‘We couldn’t open it.’
      ‘But we did pick up a few loose coins,’ said Falco, ‘and this fine sword.’ He drew the ancient weapon and held it aloft for the sailors to see.
      ‘Well, naow, that is foine. ’At’d fetch a goodly proice at Aglathrad, it would.’
      ‘It would if I had a mind to sell it,’ said Falco, ‘which I don’t.’ With that he slid the blade back into the scabbard of his old sword, which he had found a nearly perfect fit.
      ‘Uh-huh, and, um, would ye happen to have a map to this ’ere cave, laddies?’
      ‘No,’ answered Talen. ‘But I suppose we could draw you one. It was easy enough to find, except of course that it was underwater.’
      ‘Well, if it was an underwater cave, then probly it belonged to a merman, not to no pyrates.’
      ‘Roight.’
      ‘What’s a merman?’ asked Talen.
      ‘Ha’f man, ha’f fish. They gather treasure from sunken ships, an’ hoard it in underwater caves, they do. ’Tis said they also can call on the Krakhen t’ bring down a ship when they find one they think might be laden with gold. The Krakhen pulls the ship under with its long tentacles an’ eats the crew. Then the mermen go in afterward an’ salvage the treasure from the wreck at the bottom o’ the ocean.’
      ‘How terrifying!’ said Talen.
      ‘Aye, it’s not a pleasant prospect, lad, the thought o’ being et by a Krakhen. But it beats sharks, anyday. See, the Krakhen, he’ll et ye in a single bite, an’ then et’s over, but wit’ sharks, they can take a ha’f hour t’ kill ye, ’cause they likes to soften ye up first, ye know, nibble on yer arms and legs for a bit whiles ye scream and thrash the water.’
      Of course this kind of talk did not please the companions one bit, but there was little else to do while the weather kept them below decks. Thankfully, the talk turned after a time to more interesting topics such as voyages to distant lands and quests for buried treasure. Talen and Falco did provide the sailors with directions to the hidden cave, for which they received many thanks as well as the promise of a generous share of the loot if ever the treasure could be retrieved.
      Around noon the storm finally let up, passing away to the south, and before long the sun came out again and shone brightly as it passed between the clouds. At these times the Elflings enjoyed sitting on the quarter deck just breathing the fresh sea air and watching the sunlight glittering silver on the waves. Whenever a big crest would crash into the hull they would feel the refreshing spray on their faces and it was at times like these that the thought of great tentacles slipping out of the water to drag them all to their deaths disappeared entirely from their minds, for the wonder of being at sea was fully upon them once again.
      That evening they dined again in the captain’s cabin with King Telurin and his men as well as the others in their group. When the rum and brandy were brought out after dinner Captain Bogley dusted off some of his own tales of life at sea, most of them from the days when he was third mate on a naval vessel. He served then under the great Captain Alarau, a man who figured prominently in a great many legends, all of them set in distant seas bordering lands both wonderful and exotic.
      The Elflings listened in wonder as Bogley recounted how Alarau rescued the daughter of a powerful potentate of Mavarta and was rewarded with a fist full of rubies and a horn of pure silver. It was said that a single blow on that horn would bring fear into the hearts of a man’s enemies while strengthening the resolve of his allies. Captain Alarau took that horn into many battles during his tour of the spice route along the coast of Mornea, where he brought not a few pyrates to justice at the end of his blade.
      Bogley then told of his experiences in the Spice Wars, in which Pencairn and Aglathrad fought for a brief time over the right to trade with the Morneans for sugar and other commodities. A dark time that was, explained the captain, when the men of otherwise friendly nations fought to the death over the imperialistic propensities of certain heads of state.
      More disturbing, however, was an event which he had witnessed before he came into the service of Captain Alarau. He had been a young midshipman then on a merchant ship. Halfway through their voyage the crew decided to mutiny. The mutineers bound the captain, poked out his eyeballs, and then strapped him to the main topmast where he died three days later. Eventually Bogley and some of the other officers were able to wrest control of the ship from the mutinous crew and sail back to port.
      ‘Were the crew ever punished?’ asked Talen.
      ‘O, yes,’ answered Bogley, ‘but not near as severely as I would like to have seen it done.’
      ‘What was done to them?’ asked Talen.
      The captain answered, ‘They were hanged. Then their bodies were dismembered and thrown overboard to the sharks.’
      ‘And that wasn’t harsh enough?’ asked Burak with some surprise.
      ‘No, not by a long shot,’ answered the stern captain. ‘At the very least, they should have been alive when the sharks ate them—at the very least .’
       

* * *

       
      The next morning at about ten o’clock they finally sighted Pencairn. All the passengers gathered on deck when it was announced that they soon would arrive. Though the voyage had not been a long one the many hours spent below decks during the storm had taken its toll on the landlubbers among them.
      Talen encountered Raavan and Telurin near the capstan discussing their immediate plans. The party which was headed for Hélethrôn would first need to collect some supplies in Pencairn. This should take only an hour or two and then they would be off on their momentous errand.
      As General Kelenir joined them the talk shifted to the deployment of the armies. Though the actual movement of troops could not begin for several days at least, massive preparations needed to be undertaken immediately so that the offensive, when it did occur, could be swift and forceful.
      It was at this time that Talen spied an especially filthy sailor rolling along toward the small party at the capstan. Just what it was about the man that had roused his suspicions Talen could not say, but when he saw the man draw a dirk not far from the king’s back he knew something terrible was about to happen. Screaming and drawing his own blade Talen jumped at Telurin, pushing him to one side as he tried to ward the sailor’s knife with his sword. Now as the several bystanders were suddenly alerted to the danger they fumbled with their own blades and tried desperately to come to the king’s aid.
      Telurin twisted himself around as he was shoved aside by Talen, but the young man had enough presence of mind to draw his own daggar when he saw the sailor’s dirk slicing through the air toward him. It was very fortunate that he did so, for Talen was not able to arrest the approach of the sailor toward the young king.
      As the sailor threw the Elfling to the deck he swung his daggar toward the king, who struck back at the same instant. Both the king and his attacker were injured by the simultaneous blows, the blood streaming immediately from their wounds as the weapons were withdrawn in preparation for the next thrust. The second attack never occured, however, for by this time three of the king’s guards were upon the assailant and one of them was just then sliding his sword through the sailor’s rib cage. He reluctantly stopped when his hilt reached the sailor’s chest.
      ‘No, don’t kill him!’ exclaimed Raavan, but it was too late. A moment later the bleeding sailor was dead. A quick check of the king’s wound found that it was not life-threatening, though it would need medical attention. For the time being they wrapped his upper arm tightly to stop the bleeding while Raavan cautioned the new king that further attempts on his life were not unlikely and that from that point forward he must take all precautions to protect himself.
      ‘Silgoth is no more above assassination than are we,’ said the wizard. Upon questioning Captain Bogley they discovered that the assailant was a man named Brin who had signed on when a regular crew member went missing shortly before the voyage to Valassea.
      Soon the ship was docked and the steeds were brought up on deck. The passengers rode carefully down the gangplank to the wharf, and they were happy to be on dry land again. The king was rushed off to the palace to receive attention for his wound while the infiltrators made their way through the city to the several supply shoppes which it was necessary for them to visit. The others waited in the street while Raavan and Alatar purchased the needed supplies.
      Standing outside a bakery near the north gate of Pencairn, Talen said to Falco, ‘I think we need to come up with a new name for our party—after this morning’s events I don’t feel quite comfortable with the title of infiltrator or assassin .’
      Falco shrugged his shoulders and replied, ‘What happened on the ship is passed. All that matters now is the task that lies ahead, and no matter what you call it, we must not fail.’