But through all her feelings at what she would find back in Balaia, her strongest tie was to the child she had been forced to leave behind. Poor Lyanna. The innocent in a game with no rules, no defined sides and no obvious way to win. Erienne yearned to see her little face, her delightful smile and her beautiful eyes. And she feared that if this mission went astray, and the Dordovans found Heren-deneth, she would not.
The strengthening wind drove the bow of the Ocean Elm into the next wave, sending spray flying into the air and across the foredeck. Erienne wiped a film of water from her face, turned and walked to the wheel deck, her balance true and confident after six days at sea.
Trotting up the eight-ranged ladder she came to stand by Ren'erei, the elf smiling at her, green eyes sparkling.
'Getting a little rough down there, was it?' she asked.
'No. It's just that I've already washed this morning, that's all,' she returned. 'How close are we?'
The Captain turned to her, reddened face pinched, his strong
hands rocks on the wheel. 'A day and a half, no more. Less if we go upriver through the night and I have a mind to.' His voice was melodic and gentle, so different from when he bellowed orders to his crew.
Erienne nodded. 'Then it's time I tried to contact Denser. I'll be in my cabin and I need to not be disturbed.'
'Then I'll be standing outside the door.' Ren'erei's face was solemn.
'You don't have to.' Erienne smiled.
'Nevertheless.'
Erienne led the way below decks, turning to Ren'erei as she reached the door to her cabin.
'You should hear nothing,' she said. 'But even if you do, don't worry. Occasionally, dispersal of Communion is a little painful.'
'Good luck,' said Ren'erei.
'Thank you.' She closed the door, lay down on her bed and closed her eyes. As she settled into the mana spectrum, searching for the spike that she would recognise as Denser, she prayed he was within her compass and, more importantly, that he would answer her at all.
She was not to be disappointed.
Chapter 13
Darrick faced down the angry Dordovan mage master in front of him. The young General hadn't slept, though his cavalry and mage charges had grabbed a few hours after arriving in the ruins of Greythorne in the middle of the night. Having overseen the picketing and feeding of the horses, he'd toured the ruins, resolving immediately to leave half of his four hundred cavalry to help the salvage effort, taking the balance on after a day's rest and assessment.
What he didn't need, with the stubble itching his chin, his eyes red and smarting and still wearing his riding garb, was the mage, Tendjorn, to disagree.
'These people need our help,' said Darrick. 'While you were resting, I was walking these streets. My decision stands.'
Tendjorn, not yet forty and with a flat, supercilious face, looked along his wide, veined nose from where he stood in the centre of Greythorne, clearly able to see the situation for himself.
'Your orders, if I'm not mistaken, General, are to support the forces now in and around Arlen and rendezvous with Vuldaroq on his arrival with your entire force. Our latest intelligence from Gorstan indicates we are close to finding the girl but will need to move fast. Ornouth is a long way and Xetesk and the Protectors are not far behind.'
'Open your tiny eyes, and see what I see, Tendjorn. I see a small town destroyed by a hurricane. And it was a hurricane that, by your own admission, was probably a result of Lyanna's awakening power.
'Now I understand your need to recapture her to stop all this but we have a duty as responsible ambassadors of magic to help those who have become innocent victims of whatever this actually is.'
Tendjorn smiled, a patronising gesture that sparked Darrick's anger, though he kept himself in check.
'General, I think you fail to fully understand the situation. This is not the end, though if we don't find the girl soon, it will be the beginning of the end. Every hour spent here is an hour wasted.'
'My decision stands and I would advise you to lower your voice next time you choose to utter such an insensitive remark. We do have the time.'
Tendjorn shook his head, his untidy dark hair flapping around his small round ears. 'I don't think so, General. Might I remind you-'
Darrick grabbed Tendjorn's shirt at the neck with both hands and dragged the mage close.
'Listen to me, Dordovan, and listen very well,' he grated, his eyes cold. He could see the sudden fear in the mage's face. 'These people need our help now. Not in a day, not in seven, but now. Do you really believe that I, as an emissary of Lystern, can ride out of here without lifting a finger? Never mind the unconscionable moral wrong, what the hell sort of a message do you think it would send them about us?
'This operation is under my control. It is two and a half days' ride to Arlen from here. It will take twice that time to secure and provision enough ships to sail as far as Ornouth. My cavalry are tired, my horses exhausted. We will stay to oversee the cleaning up here. Only then will half of us move to Arlen. There, I will decide if Izack and his men stay here or join us. Do you understand me?'
Darrick let the mage go and stepped back. 'Attempt to remove me from command if you dare.'
'Don't challenge me, Darrick,' spat Tendjorn, straightening his clothing and failing not to appear ruffled.
'It's not a challenge. I'm in charge here, remember that.'
'And remember who wields the real power,' returned the mage.
Darrick laughed. 'Yes I do. But we're not in Dordover now, are we? And you are among Lysternans.'
The young General stalked out of the square towards the camp to rouse his tired men to uncover more of the dead.
There had been no trouble with the townspeople who'd come to check on The Raven after the attack by the Dordovan mages. They had no energy to question their story and anyway, The Raven could always be trusted. A further blessing was the dry weather overnight
and The Raven woke shortly before dawn, at the insistence of The Unknown. The Communion to Denser had come with a pale light filtering beneath fast-moving, thin, high cloud across the wrecked town, the renewed noise of activity drifting up to them. Another weary day.
'Who is it?' asked Hirad.
Ilkar regarded him blankly. 'Well, it's a little difficult to tell, strangely enough.'
Hirad made a long face. 'Thought you mages knew this sort of stuff.'
'Tell me, Hirad, if someone gives a friend of yours a letter while you're standing there, do you immediately know who it's from?' Ilkar's ears pricked in irritation.
'Well, letters aren't magical, are they? Isn't there an aura or something?'
'Gods, Hirad, how many Communions have you seen? Isn't it obvious that it's a personal and private conversation?'
'But that doesn't mean you don't know who's talking,' said Hirad evenly but a smile was edging the corners of his mouth.
Ilkar pointed at his face. 'See these? They're eyes. See that? That's Denser, lying on the ground, receiving Communion from the Gods know where or who. I am a mage, not a seer, all right?'
'You know, I've really missed our intellectual debates,' said The Unknown dryly. He knelt by Denser and moved the mage's head further on to his rolled-up cloak. 'So well constructed and delivered.'
'Glad you think so,' muttered Ilkar, throwing a sideways glance at Hirad.