The Sorcery Within

XIII

THE BOTTOM OF THE FISHING BOATpassed over, three fathoms up, barnacles plainly visible on her hull through the crystal water. Lerina giggled, creating bubbles. She and Ethmurl were safely camouflaged among the coral and kelp of the ocean floor. If Lerina guessed correctly, the men in the boat were searching for her and/or the murderer of Luo of Eruth, never dreaming they were so close to their goal.

She was breathing normally, though she occasionally succumbed to the urge to reach up to her face and feel the membrane of the airmaker. It was strange to think that she could actually breathe more easily underwater than could a fish. Fish, after all, had to keep swimming at least slightly in order to keep water – and oxygen – flowing through their gills. She watched the bubbles of her exhalation race one another upward.

Ethmurl nudged her. The boat was out of sight. They set out, keeping just above the profuse life of the bottom, she a few strokes behind to his right. So much to see. Anemones, crustaceans, coral, fish, silt rich with flickers of color. She had caught glimpses of all of these on her many dives over the years but had never been able to float next to the thing she was looking at and examine it at her leisure. Air had always been the limitation, driving her inevitably back to the surface. Now, with the magic of the artificial lung, she was free.

But old habits died hard. She realized that she was holding her breath. She quickly exhaled. It caused her to sink a few inches, until her vest absorbed more air from the surrounding water and returned her to weightlessness. The vest, too, was a joy: no more energy wasted simply trying to maintain a specific depth. Moreover, at the surface she could keep her head above water without being forced to tread.

She tickled an anemone with a pebble and watched it close. A tiny squid rewarded her with a squirt of ink and an arrow-quick dash into a crevice. She delighted to watch crabs dragging their stolen shells across the sediment. She was getting used to everything seeming larger than it actually was.

And the noise! She had never realized how pervasive it was. In the kelp, the shrimp rattled their single claws endlessly, calling to her with their aquatic voices. Though it was difficult to determine which direction sounds came from, the variety never diminished.

All too soon it was time to stop.

She didn't want to, but neither did she want to tax Ethmurl. He was much better, but he still had a great deal of recuperating to do. No sense in endangering his progress by tiring him out swimming. Whatever advantages the healing spell had provided now seemed entirely gone; he mended like a normal man. In a way, that was reassuring.

As he had instructed her, they rose slowly, never exceeding the pace of the smallest of the bubbles they exhaled. She had never heard of the strange pain and death experienced when divers who used the airmaker surfaced too quickly, but she doubted Ethmurl would invent such a story. He had admitted they were not going to be deep enough to worry about it today; it was simply a good habit to maintain. Before very long they were topside.

"That was wonderful!" she exclaimed as soon as she had removed her mask.

Ethmurl was pensive. He scanned in the direction that the boat had gone. It was not in sight. He rechecked their beach. They had been careful to cover their signs, and the cave entrance was small, seeming to be only a shadow in the rock. Apparently the men in the boat had ignored the islet.

"Oh, you fret too much," she said.

He shrugged and helped her unbuckle the straps of her vest. "I don't think I can change at this age."

As she held her equipment, Lerina marvelled again at the workmanship. The headgear seemed so delicate, only a framework of goldlike metal across which stretched the transparent membranes, one for breathing, one for vision. The vests were more substantial, heavy out of the water, shaped so as to collect air in front of the chest and upper abdomen, with a hole for the head and a buckle behind the small of the back. Hers was blue; Ethmurl's was black.

"Should we give these back to thefaernak now?" Lerina asked.

"Yes," he replied. "No one knows how to make these anymore, except the straps, so it's best not to take chances." At the back of the headgear, two shark-hide straps could be adjusted to customize the fit.

While she held everything, he waded deeper and removed an engraved ring from his finger, lifted it to his mouth, and whistled through it. He had not waited long before a man-size tentacled shape brushed against his leg. Lerina handed him the airmakers and vests, which he gave to the creature. They watched it put everything into a pouch at the base of one of its many-suckered arms, after which it returned quickly to deeper waters.

"I still can't believe it found you," Lerina said, not nearly as startled as she had been when she had first glimpsed thefaernak earlier that day.

"It knows where the ring is, and never wanders far."

"Aren't you afraid it will damage the airmakers?"

He smiled. "They're far safer there than any place I can think of. The thing is well-trained, and long-lived, and I wouldn't care to try and forcibly take anything from afaernak under any circumstances. In fact, they were specifically bred for this function."

"Who bred them?"

"Alemar."

"Alemar Dragonslayer, the great wizard?"

He nodded. "The founder of Elandris. In order to build and maintain the cities beneath the sea, he made hundreds of thousands of airmakers. Or, to be truthful, his sister Miranda did. However, neither of them cared to share the secret of their manufacture, so it became vital to protect each one. They bred thefaernaks to caretake the devices whenever the owners had to make journeys away from Elandris. In our own dwellings, of course, we have special troughs to keep them secure. It's surprising how few have been lost over the centuries since the great wizard vanished."

"You mean no one has learned how to make them since?"

"Alemar and Miranda were the greatest sorcerers in history. There's a great deal they could do that no one else has been able to. Killing dragons, for example."

The sun had nearly dried them already. They sought refuge from its heat in the cave. Ethmurl lay down immediately. This had been the first day he had tried anything strenuous; it had clearly taken a great deal out of him. Lerina leaned back against the cave wall.

"Do you suppose it's true, that the Dragon of our day is the child of the pair that Alemar killed?"

Ethmurl brushed away an insect. "It's possible. Dragons live thousands of years. Gloroc could have been an infant of several centuries at the time that Faroc and Triss were defeated. It would explain why he wants to conquer Elandris. He can't have revenge on Alemar himself, so the next best thing is to steal the empire away from his descendants."

"He seems to be succeeding."

Ethmurl made a wry face. "Not entirely. We royalists have kept nearly half the kingdom free for almost a hundred years. It's as if the Worm were waiting to make his move. In any case, he seems nowhere near as formidable as his parents."

"And where do you fit in, Ethmurl?"

He met her glance. "I serve my liege."

She didn't press the matter. Soon she flipped up the lid of their food basket. It settled back down with a hollowpud. "We have to leave tonight. You seemed to be all right in the water today. Do you think you can make the trip?"

"We might as well try."

"Good," she said. "Get some rest."

Night had closed in by the time she woke him up, darkness muted by Urthey, the smallest moon. Lerina felt odd to think of wearing clothes again, and it would be stranger still to see Ethmurl covered. It seemed a shame.

"We can leave almost everything," she said, taking only her garments and the water flasks. "I'll get it another time."

"My belt," Ethmurl said, and picked it up.

"Why not just wear it?" she asked.

"No," he said, sounding strangely determined.

The wistfulness of departure strengthened. The cave had always been a favorite place, but with Ethmurl present, it had become very special indeed. She felt safe here.

She led. The water put vigor back in her body. They dripped dry in the shadow of the bluff and put on their clothes, she the blouse and skirt she had come in, he his trousers and a quarn shirt she had taken from her father's wardrobe. Actually, he wore clothes well, she thought. She suggested that he proceed ahead of her up the bluff. She knew the terrain and could support him should he slip. He agreed.

The forest welcomed her as they merged into the underbrush. Its fecund odor had never seemed quite so precious. She had always had plenty of the forest and less than she wanted of the beach; now finally the situation was reversed. He rested. The bluff had been almost too much for his wounded thigh. Several times she had been forced to brace him to keep him from losing his balance. She found a broken branch and gave it to him to use as a walking stick. She walked on his other side, holding his hand.

The leafy canopy above reduced the night to velvet blackness. She guided them by instinct. "Watch out," she murmured as they found and stepped over a huge root.

His grip was strong and reassuring. He was not the invalid she had discovered many days before. In a way she was disappointed that he was no longer utterly dependent on her, but it also excited her. She squeezed tighter.

Progress was slow. Though Ethmurl didn't complain, she heard his sucked-in breath whenever he stumbled and periodically she felt twinges of pressure in her hand. She deliberately paced herself as slowly as she dared, and made him stop frequently. He would wait, sip some water, and stoically trudge on. He assured her his discomfort was only the stiffness of his muscles, but she worried nevertheless.

Hours of this finally brought them to the rear of Garthmorron Hold, well after midnight. They heard an owl chitter as it flew overhead and oeikani shuffle in the stables, but no human noise. All the lights were out in the buildings. They decided to walk openly through the vegetable gardens. Not only could they move more quickly, but if their silhouettes were seen, they would look like they had every reason to be there.

A dog barked.

Lerina stopped, heart thundering. Ethmurl was still.

The windows of the hold remained black. The barking came from the far side of the grounds, and soon tapered off. Eventually Lerina remembered to exhale.

She was so nervous that she nearly tripped on a squash. They continued on at a measured pace, and before long they had reached the copse in which her father's cottage nestled, tucked in a private spot not far from the central courtyard. She lifted the latch and pushed. The door creaked, as it always did, but an instant later they were both inside.

She felt little prickles of perspiration over her neck and throat. Making sure all the curtains were drawn, she lit a candle. The room opened out. The chamber they had entered was the only large room. It contained a cooking hearth, a dining table, stools, an armchair, and some crates and chests. To one side was a small bedroom, to the rear the door to the outhouse. A loft was above, the only access to it a steep ladder in a corner.

Home. Safe. Many times she had told herself otherwise, but now it was a palace – at least until the end of the month, when her father would return. She savored the sight of it, then, for one of the few times in her life, barred the doors.

"You did it!" she told Ethmurl.

He swayed, set his belt down on the table, and sagged onto one of the stools. "I wasn't sure I'd make it."

She giggled. "Now we won't have to worry about food or water or being discovered. They'll never look under their own noses."

"If it's all right, could I not worry about it tomorrow?" he asked wearily.

It was hard to suppress her enthusiasm, but she knew Ethmurl well enough by now to know that he wouldn't complain unless his need was genuine. "Here," she said, pushing the door of the ground-floor bedroom wider. "This is my father's room. The loft's mine."

He stood once more, with effort, and headed toward the door. Lerina helped him onto the tick and removed his boots for him. He didn't bother to undress or get under the blankets. Seeing his exhaustion, she left as soon as he was settled, bidding him a good night.

She practically shook with adrenaline, and used some of it checking the cottage. Nothing seemed disturbed, though it smelled of being closed up for a length of time. She hid Ethmurl's belt in a chest and paced. But there really was nothing to do, and she knew that the morning would bring an early confrontation with a disapproving great-uncle. She automatically started up the ladder to the loft.

And paused.

"No." She smiled, turned around, and headed back to the bedroom.