~Chapter Nine~
By Valethor's Grace
Bay of Sildé, Aldar
Kingdom of Cedirc
7th Day of Pendelius, 247 A.C.
Late Afternoon
“I can’t believe we get to do this,” Elenor shouted, verily vibrating with excitement as she stood beside her siblings at the bow of the Solarius as it sailed towards the cliffs of the caldera.
“I know! After seeing them first hand, I did not expect to be able to experience it,” Steffan agreed, his discontent at having to board the foreign vessel seemingly forgotten as he, too, got swept up on the anticipation.
Standing between his siblings, Rolan suppressed a grin, trying to keep semblance of calm, as though this was nothing out of the ordinary for them, though he too was positively brimming with anticipation, but decided not to respond, not wanting to shout unless he had to. The droplets kicked up from the nearby Falls of Remembrance shimmered in all the colours of the rainbow in the late afternoon sun as the ship sailed into the mists.
It seemed completely illogical to Rolan that in spite of the thousands of gallons of water plummeting the three hundred feet from the River Elan into the bay only thirty feet away from the vessel, causing turbulent, violent waters that did not calm for a long way, the ship they were on did not shudder in the slightest. A long breakwater of stacked rocks protected the ship from the roiling waters at the base of the falls, forming the northern boundary of the channel through which they sailed, with the edge of the north wharf of the Longdocks forming the southern boundary. The thunderous roar of the nearby falls made talking at anything less than a shout impossible, and even then it was easy to miss what was said unless the conversers were standing directly next to one another, as the siblings were.
The mists fell to the deck, wetting the planks and making it slick for any who walked on them. His clothes were also damp and clung to his skin, as did the clothes of all those who remained on the deck.
None cared.
Almost every eye not needed to guide the vessel safely through the narrow channel was on the great falls that were currently approaching off the port side, taking in the grandeur of the falls from this seldom seen perspective. Those few that were not watching the falls were watching as the yawning, pitch black opening in the caldera wall that was barely visible through the obscuring mists grew larger as they drew closer.
Rolan was one of those that stared ahead of the ship, feeling the anticipation welling up inside him. He gripped the polished rail of the forecastle, he could hardly believe that they were actually going to do this. Working hard to keep the child-like excitement and wonder that threatened to spill out from within him as the moment drew nearer, he found himself on the brink of being grateful that the near catastrophe on the docks had forced them to take this route instead.
In the days the had been in Aldar, the DeCarrens had seen several barges using the Lifts of Valethor, but he had never imagined that they would be able to as well.
The original plan had been to escort the Eno’Kalian delegates through the city, taking them up the Winding Way from the Longdocks and Quayside to the Upper City and into the Terrace to the Trekon Estate, where they would have stayed the night before setting out for the capitol the next day. Some small part of him would have preferred had everything gone according to plan, but he also suspected that Roussan would have continued to hold he and his siblings in contempt as he had following their initial meeting. Their discussion after the near-riot had at least shown Roussan that he had a spine, and had earned him a modicum of respect from the foreigner, though Antonia clearly still thought little of him. Still, Rolan was pleased with how everything had worked out once the crowd had dispersed.
His excitement over getting to experience the Lifts for himself were only tempered by the memory of that green tinted knife hovering above him as he had worked to rescue the Eno’Kalian woman. That concerned him deeply, especially knowing that attempts had been made on his father as well.
Someone truly did not want the treaty to go through.
He regretted that the would-be assassin had gotten away, but took solace in the fact that he had dropped the dagger, and the blade had been recovered by Steffan, who still had it on his person. They had decided to take a closer look at it once they had reached the safety of Trekon Manor in the Terrace.
In spite of his concern over the attempt on his life, his mind could not stay focused on the black clad man as the opening to the Lifts drew ever closer, a black opening above which the dark grey and brown cliffs of the caldera loomed.
The Lifts of Valethor were usually only used to transport barges full of ore or other goods from the capital or distant Sable from the top of the River Elan to the base of the caldera, from whence they would continue on to distant markets. This saved the time and effort of unloading the goods at the docks on the River Elan, transporting them down the Winding Way from the Upper City to Quayside and the Longdocks, where they would be reloaded onto new ships that would take them to distant markets for sale. That process was generally cheaper than using the Lifts, but took much longer and required much more in the way of manpower, especially in the case of heavier items, such as the highly sought after Carasian marble from the capitol.
The benefit of the Lifts, therefore, was efficiency. The downside was that there was a higher risk of damage to both the goods and the vessel transporting them, if not the complete loss of the goods altogether
Elboreth Trekon had made it clear that barges were sometimes destroyed in the lifts of they were not properly secured, stating, “Ships have broken apart within the lifts, even when properly secured. The sluice gates do not always open and close as they should and many ships have been dashed against the walls as a result. I would not allow any to use it as you intend if I saw another way that would not require more time and preparation. As it is, I must caution you: your safety is not guaranteed.”
“And it is if we pass through your city?” Roussan had asked, and Elboreth had not pressed the point. The emperor’s uncle had seemed most keen to ride the Lifts up as soon as the idea had been put forward by Steffan.
Antonia, on the other hand, had not been impressed upon hearing the exchange, and it had taken Roussan and Elkar a long while to convince her that it was a necessary risk, not to mention their only real option following the riot. Roussan had made quite the first impression on the good people of Aldar, after all. She had only calmed when Rolan had made it clear that he would be accompanying their guests aboard the Solarius. Elboreth, of course, had argued against it—especially when Elenor and Steffan had made their intention to ascend the Lifts known.
“We cannot risk the entire future of Cedirc on this!” he had protested, and loudly, but the DeCarren’s would not be swayed.
“We would be poor hosts indeed if we did not endure whatever trials our guests will by their side,” Rolan had proclaimed in response, and that had ended the High Lord’s arguments for good. Truth be told, the prince was quite proud of how he had shut the man’s protestations up, in no small part because he had again seen the appraising look in Roussan’s dark eyes and figured he had moved up a notch or two in the Eno;Kalian’s eyes.
Every little bit helped, in that regard.
The next couple of hours had been spent emptying the deck of Solarius of anything that was not secured and relocating it all to the cargo hold below. The masts had been lowered and removed as well, to ensure their survival within the shafts of the Lifts, and the ship now moved under the power of two sweeps of oars. Once several of the dockworkers in Elboreth’s employ had double checked that all seemed secure and in order, they had prepared to cast off from the dock. The High Lord had had one final reminder before letting them go, however.
“Stay below decks once the chains are secured, and do not emerge until you are told to. You do not want to be on deck when the sluices are opened,” he had emphasized this last point several times before. Once he had their word that they would do as he said and vacate the deck, he had sighed and bid them farewell.
Antonia had taken his words to heart, and had not been seen above decks since the High Lord had departed, sequestering herself in her suite after trying one final time to change Roussan’s mind. Elkar had joined in with her, and they had made rather compelling arguments. So compelling, in fact, that Rolan had begun to worry that they would succeed in swaying their colleague.
Of all things, Rolan had the Eno’Kalia societal hierarchy to thank for ending the dispute, though Antonia had been less than pleased with that, as well. Roussan had listened to their protests and arguments for a short time before he had quite simply reminded them that he was, in fact, the uncle of the emperor himself, meaning that it was therefore his decision to make. And made it he had, much to the displeasure of the other two delegated. Rolan had to admit to feeling a small amount of pleasure at seeing the deep scowl on Antonia’s face as she had left the deck in a huff. He had a felt a slight pang of pity for Elkar, who had remained on deck in an attempt at stoicism, but as the mists had begun to dampen his clothes he, too, had gone below decks, leaving Roussan as the only Eno’Kalian on the deck, aside from a handful of sailors as the ship approached the entrance to the Lifts.
“It truly is quite the sight to behold, is it not?”
Rolan gave a slight jump at the unexpected shout from Roussan that came from directly behind him.
He had been so caught up in watching the entrance to the Lifts grow ever larger that he had not noticed the nobleman’s approach. He had not heard his approach either, which was not a surprise given that he could hardly hear himself think of the continuing roar that echoed off the cliffs around them. He turned and gave the delegate a nod, sliding over to make room for Roussan at the rail between himself and Elenor.
The nobleman accepted the unspoken invitation, stepping forward and leaning against he wet railing, seeming far more relaxed than he had been since his arrival in Aldar. Out of the corner of his eye, he say Steffan stiffen on his other side, though he did not say anything aloud that Rolan could hear.
“I have waited a long time to see this for myself,” the older man said, shouting to be heard over the clamor of the falls.
“You have heard of the Lifts?”
“Most of the civilized world has heard of of the Lifts of Valethor, my young prince!” Roussan surprised him by clapping him on the shoulder, “They are talked of with much wonder in far off places. Never did I dream that I would get the opportunity to see them, much less utilize them myself.”
“I regret that this was the only option left to us, my lord.”
“That is not your fault, but mine,” Roussan waved off the apology, “And while I do regret that we will not be able to see much of Aldar, this is an acceptable consolation prize. To see the Lifts from within…”
“We will not be able to see much, I am afraid,” Rolan replied, “There will not be any light within, once the entrance is shut.”
“And we will all be below decks,” Steffan added dryly from his other side, tone pitched low enough so only Rolan could hear over the continuing roar of the falls—or so Rolan hoped.
“To experience the Lifts, then,” Roussan corrected with a deep, booming heartfelt laugh.
Rolan could not help but wonder at the change in the nobleman’s demeanor. From their initial meeting, he had seemed arrogant and unyielding, but since the riot, he had become much more amenable and overall charismatic. He was not complaining about the apparent heel-turn in Roussan’s character, but thought it odd nonetheless. It was not what he had expected from him, especially after learning the cause of the riot. The Eno’Kalian seemed to be fully embracing the notion that they were not in their own lands, and doing his best to adjust to Cedirc’s laws and customs.
The pessimistic side of Rolan wondered how long it would the last.
His optimistic side hoped they were past the biggest hurdle, and it would be smooth sailing from here on out.
The realist in him knew it would be a long journey to Caras, filled with more ups and downs—though hopefully more of the former than the latter.
Eno’Kalian culture was radically different from Cedircian, after all, and it was all but inevitable that they would encounter more disagreements and pitfalls on the road to true peace and friendship. But, Antonia’s attitude aside, Rolan was feeling more confident in the treaty than he had while waiting for the delegation to arrive. Their arrival had not gone as planned, that much was true, but it also had not gone as poorly as Rolan had initially thought. He could see the silver lining in all that had occurred.
He wished it had not taken a riot to get Roussan to respect him, but at least that was a positive outcome.
The opening to the Lifts yawned wide directly in front of them now, cloaking the ship in darkness as it began to pass within it.
The Aldarian standing beside the helmsmen at the tiller whispered to him, and the helmsmen shouted loudly “Slow oars!” Rolan heard the command repeated several times, until it was barely audible above the cacophony of the waterfall as the order was passed on to those below.
Mixed in with the commands, he thought he heard a piercing cry, one he knew all too well, and he turned about and peered at the sky, seeing three large birds flying high over the bay behind them. He thought he could just make out the form of a rider upon one of them, but they were lost to sight as the Solarius passed fully into the lifts, hidden from view by the rocky overhang of the opening.
Kyarra?
He was certain that had been the cry of a gryphon, and did not know of any other avians in the area that grew as large.
If it was indeed a trio of gryphons he had sighted, he was almost certain she would be among them. But who had she brought with her?
And more importantly, what news did they bear?
He almost regretted joining the Eno’kalians in the Lifts as he pondered what their presence could mean.
Almost, but not quite.
“Hold water!” the helmsmen cried—again at the behest of their Aldarian guide—and Rolan felt the boat begin to slow as the rowers below immediately halted all motion, holding the blades of their oars in the water to bring the Solarius to a gradual halt.
He looked around them, taking in their surroundings.
There was not much to see in the faint sun light that reflected off the surface of the water behind them, the light seeming to dance on the walls with the movement of the water. Ahead he could see a faint glow in what appeared to be an alcove still some distance ahead, as if a torch blazed there, just out of sight. Feeling a drop of water land on his head he looked up to see several stalactites hanging from the ceiling, their tips seeming to miss the top of the mainsail mast by only a few hand-spans.
Aside from the approaching alcove and the stalactites above, the cavern into which the ship had sailed was relatively featureless. The channel itself was narrow, the oars in the water only missing contacting the walls by a few feet on either side. The walls were rough hewn pitchstone and basalt, the same minerals that comprised the cliffs outside. Here and there, quartz or other lustrous minerals caught the water’s reflected light, twinkling like stars around them.
“It’s beautiful,” he heard Elenor breathe, and could not disagree.
“It certainly is, Princess,” Roussan replied, “It is quite the sight indeed.”
Elenor seemed surprised to get a response, and it took Rolan a moment to figure out why. They had had to shout to be heard over the roar of the waterfall as they had sailed past it, but now it was just a distant rumble, echoing off the walls around them, and they could hear each other once again.
The bow of the Solarius reached what he had taken to be an alcove, and Rolan saw that he had been wrong. It was not just an alcove, but the end of the tunnel. A sheer wall of the same rough hewn rock rose in front of them, completely vertical aside from the odd protrusion, so far as he could see. He craned his neck to look straight up above them, seeing a rectangle of light far above them and knowing it to be the surface, three hundred or so feet above them. In all four corners he could just make out metal rails, glowing orange in the reflected torchlight. The ship glided to a stop, the bowsprit stopping just a handful of feet shy of the wall in front.
“Stow oars!”
The command echoed about them, and Rolan heard the oars sliding back into the ship. He watched as the three men who had been waiting for them began walking around a narrow ledge that ran around three sides of the tunnel, ending at the farthest rail from where the men had waited. When they arrived at the far corner, the hoisted a dripping chain out of the water and tossed it to the deck of the Eno’Kalian vessel, where two of the Aldarians who had come aboard at the docks were waiting. They affixed the chain to the vessel, looping it around the thickest timbers they could find on the port side of the quarterdeck and securing it, before moving to back to the previous corner and doing the same, this chain being attached near to where the DeCarren’s and Roussan stood on the forecastle, all four of who watched them with interest as they did the same on the starboard side of the forecastle and the quarterdeck.
Once all four chains were secured and their tightness had been double checked, all of the Aldarian’s aboard the Solarius disembarked, jumping to the side passage. From behind came the grating sound of stone sliding against stone, and all four looked back to see a large slab of stone slowly lowering from the ceiling directly behind the stern of the ship. They watched as it blocked their view of the bay and slid even lower, hearing the splash and sloshing of water as it slid fully into place, fully blocking the ship in within the rectangular confines of the column. The only sources of light remaining now were the distant opening at the top of the column, and the single torch held by one of the Aldarians.
“Ye had best get below decks now, prince,” one of the Aldarians in the passage said, “Once the stone door ‘ere closes, the deck is going to get wet, and the waters choppy. If yer lucky, it won’t get too rough. If not…” he let the unfinished warning hang in the air a moment before adding, “The High Lord asked me to offer to take ye to the surface if ye changed yer mind.”
Rolan glanced at his siblings, who both shook their heads, and at Roussan, who looked almost insulted at the suggestion, before replying, “Thank the High Lord for us, sir, but we stay with the ship.”
“Aye, he said that would be yer response,” the Aldarian laughed, “Well, best of luck to all o’ ye, then. We’ll see ye topside, if’n Valethor wishes it.”
With a wave, the Aldarian turned and began heading down the tunnel, the others following until only the torchbearer remained. Taking the cue, Rolan and the others made for the hatch to the ships hold and descended within. Rolan glanced back to the passage as he began to pull the hatch shut after him, seeing another stone door sliding into place as the torchlight receded down the hall. It grated shut, leaving the ship surrounded by darkness as the echoes of the rumbling stone gradually faded. He closed the hatch and secured it, and descended the stairs the rest of the way, finding his siblings in a nearby corner, sitting on some crates and barrels that were held in place with nets. Clusters of Eno’Kalian soldiers, servants, and sailors likewise sat or leaned against similar stacks of crates and barrels, chatting in hushed voices. Roussan was nowhere to be seen, and Rolan assumed he had gone to check on Elkar and Antonia in their quarters.
He made his way to his siblings as the sound of stone sliding on stone came once more from without, muted somewhat by the thick timbers of the ship’s siding, but sounding clearly nonetheless. A second later came the clear sound of water splashing on all sides, and the ship shuddered. All conversation in the hold ceased in a sudden hush as the vessel seemed to shift to starboard.
The metallic clink of tightening chains preceded the sudden stop of movement in that direction, and the ship rocked back to port before being caught by the chains off the starboard side, halting it’s movement once more and shifting the ship to starboard. The sound of pouring water intensified, and Rolan imagined he could feel the ship rising as the now-sealed column began filling with water from above. The piercing keen of metal sliding on metal could be heard, and Rolan knew that the anchor points for the chains, fitted into the rails within each corner, were rising with the vessel.
The upwards momentum of the ship slowed as the sound of pouring water lessened, and eventually both ceased altogether, and the Solarius rocked gently back and forth, eventually coming to a standstill amidst the rattling of the chains that kept it tethered. The grinding of many stone doors sliding shut, splashing into the water around the ship, announce the closure of the first layer of chutes. From his discussion with Elboreth, who had explained the process in detail to them on the docks, Rolan knew that meant they had risen ten feet.
Conversations started up all around them again as the boat settled.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Elenor said quietly.
“That was only the first of thirty rows of sluices,” Rolan reminded.
“We still have a long way to rise,” Steffan added, nodding at his brother’s words.
“That may be, but from the High Lord’s warnings, I expected it to be much worse,” Elenor said defensively, and Rolan heard the sentiment echoed around them.
“It may yet be so,” he said.
The same grating sound as before heralded the opening of more sluices above, followed immediately by the sound of rushing water splashing all around the vessel. The ship began to shake and rise again, swaying side to side as water splashed against the hull in a constant deluge from above. As before, the closer the ship rose to the level of the sluice gates, the slower it rose, and the gentler it rocked, until the gates shut once more and the vessel settled as the waters supporting it settled.
This process repeated itself many more times, each the same as the last, and the atmosphere within the Solarius became much more relaxed. Laughter could be heard from several of the groups as conversation renewed, the grating of stone on stone as the sluices opened and closed becoming nothing more than background noise, along with the squealing of the anchor points sliding within the wet metal track. Even Rolan began to relax after the tenth round of sluices slammed shut.
By the time the gates opened for the twenty first time, Rolan and his siblings had relaxed and were leaning back on the crates, enjoying the rocking of the boat as water started pouring down around the ship again.
With a sudden muted thump from outside, the ship suddenly lurched violently to the starboard side.
Those who had been standing suddenly found themselves stumbling about trying to keep their balance, or falling to the floor. Even some of those who had been sitting or lounging on the bound crates and barrels found themselves suddenly sprawled on the wooden floor.
For a moment, Solarius stopped rising.
But the water did not.
They could hear the splashing as more water kept pouring into the column around them.
Then the ship started tilting to the starboard side, slowly at first, then faster as the water kept pouring out of the next level of sluices.
“What’s happening?” Steffan shouted from his new location on the floor, rubbing the back of his head with a groan.
The Solarius creaked and groaned around them as the ship rolled even more.
Water started pouring in through the cracks of the deck on the starboard side, where the water outside had risen above the hull. The Eno’Kalians on that side began scrambling as fast as they could towards the port side of the hold, grasping the rope nets to help them make progress as the ship leaned even more starboard.
Rolan had an idea what had happened, but instead of answering his brother, he rushed to the steep staircase that led above deck. As his siblings cried out to him to stop, he pulled the locking bar aside and, pushing the hatch open, poked his head out to look around them.
He fervently hoped he was wrong.
This close to the surface—they were maybe a hundred feet down still, if his count of sluices was accurate—there was enough light penetrating the column for him to make out the chain on the front starboard side of the ship.
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Or rather, the water that covered where he knew the chain to be attached to.
The runner the chain was attached to was stuck.
The water level was rising, steadily covering more of the deck on that side as the sluices kept pouring more water in. Peering around, Rolan noted with some relief that they were only two feet below the next level of sluice gates, which meant the water level would stop rising soon.
Until the set above that opened.
Unless he was able to release the stuck chain, the vessel would eventually be submerged.
Muttering a curse, and heedless of the shouts of alarm and protest coming from below, he climbed out of the hold and onto the drenched deck. He immediately found himself sliding towards the water covering the starboard side of the bow as the ship tilted more and his boots slipped on the wet boards. He slid into the railing of the forecastle with a grunt, but was able to collect himself enough to peer into the dark waters ahead.
The scant amount of light that penetrated this deep into the shaft reflected off something metallic that was tied about the foremast.
The chain.
He looked to the sluice gates; they were only a foot above the water now.
He did not have much time.
Taking a deep breath, he pulled himself over the railing, sliding down the slick, angled deck of the forecastle to slam into the partially submerged foremast, managing to grab hold of one of the links as he started sliding around it.
The water stopped rising.
Groping blindly with one hand while holding onto the chain for dear life with the other, he found the pin that secured the end of the chain to itself.
With a grunt, he grasped hold of it and pulled with all his might.
It did not budge.
Gates slid open above him.
Water started pouring in again.
Muttering a quick prayer to the ocean god, Rolan took a breath and, grasping hold of the pin firmly once more, released his other hand.
He slid further into the water, but was able to catch hold of the chain with his free hand. Slowly, aware that the water was rising around him once more, he repositioned himself so his feet were flat on the deck beneath the water and grasped the pin with both hands.
He pulled on the pin once again, using his legs to give him extra leverage.
The pin moved slightly, but as the it did the chain shifted, pinching it once more. The foremast groaned in protest as the ship struggled to rise with the water. He heard several small cracks, and saw the mast begin to flex.
Cursing loudly, Rolan took a breath as the water rose above his mouth.
He gripped the pin tightly and pulled.
The pin pulled free, and the next thing he knew he was being pulled towards the outer railing of the forecastle as the ship, freed from its bondage, surged upwards. The chain had caught Rolan’s leg upon being released, and now held him firmly in place as the ship moved.
He slammed into the railing and, though he heard it crack under the impact, it held as he felt the chain tear his clothing, releasing him.
Gasping for breath, he gripped the railing for dear life as the ship righted itself, over correcting and rolling hard the other way as the deluge of water continued from above. He clung to the railing for what felt like an eternity as the rocking slowed, waiting for the Solarius to reach the next row of sluice gates.
Feeling the ship’s ascent slow once more, he released his grip on the railing and half ran, half stumbled across the deck of the forecastle, taking advantage of the gentler rocking to make his way hurriedly down the three steps to the main deck, and on towards the hatch. The trapdoor was partially open, and a pair of eyes in a helmeted head was watching him as he pounded across the slick deck. As he neared the hatch, he heard the sluices around them slam into place, halting the flow of water momentarily. The person on the stairs heaved the hatch open and disappeared within the hold.
Knowing the next set of gates would be sliding open in a matter of seconds, he verily leaped through the opening, hurriedly began climbing down, stopping only to reach for the hatch at the same time he heard the sluices above grating open.
Rolan glanced up to see water beginning to pour from each of the four openings, plummeting towards the ship like miniature waterfalls.
He slammed the hatch shut a moment before the falling water impacted the deck, causing the ship to sway even more violently than it had before. He lost his footing as the Solarius lurched aggressively to the port side, and fell backwards down the remainder of the stairs, rolling across the floor.
Shouts rang out as he fell, indistinguishable from one another.
He felt a hard impact on the back of his skull, and knew no more.
The next thing he knew, cold water was being splashed across his face as his sister called to him frantically.
With a groan, hand rubbing the back of his throbbing head, probing to find the tender spot where it had struck the deck. He winced as a jolt of pain shot through his head as his fingers found it.
“Rolan, are you all right?”
He felt hands grabbing his shoulders on either side as Elenor asked the question, helping to pull him up into a sitting position. Rolan opened his eyes to find Steffan and Elenor on either side of him, supporting him and pulling him back so he was sitting up against a stack of crates. He winced again as the ship rocked from side to side, more violently than the initial ascent had been, but he noted with satisfaction that they did not appear to be rolling—the ship remained mostly level in spite of the unending rocking.
It had worked, then.
“What were you thinking, going out there?”
He turned his regard to his twin, who was glaring at him even as she helped steady him as the Solarius continued rocking, clearly having seen his wince of pain from the ships movements.
“I didn’t have a… uh, choice,” he began, and she scoffed loudly.
“You couldn’t have taken even a moment to tell us what you were about?” Steffan asked from his other side, traces of fear and anger evident in his tone. Rolan slowly turned his head to regard his younger brother, and saw that his face was a pale pink.
“No… there wasn’t… time,” Rolan insisted, pausing often to try to find the right words.
Elenor scoffed again, and Rolan sighed, trying once more to find the words to explain what he had seen on the deck, but finding himself unable to. His thoughts seemed sluggish, and he found himself unable to hold onto any one notion for long. But he knew that he had done what he had to, he just could not communicate it. He growled in frustration as the words once again slipped away before he could say them aloud, groaning as he leaned his head back and bumped the tender spot against the crates behind him, eliciting a groan.
“He didn’t have a choice.”
He didn’t recognize the feminine voice that offered the response, and so opened his eyes to try to identify the speaker. It was then he realized that it was not just his siblings his siblings who crowded around him, but many of the Eno’Kaliam soldiers and servants as well, including all of those he and Lorrik had pulled from frontlines of the cordon during the events at the Longdocks, all of whom wore expressions of concern as they watched him.
Those last six were highly recognizable since they had not had time to clean all the stains off the orange fabric of their uniforms, and several bore bruises and scrapes from the scuffle. The armour and uniforms of the rest of the soldiers present remained in pristine condition, as if they had just polished them—and perhaps they had, he thought belatedly. What else had they to do, both on the long voyage over from Eno’Kalia and after arriving, when only six had been allowed to disembark with the delegates? Even those who had not been present at the riot were watching him with more than a passing interest.
“Had he not gone out, the vessel would have been torn apart, if not worse,” the same voice said, and this time he was able to identify the speaker. It was the one of the six he had helped extricate from the cordon—the last one, he realized.
The one whom he had refused to let go, even when that onyx bladed dagger had been above him, ready for a killing stroke.
She eyed him now, and he thought he saw a hint of something in her deep brown eyes. Respect, admiration, and maybe something else. He nodded his agreement and tried to push his siblings off, but stopped as he felt an ache in his side, where he had struck the railing. He tenderly probed his abdomen, and decided that it was likely only bruised. The pain was not sharp enough for anything to be broken.
“One of the chains stopped moving,” the woman continued as all eyes turned to her, “The Prince risked his own lives to save us,” she met his eyes as she added, “Again,” and once more, he thought he saw something else in her expression, but could not put his finger on it.
But how had she known what he had done?
He opened his mouth to ask just that, then remembered seeing someone watching from the trapdoor as he had made his mad dash back towards the relative safety of the hold.
“It may have released on it’s own,” he was finally able to string a coherent reply together, wincing as he took in a deep breath. He gave a tired smile and added sardonically, “I just felt like stretching my legs.”
“It was foolish,” Elenor said at his side, and he felt her squeeze his shoulder as she added in a lower voice, “But thank you.”
The sentiment was murmured by those watching who, now that the prince was awake once more, began drifting off to form their own groups once more, though several kept glancing towards them. The female Eno’Kalian soldier with the brown eyes and her cohorts who had been in the cordon with her moved some distance off, but remained between the DeCarren’s and the rest of those in the hold, offering them some measure of privacy. The woman gave him a slight smile when she noticed him still looking at her, and offered him a wink. Rolan felt his cheeks flush.
“What?” Steffan asked with concern, seeing his brother’s rosy cheeks darken to a darker red that almost matched that of their father. He followed Rolan’s gaze and said in a deadpan voice, “Oh.”
Elenor simply laughed, both at Rolan’s embarrassment and at Steffan’s reaction to it’s cause. Rolan, too, could not help but chuckle, immediately guessing the source of his twin’s amusement.
He could through himself in mortal danger without a second thought, but the moment a woman flirted with him, he got flustered?
And was she even flirting, or was he reading too much into it?
He sighed and ran a hand through his sopping wet black hair, automatically trying to dry the water off on his pants, only to find that they, too, were soaked through. In fact, he realized as he looked down at the wooden planks of the floor around him, he was sitting in a growing puddle as all the water that had soaked into his clothing now drained from it. He winced again as the boat lurched to the side suddenly as the next set of sluices opened.
The Solarius creaked and groaned around them.
“It has not been as smooth a ride since you went above,” Elenor said, seeing his concerned look, “But we have not stopped moving again, nor have we started listing again.”
“How long was I out?”
“Only a couple of minutes,” his sister answered, quickly hiding a worried look, “But you did not come to easily.”
Rolan remembered waking to water being poured on his face, and nodded. He groaned as the ship shifted again, causing his head to bump against the crate once again.
“Couldn’t you have done anything to make our ride smoother while you were up there?” Steffan asked in a mock-serious tone, but unable to hold his neutral expression as Rolan turned an incredulous look on him.
“Feel free to go and try it yourself,” he retorted, smile spreading across his face.
“And come back looking like a drowned rat? No thank you,” Steffan was quick to reply, returning the grin.
“And still I would look be a better sight than you,” Rolan shot back, lifting a sore arm to ruffle his younger brother’s hair.
“In your dreams,” Steffan scoffed, ducking his head and pushing his brother’s hand out of his black locks. In spite of the annoyed look on his face, a slight chuckle betrayed his relief at his brother’s return to form following the blow to his head.
All three shared a much needed laugh at that as the ship’s ascent slowed once more, more sluices sliding shut moments later.
“Seriously,” Elenor said as the laughter faded, forcing her twin to look her in the eye, “How are you? That was not a graceful fall, brother.”
“Sore,” he admitted, hand pressed against his aching side, “And completely sodden, but nothing that will not heal nor dry.”
She searched his eyes a moment longer, then, with a satisfied nod, pulled back, leaning against the crates beside him—and sliding to the side to avoid the spreading puddle of water around him, he noted.
“Afraid of getting wet?” he teased, flicking some of the water at her.
She threw a hand up to block most of the droplets, scowling back at him as she prodded his inured side, “You’re wet enough for all of us.”
He grunted in pain at the jab, trying to block it but not able to move fast enough.
“Next time one of you can go out, then,” he glared at her, “And we shall see how dry you are when you return.”
She laughed helplessly, unable to argue the point, and the three fell into silence, listening to sloshing of water against the hull outside as the vessel continued to rock.
Rolan prayed to all the gods and goddesses he could think of that no more problems arose.
* * *
Kyarra let out a growl of frustration as the ship disappeared within the tunnel, pulling Swiftwing out of the dive he had just started, not wanting to take him or the other two gryphons within.
She had almost reached them in time.
Sighing, she directed Swiftwing to fly higher once again, watching as the black basalt cliffs rushed past as they gained altitude. She glanced back to make sure that Duskwing and Shadowdancer still followed, though she knew that she need not have. The princes’ gryphons were well trained, after all.
Shouts of surprise and alarm echoed over the water, and she looked down at the docks to see many hands pointing towards her. She shook her head at that; while gryphons were not nearly as common here as they were in Caras, they still made appearances in Aldar fairly frequently, usually delivering messages to the High Lord from the King, and so landing in the Trekon estate of the Terrace, but she usually flew over the caldera each time she was there to take in the view, especially at sunset.
From the edge of the cliffs, the sunset over the caldera was a sight to behold.
From gryphonback it was positively breathtaking.
She took a moment to take in the view now as the setting sun cast it’s orange light across the waters of the bay, knowing there was no need for her to hurry now. It would be some time before the Eno’Kalian vessel reached the top of the Lifts of Valethor, and she did not much feel like seeing anyone else before talking to Rolan, Elenor and Steffan.
Kyarra had arrived in Aldar an hour before, and had flown directly to the Trekon estate, figuring that the DeCarrens and the delegation would have reached there by now.
They had not.
Instead, she had been met by the High Lord himself, and had been informed of the riot down at the Longdocks. High Lord Trekon had also expressed interest in knowing why she had come to Aldar—and with two extra gryphons, no less!
She had been able to evade his questions, telling quite truthfully that it was the King’s business, and for the ears of his children only. Elboreth had not been thrilled with that answer, and Kyarra could understand how he had felt, but she would not have word of the attempt on the King’s life get out out ahead of Elenor and her brothers learning of it. The High Lord had offered her a room to freshen up in while she waited for the delegates to arrive, but she had known that that would mean putting up with his incessant questioning as he tried to pry information out of her.
While she was certain she would have been able to continue avoiding answering him directly, she was in no mood to play games.
Even less so after hearing how close Rolan had come to being killed.
She had asked many questions about the assailant, but had gotten few answers. Kyarra suspected that she would have had more luck had she been willing to answer some of the High Lord’s own questions, but that was moot.
One of the guards had given a description of the attacker.
More importantly, she had been able to give a description of that black dagger.
She had only caught a glimpse of it in the confusion of the previous night, but to Kyarra, it sounded a lot like the assassin who had so wounded the King, and she did not like that thought. They had proven far more formidable than any of them could have possibly anticipated. They had escaped through a portal, and she had assumed they were somewhere in the city, though she knew they could have gone anywhere through those swirling mists.
Now she was all but certain they had gone to Aldar, not to hide, but to reach their next target.
The eldest son of Alfred DeCarren.
Once more, she cursed the fact that she and Swiftwing had been a fraction of a second too slow in catching the bastard.
By Karthos’ bloody axe, how she hated magic.
Especially when it was used against her.
She gripped the horn of her saddle tight in both hands as she recalled the events of the previous night for the umpteenth time while Swiftwing flew upwards in large, lazy circles over the shimmering waters of the Bay of Sildé. Frustration at having almost caught the assassin twice boiled up inside her once more, her fatigued mind making it difficult to push it aside again.
Both times they had used magic to avoid getting caught. The first time to startle and anger Swiftwing when they had leapt out the window, enabling them to narrowly avoid the great avians grasping talons, the second to escape through a portal. She was not sure which galled her more.
Without magic, she was sure that Swiftwing would have had them in his talons.
Or they would have been a broken body on the slate roof below.
Either outcome would have been preferable to this ongoing waking nightmare she had found herself trapped in for the past day. It seemed that one emergency was hardly over before the next came up.
She needed a rest, but she would not allow herself to take one, not now.
Not until she had talked to the DeCarrens.
As she thought of how tired she was, it occurred to her just how long Swiftwing, Duskwing, and Shadowdancer had been flying for this day. Aside from the brief break they had gotten upon her arrival at the Trekon estate, they had been in the air for the better part part of half a day, having taken off from the Roost before dawn.
It was hard to believe that everything that had happened—from the assassination attempt to her ill-conceived attempt to fly through the Ashlands and the aerial battle with the undead birds and the death of Twilight—had all happened within the span of a day.
She felt guilty that she had not given them more of a break. They had landed a handful of times on the flight from Caras, and she had fed and watered them then. But she had not wanted to linger overlong, and so they had taken flight after only a short break each time, and though he had no hint of complaint, she could see that each beat of his large wings came slower than the last, and he wavered on his flight every so often. Glancing behind her, she saw that the other two gryphons were also starting to slow, though not as much as Swiftwing, given that he was the only one of the three burdened with a rider.
They needed to land and rest, and soon.
That thought foremost in her mind, she made her choice, and took a last, lingering glance at the setting sun over the bay as she ran her fingers through her mounts long, bronze neck feathers. She directed him to begin his descent, angling for the docks near the top of the Lifts of Valethor, where the ship bearing the DeCarrens would dock after reaching the top of the Lifts. Even though she was still some distance away, she could see the line of soldiers that blocked access to one of the wharfs, their metal armour glinting orange in the twilight sun as their cloaks fluttered behind them in the wind. Elboreth had told her of the extra measures he was taking after the incident down at the Longdocks, and she was pleased to see him following through.
As they drew closer to the edge of the cliff, flying over the Polderian’s Watch and the Falls of Remembrance, she noticed a crowd of people gathered around the southern shaft of the Lifts, leaning over the railing that enclosed the three sides of the opening that people could access and peering down into it, some even pointing down. She had heard enough stories of barges coming loose and being smashed during the ascent to be able to have a good guess as to what had so caught their attention. Such did not happen often, and the inside of the shafts were inspected regularly to ensure they were working as intended, but that did not mean that accidents still could not happen.
A sick feeling rising up in the pit of her stomach, she heeled Swiftwing in his chest, signaling him down.
Several cries of alarm rose as those on the ground began to notice the approach of the three gryphons from above. Some scattered, others froze in place, and still others kept watching whatever was happening within the Lifts of Valethor.
These last concerned her the most.
She saw one group of green cloaked Trekon guards moving away from the Lifts, clearly watching her as they walked towards the cliff edge, cloaks waving in the breeze behind them. Kyarra directed Swiftwing to head towards them. The gryphon landed heavily on the cobblestone, talons skittering as the beast searched for purchase in the gaps between the stones. More scrabbling sounds from behind her told her that Duskwing and Shadowdancer had also landed. She unstrapped her legs from her saddle and swung one leg over the gryphon’s back, sliding gracefully to the ground, not taking her eyes off the Trekon soldiers, who had stopped a respectful distance away, though looked distinctly nonplussed as they eyed the three large avians that had alighted in front of them.
Undoing the chin strap of her helmet, she took it off and hung it from the side of Swiftwing’s saddle before running a hand through her sweaty red hair, grimacing as her hand came away covered in moisture/ The weary captain wiped the sweat off on her pants as she marched towards the Trekon soldiers, one of whom she recognized from the High Lord’s estate from her earlier visit.
“Lieutenant Haldrim,” she greeted the bald man, stopping a few feet in front of him.
“Captain Halfar,” he inclined his head to her, then gazed around them, “You do know how to make an entrance.”
Glancing around past the soldiers, she saw that only a handful of men and women remained in their immediate vicinity. The scant few that remained were all gathered about the railings that surrounded the southern shaft of the Lifts, all of whom had their attention fixed within, filling her with a sense of dread. She turned her regard back to the Trekon lieutenant.
“What is happening?” she demanded without further preamble.
He grimaced, but did not hesitate in his response as he gestured to the Lifts, clearly having anticipated her question, “We are not entirely sure. Something went wrong with the Lifts, and for a moment it looked as though the entire ship would capsize. The attendants assume one or more of the chains securing it failed, though there is no way to tell while it is still within the shaft,” he glanced away, adding in an apologetic voice, “It happens from time to time.”
“Not to Rolan, Elenor, and Steffan DeCarren,” Kyarra said in a steely voice, and the lieutenant did take a half step back then.
“The vessel righted itself,” Lieutenant Haldrim hurried to add, “It is moving about more than it should be, but is ascending relatively smoothly once more.”
“I hope so, Lieutenant,” she said icily, fighting back a twinge of regret as he flinched back at the frost in her tone as she stepped between the four Trekon soldiers, trusting the gryphons to take care of themselves as she took long strides towards the top of the southern lift shaft.
Reaching it, she put her hands on the cool stone of the railing that surrounded the opening to the deep shaft on three sides and took a deep breath. From within came the sounds of rushing water and grinding stone, with the creaking of strained timbers mixed in.
Uttering a prayer to the god of the oceans, the namesake of the Lifts of Valethor, Kyarra leaned over to look down.
Less than ten feet below her, the mainmast of the same three masted vessel she had watched sail into the passage in the Bay of Silde more than an hour earlier swayed from side to side, passing within feet of each wall. The ship itself moved side to side in the frothing water as it ricked back and forth, chains rattling as they slackened and tightened repeatedly in an endless cacophony of clinking metal.
The lieutenant was correct, she saw; the ship appeared to have righted itself, if it had ever been in danger as he had said. She could see pieces of wood floating in the water around the ship, lending credence to his claim of issues, and stare as long as she might, she could only count three chains running from the corners of the shaft to the vessel. One had indeed become disconnected some how.
Brow furrowing in concern, she watched as the ship steadily rose, only slowing to allow more sluice gates further to open and raise the water level within the shaft further. Within a few minutes, the top of the mainmast protruded above the surrounding railings, and Kyarra stood straight, stepping back from the railing as the vessel continued to rise. The foremast was the next to appear out of the Lifts, though she noted that it seemed to be leaning slightly askew, not lining up with the mainmast, as if it had been damaged somehow. Kyarra moved around from the back barrier to the side, walking towards the front of the Lift shaft as the mizzenmast appeared towards the back.
The three masts rose steadily over the next several minutes, with Kyarra watching with no small amount of anxiety, wishing it would go faster. She needed to see for herself that the rest of the vessel had fared better than the leaning foremast had.
She tapped her foot impatiently until, at last, the quarterdeck appeared, followed by the slightly lower forecastle a few seconds later, water running down the sides of the hull as the ship continued to rise into view. At long last, the ship stopped rising, the surface of the water that now filled the shaft level with the water in the canal that stood on the other side of one last gate.
Kyarra walked to the western end of the shaft, seeing that the bowsprit had been snapped off just beyond where it extended from the front of the forecastle. She walked closer to the now filled shaft to look in once more, seeing the pieces of wood that floated in the now still water more clearly. One was clearly the missing length of the bowsprit, and while she could not clearly identify the rest, she was fairly certain there was more than one piece of railing present as well.
Several Aldarians moved forward, bearing a gangplank between them. They placed it on the ground, extending it towards the ship, setting it between a gap in the railing on the deck above. It was barely set in place before one of the men was stepping onto it, followed closely by several others as the made their way onto the ship.
Making a quick decision, Kyarra followed them up the gangplank, looking around as she stepped onto the deck.
The Aldarians had split up, with four moving to the quarterdeck at the rear of the vessel and four going to the forecastle at the front. Those who went to the quarterdeck immediately knelt to removed the chains from where they had been secured to the Solarius, while those that went to the forecastle stopped and looked in confusion at the single chain that remained wrapped and secured about the now bent base of the foremast.
A ninth Aldarian moved to a hatch near the foot of the quarterdeck, and rapped on it loudly four times.
“It’s all clear now,” he shouted loudly before walking away.
A minute later the hatch door was flung open. It swung about on its hinges to slam onto the deck behind it. A second after, Kyarra was relieved to see a rose coloured hand appear along the edge of the door, followed by the head of Steffan DeCarren. The youngest DeCarren turned about as soon as he was up and reached a hand back into the hatch, helping the next person out on shaky legs.
Even in the faint light remaining, it was immediately clear that something had happened to Rolan DeCarren as she watched him stumble slightly, favouring his right leg as Elenor followed him out of the hatch. The princess looked unharmed as she watched her brother with concern, Kyarra saw with relief as she began making her way across the deck to the three siblings as Elenor and Steffan moved to either side of their brother to support him.
“Kyarra?” Elenor asking in surprise and amazement as she looked up, seeing the captain for the first time.
Kyarra felt a warmth spread through her body as the princess spoke, overjoyed to see her and hear her voice again. That excitement was tempered a moment later as she remembered why she was here.
“What is it?” Elenor asked, seeing her face darken.
Kyarra searched for the right words, her throat suddenly dry. For all that she had debated what to say in this moment, now that is was upon her she found herself at a loss for words.
“What are you doing here?” Steffan asked as Kyarra continued searching for the best way to answer his sister’s question.
Other people had began to climb out of the hatch behind the DeCarrens, all dressed in the orange and brown uniforms embroidered with the sun and spears emblem of Eno’Kalia, staring out at the city around them with wonder.
“Kyarra,” Elenor pressed headless of those around them, concern filling her voice at her continued silence, “Why are you here?”
The Captain of the Winged Guards could only stare back at her, working her mouth wordlessly. She shifted her gaze to Rolan, and saw understanding dawn in his deep brown eyes a moment after their eyes met.
“Father,” he said simply.
She nodded, still trying to find her voice.
Behind her, the sun finally slipped below the horizon.
Darkness descended upon them.