Quest for the Fallen Star by Piers Anthony

Author:Piers Anthony
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 1998-10-15T00:00:00+00:00

The blasting sagewind carried them eastward until Ellistar was full over the horizon. Then, the flames around A’stoc and Father Marcus sputtered and died. Both men collapsed to the deck.

Chentelle was at their sides in an instant.

A’stoc burned with fever. Chentelle reached into him with her Gift, but his spirit was still walled off from the world.

She switched her touch to Father Marcus. Weariness and guilt swept through her in a massive tide. She jerked her hand away, spinning dizzily under the onslaught. Desperation burned in her throat. Failure. Pain. She stumbled to her feet, trying to comprehend the rush of emotion.

Strong hands steadied her balance. Sulmar. She latched on to the Tengarian, anchoring herself to his steadfastness.

“Mistress, are you all right?”

She nodded. “I think so. Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

“What about them?” Dacius asked. “What did you sense?”

“A’stoc is still the same,” she said. “But he has a fever now, a bad one. Father Marcus—I don’t know. I think he just needs rest. But he has terrible feelings of—something. It’s difficult to sort out.”

“We should take them below,” Dacius said. “Leth, Gerruth—give them a hand. Brother Gorin, can you help the wizard’s fever?”

“Perhaps,” the priest said. “I will try.”

“Fine,” Dacius said. “But don’t exhaust yourself. There’s no telling how long we’ll be in the clear. Zubec, what’s our course?”

The sailor pointed to the tattered sails, hanging limp in the still air. “We have none, Lord Gemine. The sagewind pulled us much farther east than I would prefer, but we’re stuck here until the wind picks up. I suggest we use the lull to repair the sails. There’s not much we can do about the spars right now.”

“Agreed,” Dacius said. “Then set course for the Holy Land. Get us underway as soon as you can.”

“Yes, Lord Gemine. But, with your permission, I would like to bury Captain Rone first.”

Dacius stared over the stern rail. “No. Repair the sails first. I will make sure the body is prepared, but the safety of the quest must come first.”

Zubec turned away and knelt beside Rone’s body. He brushed his fingers lightly across the captain’s ruined chest. “The ship first,” he said softly. “Always, the ship first.”

Zubec stood and squared his shoulders. “Pardec, lower the mainsail. I’ll get the patch kit. You, Drup, untangle the spar from those lines. We may be able to reroute the rigging. Gerruth, take the wheel. Just keep her pointed ahead. If the wind comes, I’ll relieve you.”

The elves exploded into action, pouring themselves into the mundane tasks with an almost manic concentration.

Dacius walked to Captain Rone’s body and rolled it to its side. He drew his dagger and started to use its pommel to hammer the barbed arrow through the elf’s chest.

Chentelle’s stomach churned. She whirled and ran for the stairs, suddenly unable to bear the horror of sharing the deck with Captain Rone’s corpse. She stumbled down the stairs, catching herself against one of the dining tables. It wasn’t fair. They had made it. Why did Rone have to die? Why was the price so high?

Tears drifted down her cheek.

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