“You want to stay alive, you leave the pilot to me.”
Nyam was about to say something more, but Cellester pulled him back. “Leave it. We gain nothing by continuing the fight here.”
Vaddi called to them both. “The halflings! I think they’re going.”
Nyam turned and laughed. “Yes, they’ve done well. Everything that wasn’t bolted down will have been filched. Down!”
This last came just in time, for as the halfling raiders leaped back on to their mounts, their companions unleashed yet another hail of arrows, yelling and howling with glee. They circled the ship twice, then as one, swept up into the blue vault, diving downwards toward the plains in a perfect formation.
Vaddi stood at the rail and watched them go, marvelling at their mastery of flight, for all their barbarism. For the first time, he saw the landscape far below, where grass-covered hills stretched in every direction west and northward, but to the east and curving slightly southward the hills turned to desert. To the east, rising into the clouds, a wall of mountains rose up as the ship flew ever closer to it. He sensed a movement beside him.
“The Endworld Mountains,” said Nyam. “We’ve come a long way south and eastward over the plains. That long stretch of sand at their feet is the Blade Desert.”
“Where do you think they are taking us?”
Nyam shrugged. “There are some inhospitable regions ahead of us, if we cross the Endworld range, we’ll head into Q’barra, land of the lizardfolk. Not a pleasant prospect. To the far south is Valenar, your mother’s homeland, but I cannot believe they will take us there.”
Vaddi turned as Cellester joined them, looking about him at the body-strewn deck. “I doubt if any of the airmen are left alive, and there are no passengers that I can see. These mercenaries planned to crew the ship themselves. They’re pirates, so they’re capable of it. Except that the halflings have wreaked havoc among them.”
“How many are alive?” said Nyam.
“Barely enough.”
“I have no skill in these matters. Have you?”
Cellester shook his head. “The pilot’s powers of telepathy must be thinly stretched. To control the elemental will be very hard.” He looked up at the fiery ring surrounding the centre of the ship. It burned evenly, for the moment apparently unaffected by the conflict.
“I know one thing,” said Nyam, slipping his sword into his belt. “I’ll die of starvation before anything else unless I find something to eat. Let’s hope the halflings have left us a few crumbs.”
He wound his way across the deck and disappeared down below without further ado.
“For a peddler,” said Cellester, “he wields a lively blade.”
“You trust him?”
“No. Nor must you, Vaddi.”
“Who does he serve?”
“I don’t know, but I have my suspicions.” Cellester looked out over the rolling plains, pulling his cloak tighter against the cold air. “We are far from Thrane, but it may be better if we go elsewhere. Kazzerand will be waxing strong now that Anzar is dead. If he has any part in your being hunted, we’d do better to go south. To Valenar, perhaps.”
“My father had no love for Kazzerand. He told me the warlord was a jealous rival.”
“He is not a man to be crossed. Once, as a young man in the Church, I met with his disfavor. I suspected Kazzerand of intrigue and would not follow the path of his ambitions. Anzar, too, spurned his demands. I left Thrane and came to your father’s Hold, setting aside the Church and all the hypocrisy I had found within it.”
Vaddi was surprised by the cleric’s admission, which seemed to have a ring of sincerity about it. “What is it that Kazzerand wants?”
“What do they all want? Power. They go to such lengths. It would not surprise me to learn that Kazzerand has had dealings with the Claw itself. You understand its influence, Vaddi?”
“I saw Marazanath fall.”
“Yes, but you have the talisman safe?” The cleric’s voice had fallen again.
Vaddi nodded. “The vampire lord may desire it, but I saw the dread of it shake him as a dog shakes a rat.”
“He craves it. The Emerald Claw would sacrifice armies to win it, as you have seen.”
“What of this Caerzaal? You have crossed his path before?”
“Yes, though he did not recognize me. Years ago, in Thrane, when I was younger and more naïve, I saw him. He was already a paladin, steeped in power, a worthy crusader in the name of the Silver Flame. Yet you see in him now how absolutely the Blood of Vol corrupts! He has passed over entirely into the service of the Claw, trading his soul for a kind of immortality.”
“You said he will follow us?”
“For certain.”
“Is he, then, an agent of Kazzerand?”
“It is possible, though Caerzaal prefers to think of himself as an independent force,” said the cleric. “It is a weakness in him. To drink the Blood of Vol is to become the slave of the Claw. You have no other choice.”
“Then we should avoid Thrane?”
“For now.” He attempted a smile. “But we may have little say in the matter.”
Further discussion was at an end, for Nyam had again appeared, now carrying over his shoulder a sack. With a triumphant grin he set it down upon the deck in front of them, opened it, and proceeded to take out some flagons, loaves of bread, cheese, and a number of crusty cakes.
“Not a king’s repast, but enough to fill a hungry belly!” He laughed, uncorking a flagon and sniffing at the contents. He grimaced, tossing the flagon over the side of the craft in disgust. “Gone off! Thankfully there is fresh water.”
They ate their fill, Vaddi realising just how ravenous he was. The pain in his head began to abate at last.
“So what’s the plan?” said Nyam, wiping his lips.
Cellester was looking up at the fire ring of the elemental.
“Something wrong?” said Nyam, sensing the cleric’s unease.
“Yes. The elemental. It is restless. See how it shimmers. The patterns are changing.”
“Meaning what?” said Vaddi.
“By the Rings of Siberys,” Nyam gasped. “It looks as if it’s preparing to take flight! It’s abandoning us!”
“If it does,” said Cellester, “the ship will go down like a stone.”
6
The Nightmare City
They inched their way over the body-strewn deck to a point where they could watch the pilot’s tower without being seen. They could hear the raised voices of the remaining four mercenaries arguing. The ship gave a lurch and there were loud curses.
“Turbulence,” said Nyam. “Common, this close to the mountains.”
Vaddi looked to his left and frowned. The huge mass of the Endworld range loomed very near now.
“If they are trying to get the pilot to take the ship into the mountains, they are fools,” said Cellester. “Without a full crew, it’s suicide.”
As if to underline his point, the ship lurched again. Vaddi looked up at the ring of fire. It crackled and fizzed in anger. It knows, he thought.
“We’d do better without these unwanted guests,” said Nyam.
Cellester frowned. “You want to risk an attack?”
“Use the turbulence. Left to himself, the pilot could steer us down on to the desert.”
“Vaddi?”
Vaddi nodded, pulling out his sword. They edged still closer. The mercenaries were concentrating on the way ahead, crowded around the pilot. He brought the ship around in a slow bank, but as he did so, another fierce gust of wind struck it like a heavy wave. In the confined space of the pilot’s room, the men staggered.
Cellester and Nyam braced against the shudders of the craft and moved forward in silence, Vaddi close at their heels. They waiting for another lurch, and when the men inside stumbled. Vaddi and his companions leaped inside. Vaddi chopped two of them aside and drove his dirk into the belly of a third. One of the men made a stab for the pilot, his knife scoring a deep gash in his side before Cellester could plunge his sword down to finish the mercenary.