Chapter 3

Black sails crowded the horizon beneath a roiling mass of darkness. Unlike any storm clouds Pelivor had ever seen, towering formations curled in on themselves and emanated malevolence, as if the clouds themselves wished to destroy him and everyone else aboard the Slippery Eel. Even if the storm were simply a storm, the fleet of black ships drew ever closer, and Pelivor could feel their intent. It made his knees tremble.

"You just need to believe you can do it," Kenward repeated, as if those words could somehow convince Pelivor that he could do something that only the most powerful person on all of Godsland could do. Though he considered Catrin a friend, she was the Herald of Istra, and he was nothing compared to her. Though he'd shown the slightest spark of talent with Istra's powers, it had been only that, literally, a spark.

"I'm trying," Pelivor said, doing his best not to let his annoyance put an edge on his voice. Though Kenward was the captain of the Slippery Eel, he was also a friend. Cold air pressed his loose-fitting silks to him, and his normally tight and deeply tanned skin drew even tighter, making him look as if he were carved from stone.

"I know, but-"

He didn't have to finish the statement; both could see the darkness closing in on them. The towering clouds looked as if they would swallow the world, and sudden bursts of lightning illuminated them from within, dark silhouettes standing out against the temporarily lit backdrop. Pelivor took a deep breath and tried to calm himself with no success. Lives depended on him, and he had no reason to believe he would succeed. All he had to go by were Kenward's descriptions of what Catrin had done, and those were decidedly vague. Perhaps if she were here, she could teach him, but she wasn't here. He also didn't have her dragon ore figurine or staff to draw energy from; the only power within his grasp was what he could draw from the air around him. He could feel it, smell it, and even taste it, but he had no idea how to gather it or focus it. He might as well try to gather fog with a bucket.

Walking back to the bow, Pelivor couldn't help feeling like a charlatan as he spread his arms wide. The crew remained silent, watching him, willing him to succeed, knowing another failure would likely mean death for them all. That thought made Pelivor ill. When Grubb approached with a mug of aromatic broth, it was all Pelivor could do to force it down.

"It'll cure what ails ya," the ship's cook said, his voice steady and a half smile on his face. Pelivor wished he shared the man's confidence, and it must have shown. "Don't worry. That man's been trying to kill me for years, and he ain't succeeded yet," he said, jerking a thumb in Kenward's direction.

Handing the empty mug back to Grubb, Pelivor hoped this day would not change that. Ever since they'd left the Greatland bound for the Godfist, loaded with precious cargo, he'd had a bad feeling in his gut, and since the appearance of the black fleet, his fears had only grown.

Kenward paced from bow to stern and tried to avoid making eye contact with Pelivor, knowing the man was near his breaking point and there was nothing he could say to ease the burden. For years the Slippery Eel had been among the fastest ships on the water and had evaded even the most determined pursuers, but she was weighed down, and the ships behind them moved faster than any he'd seen before. He wondered again if the unnatural storm drove them to such great speed or if some new design allowed them to cut the waves faster than ships that had come before. Using his looking glass, he could see nothing that distinguished those ships from any other, and he came, once again, to the conclusion that some malevolent force drove them forward. The sense of impending evil was the most telling factor, and Kenward felt a rare wave of fear overtake him. Despite his efforts to hide the fear from his crew, he knew they could sense it, and that alone was enough to put them all on edge.

Watching Pelivor from behind, he prayed the gods had not lost patience with him, and after tossing another gold coin into the waves, he hoped it was enough. A dim glow pulsed around Pelivor's hands, and Kenward dared to hope, but nothing happened. Soon after, the glow faltered and the sailor lowered his hands, his frustration clear in his posture. Again Kenward ran through his options, and again he came to the conclusion that nothing he could do would save them. Catrin's stonework thrones, cut from the mines deep below Ohmahold, were too heavy for his men to move without rope, pulleys, and substantial frameworks-none of which would be available until they reached the Godfist. He'd known the risk and accepted it, but now their precious cargo became their biggest liability, and jettisoning the other heavy cargo would destabilize the ship, only making the problem worse. Pelivor was their only hope, and that hope was as thin as gossamer.

"They're gonna catch us soon," came the voice of Bryn, the bosun, and Kenward turned to him with an annoyed glare for stating the obvious. "I know we can't unload the thrones, but if we just keep going as we are, we'll have to fight them on their terms."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Do something they won't be expecting," Bryn said with a wink, the freckles standing out on his reddened skin, which never seemed to tan, and his blue eyes twinkled.

Kenward grinned, a plan forming in his mind.

Pelivor watched in horror as the darkness swallowed the blue skies above them. Soon the black ships would overtake them, and all of them would die because he had failed them. His friends would die because he was feeble and weak minded. No. He would not give up. Catrin would not have given up, and he let the memory of her drive him. He remembered how she had fought to make him think more of himself and how he had grown to love her. Even if he could never have her, he would always have her in his heart.

With a shuddering breath, he set his jaw and let his fears melt away. Catrin had believed in him, and he let that belief become his own. Opening himself to the energy around him, he pulled it to him as best he could and let it fill him, slowly and steadily. Before he had let his impatience and fear drive him, but now he tried something different, filling himself with more energy than he'd ever held before. It felt as if he would catch fire or simply explode, but he continued to gather energy and hold it within him. It was like holding his breath, and his body began to burn with need, every instinct telling him to release it before it was too late, but still he held on, knowing that failure meant death.

The world around him ceased to exist, and he felt as if he might pass out, but he held the image of Catrin in his mind. She became his focal point, and by concentrating on her, his body's urgings became more distant and less poignant, as if he were but an observer of his own form. With her translucent hair blown back by the wind in his mind, Catrin's face held the strength of nations; her eyes, the fire of the sun; and her body, the might of the world. Though she was slender and slight, she looked as if she could pull the moon from the sky and cast it into the seas. When she looked at him, he felt her warmth wash over him, and he smelled her fragrance. In that moment he remembered their kiss, knowing it would be the only one they would ever share, yet it was enough to sustain him and hold him in thrall. Always before he'd let the guilt prevent him from reliving the memory, knowing that she'd given her heart to Prios, but this time was different. She loved him too-he knew it-and something told him that just this once, Prios would not object. Pelivor did not wish to steal her; he only wished to take strength and solace from her love and friendship. She had urged him to believe in himself, and for once he allowed himself to do just that.

In the next moment, though, everything changed. The deck beneath his feet lurched, pulling Pelivor from his meditation as the Slippery Eel executed a sharp turn. Crewmembers armed themselves and prepared for battle. To his surprise, Farsy and Nimsy held one of the light anchors they used in rocky areas where they were likely to lose the anchor. Angular and pointed, this anchor was nothing like the heavy, rounded anchor used in deep water with sandy or muddy bottom.

Now charging straight toward the approaching fleet, the Slippery Eel cut through the waves, seemingly pulled closer by a strange inflow, as if the storm itself were sucking them in. Pelivor despaired, his chance lost, and now all he could do was arm himself for the inevitable battle. No more could he hope to save his shipmates or himself; all he could do was hope to die fighting. It was a sickening feeling, yet there was a release in it. A strange and unfamiliar calm came over him as he watched his death approach. Those around him stood silent and stoic as they, too, accepted their fates with honor and grace.

The ships before them began to separate and turn, only two holding their course. As they drew closer, Pelivor expected to see men on those greasy black decks, but what he saw caused his fear to return. There were men but beside them were reptilian creatures in crude armor covering skin that looked nearly as tough as the armor. These demons watched with cold eyes as the Slippery Eel approached, and when the two ships flanked the Eel, they began leaping across the distance that separated the ships. Their strength and speed far exceeded that of their human counterparts, who could never have made such a leap.

Given no more time to contemplate this new enemy, Pelivor found himself facing a towering demon with golden eyes and elongated pupils like those of a snake; the pupils narrowed as the monster eyed its prey. Opening its mouth in what Pelivor could only guess was the equivalent of a smile, it bared its black gums and curved, yellow teeth. The stench of death reached out first, followed by a whistling mace that nearly took Pelivor's head from his shoulders. Taking a step backward, Pelivor wanted to run and hide, his courage fleeing in the face of such evil, but there was nowhere to run. Even jumping overboard would only lead to his death, and he did what he would not have thought himself capable of: he planted his feet and faced the demon.

Drawing energy as quickly as he could, having lost hold of his previous store, he extended his hand and lashed out with all the power he could muster, hoping it would be enough. A thread-thin line of blue light reached between his outstretched hand and the chest of the hulking demon, and a loud crack split the air, but the attack had no other effect. The demon tilted its head back and issued a barking laugh before raising its mace. Pelivor waited for the killing blow, but the demon suddenly stiffened and dropped to the deck, accompanied by a loud clang and a sinister sizzle. Behind where the beast had stood was Grubb, smoking skillet in hand. He offered Pelivor the briefest smile before both braced themselves.

"Hold on!" Kenward shouted. "Now!"

Pelivor watched as Farsy threw the anchor at one of the passing ships. It landed on the deck and skidded across the oily planks, looking as if it would simply slide back into the sea, but the sharp tips caught on something and bit deeply. Nimsy released the coiled rope as it raced away from him.

"Brace!" Kenward shouted.

A moment later the Slippery Eel slowed sharply, and water rushed over the rails as it spun around. Timbers groaned as the cleat holding the anchor rope strained against the tremendous force. The black ship also turned, and its stern dipped low in the waves, sending water rushing along its deck, causing it to dip even lower in the water.

The creaking of timbers accompanied the sounds of battle as the demons tried to bring down Kenward's crew. The sight of their ship rapidly sinking beneath the waves drove them to reckless action. As the ship sank, though, it threatened to take the Slippery Eel with it, and Kenward ordered the rope cut, but the demons charged in and protected the straining rope, seemingly intent on making sure the Slippery Eel joined their ship on the ocean floor. Splinters of wood filled the air as the rope cut through the railing, and the ship began to list badly, its prow pointing toward the depths. Just before it seemed they would be pulled under, the rope caught on a sharp edge and snapped, recoiling with massive force and taking pieces out of the demons that had been guarding it. As they reeled from the stinging lashes, Kenward's crew forced them through the gap in the railing to join their sunken ship.

The other ship they had passed was now executing a full turn, and the Slippery Eel headed straight for it. Howling in what sounded like maddened glee, Kenward ordered all sails unfurled, and the Slippery Eel reached ramming speed, its secret weapon hiding just below the surface.

"What've you got?" demanded the gate guard, whose dour face presided over the Kraken crest emblazoned on his armor.

"Vinegar," Kevlin Weil responded, thinking the man looked as if he'd never smiled.

"Who wants a whole wagon load of vinegar?"

"Grimwell," Kevlin replied, knowing that uttering the name of Thorakis's wizard was considered taboo. The people feared he would hear them and visit his dark powers on them. Kevlin didn't believe in wizards, but the people saw more of Grimwell these days than they did of Thorakis. It was difficult not to smile when the guard took an involuntary step back. Kevlin had apprehensions of his own about meeting Grimwell, but the wizard had sent out a request for all of the vinegar and spoiled wine that could be had. He didn't even want the spoiled wine cultured; it was ludicrous. But times such as these didn't afford a man the luxury of picking and choosing his customers, and Thorakis's coffers seemed almost bottomless. With more people flocking to his protection every day, Kevlin knew whom he would serve for at least a time, and this was an opportunity to distinguish himself and establish a more regular trade relationship. Kevlin would wager that Thorakis was ill and that Grimwell was planning to succeed him. Given the way most people felt about Grimwell, Kevlin didn't think it likely the wizard would rule for long. Being a realist, Kevlin thought it best to earn whatever coin he could now before the hard times returned. He'd heard others come to similar conclusions, and it seemed the tide was turning. The wise prepared for such things.

"Get this stinking mess away from my gate," the guard said after a brief inspection.

Kevlin chirruped and smacked his mare, Hera, on the rump with the lines, and his wagon slowly rolled a wobbling track toward the gates of Riverhold, the largest construction project in known history. The keep was a marvel, and Kevlin was approaching one of the first magics, as the people had come to call them. Before him waited a wall of granite, unadorned and seemingly singular and whole, but as Hera stepped onto what seemed like a loose bit of cobblestone, she snorted and sidestepped. Kevlin held on as a hissing sound echoed around him. Hera turned her head, and he could see the white in her eyes; he was beginning to have serious thoughts of turning around and abandoning the idea of selling to Thorakis.

Beneath the hissing sound came a low, deep rumble that had Hera backing up as fast as she could. Kevlin jumped from the wagon and grabbed her by the bridle before she turned the wagon over. Before them, the granite wall split not cleanly down the center, but in a complex geometric pattern that allowed the two stones to come together as a mesh. The massive gates rumbled open. Though Kevlin was uncertain how much actual 'magic' was involved, he could not argue that the term was fitting. Never before had he seen such power and majesty. Knowing Hera would not walk through those gates willingly, he calmed her enough that he could retrieve a cloth sack from under the seat of his wagon. Using the sack, he blindfolded Hera and walked her slowly through what now looked to Kevlin like the jaws of a monster. Beyond lay the second magics.

Riverhold was unlike any other hold. It straddled the mighty Yan River as part bridge, part keep, and part dam. From a distance, the spans looked delicate and too thin to support the weight of the keep, like the legs of an overly fat spider. Up close, the spans looked much more substantial, but the white and swirling water that flowed underneath, just before plunging over a thousand-foot waterfall, made it seem as if every step might be his last. While leading Hera over the span, he almost envied her. Traders made this journey every day, but that did not stop his mind from replaying the image of his and Hera’s plunging into the water and over the falls.

At the foot of the span waited a pair of guardhouses that sat before what appeared to be another wall of solid stone. The guards waved him past, and he walked Hera forward. The stone beneath him gave under his weight and sank lower and lower. It was a sickening feeling, and Hera began to tremble. He put his hand on her neck and spoke soothingly, but she broke into a sweat and refused to stand still. The stone walkway before them continued to sink until it became a downhill entrance that ran under the massive walls of the keep proper. The moment they were within the awaiting courtyard, the stone moved back up without a sound and seemingly unbidden. It made the hair on Kevlin's neck stand on end, and all he wanted was to make his trade and get out of this place. Even the most practical man could see that there were unnatural forces at work here.

Other traders waited in the courtyard, and Kevlin removed the blindfold from Hera. The sight of other horses relaxing nearby helped to calm her, but she was still skittish.

"Kevlin Weil!" shouted a young and shrill voice. "Kevlin Weil!"

"Over here!" Kevlin said, waving.

"You're t'come with me right away, sir. You're late, sir, and hisself is proper angry, he is."

Kevlin didn't bother to explain why he was late, as the young man turned and trotted back toward the inner keep, which towered above him.

"Are you coming?"

"C'mon, Hera old girl," Kevlin said. "Just a bit farther, and we'll be there."

Hera moved forward but it was obviously not fast enough for the young man's liking based on the looks he shot over his shoulder.

Kevlin cast his gaze left and right, trying to take it all in. To his left, the roar of rushing water was accompanied by a low, grinding sound, and enormous pillars rotated as if turned by the arms of some lumbering hulk. To his right were the now legendary hammers of Riverhold. These stone hammers, big enough to crush a house, beat relentlessly on softer rocks to grind them into powder. Kevlin assumed the rotating columns were part of the mill. Though he knew the river provided the power to run these massive machines, it still seemed as if it were more than any man should be able to accomplish. Thorakis had mastered the Yan River, and Kevlin was humbled.

The keep proper moved like the inner workings of the most elaborate wooden toy, and it was difficult to conceive that this was worked in stone. Shafts of light poured through the room at strategic angles so that even the shadows seemed alive. Ahead waited a pair of immense stone soldiers, looking ready to strike.

As if this place needed to be more frightening, Kevlin thought.

When Hera passed through one of the light beams, she jumped at the sound of stone moving. Had he not heard stories, Kevlin would have turned and run; instead he stood on trembling knees and watched the mighty statues bend down and look at him, their stone blades poised to run him through. In truth, the swords were so large that they would more likely crush him and Hera than pierce them. As he led Hera between the statues, both heads turned smoothly and almost silently to follow Kevlin's every movement. They were so detailed, even their expressions changed as they moved. Their cold and baleful glares held him in thrall. For the briefest moment, Kevlin considered stopping and backing up to see if the statues would notice, but he thought better of it. Ahead, his guide stopped, put his hands on his hips, and let out an annoyed sigh.

Kevlin kept Hera moving as quickly as he could, more to get away from the scrutiny of the stone guards than to appease his guide. Wondering if he would see the leaping elk or the stone eagle or any of the other wonders he'd heard about, Kevlin prayed he wouldn't encounter Thorakis's dragon. It was said that no one had ever seen it and lived to tell the tale. He was relieved and just a little disappointed when his guide led him to a nondescript hall.

"Wait here."

A moment later, Kevlin held his breath.

"If you can't get me what I need on time," the unmistakable voice of Grimwell echoed in the halls, "I might as well toss you into the hammer mill."

Dressed in a heavy, wool jacket so black, it seemed to suck in the light, Grimwell looked every bit the part of a wizard. Silver tipped the corners of his lapels and the tassels that hung down on the sides. Spiderwebs of lightning stood out on the black sleeves in glossy black thread; the subtlety of it drew the eye. The man's black hair was cut short and formed jagged peaks that framed his face. He wore no mustache, but his beard was trimmed into thin lines that ran alongside his mouth and into a point on his chin. All that dark coloring made the wizard's pale skin look almost translucent in comparison. There was no warmth in his black eyes and no trace of humor. Kevlin prayed this encounter would be over quickly.

"Open them, you fool," Grimwell said, and Kevlin started to move, but a look from the page stilled him. Grimwell had not even looked at Kevlin, and it was not Kevlin he addressed. The page moved to open the earthenware jugs resting on a bed of straw in the wagon. Grimwell inspected them and merely grunted, "Unload them."

Kevlin watched as the page made a number of trips to unload the wagon. He would have offered to help, but it was clear his aid was neither required nor wanted. When the last of the jugs were gone, Kevlin waited. Time slipped past, how much Kevlin could not guess. The place had a timelessness that could not be denied, but Hera's fidgeting agreed with Kevlin's feeling that it had been too long. Just as he began to wonder if the page would return, the sound of boots coming from the direction Grimwell and the page had gone made him straighten.

When Grimwell appeared, he made eye contact with Kevlin for the first time, and Kevlin wished he hadn't. Being the target of the wizard's icy stare made Kevlin wish he could become invisible. Perhaps he should just leave without getting paid. The coin no longer seemed worth it.

"Why are you still here?" Grimwell demanded.

Kevlin flushed and could not seem to find his tongue.

"Are you deaf or mute?"

Still Kevlin remained frozen.

"I suppose you wish payment for your insignificant contribution to the betterment of man?"

Kevlin tried to shake his head no, but even that ability seemed to have left him.

Grimwell sneered at him. "Here, take this, then."

Kevlin suddenly found himself able to move once again, and he caught the two silver coins Grimwell tossed to him. The wizard moved past and never looked back. Kevlin was left to find his own way out of the keep. The coins clinked in his palm, and he retreated as fast as he could lead a blindfolded Hera.

Thorakis the Builder waited near the fire, resting in his wheeled chair. Pages waited behind him, on either side, ready to satisfy any need their patron might have. Thorakis looked older than his years would warrant, and his hands trembled when he pointed. His voice, though, remained strong and clear. "Take me to Grimwell."

The pages moved quickly but smoothly, certain not to jar the ailing genius. They had come to him with their families after the Herald War, seeking food, shelter, and protection from bandits and raiders. Though the Zjhon had ruled the Greatland in an unforgiving manner, they had at least ruled. Their downfall had left the Greatland in chaos. Some of the old families had regained their power, but most had been lost. The once safe countryside had become a place of smoke and death. Either page would give his life for Thorakis and do so knowing his family would remain safe.

When they reached Grimwell's study, which more resembled a laboratory, the right-hand page, Yoric, shouldered the heavy wooden door open. He knew better than to knock or announce himself. As the arm of Thorakis, to do so would belittle his patron. Grimwell bent over a basin filled with a murky yet glittering solution. The acrid smell of vinegar charged the air along with a coppery tang. A fortune in the orange metal had been worked into heavy wire. The copper reached from the basin to each of the earthenware jars, making the basin look like the body of a giant spider.

"Wait outside," Grimwell said. Thorakis's eyes narrowed.

The pages moved without a sound and closed the door as they left. They would wait just far enough away so as not to hear the conversation inside. They knew their place. Others before them hadn't been so wise.

"You'd best be able to explain yourself, wizard."

Grimwell finally looked up and acknowledged Thorakis. "Yes, m'lord. Of course."

"We've precious little gold left, and I'm told you've taken it along with most of the silver and copper. Where is it? You're not drinking again, are you? I heard you were buying large quantities of wine."

"Spoiled wine, m'lord."

Thorakis harrumphed. "I see what you've done with my copper. Where's my coin?"

Grimwell flushed. "The silver coin is here, sir." After ducking beneath the web of copper wire, he opened his strong box and showed Thorakis the silver coins, knowing his lord was very proud of the casting that bore his likeness. Destroying or defacing his likeness was listed among the highest crimes and was enough to land a person in the hammer mill.

"Where is my gold?" Thorakis asked, leaning forward with an unpleasant gleam in his eye.

"It's not. . I mean, I don't have-" The look on Thorakis's face made him reconsider his words. "I've had our most trusted men grind the gold coins to powder."

Thorakis went rigid and his face flushed.

"Please, m'lord-" Grimwell stopped when his door rang with a loud knock, which could only be his men. The wizard breathed a mighty sigh of relief when the men carried in the sacks of gold powder. "You asked me to find a way to bring in more gold, m'lord. Please allow me to demonstrate." Grimwell knew the next few moments would bring him either glory or death; there would be no in between. Holding his breath, he carefully poured gold powder into the basin, trying not to react to Thorakis's sharp hiss. After agitating the solution, he pulled a silver coin from his pocket and connected it to a length of copper that had a notch in its end specifically designed to hold a coin by its edge. With trembling hands, he lowered the coin into the solution and prayed Istra and Vestra would not let him down.

Thorakis leaned forward, almost sitting on the edge of his rolling throne, and his eyes went wide as the silver coin began to gradually change from silver to gold. Thorakis did something he rarely did: he smiled. "You continue to impress me, Grimwell. I fear I may one day have to have you pulped for your insolence, but for today, you are forgiven."

Grimwell smiled but held his silence, savoring his victory for what it was, despite the threat.

"What of our ambassadors? Have they properly greeted the old families?"

Grimwell winced. "Some have, m'lord. Others may have as well, but I am awaiting word of their success. I assure you, m'lord, we'll achieve your will. The extra gold will ensure our success as I can now send additional ambassadors."

"Do not gloat, wizard."

"Forgive me, m'lord."

"Yoric!" Thorakis barked, and his pages soon wheeled him from the room.

Grimwell smiled.