‘That’s too long to be away from this place and you know it. And I wouldn’t put it past you to make us eat fish and drink rainwater if you had to prolong it.’
‘Phoenix has narrowed things down to a specific number of islands, which should save some time.’
‘Yes, about fifty of them.’
‘A little more than that, actually.’
‘What worries me is that if you don’t find what you want you’ll just go on looking indefinitely.’
‘I won’t do that, Serrah. There is a cut-off, and we’ll both know it.’
‘I’m not trying to dampen your enthusiasm. You know that, don’t you? I just don’t want you to be too disappointed if this doesn’t work out.’
‘I’m used to disappointment.’
‘Not in all things, I hope.’ She smiled.
Darrok returned at speed, alone this time, and hovered in front of them. ‘Seems they’ll be finished in under an hour, so be ready. And let’s have no tearful farewells, shall we? I can’t stand ’em.’
Two hours later they were well underway, far enough out to make the island a black ribbon on the horizon, with grimy white seagulls the only relief from steel-grey ocean and sky. The mist was clearing.
At the stern rail, Caldason, Serrah and Kutch watched as the two decoy ships disappeared around the island’s east and west headlands.
‘I can’t believe we’re actually going at last,’ Kutch said.
‘I should think Reeth’s even more pleased,’ Serrah replied. ‘Aren’t you, love?’
‘It’s good to be on our way,’ Caldason agreed.
‘You could be a little more enthusiastic about it.’
He smiled, mildly. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘You do look bushed. Take a nap. There’s nothing you can do here.’
‘Maybe I will. You’ll call me if-’
‘What’s going to happen in the next couple of hours?’
‘Vance could happen. We’re not clear yet.’
‘If we get our throats cut I’ll be sure to wake you. Now get some sleep.’ She leaned over and kissed his cheek.
Caldason nodded, heavy-eyed, then turned and made for their cabin.
It was part of the crew’s modest quarters below decks, and tiny. Once inside, he didn’t even bother kicking off his boots, simply unbuckling his scabbard, laying it aside, then stretching out on the bunk.
The second his head touched the pillow, he flew.
Far below lay the ocean, drab and choppy. The packet ploughed through it with ballooning sails, looking as fragile as a child’s toy in the vast expanse. He travelled at a greater speed than any seagoing vessel, so that in an instant he passed the ship, then left it behind.
Drawn northward, on the same course as the packet, his velocity increased. He soared into piercing airstreams, yet was untouched by them, as though invisibly cocooned. And he was unaware of the sting of ice crystals when he sliced into low clouds.
He covered an enormous distance but glimpsed no other craft. At least, that’s how it seemed. His speed was such that something as minuscule as a ship was easily overlooked in that immense ocean. He was likewise oblivious to land masses. Although he thought he saw, just fleetingly, a canopy of dark shapes hugging the surface of the ocean. Some were the size of islets, others no more than specks, and there was a profusion of them. They could have been the island group the packet was bound for; they were gone so quickly it was impossible to tell.
He began to slow, but not for any apparent reason. There was no land in sight. Beneath him, wind-driven waves caressed the sea with foaming fingers, just as before. Soon he moved no quicker than if he were swimming under his own muscle power.
At length he noticed something. In the sky, some distance ahead, there was what he took to be a black cloud, which appeared to be expanding, growing darker. Then he realised it was coming his way. As it approached he could see that it consisted of hundreds of individual dots, each moving of their own volition. The nearer the dark throng got, the more defined its constituent parts became, but it had almost reached him before he recognised what it was.
The cloud arrived and a world of frenzy engulfed him. All was wildly fluttering wings and ruffled feathers, beady eyes and spiky beaks, as a deafening, shrill cacophony battered his ears. He was in the eye of a storm, the centre of a blizzard of terrified creatures.
Suddenly it was over. The birds were well to his rear, a swirling miasma of flapping dots again. But more flocks were coming his way. And like the one he had passed through, they had an unnatural aspect: they were made up of different types of birds.
There was turmoil in the ocean, too. Huge schools of fish could be seen, swimming hard just below the surface. Fish of many kinds, from the smallest fry to large predators. Animals which, like the birds, would never normally group together, except in the face of some overriding common purpose.
This was no migration. The birds and the fish were fleeing from something.
A glint of light showed further north, against the far-off horizon. It grew in size and intensity until it replicated the rising sun. Then its flame spread to the sea, as though burning oil had seeped onto it. A fiery tidal wave rolled towards him, carrying shapes within it, Looking down from his elevated position he tried to make out what they were.
He thought he saw a glowing angelic host. Or perhaps a demonic horde. Then he came to see that it was a fleet, a thousand vessels or more, bathed in flame.
A man stood at the bow of the leading ship. A man he knew, though they had never met. A man who possessed an extraordinary power.
Their eyes locked, and he understood.
The warlord was coming.
20
It took several days for Darrok’s aquatic glamour to reach Bhealfa’s shores.
At the coast, the glamour nosed its way into the mouth of an estuary and entered the island’s river system. Other fish shunned it, or perhaps they couldn’t see it. And as it had no need for rest and sustenance, nothing obstructed its journey through the wintry waters.
Following its charm-induced instincts, the glamour went unerringly to the branch of the river serving the capital. But having achieved Valdarr’s main port, it could no longer fulfil its mission in its present state, so a transformation was triggered.
There was turbulence, erupting bubbles and bursts of light. A different creature broke the surface of thewater and rose out of it, dripping wings spread wide.
The bird was something like a raven, though not enough like one to convince anybody. But as it was about to enter a city swarming with glamours it was unlikely to be noticed. Soaring high, the illusion circled, alert for psychic scent. Then it knew its path, and set off at speed.
The sector neighbouring the docks was mean, all narrow winding lanes and rowdy inns. Here the throb of magic was weak, and the militia patrolled in mobs. Acres of dour warehouses ruled the manufacturing district. The adjacent cattle-yard marked out its corrals with multi-coloured glamour orbs. Commerce shaded into residential districts, unremarkable suburbs lit by the prissy blush of respectable magic. They gave way to wealthy sectors, where the illumination of sorcery was at its most extravagant.
The pretence of a raven flew on.
Rich quarter or poor, the city’s infatuation with magic was unabashed. Emporiums of illusion catered for the well-off, while lesser clientele were served by humble charm shops and dubious street vendors. The glamoured gambling dens did brisk business, with hex-powered fortune wheels and cards that turned of their own volition. In the smart parlours of fashionable couturiers, living mannequins modelled the latest gowns. On the streets, the
