More Spy Stories
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== The missing chapters. == 14 January 2001
Brief note- Apologies for the misspellings and typos in the recap. I was tired. Additionally trying to remember it all was hard, and probably it was inevitable that certain important bits did in fact escape me.
Travelling at sea under Slayne's command, the Stolen Heart proceeded towards coordinates calculated by the data kept in Dara's notes. After the Conjunction of the stars, their projected positions as they diverged, formed a pattern recognisable instantly as a gigantic stellar vortex. Well, recognisable when Dara plotted the positions over time at Que's before they set off.
Despite Dara's innate ability to find her marine position without sextants or navigational aids, the crew were forced to do computations to locate the Focus - the centre of the vortex over the sea, as the Planet and the stars moved. This took considerable mastery of navigation. But with the exception of Alyssia, all the crew were experienced at sea. Continued course corrections at the helm were needed in order to intercept the constantly moving Focus.
Continued strangeness. The sea serpents attacked the ship, atypical behaviour indeed with Dara on board. She knew right away that this was in some way related to the phenomenon they were investigating. It was perhaps not surprising that when opposed, the serpents retreated rather than fighting to the death as normal ones would.
As they travelled, they encountered the same storm as the Thrush. Unbeknownst to them, Kvasir's little ship was also being driven by the storms, and he had found himself closing in on an island with a prominent shipwreck visible over the waterline. Cloud cover had made star sightings impossible, but this was not a major problem for either crew - Kvasir had been guided somehow by Spellsinger, and Dara needed no sightings to tell where she was.
On Buccaneer's Den, the Sea Ranger had docked. Ruden magnanimously returned the pirate ship to the surviving prisoner pirates, against Hodur's advice. It is better to have friends than enemies at sea, felt the captain, despite winning the prize fairly. Anatoly was more concerned with locating the missing three to care much either way, and he was disappointed that the Thrush and Kvasir were not there. Serpent's Hold was their next stop, the official port listed in the Thrush's voyage plan filed in the Britain port offices.
== Snippets == 19 May 2001
Darkened skyline. Pan down to brow of a hill covered with long grasses. One figure is kneeling on one knee, hooded and caped. Another is standing, but we may only see the booted legs.
"Axe?"
There was a pause.
Kyrian reached out with his dagger, and flipped over the lacquered collar of the dead man. The wound was old, and quite extensive, almost severing the head. He probed the wound edges, noting they were turned in. "No. Broadsword."
He studied the angulation of the wound, the single splash of blood on the ground coagulated on the broken grasses.
"Single thrust. Through the great vessels on the side, and between the bones in the spine. Right hander. About your height. Strong man."
"Hmhf... Grandmaster then?"
"I'd say so. But it's odd..."
"What?" came the interested reply. There was a faint creak of leather, as the boots bent and a hooded face peered at the wound over Kyrian's shoulder.
"Two things - the bladesman could hit between the bones, so there was no need to take the bloody splash through the side... it was an exhibition killing... one spray of blood only, then the heart would stop when he cut the cord."
Kyrian stopped purposefully. He looked at the shadowed face of his companion. There was a strong gust just then, rippling the hood, exposing a clean shaven jawline. "Let me guess the rest? It's a fencing blow, but done with a broadsword?"
Kyrian nodded. "So. We know who did it. But how could he be here?"
== Travels == 6 June 2001
disclaimer: this bit was chronologically supposed to come before the teaser above
Two hundred feet of boiler-plate red joints and stalked eyes glared down at Yale as he gasped breathlessly in horror. He continued to fall while it grasped him in the steely grip of death, pincers as big as a horse, mercilessly crushing his midsection. He couldn't feel his legs. "I've got you!" it cried out in Kyrian's voice.
Something pulled him and he felt that hideous clunk! of a joint popping back into place, as stars of many colours fragmented the monster, crystallizing it and fading it into oblivion. Gratefully he drew a long sweet breath, free of salt at last, and felt his legs blaze to life. Somewhere distantly he heard Cobalt's voice. But too far off now. Far far. And the smell of pine needles. Pine. Needles.
Needles in his legs. Pins and needles were the only thing he knew as he passed out again.
He lay barefooted, in a tall green room, painted with rough brushstrokes, smelling of grass. No. The walls were grass. Real grass. And it was not really a room, because he could see the sky. He smelled himself, salty and rancid with sweat. There was a fragment of onion, stewed, on his bare chest. A hooded head blotted out the sky.
"Brother?" asked a familiar voice.
"Kyrian?"
"Sit. Eat." Strong hands grasped his armpits, dragged him up, and he sat without trying. To his amazement, he realised why -there was a smoothbarked tree behind him.
"Oh." Kyrian brushed away the bit of onion. He passed a wooden spoonful of something tasty across Yale's face, and despite himself, Yale took it meekly, as a child would. It was rabbit stew. With wild onions. He swallowed it, warm and thick, and strengthening.
"Can you move those?" Kyrian indicated his legs, stretched off in the grass, bootless. Yale drew a breath, tried, failed. It was as if they belonged to another man. He heard Kyr exhale through his nostrils. " Don't worry. Give it a little time."
"What happenned?" Yale flexed his hands, they were sure and as strong as ever. He felt his left bicep, felt the familiar bulge. The stew seemed to be permeating his chest, and his head cleared suddenly, with a rush of memories. Things sharpened, focused. "And ... uh... why is the sky that colour?"
=== Travels: 2 === 6 June 2001
"So, what's the last thing you remember?"
Yale thought about that. Somewhere in the tall grass behind him, there came a faint cry, high in the sky. Some kind of bird, but he couldn't tell what type. "I was in the rigging. It was storming. Bad one. Puck was missing..." he trailed off, remembering his fall.
Kyrian stood up abruptly. "I'll be back." "What - wait!"
Kyrian moved out of his field of view, and there was a whistling sound, as of something moving very fast. Snap!
Yale heaved himself round, dragging his heavy legs behind, bumping them over the roots, and circled the tree. Kyrian was standing ahead, in brighter light. He was holding something dangling from his left hand.
"Kyr!"
"It's just dinner. Relax." Kyrian returned into the shade, tossing a slightly mangled bird onto a pile of long fragrant wild onions. There was a bark bucket near to the pile, and some freshly stripped twigs, white and gleaming lay next to Kyrian's knife. As he took in the site, Yale's eyes flicked up when a shadow flashed across the ground.
High above, a raptor circled. It gave a single cry, and then swooped away. The sky was as green as ever. Kyrian was regarding it fondly. "They're the same wherever we go, eh?"
"Yours?" "She's just a friend. Not mine." "Sorry." "That's ok." "Where the hell are we?" "Somewhere near to Spellsinger, I hope, brother." Kyrian squatted down, next to Yale; pulled his errant legs straight. Above them, the raptor was reversing course. Yale squinted at Kyrian, but said nothing. She might not be his, but she was patrolling.
"So, how did you get here then?" Yale twisted himself off a root. "Well, I came through a gate, just like you did. Only thing..." "What?" "Well, you came through in two bits. Tynnian opened it, and you fell through. Then, I was going through when it closed, and you... er..." "Was half way through?" "Well, I pulled like a madman."
Yale scowled. He struck his left leg angrily. Felt nothing. "Maybe you shouldn't have tried."
"Stop that nonesense. You'll be fine." Kryian looked away, uncertainly.
"Been here long?" asked Yale conversationally.
"Two weeks."
"Fill me in?"
