Vaddi felt a stab of unease. “You served my father?”
“Since your mother died. She was from a great elf family, the powerful line of Dendris, once said to have served the dragons themselves.”
Vaddi kept his thoughts to himself, but he knew that there was dragon blood in the line of Dendris and thus in him.
“There has been much inter-breeding between men and elves. I was married to an elf myself. She, too, was from the line of Dendris and a cousin of your mother.”
Still Vaddi did not comment. How much of this could he believe?
“Indreen was worshipped by Anzar and loved by many of the Oriens, but others were suspicious. It’s always the same with these Houses! Power mad, the lot of them. They like pure bloodlines. You must have come across such prejudices.”
Vaddi nodded.
“The line of Dendris has been the protector of a certain object of power for centuries.”
Again Vaddi said nothing, but it was clear what Nyam was referring to. Of course, the peddler had seen it on the island.
Nyam’s voice dropped to a whisper that only Vaddi heard. “It is named Erethindel. Since it was made, the line of Dendris has kept it safe, in the hands of a secret sect called the Keepers of the Horn. Indreen was a Keeper.”
“And you?”
“I serve the Keepers. My ties with the line of Dendris are strong, even though my family was killed in the Last War.” Nyam looked away, seemingly studying the passengers, though Vaddi could sense a shadow within him.
“What is the horn?”
“I believe it is really a horn—a unicorn’s. The totem of your House is a unicorn, is it not?”
“Yes.” Vaddi resisted the urge to reach inside his shirt to touch it. How was he to believe this peddler, who was perhaps not a peddler?
Nyam seemed to read his mind. “Why should you believe me, eh? Try this, Vaddi. The horn has runes. Have you read them?”
Vaddi frowned, shaking his head.
“They are in the elf-speech of Aerenal and say:
When you are alone and can read them, you’ll know the truth of what I say.”
Vaddi wanted to ask him why he had waited until now to reveal himself, but he heard Cellester approaching.
“Say nothing of this to him,” Nyam whispered.
Cellester was pushing his way through a group of passengers and when he saw Nyam, his eyes turned suddenly cold. He sat stiffly beside Vaddi, his manner unruffled.
“I changed my mind.” Nyam grinned. “My business will take me to Thrane, now that I’ve a healthy sum of money to support my ventures. You’ve no objection to my company? I fear you may require it.”
Cellester’s look grew even colder. “You think so?”
“I think that the Claw has not done with you.”
Vaddi saw the cleric tense, as if someone had slipped the point of a dirk under his cloak.
“Their servants are here,” Nyam added, “in numbers.”
Cellester nodded. “There are worse things ahead of us. We should be heading a point or two south of west, but this craft is slowly edging round to the south toward the Talenta Plains. I suspect the pilot is under threat. Several of the Lyrandar airmen are no longer in evidence.”
“You think they have … disembarked prematurely?” In spite of Nyam’s turn of phrase, Vaddi felt only horror at the implication.
“Why should you help us?” Cellester asked Nyam bluntly.
“I have no choice. I fought with you on the island. Now the Claw will have marked me. They will consider me your ally. If I’m under threat, I’d rather have you and your not inconsiderable skills at my side.”
“Just don’t expect to be paid again,” Cellester said.
“My continued existence would be reward enough.”
Vaddi said nothing but wondered why Nyam did not confide in the cleric as he had in himself. Did he not trust him?
“I would feel safer,” said Cellester, “if we spent the rest of the journey in the helmsman’s tower, with the last of the airmen. If we can secure ourselves in there, we can defend it from attack and help the pilot keep the ship on course. Let us make our way there slowly. And be ready to draw your steel.”
One by one, they each wound their way to the small tower under the huge ring of fire that was the elemental powering the ship’s flight. Flames crackled in that perfect circle, writhing and twisting, like no other fire that Vaddi had ever seen—a truly living entity. Outside the pilot’s area, a number of men stood in a knot, arms folded as if casually passing the time. But as the cleric and then Nyam approached, they tensed, their eyes betraying their true intent.
“This area is restricted,” growled one of them above the roar of the flames. They were very evidently not airmen.
“I would have a few words with the pilot,” said Cellester.
The men had formed a barrier across the doorway. Their leader shook his head.
Cellester slipped his sword from its sheath. “Stand aside.”
It was the signal for them all to draw arms. Cellester moved in a blur. His swordpoint tore through the throat of the spokesman and cut into the neck of another in one lightning strike. The first went down and began writhing in a growing pool of his own blood. The other shrieked, clutched at his wound, and backed quickly away.
Others pressed Cellester at once, only to find the blade of Nyam blocking their attack. He cut through the wrist of one of them and wounded another before the group could recover themselves. They shouted, and Vaddi heard a rush behind him. He turned. Two more men were charging them from behind. His own weapon plunged into the chest of the first assailant. Vaddi had no compunction about killing these men if they served the Claw. In his mind he still saw the fall of his father and the death of Menneath.
Nyam hacked down another of the men and Cellester kicked open the door to the pilot’s room, smashing aside a defender as he did so. There were two others in the room, clearly forcing the Lyrandar pilot to steer the Cloudclipper where they willed under threat of steel. They turned to face Cellester as he burst in on them and their swords clashed, sparks flying in the confined space.
Vaddi and Nyam found themselves the subject of an onslaught as a score of swordsmen came at them. Steel sang as they defended themselves. Vaddi ducked under the sword of one assailant and ran home his dirk, but as the man fell, he pulled Vaddi to one side. Nyam tried to step in to defend him, but they had underestimated the opposition. There were far too many. Something cracked up against Vaddi’s temple and he felt the darkness rushing up to meet him like a black wave. His last vision was of Cellester being dragged out of the pilot’s room, swords at his throat.
Intense pain woke Vaddi. He gently fingered his temple and his hand came away bloody. In the dim light he could see a figure slumped beside him.
“How’s your head?” came Nyam’s voice.
“Bursting. Where … ?”
“The cleric fights like a cornered wolf. I took a few out and then they decided that shutting us up below deck was their best bet for a safer voyage. The cleric’s in a smaller hole next door—doubtless knocked senseless, too.”
“They want us alive,” said Vaddi, slowly shaking himself awake.
“Oh, yes. Very much so. You and what you carry. The cleric and me for … well, I suspect Caerzaal will have thought up a suitable ending for us.”
Vaddi’s fingers touched the horn in the darkness, feeling the embossed runes upon it. “It’s still here. Why did they not take it?”
“I doubt these hired thugs could. Its power is attuned to your blood. For another to touch it, he would have to wield great power—certainly more than any of this lot possesses.”
“The Emerald Claw,” Vaddi breathed. “I know so tittle about it. There were muted tales at Marazanath. As children, we thought they were myths.”