“I couldn’t save him, brother!”
He had been called from his cabin by the third mate to find Nortah reeling about the deck, wine bottle in hand. The swell had increased as night fell and they drew into what the sailors called “the Boraelin mountains,” a region renowned for tall waves and vicious storms. The wind was certainly harsh tonight, though not quite a gale it still managed to lash the deck with hard, driving rain.
“Killed a dozen of those red bastards,” Nortah railed, “fought the Aspect himself, and still I couldn’t save him!”
He stumbled as the deck lurched anew, staggering towards the port rail and nearly tipping over. “Stop this!” Vaelin caught hold of him, drawing him back and catching hold of the rigging.
“Killing.” Nortah laughed, lifting his arms and shouting to the rain-filled sky. “Only thing I was ever good for. Just cos you hate a thing doesn’t mean you aren’t good at it. Wasn’t enough though. He still died.”
“He died saving you,” Vaelin told him, holding him tight as he sought to break free. “So you could see your wife again. So you could hold your children again.”
Nortah subsided at the mention of his family, head slumping as the wine bottle fell from his limp hand and rolled away. “They killed my cat,” he mumbled. “Have to go home without my cat.”
“I know, brother.” Vaelin patted his soaked head and tried to pull him upright. A cloaked figure emerged from belowdecks, coming to his side to assist in lifting the now-passed-out Lord Marshal. Together they took him below, laying him in his cabin.
“My thanks,” Vaelin offered to the cloaked figure.
“From what I gather,” Erlin said, drawing back his hood, “this man deserves a better end than falling drunk from a ship’s deck.”
“That he does.”
They left Nortah snoring and sat together in a corner of the hold, Vaelin knowing he would gain scant rest tonight with the wind howling at such a pitch. He watched as Erlin rubbed at the small of his back, groaning a little. “This will take quite a bit of getting used to,” he said.
“Your first back-ache?”
“No doubt the first of many.” Erlin smiled and Vaelin concealed a wince at the changes in his face. The beating had left him with a crooked nose and somewhat misshapen jaw, though his eyes seemed to shine brighter, like a young man in fact.
“Have you decided?” Vaelin asked.
“Cara invited me to live with them when we get to the Reaches,” Erlin said. “Though I’m not sure Lorkan appreciated the gesture. Newlyweds need privacy after all. I do hear tell of a hut on the beach in need of an occupant though.”
“After all your travelling, you will be content with a hut on the beach?”
“For a time. I find I have a lot to think on.”
“Do you remember? When he . . . took you. Were you aware?”
Erlin remained silent for some time, his newly bright eyes dimmed somewhat, and when he spoke Vaelin knew he voiced a lie. “No. It’s all just a fog, like a bad dream best forgotten.”
“So you have no notion why it spared you? Why the stone didn’t take you when it took the Ally?”
“The Ally had touched it once before, I hadn’t. Perhaps it knew the difference.”
“He spoke of something looking back . . .”
“He spoke of many things, brother.” There was an edge to Erlin’s voice now, a patent weariness of questions. “And all best forgotten.” He brightened, slapping his knees and rising. “I think I shall seek out a sailor with some wine to spare. Care to join me?”
Vaelin smiled and shook his head. He watched Erlin disappear into the shadowed recesses of the hold and wondered if persuading Lyrna not to kill the ancient and now-giftless man would one day prove to be something he regretted.
? ? ?
“The future is ever uncertain,” she had said at the docks, fighting anger at the non-appearance of Weaver, an anger that was all too genuine today. “Find your deepest mine and bury it there, the location to be known only to you and myself. The Orders are never to learn of this thing’s existence.”
He waited until the captain advised him they had reached the deepest part of the Boraelin, whereupon he told him to trim his sails. It was only a little past dawn and he was alone on deck save for the night watch. They looked on in bafflement as he set aside the sledgehammer he had borrowed from the ship’s carpenter and cut away the rope binding the canvas. It duly fell away to reveal the smooth, unblemished surface of the black stone. He stepped back, hefting the hammer and lifting it above his head.
“Stop!”
It was Alornis, huddled in a blanket near the hold, staring at him, eyes wide and appalled.
“I have to,” he told her.
She frowned, puzzled, then shook her head. “Not like that you won’t.” She pointed an implacable finger at him. “Don’t move until I return.”