“Tel Adartak-Skysoar,” Zubec said.

  “It was Father Marcus’ order,” Chentelle said hurriedly, remembering the wizard’s distrust of the Collegium.

  The wizard grunted and curled his lip in disgust. “He probably wants to make sure the children are not fighting over their new toys.”

  “Only we may never get there,” Zubec said. “It may have been a mistake to enter the storm.”

  “We had no choice,” Dacius said. “The warships would have destroyed us.”

  “And now the storm is going to do their work for them,” Zubec said. “We can’t survive much more.”

  As if on cue, the Treachery pitched violently to starboard. Chentelle and A’stoc tumbled across the floor in a stream of seawater. They came to rest against the bulkhead, and started to slide again when the ship rolled back to port. Only Sulmar’s quick support let them regain their feet.

  “Chentelle,” A’stoc said softly. “Please get my Staff.”

  “Are you sure?” she asked. “You can barely stand. What if you can’t control the power?”

  A’stoc met her gaze with bloodshot eyes. Thunder echoed around them in the small salon. “Then we will find a quicker death than drowning.”

  Chentelle would have had more confidence in his resolve if his hands weren’t trembling noticeably. But he was right. They had no choice. She went to get the Staff.

  A’stoc was waiting by the sea door when she returned. Without a word, he took the Thunderwood from her hands and nodded to Sulmar.

  The Tengarian pushed the door open, and the wizard was sucked out into the storm. Sulmar struggled to pull the door shut, but the wind ripped it from his grasp. Rain blasted through the salon.

  Outside, Earthpower flared like a green beacon through the storm. The flames grew larger, brighter. They pulsed in rhythm to the thunder. Then, they started to swirl. The fiery whirlwind drove high into the air, piercing the center of the storm. The flames expanded outward, passing through the Treachery and into the air beyond. In their wake, the seas became calm, placid. The rain disappeared, and a steady breeze pushed from the southwest. The Earthpower rippled outward for several hundred cubits, then it flickered into nothingness. The bubble of tranquillity remained.

  Slowly, almost reverently, the company filed onto the deck. A’stoc stood near the mainmast, resting on his Staff. Thunder rumbled in the distance, muted by the bubble of calm that surrounded them. No one spoke. They stood together, sharing the moment of peace.

  Suddenly, Drup’s laughter cut through the silence. It choked off quickly as the young Legionnaire realized he was the center of attention. He nudged Paun, who was standing next to him. “Tell them what you said.”

  The shipsage looked confused. He shrugged. “I only remarked that Wizard A’stoc would make a fine shipsage.”

  A’stoc slammed the Thunderwood Staff against the deck. “A shipsage!” he roared. Then his face softened into an easy smile. “I thank you. That is high praise, indeed. Perhaps one day we will find out if it is true.”

  Laughter and quiet smiles rippled through the company. The tension of the last hours melted away.

  Zubec vaulted up to the wheeldeck. “Wizard A’stoc, will this wind last?”

  A’stoc nodded. “The storm will continue northwest until it dissipates. The warded area will travel with it. It would be wise for us to keep the same pace.”

  “Agreed,” Zubec said, smiling broadly. He tore through the bindings that locked down the wheel. “Raise sails, lubbers. We’re going home.”

  Canvas unfurled and billowed full. The Treachery glided forward on the steady wind.

  14

  Tel Adartak-Skysoar

  Chentelle leaned against the forward rail, basking in the warmth of Ellistar’s light. The Golden Sun was hardly past zenith, but already the red glow of Deneob burned in the east. The chill wind shivered across her arms and shoulders, whispering promises of a cold autumn.

  She suppressed a shudder and stared out over the bow. The vast expanse of blue water stretched into the distance, but, today, the expanse was not endless. A ridge of solid land rose defiantly on the horizon: home.

  Chentelle smiled. Twenty-eight days on the Great Sea had finally brought them back to the Realm. She could feel the land calling to her, welcoming her. She longed to feel the earth under her feet once more, to hold the smell of the forest in her nostrils. She longed to be finally free of the Treachery’s tormented planks.

  She closed her eyes and imagined that she was on land already, that she was back in Lone Valley. Erina would be with her, and they would dance through the trees, playing tag with the butterflies. When they got tired, they would lie down among the autumn flowers and sing to the larks and the whippoorwills. They would sing the soft grass and the tall sky, the green wind and the gentle hill. They would sing home.

  “Thank you, Chentelle.”

  Chentelle started, suddenly aware that she had been singing aloud. Dacius stood beside her, hands gripping the rail, tears glistening in his blue eyes.

  “I could smell the harvest; I could feel the fire’s warmth.” He shook his head. “I didn’t even know you had been to Norden West.”

  Chentelle squeezed one of his hands gently. “I haven’t. I was only singing of home. The sight of land inspired me.”

  “Land?” He shaded his eyes and searched the horizon. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course,” she said. “You’ll be able to see it soon.”

  Dacius turned and shouted to Zubec, who was manning the wheel. “Do you see it?”

  “Yes, Lord Gemine,” the sailor answered. “We’re still too far away to make sure sighting, but that’s the Westland Ridge or I’m no navigator.”

  “Thank the Creator,” Dacius said. “How long until we reach Tel Adartak?”

  Zubec gazed thoughtfully into the sky. The Treachery struggled forward against the north wind. “Another day at least, unless the wind turns bold. Of course, we might make it before nightfall if we had a sagewind to drive us.”

  “I’ll go get A’stoc,” Chentelle said. She did not intend to spend another night listening to the screaming wood, dreaming of axes and mutilated limbs. She dashed down the stairs and back to the wizard’s cabin. The door was, of course, locked, but her persistent knocking called forth a muffled grumble.

  “Hold on, hold on.” The door swung open, and A’stoc glared down at her with bleary eyes. “Hel’s bowels, enchantress, it’s not dawn yet.” He yawned extravagantly. “What do you want?”

  “It is too dawn,” she said, “Deneob’s more than half risen. And we’ve sighted land. Only Zubec says we won’t get there until tomorrow without a sagewind, and Paun still doesn’t have a staff, so you’re the only one who can do it. If you come now we can make it to Tel Adartak before nightfall, and we won’t have to spend another night on board.”

  “What gall! So ‘Captain Zubec’ summons me to the deck. Once again I am pressed into service as if I were a common laborer.” He stalked over to the basin and splashed fresh water onto his face. The weeks at sea had been good to him. He grew stronger with each day, standing taller, moving more resolutely. The open air and sun had banished the unhealthy pallor from his face. He had even trimmed his beard, and the stiff, gray hairs now jutted defiantly from his chin.

  Chentelle shifted uneasily from foot to foot. “But—”

  A’stoc silenced her with a glare. “I thought that the elves were a patient race.” He wiped the water from his face and tossed the towel onto the bench. “All right, all right, tell Zubec I will be there momentarily. Just stop staring at me like that.”

  Chentelle smiled. “Thank you, A’stoc. Won’t it be wonderful to be back on solid ground again!”

  “Hah, I thought we were going to Tel Adartak-Skysoar.” He grabbed the Thunderwood Staff and pressed past her and into the hallway. He marched to the stairs and slammed open the sea door with a thrust of the Staff.

  “I have come,” he shouted, walking stiffly toward the mainmast. He spun and faced back toward the wheel. “Once more, the apprentice of A’pon Boemarre will use the Thunderwood Staff, the True Root of the Tree of Life, to paddle your canoe upstream. Perhaps when I am finished you would like to borrow the Staff to prop up your table?”

  Zubec laughed. “An excellent idea, but I fear it is too long. Perhaps you could cut it into sections for me?”

  “Sacrilege!” A’stoc slammed the Staff against the deck, and Earthpower blazed around him. The Treachery lurched as if caught by a giant hand, then drove forward on a blast of wind from the south.

  Chentelle and the Legionnaires staggered wildly. Even Zubec lost his balance, and the wheel spun wildly for a moment. Then he recovered and brought the goblinship under control.

  “Full sails!” he yelled, laughter dancing behind his words. “Full sails! We’ll have wine with dinner if the shipsage doesn’t falter.”

  Chentelle steadied herself on the rail and looked at A’stoc. Power surged around the wizard, swirling and seething, but it was controlled, harnessed to the rhythm of wind and wave. He stood serenely in the center, letting it flow through the shape of his will, carrying them all gently toward land. A quiet smile rested easily on his face.

  They sped northward on the strength of the sagewind. Gradually, the details of the land became clear. Zubec made minor course corrections, reacting to clues and landmarks that only he recognized. By midafternoon, the Treachery was sliding into the arms of a large natural harbor. Huge crystal towers rose from the projecting spurs of land, but neither beacon was lit.

  “Drop sail!” Zubec shouted. “A’stoc, loose the wind!”

  Earthpower faded into nothingness. Zubec held them close to the eastern spur, and they drifted forward slowly, carried by their momentum.

  Chentelle stared in wonder at the tower. It was pure adartak. Even without a beacon, the crystal glowed fiercely in Deneob’s light. Red flares twisted through the stone, shifting and twisting as the goblinship passed. The tower fell behind, seeming to recede more quickly the farther they traveled. That couldn’t be right. Chentelle pulled her eyes away from the tower and gasped in surprise.

  The harbor was huge. A crystal platform filled the center of the bay, and boats of every size and construction circled around it. A wide river pressed northward into the hills on the far side, and smaller craft bobbed in its current. The stone and brick buildings of Tel Adartak proper huddled together near the fresh water of the river, but the rolling woodlands near the shore were criss-crossed with roads and docks and sprawling warehouses. Splashes of orange and yellow told of autumn leaves already turning, and red light flashed in the center of the city.

  The Treachery continued to drift around the edge of the bay, taking its place in the seaborne parade. The wind had died to a mere whisper, but a strong current pulled them forward. Chentelle reached out with her Gift and felt an immense power behind the tide, a great will which emanated from the crystal island. Shipsages, dozens of them, maybe hundreds, working in harmony to tame the waters of the bay. The circular current ferried ships into the waiting docks and carried them out again once their business was done, without the need for wind or oar or even a pilot.

  “Incredible, isn’t it?” A’stoc spread his arms, mimicking the great swirl of water. “It is called the Bay of Peace, though it had another name before the war.” He pointed to the flickering glow. “Can you see Skysoar?”

  Chentelle stared. As they drew nearer, she could make out the shape: a pentagonal tower, carved from adartak and much larger than the beacon houses. It shot straight up for at least five hundred cubits, then widened into a platform. A stone wall circled the platform, and the tops of tall buildings poked above its rim. The whole thing looked like a huge, symmetrical mushroom.

  “You should close your mouth,” A’stoc said, “before one of these gulls decides to build a nest.”

  Chentelle swallowed hard, searching for words. “What—I mean—how did they…”

  The corners of his mouth twitched, though whether they smiled or grimaced was impossible to say. “Earthpower. During the war, hundreds of wizards made Tel Adartak their home, lending their power to the cause. The area was rich in crystal deposits, and my master used the Thunderwood to call it from the earth. Dwarven Crystal Masters gave it shape, and a dozen Lore Masters protected it with their strongest spells. Then Boemarre used the Staff to weave Earthpower through wards and rock alike. Skysoar is impervious to assault, and it will stand unchanged until the Creation is unmade.”

  Chentelle shook her head in awe. “But why? What was it used for?”

  “The city was the staging area for the Realm’s final offensive. The port was filled with ships, carrying troops and supplies to the massed armies. From here, we fought our way toward the Dark One’s domain. Inside the safety of Skysoar, kings and warlords sent thousands to their deaths. Behind the shield of its walls, wizards played games of treachery and power. It was used for sanctuary and destruction, for glory and deceit. It was Skysoar!” He shook his head and laughed bitterly. “I am told that they call it a university now.”

  Chentelle tried to imagine A’stoc and his fellows marching to battle. All the strength of the Realm had been bent toward that final confrontation: wizard and soldier, human and elf, A’stoc and her father.

  “Where?” she said. “Where did it happen?”

  A’stoc raised a questioning eyebrow, then nodded in understanding. He pointed to a place beyond the western hills. “There. The breeding pits lay a hundred leagues from the mouth of the Rupthauh. That is where the Desecration was born, where good men died for a false hope.”

  The words rang in Chentelle’s memory, calling forth bitter images: ashes swirling in a holocaust, abandoning the frail bones that had once been their home; screams of pain torn from the twisted earth; the taste of desolation, dusty and bitter and seasoned with guilt. These were A’stoc’s, gleaned from the Staff when she had touched it with her Gift. To them was added another, a memory wholly her own: waking from nightmare; a scream echoing in ears and throat; tears burning in her eyes; and the knowledge, certain, unassailable, that her father was dead.

  They watched in silence, alone in their thoughts, while the Treachery slid into dock on one of the long piers. Dockworkers stood by, waiting to catch lines and tie her down. They had hardly finished their task when a short, roundish human carrying a writing board called for permission to board. Zubec nodded to his cousin, and the gangway was lowered.

  “Greetings and welcome,” the human recited without emotion. “You are granted permission to dock at the third pier of Eastside, and bid to avail yourselves of the hospitality of Tel Adartak. The dockmaster reserves the right to examine all cargo and expel any visitors who fail to comply with all local laws and customs. The fee for docking is five talents per sail per day with a surcharge of ten talents per hundredweight of cargo unloaded without use of local dockworkers. The docking fee shall be reduced by twenty-seven percent for ships with registry in…”

  The monologue trailed off as the man became aware of the nature of the Treachery and her crew. “Is this—? Who are you? Why aren’t you flying colors? This is highly irregular. Where is your registration?”

  “Patience,” Zubec said. “Patience, good man. You ask fast questions with long answers, answers which would be best shared over a bottle of wine in the comfort of a fine inn. For the short of it, we sail out of Norivika under the flag of the Legion, and we claim the right to free docking thereby.”

  “What?” the man sputtered. “Free docking! Out of the question. What will I tell the dockmaster? If you’re a Legion ship, then where are your colors? And when did the Holy City start commissioning goblinships for her errands. I demand to see your registry. I warn you, piracy is not tolerated in these waters.”

  “Enough!” Dacius’ deep growl cut through the conversation. In a half-dozen steps he closed the distance between himself and the official. He towered over the docking clerk, the Legion badge on his chest barely a cubit from the smaller man’s face. “Here is your flag. I am Lord Dacius Gemine, Knight-Captain of Odenal, Legion Commander of the First Mark. This ship sails under my orders, and she and her crew have done service the equal of any galleass in the fleet. You can tell the dockmaster whatever you like, but this ship and this crew are not to be bothered. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, lord,” the man answered quickly. He tried to bow, but was pressed too closely between Dacius and the rail, so only his head bobbed up and down. “Of course, your lordship. I’ll see to it. I’ll take care of everything, don’t you worry.” He spun about and hurried back to the dock, muttering assurances the whole way.

  Chentelle found herself smiling. She almost felt sorry for the poor man.

  The sea door opened and Father Marcus stepped onto the deck. He nodded to Dacius. “Thank you. I would have handled the dockmaster myself, but I do not wish to advertise my presence too broadly.”

  Dacius bowed slightly in acknowledgment. “I know. Now that we are here, what is your plan of action?”

  “We will use today to acquire horses and supplies for the overland journey,” Marcus said. “Tomorrow we ride north. But first, I shall go to the Wizard Council, to make sure that the Lore Books arrived safely. Any who do not wish to accompany me may remain here.”

  “No,” Dacius said. “We should not become separated. This is a strange city, and we do not know the dangers.”

  “I appreciate your caution,” the High Bishop said. “But the wizards of the Collegium have long been our allies. I will be fine. Besides, someone needs to procure supplies.”

  “No,” A’stoc said. “Lord Gemine is correct. You trust too quickly in the constancy of children. We should all go. Besides, I, too, have business with the council.”

  Father Marcus sighed at the edge behind A’stoc’s words, but he nodded acquiescence. “As you will. We will have to stop on our way to make travel arrangements.”

  Zubec suddenly cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Begging your pardon, Lord High Bishop, but Pardec and me can take care of that. We won’t be going with you.”