“I’m thinking that looking up at those stars, knowing where we are at this moment, only makes me feel even farther from home,” she replied after a moment, and felt his cheek move against her hand as he nodded in understanding.
The ship upon whose deck their chairs stood was slicing through the water at ridiculous speed, and doing it in an unnatural silence. The night was full of the voice of the wind, the rush and surging song of the sea as they drove through it, yet here aboard the ship there was none of the vibration and pulse beat of the machinery they would have felt and heard aboard a Sharonian vessel moving at anything like a comparable rate. Jathmar’s Mapping Talent had weakened in step with their marriage bond, but it remained more than strong enough to let him estimate speeds with a high degree of accuracy, and at the moment their modestly sized ship was moving at well over twenty knots-probably closer to thirty, as rapidly as one of the great ocean liners of Sharona. The wind whipping over the decks certainly bore out that estimate, yet there were no stokers laboring in this ship’s bowels to feed its roaring furnaces, no plume of coal smoke belching from its funnels, no thrashing screws churning the water to drive it forward. There was only somewhere down inside it one of those “sarkolis” crystals which Gadrial had tried so hard to explain doing whatever mysterious things it did to drive the vessel forward.
Yet for all the differences between this vessel and any Sharonian ship, these were waters Shaylar had crossed before, often. They’d cleared the Strait of Junkari, between the long, hooded cobra head of the Monkey Tail Peninsula and the thousand-mile long island of Lusaku just before sunset. Now they were well out into the South Uromathian Sea, sailing between the Hinorean Empire on the Uromathian mainland and the vast, scattered islands of western Lissia. Shaylar’s mother had been born little more than two thousand miles-and forty-one universes-from this very spot, and Shaylar had sailed these waters many times on visits between Shurkhal and the island continent of Lissia, sixty-five hundred miles from the place of her own birth. But they weren’t traveling to visit friends or family this time. They were halfway between their entry portal in Harkala, which the Arcanans called Shehsmair, and the next portal in their endless journey, located in the Narash Islands, which the Arcanans called the Iryshakhias. And there they’d leave the universe of Gryphon behind and enter yet another universe called Althorya.
Even with Jathmar at her side, holding her hand, there were times when Shaylar felt very, very tiny and far, far from home. And the fact that all of those many universes, all those stupefying thousands of miles, lay across an identical planet made it no better. In fact, it made it worse.
“I know what you mean,” Jathmar said after a moment, his beloved voice warm and comforting as the ship sliced through phosphorescent seas in its smooth, eerie silence, like some huge, stalking cat. “It seems like we’ve been traveling forever, doesn’t it?”
“That’s because we have!” Shaylar’s laugh was tart but genuine.
“Yes, but Gadrial says we’ve only got about another month to go. I can’t say I’m looking forward to the end of the trip, though.”
“I’m not either, but one way or the other, at least we’ll finally know what’s going to happen to us,” Shaylar said. “I know Jasak and Gadrial genuinely believe Jasak’s father will be able to protect us, but I don’t know, Jath. Shurkhalis have their own honor code, you know that. And you know how seriously we take it on a personal level. But it’s probably been broken more times than I could count when it came up against the realities of politics and diplomacy. I find it hard to believe the Arcanans can be that different from us, so even if the Duke’s as determined to protect Jasak’s shardonai as he and Gadrial both believe he’ll be, can he?”
“Unfortunately, I only know one way to find out.” Jathmar’s voice was grimmer than it had been. “That’s why am not looking forward to the end of the trip. But you’re right-one way or the other, we’ll know in about a month.”
“What do you think is happening back home?” Despite the weakened state of their marriage bond, Shaylar tasted his half-amused recognition of her bid to change the subject…and his willingness for it to be changed.
“I’d imagine everyone’s running around like chickens with their heads cut off,” he said tartly. “Probably at least some of them are trying to do something constructive, though. If I had to guess, Orem Limana and Halidar Kinshe are up to their necks in it! And I’d also guess they’re in the process of begging, buying, or stealing a real army from someone to back up the PAAF.”
“Probably,” Shaylar agreed. “Ternathia’s, do you think?”
“Well, I hope to all the gods not Chava Busar’s!”
“The rest of Sharona couldn’t be crazy enough to count on Chava, no matter how panicky they’re feeling,” Shaylar reassured him.
“You’re right about that,” Jathmar acknowledged. “Besides, when it’s time to kick someone’s ass, you send the best there is, and that’s the Imperial Ternathian Army.”
“But can they get themselves organized in time?” Shaylar fretted. “I know it’s going to take the Arcanans, even with those dragons of theirs, a long time to move entire armies up to Hell’s Gate. I mean, look how long it’s taken us to get this far.” She waved her free hand at the vast, open stretch of saltwater. “But it’s going to take Sharona time to move armies, too, and first they’re going to have to agree who’s in charge! Do we have-do they have-enough time to do that?”
“I’m afraid there’s only one way to find out about that, too, love,” Jathmar said, his soft voice almost lost in the rush of water and the endless voice of the wind. “I’m betting they will, but there’s only one way to find out.”
* * *
Sir Jasak Olderhan stood on the open bridge wing, his back to the wind whipping over the bow as UAS Zukerayn drove northeast across the Dynsari Sea. Gadrial Kelbryan stood beside him, her crossed arms resting on the bridge railing-a little high for comfortable leaning for someone her size-as they both gazed aft. Jasak’s eyes were on the deck chairs of his shardonai, visible in the light spilling from the cabin scuttles, but his attention at the moment was on Chief Sword Otwal Threbuch as he stood beside him and finished his informal report.
“So that’s about the size of it, Sir,” the chief sword said. “The crew’s fair buzzing with rumors, but they don’t know shit-begging your pardon, Magister-about anything that’s happened since we left.”
“I see.”
Jasak’s dark eyes glittered in the reflected light of the starboard running light, but his expression masked whatever he might be thinking. On the other hand, Otwal Threbuch had known him literally since boyhood and Gadrial had come to know him entirely too well over the last few months. He doubted he was fooling either of them.
“And that other little matter?” he said after a moment, and Threbuch chuckled harshly.
“I don’t think Lady Nargra-Kolmayr’s going to be having any more problems, Sir,” the chief sword assured him, emphasizing the “Lady” just a bit. “I sort of passed the word that anyone who gives her any more lip’s likely to fall down two sets of ladders next time.”
“‘Next time’?” Jasak asked, turning his head to gaze mildly at the noncom. “Was there an accident I hadn’t heard of?”
“Might’ve been one, at that, Sir. Maybe even two, now that I think of it. I’d have to ask Trooper Sendahli to be certain. He’s been discussing several small matters with the crew since we came aboard. Just to be friendly, you understand.”
“Yes, I believe I do understand, Chief Sword. I think that’ll be all for now.”