"The girl has escaped again! Our counsels, from Zaltec himself – " the Ancient One paused long enough for Hoxitl to absorb the import of the remark – "have informed us that she has been bought by a cleric of Qotal. She now journeys to Payit."
"Payit?" Hoxitl was surprised. "That is far from the Heart of the True World. Perhaps she is no danger to us there."
"Idiot!" The Ancient One's voice dripped with venom. Never had Hoxitl been the target of such rage, and the feeling caused his bowels to tie themselves into a firm knot. "She is more of a threat than ever! And now time is passing us like water over a cataract!"
"Very well," Hoxitl whispered, struggling to regain his composure. "We have – that is, the temple of Zaltec has clerics in Payit. I will send word immediately, and she will – "
"There is no time!" The figure's voice was almost a reptilian hiss. "You will stay here for the day. We shall have need of the Viperhand." Hoxitl nodded, realizing that sunrise was but an hour away. Any powers the Ancient Ones would employ must await the coming of the next nightfall. The power of Zaltec, focused in Hoxitl's red palm, tatooed in the pattern of the Viperhand, would be necessary to propel the Sending for the distance required.
"At sunset, you will join us in the dark circle. From there, we will make a Sending. Talonmagic will carry the message to Payit in the night. We have not a day to lose. The girl must be put to death!"
ACROSS THE TRACKLESS SEA
First day, aboard the Falcon.
I shall keep a journal of my legion's progress as we explore to the westward. Preparations have gone smoothly, and we are well provisioned. Darien and I purchased many potions yesterday, the last additions to our stores. The rest is in the hands of Helm, aided by the sturdy backs of the legionnaires.
Predawn tide carries us smoothly from the harbor. Freshening wind off the starboard quarter speeds our departure. Land is gone by midday.
Nightfall. Headlands of Tethyr appear before us at sunset. Anticipate turn toward Asavir's Channel by dawn.
For ten years, I have gathered warriors to my banner. I believe they are the finest soldiers in the Realms. The captains are, to a man, staunch and brave. Daggrande and Garrant – my staunch veterans. Hot-blooded riders like Halloran and Alvarro. All the rest!
My heart bursts with pride for these splendid men, embarking on a mission to the unknown out of loyalty and courage. Seeing the array of our sails around me, I feel certain that we will, we must, triumph!
"What are you thinking, Father?" Martine joined the Bishou in the bow of the Falcon. "Of the many glories of Helm," replied Domincus reverently. "Think of it, my dear! Great masses of pagans who have yet to hear of our almighty avenger! You and I shall have the glory of carrying Helm's word to them!"
"Must you be so serious, Papa?" she teased. "Think of the adventure, the sights and smells and sounds of it all! Whatever it is that we find, I'm already fascinated!"
"Do not make light." The Bishou frowned, stern creases marking his high forehead. "I fear already it was unwise to bring you on such a voyage!"
"Don't be ridiculous. You couldn't have kept me at home!"
"I know you're right," sighed the cleric. "But just the same, be careful."
Sixth day, aboard the Falcon.
Mild headwinds caused us to take two days to pass Asavir's Channel, but all has been smooth since. Taken on water and food at Lantan Island; will be last known landfall. All provisions at maximum levels.
Crews relieved to embark again. The Lantans, worshipers of Gond the Wondermaker, are a disquieting sort, very bizarre and secretive.
Departing at dusk on course 15 degrees south of west for waters unknown.
The steadiness of the men awes me. Our journey will be long and arduous. No troops but the Golden Legion would dare even to embark!
My captains, spread among the vessels as they are, serve to embolden the men still further. I have some concerns about Alvarro and Halloran; the former still holds tbe latter's advancement against him. Perhaps I should have left Alvarro behind, but he is too great a fighter for such an ignoble fate. Why can he not see that his value lies in his sword, not his brain?
I will need to maintain a careful observation here.
"When will you finally get that axe sharpened?"
Daggrande snorted. "When this boat lands on the sandy beaches of Shou Lung, and not a moment before!" The dwarf continued with his whetstone, honing the fine steel to a hairsplitting edge.
"I thought you didn't believe we'd land in Kara-Tur!" Hal countered. He knew that Shou Lung was the greatest empire upon that distant continent.
"I don't, we won't, and I meant what I said!"
"If it's not your axe, then you're tightening the spring on your crossbow or polishing your helm!" Halloran wouldn't let up.
"What else is there to do on this blasted barge?" demanded the dwarf, huffing impatiently and turning back to his work. In truth, the sea made him edgy, and his companion knew it.
A huge, lanky dog sauntered over to Halloran and leaned against him. The creature was one of the greyhounds that accompanied the legion. This one, called 'Corporal' by Hal, had taken a liking to the young lancer and pestered him more or less constantly for food.
Amidships, Storm and two other chargers stood impatiently in the makeshift shelter the crew had rigged. A long voyage, Hal suspected, would be harder on the horses than on the men.
But suddenly Halloran paid the animals no attention, for their own Osprey had veered to within a hundred paces of Falcon, and the young horseman had eyes only for the flagship.
Or rather, for one of the passengers on that vessel. The Bishou's daughter, Martine, had just stepped from the cabin, her red hair catching the sunlight and bursting with its own fire. She walked slowly about the deck of the other ship as she did several times a day, chatting with the sailors and occasionally relaxing against the rail.
Once she had noticed Halloran watching her and had given him a friendly wave. He had shyly returned the gesture, but now he took pains to be discreet in his observations, pretending to busy himself with his horse or equipment.
Still, whenever the two ships sailed near each other, he made it a point to watch the Falcon, hoping for a glimpse of of Martine. When he saw her, the memory put a rosy glow over the rest of the day.
Meanwhile, Daggrande started to sharpen his dagger, keeping his own eyes anxiously over the bow.
Twenty-sendond day, aboard the Falcon
Last night was the heaviest weather of the voyage; with relief, we counted fifteen vessels in the dawn. Swanmay lost a mast; morning spent in repairing damage. By noon, we're at speed again, backed by a good wind from the northeast.
The uncertainty begins to weigh upon us all. Never have men sailed so far to the west. Around us is naught but the rolling swell of the deep sea.
When will we make landfall? Some grumbling comes from the men, but it is to be expected. Strong, healthy troops are bound to grow restless over the course of a long voyage.
I grow displeased with the assessor, Kardann. The Council of Six has chosen unwisely, I fear. The man is no adventurer. He has been sick the entire voyage and already speaks of his return homeward. I fear he will undermine my ambitions unless I can keep him on a very short tether.
Unfortunately, the terms of my agreement with Amn have conferred all the power of the council into this weasel of a man, including control of the finances backing the expedition. I will have to ensure his understanding of one fact: The legion answers to me and me alone!