Far-a-mael kept the silt unconscious most of the time. With Seteal unable to sit atop a horse for lengthy periods, the silt had been tied to Darra so that Far-a-mael could keep an eye on him. Whenever he woke up, he turned to El-i-miir with pleading eyes. All her life she had been able to distinguish truth from lie, and although Far-a-mael couldn’t acknowledge it publically, he trusted she was not incorrect in regards to young Ilgrin. The problem with El-i-miir was that she was too naïve. She seemed willing to give the silt a chance, just as Far-a-mael himself had done in his youth--much to his discredit.
Whether Ilgrin had been raised in Abnatol or Old World was irrelevant. The day would come when he would re-join his people and become a partner in the destruction of New World.
After days of isolation, Far-a-mael smiled at the first signs of civilisation. ‘We’re close,’ he announced to the others. ‘Sat Elmore lies just ahead. Cover the silt with his cloak.’
El-i-miir slid off her horse to do as Far-a-mael had ordered. She paused for a moment to whisper in Ilgrin’s ear. Far-a-mael frowned at her. She’d displeased him greatly throughout their travels and he was beginning to second-guess her readiness in becoming a gil.
When they approached the city, Seteal became visibly excited and forged ahead of the group. Far-a-mael could only feel relieved that the girl was expressing anything other than misery and hatred. Certainly he’d implanted a healthy dislike for silts within her aura, but lately she’d shown contempt for just about everything.
Days earlier, Seteal had told Far-a-mael of a strange experience in which she’d proclaimed to have departed her body. He’d told her that she’d dreamt it, but in all honesty, he wasn’t so sure. There were books more ancient than the Holy Tome that spoke of the Elglair having once had such abilities when the gift was young and the world was new. But it confounded Far-a-mael. Seteal was only half Elglair. How could she possibly possess such powers? Then again, the silver glass had led him to her for a reason.
With a sharp intellect and a natural hunger for knowledge, Seteal was learning very quickly. Far-a-mael only felt regret that El-i-miir hadn’t shown a similar enthusiasm for her studies. He’d had to drag her every step of the way. Even now she showed little appreciation.
Of course, Seteal’s situation was somewhat different from El-i-miir’s. It was illegal to affiliate a human in any situation other than an emergency, but that was a mere technicality. Far-a-mael needed Seteal to be ready. He needed her to stand up, be strong and never back down. The day would come when the world would depend on her, and Far-a-mael refused to go down in history as the man who’d damned them all to torrid. Sar-ni deserved better than that and he was determined to do her memory proud.
As the Keacos’ wagon trundled into the outermost parts of Sat Elmore, Far-a-mael checked the sun and was pleased to find it was not terribly far above the horizon. Perhaps they would find a riverboat before the day’s end. This city was older than Sitnic. Many of the buildings were either decrepit or refurbished versions of their former selves. The streets were narrow and paved, densely packed with merchants selling their wares. Reaching the other side of the city was slow-going and it took until midday to get there.
‘Wait here,’ Far-a-mael ordered when they reached the river port south-east of Sat Elmore. He got off his horse and headed to the dock where a young man with a generous girth sat listlessly. ‘Excuse me,’ Far-a-mael beckoned as he approached.
‘What?’ the man grumbled before turning around to notice Far-a-mael’s eyes. ‘I mean . . . excuse me . . . what can I do for you?’ he blathered, getting to his feet and offering his hand. Far-a-mael ignored it. It smelt like fish and he was allergic to most varieties.
‘I’m looking for Captain Waxnah,’ Far-a-mael stated. ‘I’ll pay him more handsomely than originally promised, as I have more cargo than originally intended.’
‘He won’t be back until late.’
‘Then tell him to meet me here tomorrow morning,’ Far-a-mael said. ‘He is not to leave without me. Have I made myself clear?’
‘You may have.’ The man extended his hand. Far-a-mael rolled his eyes and dropped two gold coins into his palm.
‘Now we have a contract,’ Far-a-mael said threateningly. ‘If you do not pass along this message I will find you. And that is not something you want to happen.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The man’s eyes widened.
‘Good boy.’ Far-a-mael nodded.
‘Who should I tell him this engagement is with?’ the young man called as Far-a-mael headed away.
‘Gil’rei Far-a-mael,’ he replied without a backward glance.
The evening proved to be uneventful, which was exactly what Far-a-mael had hoped for. The travellers stayed at an inn that was rather inexpensive and delivered meals to their rooms. Far-a-mael kept Seteal’s lesson short--spending most of it tampering with her aura--and went to bed early. In the morning, he put his feet on the cold floor and snorted in disgust at the sight before him.
‘Mister Geld,’ he grumbled at the silt chained up in the corner. The boy glared at him. Far-a-mael cracked his fingers and prepared to send the creature back to sleep.
‘You know I told the truth,’ Ilgrin whispered.
‘Of course I do,’ Far-a-mael said stuffily as he shoved his feet into boots.
‘Then why?’ He asked. ‘I’m just one silt. Capturing me won’t do you any good. I have nothing to offer under interrogation. I don’t know anything.’
‘You must be very confused.’ Far-a-mael smiled softly, remembering a silt he’d once known and cared about. ‘Poor boy. I’d explain everything, but I’m afraid it must remain my little secret for now.’
In many ways, Far-a-mael wished he could tell young Ilgrin his plan, if only to share its brilliance. The silt was destined to be his trophy. When the elders saw that Far-a-mael had successfully captured a silt so far north of Old World, they’d easily be convinced that he was a scout gathering reconnaissance for an upcoming invasion. With a little further encouragement, they’d agree to counter-attack. Then, all Far-a-mael would need was time to finish preparing his weapon, Seteal.
Far-a-mael removed the silt’s chains and affiliated him to stand up. He tossed Ilgrin a cloak and was satisfied by his compliance in putting it on. ‘Let’s go.’ Far-a-mael pointed at the door. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’
‘Briel,’ Far-a-mael called when he left the building to find the man standing by his wagon. ‘Have you seen the others?’
‘Seteal be headin’ ta the docks on her own.’ Briel shrugged. ‘Fes and El-i-miir be here.’ He jabbed a thumb at the wagon. ‘Is that . . . ?’ He nodded toward the cloaked figure beside Far-a-mael.
‘Yes,’ he replied, before calling out to El-i-miir. ‘Take over for me.’
‘Come,’ El-i-miir said softly and the silt followed obediently.
‘I nah like him bein’ in my wagon,’ Briel said sternly.
‘We have to keep him out of sight, but rest assured I’ll have him out as soon as we find our riverboat.’ Far-a-mael climbed into his saddle and ordered the horse forward. He was growing increasingly weary of the islanders and looked forward to them parting ways. Fes’s faith in the silt’s story was becoming increasingly evident and it seemed as though she’d begun to pity him. El-i-miir, too, showed similar signs of weakness. Such attitudes flew in the face of what Far-a-mael was working to achieve with Seteal.
The streets weren’t terribly crowded that morning and Briel’s horses made speedier progress than they had the preceding day. When they reached the docks, Far-a-mael spotted Seteal sitting on the jetty, shoes beside her and feet dangling in the water. He was about to call out to her, when a voice distracted him from the other direction.
‘You must be Gil’rei Far-a-mael.’
‘Captain Waxnah?’ Far-a-mael asked of a man who could only be described as a pirate forced into uniform. His hair was wild, his eyes were grey, and his face was decidedly unfortunate.
‘The gil who thinks he’s so important that I
should put off all other engagements until I’ve spoken with him?’ Captain Waxnah announced.
‘You’ve made the right choice.’ Far-a-mael waved toward his cohort waiting several strides away. ‘We seek passage to Sat Elam.’
‘You’ll have to go by road.’ Waxnah went to turn away but Far-a-mael grabbed his arm to stop him.
‘Going by road is not an option,’ he said fiercely. ‘Our journey is a pressing one.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Waxnah said firmly, ‘but going to Sat Elam would mean travelling through Cold Wood and seeing as though you’re the sensible type, I cannot imagine that is something you’d suggest.’
‘I’m not suggesting it.’ Far-a-mael pulled out a small bag of gold coins. ‘I’m demanding it.’
The captain took the bag and felt its weight before returning it. ‘My men have families.’ Waxnah shook his head. ‘You want them to risk certain death for a handful of coins?’
‘No one is going to die.’ Far-a-mael took a hold of the Ways and sent comforting strands of yellow and orange into the man’s aura. ‘I’m a very powerful gil. Your safety is all but guaranteed.’
‘Double it,’ Waxnah said. ‘Double it and we have a deal.’
‘All right.’ Far-a-mael retrieved a second bag from his pocket. He began to hand it over, but snatched it back before Waxnah’s hand could reach out. ‘I have a condition. I require the exclusive use of your brig for my prisoner. You have one, don’t you?’
‘Of course.’ Waxnah waved his hand dismissively, his eyes focused on the bags in Far-a-mael’s hand. ‘The brig is yours.’
‘I need you to listen very carefully,’ Far-a-mael rested a hand on the man’s shoulder and put his face close to his ear. ‘My prisoner is a silt.’
‘No.’ Waxnah stumbled back several steps, his eyes widening in disbelief. ‘Keep your money, Elglair! I will play no part in this.’
‘He is incapacitated,’ Far-a-mael reassured him, focusing on the Ways and reworking his aura into a calmer state. ‘I wouldn’t have felt the need to inform you of his presence except that I need to be sure your brig is strong enough to hold such a creature.’
‘You want to put a demon on my ship?’ Waxnah gaped in open astonishment. ‘And take it through the heart of Cold Wood? Are you out of your mind?’
‘I am a qualified gil on an important mission.’ Far-a-mael dangled the bags before Waxnah’s eyes. ‘If I didn’t think it were possible, I wouldn’t jeopardise my task. Now take the money . . . or leave it. Either way, we’ll be taking your boat.’
‘I’ll need a third bag for my men,’ Waxnah pushed.
‘No,’ Far-a-mael said. ‘This is our arrangement.’
Waxnah remained transfixed, uncertainty flooding his features, but at last he reached out and took the bags. ‘My men cannot know,’ Waxnah warned. ‘I’ll send them on a break so that we can take . . . your prisoner to the brig. We set sail in one hour.’
‘Wise choice.’ Far-a-mael smiled. ‘You’ve just become a wealthy man.’
‘This way.’ Captain Waxnah turned to head along the docks. It wasn’t long before their destination became obvious. Anchored at the final jetty, with three masts and plenty of sails, Waxnah’s riverboat was the biggest by far. ‘Getting that wagon on will be a push,’ Waxnah murmured, glancing over his shoulder to check if his passengers were following.
After making their way up a ramp and onto the deck, Far-a-mael and the others followed Waxnah down a steep set of stairs--a ladder, really. They followed the captain through a semi-lit corridor with worn red carpet underfoot and polished wooden walls either side. Small doors that lead to cramped quarters lined the hall. At the end, they came to a spiralling metal staircase that served as a second entrance to the livestock holding area.
At the opposite side of the space there were rows of pens designed for the transportation of horses and other animals. Far-a-mael nodded, satisfied that the horses would be suitably looked after. On the wall directly opposite the staircase was a heavy iron door with a small wheel on the front.
‘This will do nicely.’ Far-a-mael smiled as he approached the brig.
Forged from iron and concrete, the small room was secure enough to hold any silt. There were no windows, only a small hatch at the bottom of the door through which the occasional plate of food might be passed. Far-a-mael opened the door, affiliated Ilgrin inside and chained his wrist to a small bench within. He closed the door and returned his attention to Captain Waxnah. ‘It would be prudent to order your men to keep their distance,’ Far-a-mael warned. ‘Should any of them have to come below decks to fulfil their duties, they must be told not to listen to anything the prisoner says. Tell them he is a madman.’
‘Agreed,’ Waxnah replied, heading back to the spiral staircase. Once they’d re-entered the corridor above, Waxnah showed his passengers to their rooms before his men returned to retrieve the Keacos’ wagon and put it up on deck.
Getting the wagon on board required a great deal of effort, but with the crew working together, it was soon parked successfully on deck. A short while later, Far-a-mael found himself watching Sat Elmore fade into the distance. Keeping his eyes on land seemed to help with his queasy stomach. He’d only been on sea-craft a few times in his life and had never quite gotten used to the constant rocking motion.
‘Well, I’ll be damned,’ Captain Waxnah said crudely, shielding his eyes from the sun and staring up at the nearest mast.
‘What is it?’ Far-a-mael followed the man’s gaze, only to regret the irritation it caused him when his eyes locked on a boom pole several strides above.
‘I’ve never seen a bird like that before,’ Waxnah scratched his head.
‘I have.’ Far-a-mael sneered at the seeol flittering among the sails.
‘What is it?’ Waxnah murmured in curiosity. ‘It’s not like any seabird I’ve ever seen.’
‘It’s not,’ Far-a-mael replied. ‘You must have arrows on board.’
‘Arrows?’ Captain Waxnah said in surprise. ‘We too often sail Middle Sea and the salt air makes them useless, but I’ve got some throwing knives.’
‘Get them for me.’
‘What for?’
‘Oh, forget it!’ Far-a-mael snatched out his belt knife and threw it with precision, but the bird flew away at the same time, causing him to miss his target.
‘Nearly got him,’ the captain chortled. ‘Better luck next time, but jolly good shot. I enjoy a little sport when I find the time. When I get home I like to--’
Far-a-mael walked away without waiting for the captain to finish. He didn’t have the time nor the patience to contend with foolish blathering. Hoping for some time alone with his thoughts, Far-a-mael leaned back against the railing, only to be approached by Briel a moment later.
‘Gil, I be feelin’ ye owe us an explanation for the owl. I’ve seen what it be able ta da and truth is, it concerns me more than the silt.’
‘I’ll tell you what you need to know when you need to know it,’ Far-a-mael snapped. ‘Leave such matters to me.’ He was sick of the nosey man and his dimwit wife meddling in his business and intended to make it clear that they were not welcome to do so. Briel turned and thudded across the deck without another word, at least having the sense not to bother an Elglair gil when he wasn’t welcome.