Cavern Between Worlds Read online

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  When she shifted from headquarters to the coastal hedge tavern indicated in the message, she found Voronlig bent over a large map spread out on a table set in an alcove. Light pierced through the grime of the line of small ceiling windows, revealing a wide, unappealing rump. His lank, unbraided hair, the grayish brown of mouse fur, brushed the table top. The man cut his hair short rather than wear a single warrior’s braid. Hattenel had never seen such a flabby person in the Marches, even among the wealthy merchants and bankers. Half-Elven tended to be lean no matter how richly they ate since using elf skills used enormous amounts of energy.

  Stale ale and wood smoke permeated the air, and a stink rose from the rushes rose from the floor when she stepped nearer. Hattenel wrinkled her nose, but she heeded the prickling along her shoulders, even though she sensed no obvious magic. She shadowed her presence from his ken. The tavern was empty this early in the afternoon, but she had learned to be cautious. Hattenel hoped to glean more information before she confronted him.

  A well fed mouse, indeed. How can he be dangerous? Hattenel touched the deep scar along her cheek, remembering her shock as the Suthron sword sliced. Her battle sense warned. Never assume.

  Aberfan’s description fit. The tall sailor did twitch. First, he glanced from his journal to the map and back again. Then, repeated the process. When he stood, he waved his hands as he stared out the window, but he soon bent to consult the notes lying on top of the map. The longer she watched, the more he appeared a foolish twit. But, she had read his book. Hattenel sent a delicate mental probe to solve the discrepancy. Her eyes narrowed in surprise at the strength of his shields. The miserable image of a man projected a glamour as dense as the Wall separating the Marches from the Suderlands.

  Is he avoiding military service by pretending to be an idiot? If so, the lord high commander needs to know.

  With enemies surrounding the Marches, the high command needed the contribution of all the Half-Elven talent available, even the least powerful. Though tempted, Hattenel decided not to challenge him. At need, merchant ships could be commandeered into the militia so, technically, he fulfilled his military duty. His book suggested sailing the seas made a better use of his talents than keeping watch along the coasts. Yet, he wanted to waste his time exploring some off-shore mystery he refused to explain.

  Intrigued where she expected to be bored, she unshadowed. “Did you loose something?”

  Voron blinked as he swung around to face her, surprising her because he was as tall as she. Hattenel struggled to keep her expression blank. An ironic smile lit his face as a hint of magical energy sparked in the air. Before she could raise an eyebrow, his dampers smothered it. His voice was as soft as his appearance and barely carried in the silence.

  He glanced at her honor belt. “Rehearsing, Captain.” His expression darkened as he met her stare. When she said nothing, he added, “You can’t deny me before you hear me out.”

  “One question. What happens if a Suthron patrol discovers you?”

  “They won’t.”

  Hattenel gave an evil chuckle. “You’d bet your balls on it?”

  “They won’t. Their fishing fleets avoid the rookery because they’ve already lost too many boats there. The pieces of ship prows lying in the sand first alerted me to the mystery.”

  “And you want to lose your ship?”

  “Who said anything about my ship? I’ll transfer to the rookery. If someone discovers me, I’ll say my skiff got blown off course and sank on a rock. There’s plenty of wreckage about to hide my lie.” His expression hardened, revealing the steel beneath the glamour. At least a century younger than she, he was uncowed by her high rank. “I’m not a fool, Captain, whatever my reputation.” His chest moved in a silent chuckle as a knowing smirk lit his eyes.

  “Prove it.” Hattenel sat down opposite him, turning the map towards her. She rested her chin on her folded hands, but the ghost of amusement didn’t disappear. She pointed at the map. “Tell me, what do these arrows mean? I thought sea currents didn’t move along the coast lines so closely.”

  “A vortex only swirls tightly around the northern isle. I formally request permission to explore the oddity to see if it presents a danger to Half-Elven fishing and shipping, ... sir.” His expression hardened. “There. Does that meet protocol?”

  Looking about for some crew member, she asked, “Who accompanies you on this venture?”

  “I can transfer alone easily enough, but I prefer having official permission to cover my arse.”

  “Give me one reason why I should give it.”

  “I gave it. The vortex is an unknown and could prove dangerous to all our ships.”

  “And you feel obligated to save the Marches?”

  “It’ll suffice for a reason.”

  Hattenel shook her head, not accepting his argument. “Who will report your findings if you die? Wouldn’t it be easier to return to your ship and give up on this futile quest.”

  “It’s too late to ignore the mystery. So what if I die, then, only one dies. If I don’t return, you’ll know you need to take a squad and investigate further.” Voron took a deep breath, not giving her time to respond. “The Suthrons grumble we destroy their ships. They threaten to close their ports to us. Demand indemnities for their lost shipping. Those facts alone should convince you of the need.” He jabbed a finger at her. “Whatever it is, the thing kills. Animal life on that rookery has completely disappeared.”

  The sailor impressed Hattenel for not giving up in spite of the danger or her rank. The scar furrowing the length of her cheek protested when she smiled, but she still didn’t speak.

  Voron’s voice turned into a growl. “Woman, give me my permission and go back to shuffling your papers like a good little officer.”

  Remaining calm despite his display of temper, she said, “Your discovery lies outside the Marches … and my jurisdiction. I can’t give you permission.”

  “The vortex grows and is three times as large as the last time I visited.”

  With her curiosity rising to the lure, Hattenel spoke softly rather than in her drill sergeant’s voice. “What are you expecting to find when you go?”

  “I don’t know.” Voron blinked when she didn’t shout. “Why do you think I need to explore it? I hadn’t expected the vortex to grow so large in such a short time, and my ship sails again in less than a ten-day for the Pashalands. I need to solve the mystery now.”

  His jaw clenched. Frissons of energy from his mental curses raised the hair along her arms. His forward-leaning stance demanded she give him permission to investigate. She was tempted to destroy his glamour just to show she could, but her purring curiosity stopped the urge. The last decades had been filled with too far too many reports and not enough action.

  If the danger is growing ... She bit her lip knowing that Linden, the lord high commander, would scour her hide if he found out what she was thinking. Before she debated any further, Hattenel stood. “You need someone at your back. I’ll accompany you.”

  Beneath her shell, she grinned like a skipping child playing truant. A visit to the rookery’ll be more interesting than tickling trout ever was.

  Voron sputtered. She’ll give up as soon as she gets sand in her boots.

  Hattenel caught the thought without his using mindspeak and hid her amusement.

  He grabbed his heavy pack and said, “Let’s get on with it, then.”