Chapter The Tower in the Clouds
Trik was sitting at a table across from a thief with a hooked nose and a sharp pointed chin. On the table was a pile of coins and playing cards and a bronze candelabrum that held three burning candles. The dark-eyed thief picked a card from his hand and placed it with two others on the table. “The Duke of Dorne,” he said. “That makes three.”
Trik stroked his chin and his eyes darted across the three cards in his left hand. He adjusted his gray hood, which concealed his elven ears. He took one card from his hand and placed it on the table with three others. “The Baron,” he said. “That makes four.”
“Impossible,” said the thief. “There’s only four in the deck. You must be cheating.”
Trik shook his head. “I have played what I have drawn,” he said. “Now do you have an answer or not?”
The thief glared at Trik with his beady black eyes. “I say you are a filthy cheat,” he said.
“If you do not have an answer,” said Trik, “then the pot is mine.” He reached for the coins on the table, but as he did so, the thief drew a dagger from his belt and stabbed it into the table.
“You have cheated,” said the thief. “That makes the pot mine.” He reached for the coins on the table and slid them toward him. Trik drew his elven rapier and put the point of it under the thief’s chin. The thief raised his hands from the table.
“Now I have won fairly,” said Trik. “Either you will ante, or you will take your loss. And pray that money is all you lose today.”
The thief’s upper lip drew back, revealing his stained gray teeth. “I have an ante,” he said, backing away from the point of Trik’s sword. He took from his shirt a square piece of leather, about four inches by four inches, and laid it on the table.
Trik withdrew his sword and placed it at his side. “What is that?” he asked.
“It’s a map,” said the thief.
“A map,” said Trik. “To what?”
The thief’s eyes widened. “The Tower in the Clouds,” he said.
“The Tower in the Clouds,” repeated Trik. “There’s no such place.”
“There is,” said the thief. “I know someone who’s been there.”
Trik laughed. “Who?” he asked.
“A young barmaid,” said the thief, “who works at the tavern in town. She sold me this map.”
“That is a ridiculous story, even for you,” said Trik.
“It’s true,” said the thief. “Every word of it.”
Trik inspected the piece of leather on the table. A crude picture had been burned into the weathered hide. It portrayed the Azov Sea and its many shoreline islands. Far from the shoreline was an unusually-shaped island and beneath it was an Elvish rune. “Draw your cards,” said Trik.
The thief drew another three cards from the deck. As he looked over them, there was as sparkle in his eyes. He placed the fourth Duke of Dorne on the table. “That makes four,” said the thief. “Now I’ve won.” He grabbed the pile of coins, nearly knocking over the candelabrum in the process.
“One moment,” said Trik. “I have my last turn.” He drew three cards of his own, and added them to his left hand. With a smile, he took four cards from among them and placed them on the table over the four barons. “Four kings,” he said.
“Kings,” shrieked the thief. He pounded the table with his fist. “Kings!”
“The game is done,” said Trik. “The pot is mine.”
The thief’s eyes narrowed on Trik. He removed his dagger from the table and slid out of his seat at the table.
Trik grinned as the thief opened the door of the inn and stomped outside into the dark. He turned to the coins and the map on the table. There were fourteen silver and seven copper coins in the pot. He brushed the coins from the table into his coin purse. Then he took the map and held it up in the candlelight. He moved his finger across the map, tracing a groove on the worn leather. He glanced at the window above the table. The shutters were locked, but a faint line of morning light seeped in between the cracks. He rolled the map and placed it in his shirt pocket.
*
Trik stepped into the Westport town tavern, a single large hall lit by candles hanging from ropes tied to rafters. There was a stone fireplace at each end of the tavern, but neither one was lit. A few men were scattered about the hall at the oak tables. Their eyes followed Trik as he walked from the tavern entrance to the tavern counter at the far end of the hall. It was early morning, and morning light peered in from a single stained-glass window behind the tavern counter. An old man with a gray beard stood under the window, washing wooden mugs in a brass tub. Trik took a seat at one of the stools at the counter, and dropped two copper coins from his purse onto its polished oak surface.
The old man walked up to him behind the counter. “What’ll it be, stranger?” he asked.
“Black ale,” said Trik. “Blackest of the black.”
The old man took the two copper coins from the table and dropped them in a cup behind the counter. He turned about. Behind him was a stack of cedar barrels. He turned a screw on one of the barrels and poured ale into a wooden mug. When the mug was full, he turned the screw back and set the mug in front of the elf.
Trik raised the mug to his lips and closed his eyes as he drained it. When he was done, he set the empty mug on the counter.
“Few men request black ale this early in the morning,” said the old man. “Where do you hail from?”
“Nowhere,” said Trik, looking at the empty mug on the counter. He placed an additional two copper coins on the table.
“Understood,” said the old man. He turned back to the cedar barrel and filled another mug with ale. As he set it on the counter before Trik, he took the two coppers with his other hand.
Trik faced the old man, his eyes narrowing on him. “Is there a young woman who works here?” he asked.
“There is,” said the old man. He dropped the coppers in the cup behind the counter. “My granddaughter Elyssa.”
“May I have few words with her?” asked Trik.
The old man placed his hands on the counter and leaned toward Trik. “You can share those words with me, stranger,” he said.
“I need to speak to her directly,” said Trik. “It’s an important matter.”
“Is that so?” said the old man.
Trik took the leather map from his shirt pocket and placed it on the counter. “This map,” he said. “I believe it was hers.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed on the map. He shook his head. Behind him was a swinging door. He opened it and stepped into the back room behind the counter.
Trik glanced at the men in the shadows of the tavern. One of them was now fast asleep with his head lying on an oak table. The others were nursing their ales.
The door behind the counter swung open and a young woman with fiery red hair and olive green eyes stepped out.She was wearing leather pants and a white shirt with a collar. She grabbed the map from the counter. “How did you get this?” she asked, glaring at Trik.
Trik leaned forward with his elbows on the counter. “I won it in a game of cards,” he said, smiling.
“Well, it’s mine,” said the woman. “Some street ruffian stole it from me.”
“Stolen,” said Trik, nodding. “I had no idea.” Trik glanced at the stained glass window. “I hear you know of the Tower in the Clouds,” he whispered. “That you’ve been there.”
“What business is it of yours?” she asked.
He faced her. “No business,” he said. “Simply a curiosity.”
“Yes,” she said. “I was there.” She shook her head. “I’ve seen it. The tower has no doors. There’s no way in.”
Trik rubbed his hands together. “What if I could get us in?” he asked.
“You,” she said, and laughed. “Who are you?” Her eyes narrowed on the elf.
“My name is Trik,” he said. “I’m kind of a legend.”
“Never heard of you,” said the woman. “Nor should I like to hear any more from you.” She turned away, and headed for the door behind the counter.
“Wait,” said Trik. “We can share the loot from the tower. I will only keep a small sum for myself.”
The woman halted. “A small sum,” she said, turning to him. “How small?”
“Tiny,” said Trik. “Twenty percent.”
“Ten,” she said.
“Twenty,” said Trik. “That is better than nothing, which is what you will get without me.”
“Fine, twenty,” she said. “But you will be ready to leave immediately. My grandfather owns a ship here in Westport. It will be at the docks.”
“And I will be glad to be on it,” said Trik. His blue-green eyes pierced her eyes. “By the way, what is your name?”
The red-haired woman smiled shyly. “Elyssa,” she said, “but all who know me call me Lyssa.”
“What a pretty name,” said Trik, his eyes narrowing on her.
Lyssa blushed. “Don’t test my patience,” she said. “I’m not fond of vagabonds.”
“I would not think of it,” said Trik.
“Wait here,” she said. “I have a few things to get.”
Trik nodded.
Lyssa disappeared behind the tavern door, and was gone for quite some time. When she returned, she had a leather satchel on her back. “Are you ready?” she asked.
“Always,” said Trik, stepping off his stool.
*
Trik and Lyssa took the cobbled street outside the tavern down to the Westport city docks. There at the Westport terminal was a cargo boat with a patched sail floating in the water. A mustached man standing in the boat was unloading barrels onto the dock. There were already six large barrels on the dock’s worn planks.
“Richard,” said Lyssa, walking down to the boat.
“Young Miss Lyssa,” said the mustached man in the boat.
“Do you have a moment?” asked Lyssa. She halted near the barrels on the dock.
“I’ll have a moment when I’ve unloaded your grandfather’s shipment,” said Richard. He glanced at the horse-drawn cart that was waiting beneath a canvas stall at the terminal. A white stock horse was harnessed to the cart, and there was a well-dressed man standing next to it.
“I have a favor to ask,” said Lyssa.
“Now, Miss Lyssa,” said Richard, grunting as he lifted a large barrel from the boat’s hull, “you know I don’t have time for such things.” He carried the barrel to the side of the boat and dropped it on the worn planks of the dock. “I must get these barrels to your grandfather’s tavern by midday.”
Lyssa sat down on the dock by the boat. She looked up at the mustached man in the boat. “But what will you do after that?” she asked.
Richard shook his head. “Young Miss, you know I don’t have time for another one of your silly sea adventures.”
Lyssa smiled, revealing her pretty teeth. “Not even to the Tower in the Clouds?” she asked.
Richard halted as he was preparing to lift another barrel from the boat’s hull. He looked over his shoulder at her. “You know what your grandfather says,” said Richard. “He won’t have it. That island and that tower is no place for young maidens, such as you.”
“But it isn’t just me this time,” said Lyssa. She glanced up at Trik. “I’ve brought someone who can get us in,” she said.
Richard glanced at Trik. “I don’t like the look of him,” said Richard.
Trik grinned. “I may have a bad look,” he said, “but I assure you that I am not a bad person.”
“That,” said Richard, “is exactly what I would expect a bad person to say under these circumstances.”
“He is a traveler,” said Lyssa. “Grandfather knows him.”
“Your grandfather,” said Richard, lifting another barrel. He took the barrel to the dock and dropped it on the worn planks. He looked down at Lyssa. “Your grandfather knows him and approves?”
“Yes,” lied Lyssa.
Richard let out a sigh as he turned back to the boat. “It is a good day for sailing,” he said. “There’s not a cloud in the sky, and the sea is calm.”
“It’d be brief journey,” said Lyssa. “And when we are at the tower, my friend and I will do all the work.”
“Now Miss Lyssa,” said Richard, “I wouldn’t think of leaving my niece alone in such a place as that.”
“So you will take us,” said Lyssa, smiling.
Richard nodded. “If your young friend will help me with these barrels,” he said, “then, yes, I will take you.”
Trik stepped lightly from the docks into the boat. “Trik,” he said, holding out his hand to Richard.
“Richard Bennen,” said Richard, taking Trik’s hand and shaking it. His grasp was firm. “Now,” he said, “about that help.”
“Of course,” said Trik, with a grin.
*
Richard was at the rudder, and Trik and Lyssa were sitting across from each other on the deck near the stern of the boat. The wind was in Lyssa’s hair as the boat skidded softly over the water. The sun was past zenith, and there were seagulls flying over the boat.
“Tell me about yourself,” said Lyssa to Trik.
Trik was not looking at Lyssa. He was watching the seagulls. “I’ve ventured far and wide across the Empire of Rule,” he said. “Here in Westport I will stay until I go north next month. There’s nothing more to tell.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Lyssa. “You’re not from Rule, are you?”
Trik glanced at her. “Very perceptive,” he said. “No, I am not.”
“Where are you from?” asked Lyssa.
“West of Rule,” said Trik, “across the ocean.”
“There’s nothing west of Rule,” said Lyssa, “nothing but the ocean.”
Trik nodded. “Is that right?” he said.
Lyssa smiled. “You’re full of secrets,” she said. “One day you will tell me these secrets.”
Trik shook his head. “Some things I keep to myself,” he said.
Lyssa looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “I see,” she said.
The boat was approaching a great cloud of mist that lay over the sea. “Land ahoy,” shouted Richard, at the boat’s helm.
Both Trik and Lyssa turned portside and looked out at the cloud of mist. Out of the mist appeared the rocky surface of an island, and above the island, rising from the mist was the black steeple of a great tower.
“The Tower,” said Lyssa.
Trik’s blue-green eyes narrowed on the island as the boat sailed into the gray blanket of mist that enveloped it. “Is it always like this?” asked Trik.
“Yes,” said Lyssa. “Each time I have seen it, it has been this way.”
“It doesn’t seem natural,” said Trik.
Richard pulled on a rope, lowering the mast. When he was done, he broke out two oars from the boat’s hull and began to steer the boat toward the rocky island. It was not long before the hull of the boat slid softly over the polished rock beneath the water and shuddered to a stop. “We’ve run aground,” said Richard.
Trik glanced over the side of the boat. The water washed over a polished black stone just beneath the surface of the sea.
“Have no fear,” said Richard. “The tide will rise soon, and we will glide safely away.”
Trik turned toward the tower emerging from the mist. A polished black rock rose up from the water and into the mist.
“How do you plan to get us in?” asked Lyssa. “You never told me that part.”
Trik stood up in the boat and inspected the polished stone base of the tower. “There’s an opening,” he said, “not thirty feet above us.”
Lyssa looked up into the mist. “I see nothing,” she said.
“Trust me,” said Trik, walking toward the boat’s hatch, “it’s there.” He picked up a long rope from the boat’s hull, dragging it onto the deck. He took an iron anchor from the hull and tied the end of the rope to it. Then he took the anchor in his hand and stepped out of the boat.
“What are you going to do with that?” asked Lyssa.
Trik wound up the anchor and tossed it straight up into the mist. The anchor disappeared into the mist, but after a moment it came hurtling down and splashed into the water nearby.
“A good throw,” said Richard, “but there’s nothing to catch onto. You’re wasting your time.”
Trik took the anchor from the water. The end of the rope was dripping as he lifted it from the water. He spun around with the anchor in his hand, and thrust it once again into the cloudy mist. This time the anchor did not fall, but held fast to something in the mist. He tugged on the rope. It held. He jumped onto it and swung freely from the end of it. “I’ll be back as soon as I can,” said Trik.
“But don’t forget,” said Lyssa, “eighty percent of the treasure is mine.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” said Trik as he scaled the wall into the mist.
*
There was a window in the tower thirty feet above the boat, a small rectangular embrasure that looked out into the mist above the sea. Trik climbed through the window and into the tower. Standing on the stone floor of the tower, he looked back through the window. With his elf-sight he could just make out the boat floating in the sea and the silhouettes of Lyssa and Richard far below. “I’m inside,” he shouted down to them.
There was no reply from the boat.
Trik took a candlestick and some flint from his shirt pocket. He struck the flint to light the candle wick. The light from the small candle illuminated his surroundings, a short and rectangular room lined with bookshelves. Between the bookshelves was a long table, upon which lay several old tomes. As he walked past the table, he glanced down at one of the open tomes. On a worn yellow page were drawings of frog legs, fish tails, and stranger things yet. Trik continued past the table to a closed door at the far end of the room. He tried the door handle, but the door was locked. He glanced back at the room. There was a shadow that slipped over a bookshelf.
“Hello,” said Trik, looking at the bookshelf. “Is there someone here?”
There was no answer, only the soft wail of the wind through the tower window.
Trik took something from his shirt pocket, a small metal pick. He placed the pick in the door lock, and tried several manipulations of the levers inside. At last, the lock sprang. He turned the door handle, and the door swung open.
The room before Trik was a circular hallway with four doors on the outer ring and with two doors on the inner ring. Trik tried the doors of the outer ring of the hall, but all of them were locked. Then he tried the first door of the inner ring—it was unlocked. He opened the door and peered inside. There was a spiraling staircase that led up into the tower. He stepped inside.
As Trik reached the top of spiraling staircase, there was a loud crackling sound, followed by an explosive burst. Trik backed against the stone wall. The sound had come from behind a door at the top of the staircase. Trik tried it, and found that it was unlocked. He entered a short hallway with a faint blue light at the end of it. Trik drew his sword from his scabbard as he stepped up to the door. He turned the handle of the door and kicked it open with his foot.
The door swung open into a small outer room. In this room were several glass tanks filled with water. The tanks were illuminated from within by some kind of bioluminescent algae, and in each tank was an unusual sea specimen. Trik approached the largest of the tanks. Inside of this tank was a creature not unlike an octopus, only with sixteen arms instead of eight. As the creature wriggled about on the inside of the tank, a shadow fell over Trik.
“Not what you expected,” exclaimed a voice, both ancient and powerful.
Trik clenched his sword’s hilt as he turned around.
An old man with a long white beard and electric blue eyes stood before him. He wore a long blue cloak and held a black staff in his right hand. “What are you doing in my house?” he asked.
“This,” said Trik, looking about the room, “this is your house?”
“Don’t act a fool with me,” said the wizard. “For a thousand years this tower has been my home.”
“A thousand years?” said Trik, his eyes narrowing on the old man’s staff.
“Yes,” said the old man.
“I did not mean to intrude on you,” said Trik. “I’ll be on my way.” He turned away.
“Not so fast,” said the wizard. He waved his staff, and as he did so the hood on Trik’s head fell to his shoulders. Trik’s long elven ears were revealed beneath his hair. “An elf,” said the wizard, “as I suspected.”
Trik turned back to the old man with his sword’s handle clenched firmly in his hand.
“The Elves of the West,” said the wizard. “They will need your strength soon enough.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Trik, his eyes narrowing on the wizard.
“If you but knew,” said the wizard, and his blue eyes widened. “And what a price they will pay for you!”
Trik raised his sword. “Don’t,” he began.
The wizard muttered some ancient words and waved his black staff. A great white light burst from the tip of the staff, and blinded Trik, as it expanded to fill the room.
*
When Trik’s sight returned, he stood in a flooded room at the base of the tower. Dark water lapped at his shins. Far above him was a stone ceiling and a hatch with a locked trap door. He sheathed his sword. “Odin’s bones,” he cursed.
Trik walked the perimeter of the room, shining the candle on the cold rock surface of the walls. A dark slime covered the worn black rock. As he made his way around the room, he stepped on something beneath the water. He held the candle over the roiling surface of the water. Beneath him, the candlelight revealed a human skeleton. He had crushed the skeleton’s ribcage with his boot. He carefully withdrew his foot from the skeleton. “Wizard,” shouted Trik to the trap door in the ceiling. “Release me at once.”
There was a tapping sound, followed soon by a clank. Water rushed into the room from small holes in the walls. He looked down and frowned. The dark water was rising. He made his way to a mossy wall. The wall was comprised of black volcanic rock, and was far too smooth to climb.
There was a second tapping sound, but different than the first one. Trik raised the candle to the ceiling, and this time there were boots above the trap door. “I’m down here,” shouted Trik.
The boots moved off the hatch and the person in the room above the cell peered down through the iron bars of the trap door. “Trik,” said Lyssa. “Is that you?” She held a glowing candle.
“Yes,” said Trik. “I’m trapped. Unlock the door and drop a rope to me.”
“I have a rope,” said Lyssa, “but I don’t have a key for the lock.”
Trik reached into his shirt pocket. He produced a black lock pick. “Here,” he said. “Take this. It’s a pick for the lock. I’ll throw it to you.” He tossed it above his head and past the iron bars, but as Lyssa attempted to catch it, it fell through her hands, through the trap door, and dropped into the water.
“I couldn’t catch it,” said Lyssa. “It slipped through my hands.”
“Odin’s bones,” cursed Trik. He returned his hand to his shirt pocket. “I have another, but it is the last one. You must catch it.” He produced a black pick from his shirt pocket, and holding the candle above his head, he threw it past the iron bars. The pick clicked against the floor in the room above the trap door.
“I’ve got it,” said Lyssa, looking down at him from the trap door. She held the lock pick in her hand.
“Good,” said Trik. “Now use it in the lock.”
“I don’t know how,” said Lyssa.
Trik groaned. “Press your ear against the device,” he said. “Place the pick inside the opening.”
“Okay,” said Lyssa, lowering her head against the locking device, as she pressed the pick inside it. There was a soft clicking sound. “I’ve got it.”
“Good,” said Trik. “Now press and turn the pick.”
Lyssa pressed and turned the pick. “Done,” said Lyssa. “There’s another click.”
“Yes,” said Trik. “Now turn it again. There should be another click.”
“I’ve got another,” said Lyssa.
“Good,” said Trik. “Now pull against the shackle.”
Lyssa pulled the lock’s shackle free. “I’ve got it,” she said. “I’ve got it.” She lifted the trap door from the floor.
“Hurry,” said Trik, as the water rushed against his waist. “Lower the rope.”
Lyssa dropped a straw rope through the hatch to Trik. “Let me tie it to something,” she said. She disappeared from the hatch for a moment. When she returned, she looked down at Trik. The water was at his waist. “You can climb up now,” she said.
Trik doused his candle in the water and tucked it away in his pocket. The only light that remained was from Lyssa’s candle in the room above. He grasped the rope, and climbed, hand over hand, up from the flooded room to the hatch in the ceiling.
Trik pulled himself through the hatch and onto the stone floor of the top room. He lay on the stone floor for a moment on his back. Lyssa was standing over him with a candle. “How did you get down there?” she asked.
Trik’s eyes narrowed on her. “A wizard,” he said. He got to his knees. His pants and boots were soaking wet, and his hood had fallen off.
Lyssa’s eyes widened, as she held the candle over him. “You’re an elf,” she said.
Trik nodded. “Yes,” he said.
“I thought all the elves were gone,” she said.
“Obviously not all,” said Trik. He got to his feet.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Out,” said Trik.
“You promised me a treasure,” said Lyssa.
“Forget about treasure,” said Trik, not looking at her. He walked through an open door to the spiraling staircase that wound up into the tower.
“You’re a coward,” said Lyssa.
Trik halted. “Coward,” said Trik turning back to her. “Only a fool would remain here.”
“But I have promised Richard a share of the treasure,” said Lyssa.
“Listen,” said Trik, stepping up to Lyssa. “There’s a powerful wizard in this tower, and he’s quite mad.”
“I thought you weren’t afraid of anything,” said Lyssa.
Trik frowned. “Did you hear me?” he asked.
“I’ll search for the treasure alone,” said Lyssa.
Trik shrugged his shoulders “Go on,” he said. “You’ll die here.”
Lyssa turned away from Trik and headed for a closet door.
Trik cursed. “Lyssa,” he said.
She halted at the door. There was a lock on it. “I can take care of myself,” she said.
“You will die without my help,” said Trik.
“Then help me,” said Lyssa. She held out the lock pick to Trik.
Trik took the lock pick from her. He placed it in the lock, and then he manipulated it to release the spring levers. The door swung open, and Lyssa held out the candle in the room. “Look there,” she said. “There’s our treasure.”
The closet before them was filled with gold and silver coins, fine armor, and forged weapons. Trik stepped into the room with his hands on his waist. His brow furled. “This isn’t treasure,” said Trik. “It’s gear. It belonged to someone.”
“What happened to them?” asked Lyssa, facing him.
“Drowned,” said Trik, “in the oubliette where you found me.”
Her expression soured. “Oh,” she said.
Trik took a handful of gold coins from the floor and put them in his pocket. “The wizard will know we are here,” he said. “We must be quick.”
She looked at the treasure, and her eyes widened. “There’s so much,” she said.
There was a flash of white light, and then an old man’s voice echoed in the room. “Thieves,” he roared. “Robbers. Rogues. Criminals.” The wizard appeared in the room wearing his long blue cloak and holding his black staff. “I’ll banish you to the bottom of the sea.”
Trik drew his sword, and before the wizard could speak again, Trik struck the wizard’s staff. There was a crackling sound, and a splinter of lightning, as the staff broke into two pieces, and each piece hit the floor.
“Elf,” shrieked the wizard, staring at his empty hand. But already the skin of his face was beginning to sag and wrinkle. His wild blue eyes pierced Trik’s eyes as his skin peeled away and sloughed off. Soon the wizard himself was nothing more than ash and bone, and the cloak that wrapped him dropped to the stone floor.
Lyssa approached the pile of ash and bones. “What happened to him?” asked Lyssa.
“I destroyed his staff,” said Trik, “the source of his power and unnatural age.”
“You killed him,” said Lyssa.
“Yes,” said Trik, turning to Lyssa, “in a manner of speaking.”
*
Trik stepped into the boat with his pockets stuffed with gold coins. He was carrying a fine silver breastplate. The cloud of mist that enveloped the tower was no more, and above the black tower shined a bright moon and many stars.
“Is that the last of it?” asked Richard. He was at the helm of the boat. The mast was down, and he was preparing to make away.
“Yes,” said Trik. He dropped the silver breastplate into the boat’s hull with the rest of the treasure. “It’s the last of the booty.”
“We’ll depart then,” said Richard, grabbing an oar.
“We’ve made you rich, Uncle,” said Lyssa. “You’ll have enough to retire.”
“All the same,” said Richard. “I do not wish to linger here any longer.”
“Then let us sail,” said Lyssa. “The moon will light our way.”
As Richard steered the boat away from the tower, Trik and Lyssa returned to their places at the stern of the boat. Her face was alight in the moonlight, and she was smiling at him. “Aren’t you excited?” she asked. “We’ve got the treasure.”
Trik shook his head. “I keep hearing the wizard’s voice in my head,” said Trik.
“What did he say to you?” asked Lyssa.
Trik did not look at her. “That I was needed in the West,” he said.
“With the elves,” said Lyssa.
“Yes,” said Trik.
“Why does that bother you?” asked Lyssa.
“Because it does,” said Trik. He looked out at the moon’s reflection in the sea.
“What will you do?” asked Lyssa.
He sighed. “I will return to Westport,” said Trik.
“Then what?” asked Lyssa.
Trik turned to her and smiled. “I’ll have an ale,” said Trik.
“You will get it,” said Lyssa, smiling. “And a good room with a fire, and if you wish it, some company.”
“Company?” asked Trik.
Lyssa smiled. “Mine,” she said, “if you wish it.”
Trik half-smiled at her, before turning slowly to the moon. It hung over the sea like a great pearl. The sky was dark, but there was a star in the West, brighter than any other star in the night sky.