‘It was perhaps five or six breaths later.’ Gilmour had obviously been pondering this question himself. ‘About as long as it would take him to get up off the deck, cast his final spell and then leap the three or four paces to the far portal.’ It had been longer than that – not much longer, just a moment or two, but time enough for the dark prince to make eye-contact with his former colleague. ‘Well done, Fantus,’ Nerak had whispered, a concession of one round lost. We’ll play again later, Nerak’s eyes had said, and in them, Gilmour had seen the end. He was not powerful enough, and failing to kill Nerak that night – Nerak could not be killed – had cost him dearly, for now Nerak knew the extent of Gilmour’s power. He had felt it in the mystical blows the old man had landed.
‘I barely slowed him down,’ Gilmour muttered.
‘What’s that?’
‘What-? Oh, nothing. What were we talking about?’ The man seemed to age before Garec’s eyes. ‘Oh, yes, Steven. It wasn’t much time, but as long as Steven remembered to close the portal as soon as he passed across the Fold, he’ll be fine. There was ample time to shut the other end down before Nerak disappeared.’
‘So, in Steven’s prolonged absence, we must assume that the portal in his home was already closed and that wherever he fell is closer to Idahocolorado than wherever Nerak fell. Because if Nerak reaches Steven and Mark’s home first…’ He hesitated.
‘Then all here is lost.’
‘What about those?’ Garec motioned towards the hickory staff and the wool-wrapped leather-bound book Gilmour had tossed into the sailboat three nights earlier.
The old man sighed and took out his pipe, then felt through his pockets for a pouch of tobacco. ‘They represent great power; that’s true, but only Steven can wield the hickory staff.’
Garec reached tentatively for the length of wood; for a moment he looked like a child caught stealing a pastry through an open bakery window. ‘Why?’ He released the tiller and took up the staff in both hands. ‘Why won’t it work for you or-’ He looked over at Mark. ‘Perhaps for him?’ He didn’t even consider that the staff might respond to his own commands.
‘That’s a mystery to me, Garec’ Gilmour abandoned his quest for tobacco and took hold of the tiller. ‘I believe Mark is correct in his assumption that Nerak has no idea what force is hidden within it, and that alone has given the dark prince reason to fear it. However, Nerak is not accustomed to fearing very much and he is… I suppose it’s best to say he is out of practice at fearing anything.’
‘So, in Nerak’s mind, the staff is something you have constructed for Steven, and therefore it falls within the expectations he has for the limits of your power?’
‘Right. Something he supposes is of little threat to him.’ Gilmour looked over at the stark granite cliff. Well done, Fantus. Nerak’s ironic words chilled his skin; he shook his head in an effort to focus on the conversation.
‘And the book?’ Garec made no move to reach for the ancient tome. ‘Can you use it?’
‘That we’ll find out soon enough.’ Gilmour pressed his lips together in a tight smile. ‘I may have made a grave mistake there.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘The night I fled Sandcliff Palace, I left everything – all the writings, books, scrolls, everything. I just fled as fast as I could, with my shoulder hanging useless and my ankle flopping back and forth. I was numb, and far too scared to consider that one day I might need Lessek’s library.’ He adjusted their heading to move the little catboat around a tight bend in the fjord. ‘This book tells me that Nerak has done much more than reflect on his studies.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I have always known that Nerak spends most of his time sequestered in Welstar Palace working through spells, memorising incantations, trying to weave together all the threads he needs to operate the spell table – so he can rend a sizeable gate in the Fold
…’
Garec finished his friend’s thought, ‘But you never imagined he would use Lessek’s journals to speed up the process.’
‘I thought it had all been destroyed.’ Gilmour shook his head despondently. ‘I was there: it was a massive explosion; most everything in the library was reduced to rubble.’
‘Yet Lessek himself has sent you back-’
‘For the Windscrolls, yes. If Pikan was right that night, we’ll need the third Windscroll.’
‘So that one wasn’t destroyed?’
‘I don’t know, Garec. I honestly don’t. I thought the entire collection was lost, but when I saw this book on the Prince Marek I realised that Nerak went back and retrieved-’
‘At least this one,’ Garec broke in. ‘He went back to get this book.’ He started to point at it with the hickory staff but recoiled at the thought of the two magical artefacts coming in contact with one another.
Gilmour chuckled wryly. ‘Yes, at least this one, but I have to assume the Windscrolls are still there and that the secret to Nerak’s weakness is in their text.’
Nerak’s weakness lies elsewhere.’ Garec echoed Lessek’s cryptic statement. ‘It must be in the Windscrolls.’
‘It might.’ He spotted a satchel tucked beneath the transom and a real smile crossed his face as he pulled out a leather pouch of tobacco. ‘That’s where we’ll start, anyway.’
‘Mark seems to think this has something to do with it.’ Garec returned the hickory staff to its place beside the book.
‘We can hope, Garec. And if Steven retrieves Lessek’s key and returns here safely, we will have several very powerful allies.’ Gilmour decided it was time to change the subject. ‘What does the watch say now?’
Steven’s watch showed both the stalks on the five rune as Garec charted Gilmour’s progress down the precipitous cliff, the curiously small tapestry that was the far portal folded beneath one arm. The sorcerous breeze was stilled to a whisper and Garec had little trouble keeping the boat steady against the fjord’s southern wall. Its bow nestled snugly in a crack between two boulders and the wooden hull thunked gently against the stone in perfect time with the gentle rise and fall of the water. That drum-like beat was the only sound in the fjord and the silence weighed heavily on Garec. He felt uncomfortably warm, despite the sun dropping steadily in the distance.
Garec could make out Mark Jenkins’ lumpy form, now bundled inside several blankets, but in the shadows he couldn’t see if Mark was asleep. When the foreigner rasped at him from the semi-darkness, Garec jumped, shouting in surprise and nearly tumbling overboard.
‘Is he back?’
‘Rutting lords! You scared me!’ Garec sat back down clumsily.
Without moving, Mark asked again, ‘Is he back? Is Steven here?’
Garec frowned. ‘Sorry. Not yet.’
‘Where are we?’
‘My guess is that we’re at least two days’ ride north of Orindale. I’ve heard of these cliffs, but have never travelled far enough up the coast to see them before. We came into the fjord hoping to find someplace to put ashore and roll out the far portal – we couldn’t see anything particularly promising north along the coast, and we didn’t want to risk Steven’s return through an unopened port, so it made sense to find a beach or a flat rock before the watch said five o’clock.’ Now his eyes had grown used to the dim light, Garec could see Mark peering up the craggy wall in an effort to spot Gilmour.
‘But there was nothing?’
‘No.’ Garec shook his head. ‘So Gilmour scaled the wall and opened the portal up there.’
‘How far have we come into the fjord?’ Mark made no effort to lift his head; Garec could give him an accurate synopsis of their progress.
‘Not far… maybe a morning’s ride. Gilmour is helping out with a breeze, but it’s slow going, lots of twists and turns, too many submerged rocks.’ He peered up at Gilmour himself, then asked, ‘Are you hungry, Mark? There’s still plenty of food from Orindale: wine, beer, smoked gansel, anything.’
‘Not now, thanks.’ Mark sounded genuinely appreciative. ‘Maybe later.’