The voyage was, as Chrys had expected, wet, comfortless and sometimes embarrassing, but not cold. It began with slowly feeling their way downriver, doing their best to avoid mud-banks, shoals, sunken trees and other navigational obstacles. Since Deyilan knew what to look for he acted as lookout, calling directions to Cardnial at the tiller. After grounding twice they cleared the river-mouth, hoisted the mainsail and began the long beats to windward that would take them to the Castle of Unreturn. Dinner was cold food, eaten with one hand. That night Deyilan rigged an awning over the forepart of the boat as a shelter against the dew and those not on watch got what sleep they could, stretched out on lockers or the hard deck.
The next day was much the same – endless sea and sky, spray making clothes wet so that they chafed in sensitive spots, cold food and hard lying. Chrys applied a spell against sunburn to those with lighter complexions. Her own skin stayed resolutely bright yellow. The third day it came on to blow. Deyilan deftly brought in sail, then took over the tiller. Bajur and Aitonala were both wet, sick and miserable. The others were merely wet and miserable, the more so as they were set to bailing. Easy-going Rakt became irritable and Chrys downright snappy.
The wind eased in the night, and Deyilan put her head around for the run towards the Dravish shore.
They smelt the land before it was visible, the musty odour of the swamps. At noon Cardnial tied a line about his waist and, weightless, hauled himself to the masthead. From here he reported the shore visible and the low hump of an island to their southwest. Deyilan put the tiller over and they heeled around to head downwind, Cardnial lying out horizontal like a flag. By mid-afternoon the island was clear, a lump rising in a cliff on the seaward side, then declining to a dismal stretch of mud and twisted trees along the channel separating it from the mainland.
Chrys examined their goal closely as they coasted down. The castle could be clearly seen, a squat square of dirty-white masonry atop the highest point. It disappeared behind trees as they approached, then re-appeared as Cardnial conned them wide of the offshore reefs. Chrys sharpened her vision with a spell and focused on the walls. Immediately she was seized with an unreasoning terror. She recoiled sharply and leapt for the other side of the boat. Fortunately she hit her head on the boom and was grasped by Bajur before she could hurl herself over the side.
“Chrys! What is it?” Chrys struggled wildly, gibbering in fear. Aitonala slid over and immobilised her with a deft half-nelson, then Rakt caught up a line and captured her thrashing ankles. In minutes she was lying trussed in the foot-well, while Bajur nursed a bite, Rakt and Aitonala several bruises. Chrys lay there squirming and weeping for a time, then slowly regained her right mind. When released, she sat grimly rubbing her chafed wrists.
“I should have thought more. The brief did say the walls induced madness, and it was not wrong. I wanted to do nothing but swim as far away as possible.”
Deyilan pointed over the side. “That would not have been far. That big black fellow is a troll-fish, and I have seen three scrags and a lunge-eel that could take your arm in one bite.”
“So,” said Chrys “after the monkeys, we have to get inside without looking at the walls, or we will fling ourselves off the cliffs and into these predator-infested waters.”
“One thing at a time,” said Deyilan. “Cardnial, guide us in. We’ll anchor on the south side, under the lee of the island. Carefully, please – we do not want to annoy the oysters.”
The boat lay in the quiet water of the southern bay, shadowed by the heights above. A thin crescent of beach gave way to rocks and scrub, rising steeply. The castle was out of sight, hidden by the rise of the land. A half-moon joined the last rays of the sun to shed a peaceful light over the scene. They did not trust this an inch.
“We’ll go ashore in the morning, I suppose,” Chrys said. “For now, I am going to sponge off this salt, change into dry clothes and brew up a hot drink. The monkeys can wait, unless they want to swim out to get us.”
“I will pray for guidance” said Bajur, and sat in the prow with his eyes on the water.
* * * *
They could run the boat up on the beach, but then getting it off would mean wading knee-deep in the teeming sea. Instead they made three trips in the tiny dinghy and stepped on to the sand dry-shod. Even in the early morning the damp heat hung like a weight, while the air was thick with insects and the smell of fetid mud. Those in armour shifted uncomfortably, while Cardnial wished he had followed Chrys and bought a local outfit. Her tunic was obviously cooler than his shirt and trousers. Besides, he thought, I would look good in a kilt.
A small gully was the obvious route up from the beach. It was made more obvious by a rough inscription cut into the flanking rock. Deyilan puzzled out the words slowly, reading aloud a warning that the anger of the Igwé Society would fall on trespassers.
“In a way, promising,” was Aitonala’s comment. “It has kept others out, so leaving the treasure for us.”
“I would like to know what form their anger will take,” said Cardnial.
“We’ll find out,” said Deyilan, taking a few steps into the gully. There was a sharp snapping sound and he fell back, wisps of smoke rising from two holes burnt in his surcoat.
“So we will,” said Chrys. When Deyilan had finished cursing he told them the strikes came from two skulls on posts (“Might have known” groaned Aitonala). There followed a cautious investigation with a stick and mirror, tests for reaction to movement, exploration on whether they might be by-passed or simply flown over. The terrain was not favourable to going around, and the magicians did not want to risk being zapped in mid-air. In the end Rakt lost patience, drew his mace and charged around the corner. There were snaps, the crump of bone giving way and he sauntered back unhurt, grinning.
“This was the mace I took from those Br..bastards above the eel ford. It absorbed the strikes and smashed the skulls to powder. Definitely the boy for the job.”
“Great,” said Deyilan sourly. “You can go first.”
The gully wound up through the barren rocks, hot and still. In the rainy season it would be awash, full of life, but was now dry and deserted. Rakt dealt with the next set of skulls as easily as he had the first. He was unprepared – and not a little outraged, when the third set sent strikes not at him but at the mace, badly depleting its force. Bajur, who had no Items to risk, dealt with those and again with a last set before they emerged from the gully on to the hill above. The very top of the castle walls was visible to their right, crowning the height but hidden by a rise, dwarfish trees and tangled thickets of barbed vine. Here on the open ridge the sun struck like a blow.
“Right. Our first job is to get up there to the castle without looking at it,” said Rakt. “Any ideas?”
“As it happens, I do have one,” said Chrys. “I bought a spell in Brafa which creates a red veil about as high as you are and more than twice that long. It will move with me. We will have to be careful not to look to the side or above, but it should block the effect.”
“I suggest we test it first,” put in Aitonala. “We’ll be ready to sit on you and tie you up if it does not work.”
“Fine. It does not take much access.” Chrys produced her book, studied a page, then spoke Words that shimmered and twisted. The air to her front rippled, took on colour, spread into a red sheet that rippled across her field of vision. She swung about to keep it facing the castle, then walked across to where a gap in the trees gave a clear view. She kept her head down and a hand shading her eyes, but looked to where the castle would be in clear view if not for the magic veil. After a little she backed away, still keeping her eyes lowered, and returned.
“It works. But you have to be careful. If you catch even a glimpse out of the corner of your eye you start to sweat and tremble.”
When they set out again it was behind the veil and wearing cone-shaped hats Aitonala and Bajur plaited from the coarse local grass. The hats came with dangling flaps hanging beside the cheeks. Rakt remarked that he felt like a carriage horse, the more so as he carried a substantial load. They had not moved far when Bajur asked thoughtfully if the veil could be moved vertically as well as horizontally. It could, and he pointed out that arriving at a skull-trap without any warning might be disconcerting. It was a good point, and Chrys lifted the veil enough to allow sight of the ground a few paces beyond it.
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Bajur’s foresight was proved quite quickly, when the feet of two weathered posts came into view. Rakt put down his pack and hefted his mace. Bajur came up beside him, the others fell back, he nodded to Chrys and she advanced the veil. As the first skull came through they leapt forward. A bolt of blue shot towards Bajur, veered aside and hit Deyilan even as Rakt’s mace descended.
“Chrys, hold still!” shouted Rakt, as Deyilan cried out. “They do not see us through the veil.” He stepped back, spanned his crossbow, held it at the level of the shattered skull then stepped across to where the second skull had to be behind the red sheet, steadied his aim and fired. Bits of bone cracked on the stones in front of his feet.
“I’m blinded,” Deyilan wailed. His eyes had turned a blank white. Bajur laid a comforting hand on his arm.
“This is a curse and we will find a way to lift it. For now, hold my belt, and stay still if I leave you. We will find a place to rest and examine your situation more closely.”
Aitonala picked up a stick and flipped the remains of the skulls about.
“Either the owner was really ugly or not human. Look at the teeth, the brow ridges, the jaw. This was an ape.”
“Can we move, please,” Chrys urged. She took two steps forward, to reveal the beginning of a broad stair. They climbed cautiously until the foot of the wall came into view, then stopped.
“What now?”
“If I can climb it with my eyes shut then I can fasten a rope, haul stuff up and we can put the rest of the plan into action,” Cardnial offered. “So long as there is no trap or other problem at the top, of course,” he added.
“Can you try that spell you used on the moors to check for sierlak?” asked Aitonala.
Chrys said that she was trying to conserve her access for the later challenges, but recognised the need. She cast the spell and set her vision to hover over the castle.
“It has a courtyard with a square building in the middle, a broad walkway on top of the walls. The walkway is empty and so is the,...wait, I think I can see something moving in the courtyard...if I move sideways I might… what, get off, ekk..”
Chrys ended the spell and shook her head. “Now we know why flying is out. My connection with my eyes was attacked by bloody seagulls. Big seagulls, with sharp beaks. They ate at my link to the ether. If I hadn’t ended the spell I might be blind.”
“Too late to turn back,” Rakt said cheerfully. “Up you go, Cardnial, but wear a blindfold. The walls slope inwards.”
Cardnial tied a strip of cloth over his eyes, cast Clinging Grasp and stepped up to the wall. He reached up, grasped a carving, found a toe-hold, pulled up then fell back and curled into a ball on the hot paving. When Rakt came near he cried out and tried to crawl away while striking out. Not surprisingly, he did not get far. Bajur came over, soothed Cardnial with low words and led him gently back to his other charge.
Rakt cursed, “No looking, no touching. What now?”
It was Aitonala who came up with a workable plan, inspired, she said, by her Guild training in breaking into houses. A grapnel on a light rope was thrown up until it was lodged firmly, then the line tied to a second rope. Chrys performed the spell of the Rising Rope on this, to lift Aitonala into the air, and she slid down to the walkway. From there she hoisted the bolts of cloth they had bought, to spill them down over the face of the wall. When tied off above and weighted with rocks below, they masked the cursed surface and allowed all the party to gain the walkway. Deyilan could climb by himself, but Cardnial came up on Bajur’s back, stroked and murmured to.
Chrys surveyed the interior of the castle. The walkway was broad, running all the way around the courtyard, with a high outer parapet and a lower inner one. She took a cautious look over. The inner walls were blank stone, the courtyard bare paving. Stone spikes slanting down fringed the inner wall just below the parapet. They were obviously meant, she thought, to keep things in. What? In the centre of the courtyard squatted a blocky stone structure with a stepped pyramidal roof. A frieze of carved skulls girdled the upper wall, human alternating with fanged ape. Three dark entrances showed on this side. She moved down the walkway to see that the building had another three entrances, equally dark, on the adjacent face. So, whatever was here would be lurking inside. She envied it, whatever it was. It would be cool in there, under the stone, while up here on the open stone, with only the faintest breeze, the heat was brutal.
Rakt joined her in looking down. “At this rate we’ll be leaving before sundown, half of us carrying the other half. I can see why it’s called the Castle of Unreturn, given what it has cost just to gain the outer walls.”
Bajur and Aitonala rigged a shelter from the sun, using cloth, rope and a spear, then examined Cardnial and Deyilan. After conferring in low voices – very like healers at a bedside, thought Chrys, Aitonala came over.
“We think Cardnial will recover before too long, as you did, Chrys, if kept quiet. He only got a touch. Deyilan is a bit more complicated. It’s not quite a wound, and the etheric signature is strange to me. Bajur says it is more like a curse, and thinks he might be able to weaken it. But it will take time.”
Rakt checked the sun, near overhead. “We have plenty of time to sundown. We can stay here tonight – it’s as safe as anywhere.”
Bajur called from the meagre shade. “Has anyone got ink? And a pen? Not too sharp, to write on Deyilan with.”
Chrys picked up her pack and went over. Bajur sat, one soothing hand on Cardnial, a small book on his lap. He peered at it, shaping words half-aloud, tracing lines with a finger. Chrys tilted a head in query and he returned a worried smile.
“True curse-breaking is beyond my skill, I am afraid. Yet this book covers the basics, and provides the patterns to use. I hope that drawing the patterns will weaken the curse and allow a Healing Touch to reach the affliction.”
“Are you sure it will not cause further damage?”
Bajur grimaced. “I do not think it will, but I cannot be certain. Much of the lore here is out of my grasp. It was,” he went on, a little defensively “the only book they could give me. It contains a lot of instruction on devotion. They are few, and poor. I hope to remedy that, in so far as I can.”
“I’m willing to try,” put in Deyilan.
“I have brushes, pens and red and black ink.”
She left Bajur carefully inking lines on Deyilan’s face and went back to Rakt, who was watching the building in the courtyard.
“Did you see anything in the yard from above?”
“I thought I did, but the birds attacked before I could be sure.”
“I feel something watching from within the building. I’m sure I catch movements in the shadows.”
Chrys lent on the parapet, let her eyes relax and her mind focus on the whole range of vision. Rakt was right. The shadows within the doors shifted in ways the sun did not explain. After a brief word with Rakt she shifted along, strung her bow, sent a shaft into the dark and immediately nocked another. A deep low growl reverberated from the stones and a shape shifted within. Her second shaft sped across the short gap, provoking a bestial roar. For a moment a mass of dirty white fur showed in the doorway, black lips drawn back from long teeth, then withdrew.
Rakt hissed in dismay. “Shulgin.”
Aitonala had come over at the noise. “What?”
“Shulgin. Creatures like apes, very strong, cunning, said to be immune to magic. They are found wild on the Fever Coast.”
“Are they natural?”
Rakt shrugged. “A lot of the creatures of the Fever Coast are weird, but shulgin are said to have been bred.”
“We could see if your rock lures them out.” Aitonala suggested.
Rakt fished out the rock, secured it within a net of knotted twine and lowered it on a line. The growl resounded again. He twitched the line, as if teasing a cat, swung it back and forth. The growls rose, became full-throated roars and shulgin burst from the shadows. Rakt snatched the line back as they bounded across the stones, recoiled as they leapt up, were foiled by the spikes and fell back snarling. Chrys got off three aimed shots and Rakt a fourth with his crossbow as they retreated, leaving one sprawled on the hot paving. A chorus of hoots, yelps and roars sounded around the yard, bouncing off the walls.
Chrys and Aitonala examined the shulgin lying there. It was, as Rakt had said, very like a great ape. The body was covered with dense fur, the arms long, ending in great black hands, the head fronted with a snout armed with slashing canines. Even in death it was a menacing sight, and Chrys reckoned this the smallest of the troop. She counted the arrows in her quiver: twenty left, and three clipped to her bow-case. She doubted anyone wanted to try fighting a shulgin at close range.
Aitonala lowered the rock and again the creatures could not resist its lure, although it took longer before they came out. Chrys tried a spell, to find the shulgin’s rumoured immunity to magic was fact – the rebound gave her a headache. Rakt had borrowed Deyilan’s crossbow and got two shots. Both found the mark, and another white-furred mass lay out in the hot sun. Chrys could smell them even from the parapet. As the afternoon wore on the shulgin became more and more resistant to the lure. When Bajur reported that Cardnial had fallen into a natural sleep and Deyilan’s condition had improved, they broke off. They had wounded two more and killed a third. The remaining creatures refused to leave their shelter.
“I’m not doing anything in the dark,” declared Rakt, “except watching from these walls.”