Bebo

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	Chapter 5
	Chapter 5 ------------ Fane swallowed hard, looking at Sec with a worried expression. ‘Pirates.’ Fane repeated, ‘I’m not sure that we would want to be rescued by pirates. They would no doubt sell us onto slavers.’ Sec seemed less worried, but still agreed, ‘Maybe we should stick to the lesser of two evils, at least for now.’ Gwynia was at their side, and perhaps had been nearby for some time – neither of the boys could quite remember. ‘Indeed, a wise decision.’ She said to Sec, ‘While we will treat the pair of you as kings, our Pirate friends are much more likely to gut you or fling you down a morose coal mine somewhere in East Ryadell. Perhaps both. Now hold fast, as Tyrius commanded!” Her pale eyes shimmered with what appeared to be apprehension, but could have been mistaken for glee. Muirayn’s song started only seconds later, his soulful voice enveloping the ship in waves of spine-tingling verse, perfect to the very last key in their mysterious energetic harmony. Slowly the wind built up, as it had been commanded. At first it came in sporadic bursts of transient air, a pumping of the forces of nature, until gradually the winds came more frequently, and soon there was a constant gale hammering fast at their back, pushing The Eagle onwards at supernatural speed. Fane looked out at the pirate ship through blurred vision made watery by the chill-wind. He noticed that the wind summoned by Muirayn was a localised one, judging by their quarry’s sails, which were unchanged. Although they were not headed in the opposite direction to the sea bandits, their path east was sufficiently quickened enough to reassure Fane of their guaranteed escape. He did as he was told and clenched his hands around the heavy rope shrouds that held fast to the main mast, fighting against the gale that battered into him with ferocious force, causing his breath to catch undelivered in his throat. The chase went on for some time, the winds pounding constantly now through the ship, and they appeared to be gaining little distance on the large Royal Nascade class ship. (*1) Still, little was better than none at all, Fane thought. The fear was kept at bay for now, there was all reason to believe that they would escape the pirates, and he would not be forced into combat without arms. Sec looked at Muirayn, ‘Why doesn’t he tire?’ He shouted over the gale to Gwynia. Gwynia pushed her head down into the wind to force the hair out of her face, ‘Commanding the elements uses - not energy - but concentration. It is a form of instruction to nature’s might.’ Sec brushed a hand over his short hair using his free hand, ‘So what happens when his throat dries up or he looses concentration?’ Fane gulped; his eyes were anxious with the realisation that what Sec was saying was a real possibility. How long could a man sing in such a tone without making mistakes? How long could a man sing so loudly without straining his voice? Gwynia smiled, seemingly enjoying the danger nipping at their heels. ‘Then we fight.’ She said, winking to the boys, her hair lashing outwards like silken reddened sails. They watched intently without speaking for another 15 minutes or so, all staring back at the pirate ship, which was still almost keeping up with them. Finally Fane’s fears were realised, and Muirayn began to falter. First he seemed to stumble on the words, and then the notes were slightly less than perfect. Suddenly there was no wind. ‘Quickly Muirayn!’ Tyrius bellowed, ‘Start the song again, summon it back!’ Muirayn held his throat in his hand, shaking his head. It was obvious that the Dreyhood was having trouble maintaining the song. He tried again, but faltered almost right away, his voice missing a note entirely. The wind spiralled around them in a sudden flurry, instructed to perform a different task to the intended one, and Muirayn ceased the song once more. Tyrius stood still in the calm breeze for a moment. All looked to him for the next move. ‘Prepare yourselves for combat.’ He commanded, his voice deadly calm. The Captain stepped down from the helm, gesturing wildly as he objected. ‘Sink them!’ He pleaded, ‘Hit them with lightning!’ Tyrius clenched his jaw, turning the Captain and speaking calmly, but loud enough for all to hear. ‘I will try, but it lends me no aid with you barking your orders at me, Captain. If I fail to turn them away, then we will be forced to fight, so prepare yourselves … all of you. Gwynia has blessed your blades, so we need not fear them.’ Fane sighed and looked to Sec who returned a worried look. Before they could say anything, Tyrius came to their sides, brandishing two long swords, held hilt first for each boy to take. ‘Wha…’ Fane stammered. ‘Take the weapons.’ Tyrius said. ‘I am going to attempt to sink or disable their ship, but if I fail, then I will not have you go unarmed into this battle. Fight if you will, but stay close to me. If not, then go bellow decks and keep Kern safe.’ They both took the blades, but it was Sec who spoke first, ‘We will fight, but only because it suits us at the moment.’ Fane almost grimaced, ashamedly wishing his friend had not volunteered that. ‘Good.’ Tyrius said, ‘But remember to stay close to me, and you will come to no harm. The blades you are holding are both blessed by Gwynia. They are enchanted with the basic unbreakable wards, and they will quite often cut through other inferior metals if you strike them well enough.’ He turned to a pair of sailors and began barking orders, and then he stopped Gwynia and said, ‘Go and warn Kern of what is to happen, but leave the dog in the room with him to be his guard if the enemy reaches the room.’ Gwynia nodded and took off. ‘Hey now!’ Fane protested, ‘My dog is no fighter.’ ‘But he will protect those he considers friends, and he has spent enough time in the same room as Kern to consider him a friend.’ He smiled, ‘Dogs are easily seduced into friendship.’ Fane was about to protest some more, but then stopped himself. ‘I suppose I would not want to see either of them go harmed.’ Tyrius nodded and left Fane’s side to return to the advancing Pirate ship. It was gaining quite rapidly now, and even the small figures of the assorted pirate crew could be seen aboard the large galleon. Tyrius closed his eyes and held his hands out before him in a meditative gesture that Fane had only seen used by southern monks. His breathing slow and deep; Tyrius’ held clawed palms outwards as if cradling a precious invisible chalice. Light sparked to life between his hands as the crew watched in wonder. The light flickered into a hovering flame, much like the pillar Fane and Sec had witnessed the day before. The fire grew in intensity as if being fed branches of dry lumber, it spiralled and lashed out, quickly turning into a ball of fearsome energy between the mage’s slowly widening grasp. The fire seemed not to affect Tyrius, at least not through its heat. He was, however, breathing more rapidly now, evidently pouring his own energies into the magic spell. When at last the fire was at least the size of Clyde, Tyrius shifted his weight backwards one step, taking a massive inhale of breath that swelled his barrel chest. He pushed his palms away from him, directed towards the pirate ship in a powerful and determined thrust. The huge ball of fire was propelled away from The Grey Eagle, flying through the air in a deadly roaring blast of power. It streaked a line through the empty air, plunging its way into the delicate sails of the pirate ship. The collision was audible; it was a roaring blast, an explosion of fire as if an entire winery had just gone up in flames. Before the pirates knew what was going on, the sails were alight and burning rapidly. A cheer rose from the crew of the Grey Eagle, but Tyrius was already summoning another fireball. He created this one much more quickly than the last, and once again let it fly. This fireball struck the hull of the pirate ship and began to burn away at the thick wooden frame. “Look lively, lads!” The Captain shouted, “Haul to wind – to Port slightly! I wanna’ see her close-hauled until we are clear by dark!” The Captain roared to the men to hurry about in their tasks, urging their haste, commanding them to gain the maximum possible speed from the poor wind direction they were offered. Fane breathed a sigh of relief and looked back at the pirate ship, which was still alight. The flames had already lessened, but they were still in trouble. However, as the minutes ticked by and slowly turned into hours, it was evident that the pirate vessel was not out of action. Enough sails remained for it to retain some of its considerable speed, and it ploughed on through the powerful waves, its crew determined to put out the raging flames about and around them. It seemed that the more time went on, the more success they were having, despite their obvious confusion as to where the flames had come from. Tyrius fired a third ball of fire at the ship, but it missed the target and dropped short. He swore and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his impressively large hand. But the aging man had no intention of giving up just yet. Two more fireballs were launched, both hitting its target once again, but neither causing the pirates a great deal of trouble. Still, their sails were now in a painful state, and they visible slowed even more, allowing The Grey Eagle the chance it needed at escape. But then the rain of arrows began. Great shards of steel tipped wooden lightning plummeted down from the heavens, fired from the pirate ship which was now within such range of a strong archer. Many of the arrows were alight, wrapped in light cloth, doused with pitch or oil or wine, and many of those arrows struck the sails of The Grey Eagle. There was sudden and terrifying pandemonium on the ship. Several crew members were struck down, flaming arrows protruding from their chests or faces as agonised cries of pain filled the air. The Captain barked commands for sailors to put out the fires in the sheets, and a few men began climbing the rigging, buckets of salt water in their calloused hands. But the volley of arrows continued, ripping many holes in the sails and slowing their progress even more. Fane and Sec ducked for cover, running to the doorway they had come through earlier this afternoon, which was shielded by the upper decking. They had no protection from arrows, and even Sec seemed afraid of the deadly missiles, or at least nervous. Gwynia was calling her own magic, singing with all her might over the noise of the roaring wind and the screams of dying sailors. There was a shimmer in the sky and the wind stopped, as did the arrows. Looking up into the sky Fane realised why. An invisible barrier had been erected around their ship, stopping not just the arrows but also the incoming wind from the south. The flaming missiles glanced harmlessly off of the transparent shield and fell away, rolling down the side of the invisible dome to come to rest on the surface of the darkening water. ‘Gwynia, the wind! Let the wind through!’ Tyrius yelled from across the ship. ‘I cannot!’ Gwynia replied, her song finished and her command in place, ‘The barrier is too large, and I do not know the song for blocking certain elements but not others! It will have to be enough, or our numbers will dwindle and the pirates will have nobody left to fight by the time they board us, which they will do wind or no wind!’ Tyrius furrowed his brow and looked towards the boys as he said; ‘Ready yourselves, men.’ He was speaking to all, even though he glanced mainly at the two boys, ‘They will be upon us soon, and we have no choice but to fight. But where we are fewer, we have the steel they do not, and their blades will be cut in two just as quickly as they will. Where they are trained fighters, they are nothing more than glorified thieves and villains! Do not hesitate before their wrath; instead, show them some wrath of your own!’ His voice was loud and influential, spurring the men on. The Captain drew his blade and commanded his men to come to the starboard side, where the pirates would be attacking from. Sec rushed forward with them, already a soldier and a warrior within his own mind. His eyes determined and his features hard amidst his rounded face. On his arms and neck, veins protruded from his skin from the self-induced rage. Fane had no choice but to follow, reluctantly, his enchanted blade held uncertainly in his untrained hands. For the first time in his life he silently wished for a bow, as he at least knew how to use one of those. A hunting knife would have even sufficed. The pirate ship came quickly now, bearing down on them, dwarfing them in size comparison as it twisted to run parallel to The Eagle. The pirates stood as they did, ready on the side of their ship, snarls visible on their unwashed faces, blades in hand and all were garbed in various shades of either red or black; the tones of Ryadellian pirates of The Four Isles. Fane was almost knocked off his feet as the two ships collided, the massive hulls scraping alongside each other with audible damage to wood and structure alike. The pirates screamed a battle cry and launched themselves from the higher ship, jumping down into the ranks of the Southkeep sailors as if without fear. Some were sliced and skewered on enchanted blades, but many pushed themselves through onto the ship, already hacking at the sailors with furious intent. Fane watched from behind Sec as his friend launched himself forward into the foray, his blade already raining down on a pirate, pushing him backwards with a surprised look on his face. Fane felt his stomach tighten, knowing he too would have to fight as soon as an enemy presented himself. As it happened, that moment was no more than 2 seconds away. From the midst of the struggling masses, a bearded pirate of considerable stature pushed himself through, his eye on Fane as being a weak link in the enemy army. He had seen the boy’s fear and decided to take advantage of it for an easy kill. Fane readied himself, holding his enchanted sword before him, not really knowing what to do with it. Deep down he expected to die from the first blow, unable to even block a single attack from the enemy, and his sense of helplessness sunk deeper as he looked into the larger man’s eyes. How could he fight off a fully grown man? The pirate’s blade rose, Fane moved to parry the attack with a clumsy fling of his arm. As he closed his eyes in fear, steel struck steel in a loud clang, and the vibration of the clash was almost too much for the boy’s modest strength. He felt the ringing, vibrating twang right down to his bones like the screech of steel on china. The attack completely knocked aside his guard. In came the pirate, looking to take advantage of the situation. Tyrius’ fist met with the pirate’s cheekbone in a sickening snap, flinging the man aside as if he were nothing more than a feather. Fane blinked, the image unwavering even as the event passed. He was sure that – in the single moment before the body had flung into the wind – he had seen the man’s face crushed as if caught by a catapulted boulder. Stunned, Fane looked at the man who had saved his life, but Tyrius was already turned back to the battle, his mighty limbs moving at inhuman speeds, lashing out at all sides as the enemy crew poured onto the ship. He was like an unarmed machine; quicker than the eye and stronger than a ferocious Rupean red bear. His power, Fane suspected, was fuelled by magical means, but his fighting technique was also floorless. Tyrius stepped aside as a pirate sword roared past, countering by chopping the bandit to the back of the head where he fell to the floor, unconscious. With a head-high kick, the massive mage delivered a boot to the chin of another assailant, and then, spinning in a semi-circular arch, he released another slicing kick into the stomach of a second enemy. Both were sent flying overboard. Charging like a bull, he pushed into the ranks of pirates, ignoring their useless attempts to bring blades down upon him. Punches and kicks disarmed and disabled the rogues, his blows thrown out in all directions as if the man was possessed and locked in some crazed tribal war dance. Fane stood and stared at Tyrius in shock and amazement. He could scarcely believe his eyes as he looked on as a pirate’s blade sliced air towards the mage, and Tyrius simply slapped it aside, a lightning quick palm delivered to the flat of the steel as if there was no danger there at all. He followed that up with a savage head-butt to the man’s skull and just like that, he had disabled or killed yet another enemy. Sec was faring not quite so well. Beset by two pirates, he backed off a few steps, catching Fane’s eye in a silent plea for help. But Fane could not move. He wanted to. Or at least, he should have wanted to, but deep down what he wanted more was to stay safe and alive. He watched with wide eyes as Sec was pressed back, only just barely holding on for his dear life. This wasn’t like the time with Koren … if Fane helped his friend now he could end up stuck to the end of a pirate blade. He cursed himself, calling himself coward, selfish … but it did no good. His body would not react. He was all but paralysed with fear. Sec backed up to Fane’s side, and at that moment one of the pirates found a way through the small man’s guard, slicing Sec’s shoulder and spilling a small amount of blood down his tunic. Fane found some momentary courage upon seeing his friend’s injury; he leapt forwards without thinking, hacking with his blade as if it was a hunting knife used for skinning a catch. His sword sailed through the arm of one of the assailants, slicing the man’s hand off in a quick motion. The pirate screamed and stumbled back, clutching his stub. Sec followed Fane’s attack and stepped quickly forward, thrusting into the heart of the man, then deftly pulled his sword free and whirled, blocking a blow from the remaining attacker. Fane used this chance to lash out, less certain than before, cutting a shallow but painful wound into the stomach of the pirate, which spoiled his concentration long enough for Sec to finish him off with a chop to the man’s neck. The red haze of battle adrenalin subsided long enough for the two boys to notice as the pirate force retreated, clambering back up the side of their ship, seeking to sail away. They had been defeated and demoralised, confused by the power of their enemy’s weapons and of the skill of a strange unarmed man as he danced his way through their ranks and knocked them aside like empty flagons from a bar counter. A cheer of victory arose from the men. They had lost only a handful of crew members, despite their inexperience in battle. Looking around, Fane noticed that all of the important individuals aboard were accounted for, and without injury. Still, the boy felt sick. He had seen more death this day than ever before in his life. More violence, even more blood. He had even severed a man’s hand from his arm and aided in his death. He stood in stunned silence for a moment, sickened by the event, and remembering the feeling as his enchanted blade passed easily through the bone and muscle. Gwynia took no time to celebrate. ‘Sir!’ She called to Tyrius, ‘Kern is gone - I had no time to tell you. Somehow he pried loose the board that the chains were fixed to, and was not in the room when I went to speak with him.’ Tyrius, almost exhausted by his powerful use of magic, looked frustrated by the fact. He sighed heavily and glanced around the ship. Finally he turned to Fane as if he had thought of something terrible. ‘Fane, what was he wearing?’ Fane was still in a slight daze at the realisation he had survived the battle. He stared blankly at the large mage. ‘What colour?’ Tyrius pressed. ‘Black, mostly, I think.’ Sec interrupted, panting heavily. ‘Damn!’ Tyrius cursed, ‘Pirate stripes.’ As one they all looked towards the retreating pirate vessel and saw the unmistakable figure of Kern Ravenkarf, garbed in black, peering over the side of the pirate ship and grinning at them proudly. He had escaped, and would blend in with the pirates well until they touched land, then of course, he would be free. He waved slightly to them, showing the chains still on his arms, still attached to a large plank of wood. Tyrius was angry, for the first time since Fane had known him. ‘No.’ He said simply and quietly, his face red with determination, ‘Not this time, my slippery friend.’ The crew watched as Tyrius started forwards into a sprint, his huge, heavy legs carrying him at unnatural speeds across the width of the deck towards the pirate ship, which was now perhaps more than 40 feet away. He reached the edge, placing his foot on the railing, and simply jumped. Fane’s eyes widened with complete shock as the mage leader sailed through the air, his body launched far further than humanly possible in a death defying leap. His legs pumped at the air and his arms outstretched, he bore down on Kern with a determined glare of defiance, his concentration pure and reflected openly in his expression. He landed on the pirate ship and rolled, just about making it, by scant inches. But suddenly the pirates were upon him, and he disappeared out of sight, too high in comparison to the smaller Grey Eagle for the crew to see him. It was evident after just 30 seconds that the gap had already widened too much for him to make the return jump, especially with Kern in tow … assuming of course he was successful. There was silence as the pirate ship sailed away. It was evident by the crew’s expressions that they did not believe they would see their leader again. ‘Idiot,’ Gwynia said after perhaps 5 minutes of silence. Muirayn looked towards his female friend but did not try to speak, perhaps out of sadness or perhaps because he was unable to put further strain on his voice. ‘There’s no way he could fight off all of those pirates and take control of the ship.’ The Captain said, shaking his head. ‘He’s a dead man.’ But Fane wasn’t sure what to believe. With Tyrius, he was willing to believe anything. However, a voice inside his head told him he should be glad the man was likely dead; it would be easier to escape with him gone. --- Something ached. No … everything ached. Mainly his face. He opened his eyes - or at least tried to, wincing at the discomfort he felt from around his skull. His skin felt swollen, hot with the presence of a dozen bruises, and he could barely move his jaw. He was in his bed, home at Tylun, and it was daylight … perhaps afternoon, at a guess. He tried to move, but pain shot through his lungs; sharp pain, like a long shard of glass stuck in his chest, cutting deeply with each movement. He resisted the urge to move, realising that he had been heavily damaged in the fight with Koren and his lackeys. He was sure that it had only been a couple of hours, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember what had happened exactly. He could recall jumping into the fight, saving Sec after a stone had hit his friend, but then the rest was a little on the hazy side. His door opened and his Mother stepped in, smiling with a sympathetic frown on her age-caressed forehead. ‘Dear, dear, look at the state of you.’ She said. Fane closed his eyes in shame. It had been a while since he had been in a proper fight, and he knew the drill. He was about to get punished and lectured. ‘How’s Sec?’ He asked, his mouth protesting at the use of his jaw. ‘Better than you, Fane. And Rillyan is okay too, except for his earlier bruises, of course.’ She said, seating herself by the side of his bed and slipping her hand into his own. She was a gentle mother, full of compassion and affection - perhaps too much, sometimes, as she had a habit of babying her two sons. ‘So … I lost then did I?’ Fane asked, rather seriously. Heara laughed, ‘Yes, I’d say so dear, but they weren’t exactly fair odds.’ ‘I suppose I’m going to be punished now.’ Heara didn’t say anything. The door opened again and Fane’s Father and Brother stepped through, and then Sec in tow. Sec had a grin on his face as wide as the gates to the castle. He was missing a tooth and his eye was black. ‘Punished?’ Boseraphim said, ‘What for?’ Gerad nodded, ‘You did the right thing, Fane.’ Fane frowned, noticing his Father was carrying something in his arms, covered with a blanket. ‘How’d you come to that conclusion?’ ‘If it wasn’t for you,’ Sec replied, ‘I’d have taken a worse beating than the one I got.’ ‘Yep.’ Gerad explained, ‘You protected your friend when a fair fight became unfair. Whoever hurled that stone was in the wrong … you were just doing the honourable thing.’ Fane sighed in relief. ‘Yeah … I’m an idiot. So, what kind of damage do I have?’ ‘Broken rib, fractured jaw, and a great deal of bruises.’ Sec said with a proud grin. His eyes glinted with admiration for his friend’s good deed. He respected bravery, honour and loyalty, and if Sec had not already been Fane’s best friend, from this day forward he would be. ‘So, I suppose it’s a while before I can get out of bed and go get my revenge then?’ Fane said dryly. Sec giggled delightedly, but his parents frowned. Gerad said ‘If it hadn’t been for your Brother, you’d be in worse shape. He was passing just as you were taking a kicking at the feet of the other boys, and scared them off.’ Fane looked at Bo thankfully. His brother sported no battle wounds. Not that anyone would dare fight with Boseraphim, he had a reputation from his younger days as being a mean fist-fighter indeed. Sometimes he disliked his brother for being so perfect in comparison to himself, but he always felt ashamed of such thoughts no sooner than they had crossed his mind. Gerad continued: ‘But we have some company for you while you recover.’ He smiled warmly and held out the bundle. From the blanket leapt a tiny pup, down onto Fane’s lap. Fane laughed, tears in his eyes and looked into those of his new dog, which were half-closed and covered with the wave-like wrinkles of unfilled skin. He had always wanted a dog, and was so very grateful at finally having one. He reached out to the puppy and stroked his back with a smile. He was the most beautiful creature; light of fur and uncertain of foot, it stared back with soulful eyes that practically screamed curiosity. The little dog’s tail shimmied as it looked at its new master, obviously pleased to meet Fane. --- Fane came awake with a start. He had though he heard some noise in the room, but then sighed in relief when he realised it was only Clyde. The dog was trotting around the small room, obviously bored and restless. He saw Fane stir and rushed to his side, smothering the boy with kisses. Fane smiled at his dog and stroked his fur with affection. He was so very glad to have Clyde with him; it was like having a member of the family to help him through this ordeal. The lowest pack member of the Vale family started towards the door, looking back at Fane and panting uncontrollably. The restless dog evidently wanted to go for a walk, and now Fane was awake, he decided he might as well grant Clyde his wish. Fane stepped out onto the ship’s deck, immediately wishing he had brought his cloak up with him. It was colder than he had expected, but then - they were out at sea, and winter was fast approaching. He looked around at the few crew members who manned the night watch as Clyde left Fane’s side and went on a sprightly lap around the ship, wagging his tail in greeting to just about all of the sailors who were bored enough to pay him any attention. He paused there for a moment, arms wrapped about him for warmth while he stood staring at the stars and pondering his fate. He had never been so sad or troubled in his entire young life; he had never had the reason to be. Usually unwaveringly optimistic, Fane now felt like he was slowly being torn away from all of his former memories. It was a crime that Fane silently vowed would not go unpunished. He gritted his teeth and turned away from the blustery winds from the south, trying desperately to think of a way to escape this nightmare. ‘Cold night isn’t it?’ A female voice came from behind him. Fane turned around to meet the gaze of Gwynia, who was also roaming the deck, unable to sleep. She held out a cup of hot milk for the boy and he took it gladly, basking in the warmth that the small object emanated. ‘You can feel winter in the air,’ She said, ‘but you know what? I like winter.’ They stared out across the sea. Fane was slightly uncomfortable in the presence of this blunt and extremely attractive woman. ‘Why?’ He managed, with a raised eyebrow. ‘Because the winter reminds me how my people survived when others could not.’ *2 Fane nodded, he had heard the story. His Father had been quite good with history, and had told his sons much of the past life of their world. ‘Were you born in Furalia?’ Fane asked, ‘Or New Fura?’ Gwynia shook her head, her long strands of red hair dancing in the wind around her face. ‘I was born in neither one nor the other. I was born and raised in the place we travel to; Southkeep Isle.’ Fane looked at her, instantly speechless by her overwhelmingly beautiful profile. Her features neared perfection, and he had to take a deep breath before he could once again concentrate on the conversation. ‘Not all who abide in Southkeep were captives, some are born there.’ ‘Really?’ He said, actually interested. ‘Yes, but the captives usually learn to call it home just as quickly as the natives do.’ She responded, not looking at him, but out at the waves. ‘Muirayn, however, was a captive.’ Fane raised his eyebrows in surprise. He supposed that explained a few things, but it was still strange to hear that one of his captors was once a captive like himself. She looked at him, ‘That may surprise you. Yes, it burdens my friend Muirayn with some guilt when he has to capture new young people like yourselves, because he once felt as you do now. He resisted and attempted to escape and swore blind revenge on his captors … on Tyrius.’ There was silence at the mention of the man’s name. ‘I suppose you are pleased he is gone.’ Gwynia said with no hint of emotion in her voice. Fane shook his head, looking at Gwynia with sincerity, ‘I should be … but he saved my life … in the battle.’ Gwynia stared at him for a moment, ‘He saves all of us, many times.’ Fane sighed deeply and stared back out at the darkness, ‘I wish only to return home … why can I not do so, even if I promise never to use my gift again?’ ‘You are pleading with the wrong person, Fane. I have little sympathy, as I never had to go through what you go through now.’ Her answers were short and a little blunt. ‘I wasn’t really looking for sympathy; I was looking for an answer to my question.’ Gwynia licked her top lip in thought, ‘I could tell you what Tyrius already has, and to me that is sufficient reason. However, I know the dangers of magic, and you, do not.’ ‘What sort of dangers?’ ‘Dangers to others, for a start. Some of the more powerful mages could fell an entire army of 100 or more men if they were fully focused and rested. Imagine a man like Tyrius, if his intent were truly evil. He could be a god among mortals; and many mages in the past have been exactly that. Omax, David, the Tenakoshan Korinoses … the list goes on.’ Fane raised an eyebrow, ‘But they were sorcerers, and Tyrius told me that there are no sorcerers left.’ ‘The premise is the same. Mages of great power could lead whole nations … through intimidation, fear, even through magically enhanced charisma.’ ‘They can do that?’ Gwynia nodded, ‘Indeed they can. Kern could, with training or practice, learn to use his gift for a similar purpose. He could warp the reality of your mind so that you see him as the most beautiful, intelligent man you have ever beheld.’ Fane laughed, ‘Not likely.’ Gwynia smiled, ‘What I’m trying to say is that if you travelled the wrong path, you could be a killer of men, of villages, even of nations. If of course, you remained free.’ Fane made a disbelieving face, ‘Well, my power isn’t like that, it’s barely even useful for hunting sparrows.’ He said, the private joke a memorable irony, ‘Besides, I’m no killer.’ ‘That was my second point. Magic … changes people.’ ‘Changes people?’ ‘Yes. Power is a dangerous thing, if overused in the wrong way. Imagine you were a god, with the power to do anything you wished … would that not go to your head? Would you not begin to think others beneath you, as being less than you?’ Fane considered this, ‘I don’t think I would…’ ‘No, I imagine not. But think of this; you eat animals, right?’ Fane nodded. ‘Well, why? What gives you the right?’ ‘Um…’ Fane stammered, ‘Well, I am an intelligent being … I can create, I can make choices beyond instinct or mood. I am more intelligent.’ ‘A good answer.’ Gwynia said with a half-smile, forming her lips into a seductive arc. ‘You kill animals because you believe yourself to be better than them. The same thing usually applies to mages of great power, unless they are careful not to abuse their powers, which we try to teach at Southkeep.’ Fane had to concede that she made a very good argument. Perhaps she had truth in her clever words, but it did not make Fane feel any better about being taken from his home by force. ‘Tell me about Tyrius.’ Fane asked. ‘What is to tell?’ She replied, leaning with both elbows against the wooden railings. ‘About who he is - why he does the things he does.’ Gwynia considered this for a moment before responding with, ‘He was one of the first mages of Southkeep, recruited – not captured – by Inato himself, around two hundred years ago.’ ‘Two hundred years!?’ He exclaimed. Gwynia laughed. ‘Yes, magic can do that; it can regenerate you, if you know how.’ ‘How old are you?’ Fane asked, obviously shocked and disbelieving. ‘I’m not three and twenty years.’ Fane sighed in relief, ‘I had half expected you to say you were ninety.’ ‘You are too kind, boy.’ She said sarcastically. ‘Oh – oh no, you don’t look it. At all. Er … Sorry.’ He stammered. She smiled at the boy’s innocence and awkwardness. ‘The legends say that he once belonged to a rival order, one which sought to use magic for - what they claimed - was the good of the world. However, seeing the corruption within this order as they used their powers for their own selfish gains, he began to get curious about The Order of Inato. In the end, he came to realise the truth of the matter.’ ‘What truth?’ ‘That none of us – not you, not me, not even Tyrius, can control our powers. Our powers control us, and in the end they will use us for the sake of being used. Power is like an Eskan drug; powerful and euphoric, but addictive and all-together dangerous.’ ‘How do we stop it from being dangerous?’ Fane asked. ‘We use it only when we need to, only when it becomes necessary. Sometimes, of course, we use our magics for training or for research, but so long as the gifts aren’t used for our own selfish gain, we seldom fall to their whims.’ She said with a sly wink. He stared out to sea for a while, watching the faint bulb of the first moon as it shone its radiance down onto the crashing dunes of salt water at its feet. Like a lord of the skies, a prince of the night, it commanded the rise and fall of oceans, only to be usurped each sunrise by the real monarch: the Sun, from which all its radiance originated. The other moons were not visible tonight, and would not be visible for perhaps another few days. It was said that when all three moons were fully visible at once, the seas turned totally calm. Nobody alive could quite explain why. He considered what he had been told – about Tyrius, about the mission of The Seekers, about magic itself. In a strange way it all began to make sense, but defiantly he pushed those treacherous thoughts aside and concentrated on hating his captors. However, it brought to mind the vision he had experienced the prior night; the image of the girl, the killer. He still did not understand it, and the curiosity inside of him, as usual, finally overwhelmed him. ‘I … saw something, yesterday.’ He said, hesitant even as the words left his mouth, and realising he would probably regret this later. Gwynia looked at him, ‘Well?’ ‘It was a girl. I saw it as a sort of vision … it wasn’t a dream.’ Gwynia frowned, coming away from the railings to stand straight, her arms crossed. ‘Tell me what you saw, exactly.’ ‘It wasn’t so much what I saw, it’s what I felt. I felt … I felt … rage, and then murder. I don’t know if it’s possible to feel murder, but … it … overwhelmed me.’ Gwynia was attentive suddenly, gravely interested. ‘Did she use magic?’ Fane did not answer, he was immersed in the memory of the awful vision. ‘Fane!’ She rose her voice, ‘Did she use magic? You have to tell me. This is very important.’ Fane sighed, ‘Yes.’ He said. ‘I think she did.’ --- As Fane returned to his bed, Sec’s voice sounded in the darkness. ‘Don’t believe their lies, Fane. They might have saved our lives today, but we can’t trust them.’ The words were Sec’s, but they were almost the exact ones that Kern had spoken the day before. ‘Who knows what they can conjure to control us,’ He had said, ‘Who knows what hypnotism they might use to make us do their bidding. We need to escape at the first chance we get. Do not trust them.’ As Fane laid his head to rest on the pillow, he realised that deep down, he hoped Kern was well. ------------------ *1 The Royal Nascade class is a vessel that was designed in the early 1600’s for the war between the Human kingdoms, and stayed in heavy use right up until the latter end of the century, even after the Human kingdoms were at last united into one Human Empire. The ship was redesigned to incorporate bigger rams and higher masts, but the old models stayed in use by pirates of the Four Isles decades into the 1700’s. In concept, it was very similar to the Galleon of our own world, as it retained the three-masted, square rigged style, with two crow’s nests, but the slant of the poop was much more severe in order to give projectile soldiers a vastly higher vantage point. *2 When the Great Fire came from the sky and brought many decades of darkness, the world grew cold. Furalian oppressors - the Eskans, (who had warred and enslaved their enemies for over an age), starved and died in the brutal winter that followed. Furalians, on the other hand dug deep into the mountains and they survived there. They emerged from that winter with more power, and finally, with the help of The Tenakos, they discarded their chains of slavery, and their lands were returned to them, with renewed independence.
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