“I suppose a storm could have hit them,” mused Temar. “They did set out barely halfway through For-Spring, but no one was prepared to wait until the Equinox, given the weather seemed set fair.”
“It would have to be some storm for all three ships to founder without at least one making it to land and no survivors washed ashore.” Grethist shook his head stubbornly. “We’d have seen sign of weather that severe as well, uprooted trees and the like.”
Temar shrugged. “So what do you suppose befell them? Sickness, disease, falling prey to beasts when they put ashore? We’re talking about eighty-some men, Dastennin help them!”
“I’ll get the longboat launched.” The captain set his square, gray-bearded jaw. “If they made landfall here, there’ll be fire-pits and such, some sign, and we should be able to get some idea of when they landed, how many they were. That should give us something to work on. Maybe they’ve headed up this river, it looks as if it should be navigable a fair way inland. Wasn’t that something they were supposed to be doing?”
“You’re probably right.” Temar nodded, the tension in the back of his mind easing at this eminently reasonable suggestion. “Still, we don’t know what’s prowling these forests, do we? Make sure the rowers take weapons with them, swords for those that have them and the ship’s axes for those that don’t. Let’s not take any chances.”
He stood with Grethist and watched as the crew lowered the shallow ship’s boat down to the glassy surface of the estuary, oars hitting the water with a crack that echoed back from the distant hills.
“Can I speak with you for a moment, Temar?”
“Demoiselle.” Temar turned and bowed to Guinalle with precisely calculated courtesy.
She ignored the faint provocation in his greeting but swept him an ironic curtsey more suited to a silken robe than the practical gray woollen dress she was wearing. “There’s something wrong,” she stated abruptly. “I can feel something peculiar, just hovering beyond my comprehension, a threat of some kind.”
“Quietly, please.” Temar looked around to see if anyone had overheard this unnerving pronouncement, relieved to see the remaining sailors absorbed in watching the longboat make its slow way inshore. “What exactly are you telling me?”
“I don’t exactly know,” admitted Guinalle, her frustration plain to see as she tucked her hands inelegantly through her braided leather girdle. “I can’t put my finger on it but something’s wrong. Avila and I have been reaching out to see if we can find anyone to contact; the expedition may have been lost, but I can’t believe no one survived.”
“But you can’t find anyone?” interrupted Temar.
“It’s not that, exactly.” Guinalle frowned. “It’s more as if I’m trying to look through a fog. Avila says it’s like trying to shout when you’re wearing a veil.”
“You were saying yourself that working Artifice from a ship was causing some odd effects,” Temar reminded her, a suspicion of satisfaction in his voice. “Perhaps things work differently on this side of the ocean. There was that business when the far-seeing to the mines went all wrong, wasn’t there?”
“That was seldom-used Artifice in barely trained hands,” insisted Guinalle. “I am arguably one of the best practitioners anywhere in the Empire and this is a skill I mastered long ago. This is different, Temar, you have to believe me. There’s a danger out there and everyone needs to be alert for a sign of it. Avila feels it too, just a little but enough to convince me it’s real.”
Temar raised a hand to silence her, frowning. “All right, I take your word for it. What do you want me to do? You say we’re in peril, but you can’t tell me how or why. Look around you, these men are tense enough; they had friends, brothers aboard the ships we’re searching for. They’re already worried enough about getting so far along the coast and still failing to find them.” He realized his words were sounding harder than he intended and tried to soften his tone. “Please understand me; it’s not that I don’t believe you, I do, honestly. It’s just that I’m simply not prepared to make a potentially bad situation worse by giving out some vague warning of danger when I can’t answer the first question that anyone puts to me about it. When you have something definite to tell me, something I can explain to the crew, I will act. Until then, please keep this quiet; we have enough problems to handle without adding unfounded fears.”
Guinalle’s lips were thin with irritation and a faint flush of anger reddened her cheeks. “Of course, Esquire, my duty to you. I’ll do what I can.” She turned on her heel and strode briskly away, neck and shoulders stiff with annoyance, soft shoes hissing across the polished decking.
Temar watched her go with a sinking feeling compounded of contrition and exasperation. When would he be able to have a conversation with Guinalle without one or other of them giving or taking offense in some way? He was doing his best to avoid her, since she’d made it clear she wanted no part of him, Saedrin curse it, but given the seriousness of this situation, Den Fellaemion had insisted on putting Guinalle and her deftest pupils aboard.
“Did the Demoiselle have some word for you?” Master Grethist’s curt enquiry pushed Temar’s personal turmoil aside.
“Not as such, nothing important.” Temar smiled in what he hoped was a convincing manner.
The sailor took a pouch from the pocket of his rough, sailcloth tunic, helping himself to chewing leaf before offering Temar some as an afterthought. “Coming all this way, finding no answers, the lads are starting to ask questions. Have you heard how the other expedition fared, the one that headed south?”
“Yes, of course.” Temar shook his head at the offer of leaf and at his own stupidity for not sharing his news. “I should have told you, I’m sorry. From what they’ve reported, it seems that coast runs pretty well due south for a hundred and sixty leagues or so, and then it curves around back to run east and north, up a long sound fed by a massive river, about eighty, ninety leagues inland overall. It’s excellent land for running cattle on by all accounts, not nearly so much timber as these northern and eastern reaches.”
The captain’s eyes brightened. “That sounds promising, somewhere to think about taking the young stock calved this year.”
“It’s looking very good,” agreed Temar. “Messire Den Rannion is already talking about founding a new settlement there before the turn of the year. As far as he can judge, it’ll be only a scant hundred leagues from the port overland, less from the mines.”
“Maybe so, but that’ll be over some vicious, steep ground, won’t it?” Grethist laughed nevertheless. “I’ll take sail to see it, until they build a decent high road.”
Temar smiled. “I’ll hitch a ride with you, Master.”
A shout from above turned the mariner’s head and Temar turned his attention back to his journal, leafing through it to find the news of the southern expedition that Guinalle had relayed to him just after they had set out on this voyage. That had come from one of Guinalle’s most recently trained adepts, hadn’t it? Artifice had kept that other flotilla firmly linked to the port, information passed back every second or third day. What had befallen this northern expedition, what had happened to the ships they were now seeking, that they had vanished so thoroughly without even a hint from the Adepts aboard? What sort of things might have affected the use of Artifice? How well skilled had the Adepts been who had joined the expedition? Temar stifled a regret at his ill-tempered decision to abandon his own studies of Artifice during the winter seasons, unable to stand being in such close contact with Guinalle on a daily basis.