Voyage of the Fox Rider by Dennis L. McKiernan Read Free Book Online Page A

castle, the crystal ship, or the black sea, it’ll be Aravan.”
    “Oh, Alamar, you are in no state to make such decisions. How can we—how can
I
be certain that this is the right thing to do? I mean, I’ve heard of Aravan of course—he’s a Friend, after all…saved Tarquin’s life—but to go traipsing off to Arbalin, well—”
    “Cer-certainly it’s the right thing, Jin-Jin,” averred Alamar. “And we’ve got to hurry. The
Flying Flish
, the
Filing Frish
, the blasted ship sails on the night tide. Besides, how else are we going to find Farr—Pysk—Rix, the boar killer?”
    With grave misgivings, at last Jinnarin nodded.
How else indeed?

    It was with some wonderment that the crew of the
Flying Fish
watched as the old Man lurched up the gangplank, dragging behind a most unwilling fox on a long tether fixed on its harness, the animal snarling at the elder and snapping at the rope and jerking back against it, at times lying down and being dragged on its side. “’Smy familiar Ruxie,” slurred the old Man.
    When elder and fox were safely ensconced in their cabin, one crew member turned to another and asked, “‘Don’s blood, did you see that?”
    “Right, mate,” answered the other, “take my grog but that fox were wild.”
    “No, no, you booby, the fox ain’t what I were driving at!”
    “Well then, wot?”
    “It were his hand.”
    “His hand?”
    “Yar! Bleed me but I do believe his hand were on fire!”

C HAPTER 6
    Asea
    Early to Mid Spring, 1E9574
    [Five Months Past]
    A lamar reeled into the cabin, dragging Rux behind, the fox struggling against the leash. As the door closed, the Mage dropped his rucksack to the planking—
“Ow!”
came a muffled cry from within. Paying no heed, the elder flopped down onto his bunk and lay on his back contemplating his glowing digits. “Out, damn light!” he thickly commanded.
“Exi, Lumen! Exstingue! Fiat lux!
Oops!”—once again the light grew stronger—
“Peri—perite—perde lumen
…” Nothing seemed to work. While on the floor the knapsack began to wriggle and thump and emit muted curses dire, a tiny hand emerging to unfasten the bindings, Rux whining and licking at the wee fingers, while the Mage on the bunk mumbled. At last the sack was open and out struggled Jinnarin, the Pysk fuming, fire in her eyes.
    “Alamar!” she shrieked. “You ale-fuddled old sot!—”
    A snore answered her.
    Alamar had passed out.
    But his hand no longer glowed.

    “Unh,”
groaned the Mage, opening his eyes, blearily peering about. “Where—oh my head.”
    No one answered him, yet he could hear the creak of wood and a distant plash of water. Bright daylight poured in through a roundish window, and the room seemed to be slowly rocking to and fro. He held up thefingers of his right hand and stared at them, as if trying to remember something—what, he did not know. Wincing, Alamar struggled to a sitting position.
    On the floor across the room glaring at him sat Jinnarin, leaning back against sleeping Rux.
    Smacking his lips and tasting his own tongue, Alamar’s face screwed up into a horrid mask.
“Gahh!”
    “Serves you right,” gritted Jinnarin.
    “Wh-where are we?”
    “On board the
Flying Fish
.”
    Alamar’s eyebrows shot upward. “
Flying Fish?
A ship?” He looked about, now recognizing the gentle rolling for what it was. “What in the name of Hèl are we doing aboard a ship?”
    “You really don’t remember, do you?”
    Alamar stared blankly at her. “I seem to recall talking to a captain about”—he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recollect—“about the Elvenship,” he said at last.
    “Aravan’s ship, the
Eroean
.”
    “Yes, that’s it. The
Eroean
.” Suddenly Alamar’s eyes widened, and he stood, groaning from the effort and clutching his head with one hand, his other reaching out for the rocking wall to steady himself. “Quickly, Jinnarin, we’ve got to get off before the ship sails.”
    “Oh, so now it’s