by C. E. Murphy
With the same lilting cadence, the man said something involving gods—Rasim picked that word out, at least—and stomped back to the hole to look in. Rasim twisted to look, too. Carley stood directly below, arms folded across her chest in challenge. The giant repeated himself, then set Rasim aside with a warning waggle of one thick finger. Rasim lifted his hands, muttering, "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."
This was not how he'd expected his daring sneak into the city to end. He pressed water from his clothes with a touch of magic, shocked at how wearying even that tiny use of power was. The room they'd broken into was a simple one, round and build of stone. Not magically round, either: mortar held the bricks in place, ordinary workmanship, if well-done. He'd been placed in a large wooden chair next to an even larger wooden table. Wood carvings, a book, and maps were spread over the table, as well as a mug of fruity-smelling alcohol and a plate of bread, meat and cheese.
The giant fetched a rope from beneath the table, made a loop of it, and sent it down to haul Carley up. He wore a leather breastplate and greaves over a woven shirt and pants, and a huge sword at his side. Not a casual passer-by, then: he had been placed there to watch the manhole.
What kind of people, Rasim wondered, bothered to set a guard on a sewerage room?
The kind of people who caught enterprising trespassers, if nothing else. Carley scraped over the edge of the hole, flopped on her back, and said a fervent, "Thank you," to the giant. Rasim glowered at her and she scowled back. "I don't care if we got caught, it's better than being knee-deep in a stinking sewer. You're dry," she accused.
Rasim looked guiltily at the puddle of mostly-clear water around him. The giant, alerted by Carley's tone, glanced Rasim's way, took in his dry clothes and the damp on the floor, and went momentarily still. It was a very large stillness, taking up more than its fair share of space in the room. Then the giant shook it off, picked Carley up, put her on her feet, and pointed imperiously at Rasim.
Rasim was nothing like fool enough to refuse him. The only way out was back into the sewers, and that would leave him where they'd been an hour earlier: at the bottom of a harbor with nowhere else to go. He got up and followed the giant, who herded Carley in front of him and still managed to keep an eye on Rasim trailing behind. More than once he bodily turned Carley the direction he wanted her to go. More than once she threw his hand off with a curse, but neither of them seemed genuinely bothered by the other's behavior. It was as if they both agreed that was how captor and captive should behave. It made Rasim wonder what Donnin would have done if he'd been more obstreperous.
Probably throw him overboard before she discovered his skills were of use to her. Which would mean he wouldn't be here to try to get her and her crew out of trouble with the Northmen, never mind that they wouldn't be anywhere near the Northerners if he hadn't suggested they sail this direction. The circular thought made Rasim's head hurt. He hoped fervently that the giant was bringing them to someone who would know Captain Asindo. The captain would listen, and they would get everything sorted out.
The building became more elaborately decorated and warmer as the guard ushered them through halls. Bare stone walls had small tapestries, then large ones, then enormous ones, depicting great battles with sea serpents and other legendary creatures. Rasim tripped over his own feet trying to study one, but their captor clucked his tongue and scooted him along. Narrow windows became larger, giving Rasim glimpses of a city carved from the mountain, and of glittering blue water in the harbor. The sky was pale, laced with thin clouds, and from inside warm walls, it looked cold out there. But inside even the floor was warm, as if they strode over the kitchens, though not even a palace this size could have kitchens that spread its entire length. Rasim didn't care. It warmed his feet, which was all that mattered.
Carley was leaving fat water droplets as she marched along. Rasim thought about squeezing past the guard to dry her clothes, but stopped himself. The giant already knew Rasim was no longer wet, and maybe recognized the magic that had dried him. It wouldn't be smart to prove he had magic, not until he got to Asindo and had someone on his side.
Ahead of them, a set of double doors was thrown open to let them in. Rasim's shoulders loosened from a hunch he hadn't even known he was holding. That was a friendly gesture, the opening of the doors. Beyond them would lie the chance at explanation.
The giant guard booted them into a tremendously large room, slammed the door behind him, and spoke rapidly in his upward-lilting language. Rasim, unable to understand a word, edged closer to Carley as they both gaped around themselves.
The floor was white marble, polished until it reflected the room. A long dark wood table sat toward the room's far side, emphasizing how large the room itself was: more than a dozen people sat at the table, comfortably spread out, and it still looked small within the room's size.
White columns of rough-cut, sparkling stone soared upward, holding a domed ceiling as airy and light as anything Rasim had ever seen in Ilyara. But this one was painted brilliantly with scenes of battle. Not just sea serpents, but dragons and minotaurs and innumerable other creatures Rasim had no name for. Pale-skinned men and women fought them: either the gods or their children, from their beauty and evident strength. Some of the paintings spilled down the walls, partially blocked by the glittering columns. Rasim had the impression the images were unfinished, that new feats and deeds were added as the children of the gods continued their fight against monsters of the deep.
He shivered at the thought and took his eyes from the ceiling to see who their captor was talking to.
A woman stood up from table. She was dressed in red with a white kirtle and belt decorated with the same glittering stone that made up the walls. Her hair was paler yellow than the guard's, and worn in the thickest, longest braid Rasim had ever seen. Even Guildmaster Isidri's braid was narrower, and Isidri's was as wide as Rasim's wrist. A red ribbon, like Isidri's blue one, was woven through the woman's braid. She was a guildmaster, then, or something like one.
She was also amazingly tall. As she came closer, Carley backed up until she ran into the guard, then went stiff as a mouse hoping an eagle wouldn't notice it. There was something aquiline about the woman, in fact, though it was maybe only the sharp clarity of her blue eyes. It certainly wasn't her features, which were broad and square, not sharp in any way. She stopped in front of Rasim, and to his utter shock, spoke flawless Ilyaran: "A Seamasters' Guild journeyman would typically come in through the front door, young man. Whatever possessed you to use the sewers?" Her clear blue gaze snapped to Carley, then back again. "Presumably your companion persuaded you to a more unusual means of entrance."
Rasim blurted, "No," then swallowed. "I mean, she didn't talk me into it, but she's from—"
He stopped sharply and the woman said, "The islands," so dryly Rasim thought she might be teasing him. He nodded, though he'd been going to say the pirate ship, not the islands. The woman also nodded, clearly understanding what he hadn't said. "There are other islanders here," she said, still dryly. "Perhaps you know them?"
"Are there other Ilyarans here?" Rasim asked desperately. He would defend the pirates—explain them, at least—but he badly wanted to do it with Asindo and Hassin standing beside him. Clever or not, he was barely a journeyman, and he was trying to propose alliances that would be hard-won by master negotiators.
The woman's eyebrows furled. "A few, as there are usually a few Northmen in Ilyaran cities. Why?"
Hope drained from Rasim, leaving his face long with dismay. "Only a few? The fleet hasn't come?"
"The Ilyaran fleet? Here? No, lad, nor would I want them to. My people would imagine an invasion, and your pirate ship's greeting would be gentle in comparison." The tall woman studied Rasim's expression, then let go a long, quiet sigh. "I can see this is as bad news for you as a fleet on my doorstep would be for me. You're pale. When did you eat last? Never mind. Gontur," she said to the giant guard still behind Rasim and Carley, then changed languages, speaking
in the North's uplifting lilt. He grunted assent, and the woman flicked her fingertips at Rasim and Carley. "Go with him, children," she said in the common tongue. "He'll bring you to a bath and get you new clothes and food. Myself or Lorens will be along shortly."
Having dismissed them, she turned away as if they'd never been there, and returned to her business at the long table. Rasim lingered a few seconds, peering over Gontur's arm to see where the woman sat. At one end of the table: a man, perhaps Lorens, sat at the other, but Rasim had no sense of either being at its foot or head. It was more evenly divided than that, somehow, equal power balancing the seating arrangements. She was at least as important as a Guildmaster, then, maybe more so.
As Gontur herded them out, Carley whispered the question Rasim was wondering: "Why's the Northern queen bothering with us?"
Chapter 15
Whether the sewerage water was relatively fresh or not, whether Rasim was able to dry himself through magic or not, clean dry clothes after a bath were profoundly welcome. The food was even more so, even though it was strange. Fish, but different, oilier fish than Rasim was accustomed to, and meat from something Gontur called a rain deer when Rasim pointed at it curiously. A rain deer sounded like an animal that water witches might have use for, or that anyone in a desert might want to breed. It was gamey but tasty, and a welcome change after the fare on Donnin's ship.
He and Carley sat close together, with a solidarity born from worry. They had thought they might be reunited with Donnin's crew, but they'd been brought to a room of their own. It was far less impressive than the council room they'd visited, but warmer due to its smaller size, and much more comfortable. A wood table, gleaming with oil, was surrounded by cushioned chairs. The table and chairs were placed an equal distance from a low-banked fire as a large bed was, balancing the room's warmth nicely.
Rasim's whole body trembled with tiredness when he looked at the bed, so he'd chosen a chair with its back to the bed, and Carley had taken the chair beside him. Even knowing Gontur didn't speak the common tongue, they hunched together quietly, reluctant to even speculate about why the Northern queen had bothered with them herself.
They both startled when a knock came at the door, Carley sloshing her mead onto the table. Chagrined, she mopped it up as the door swung open. Rasim stood, nervousness churning his belly.
A bearded man not quite as tall or yellow-haired as the woman came in, glanced at them and the table, and helped himself to a mug that he filled with mead before flinging himself into a chair opposite them. The chair scooted back several inches and tipped onto two legs. The man swore, threw his weight back the other direction, and slurped mead off his hand as the chair settled down. Only then did he say, in the common language, "I'm Prince Lorens. You can call me Lorens. You spoke with my sister Inga earlier. Who are you?"
Rasim said, "I'm Rasim," at the same time Carley said, "Carley sona Donnin," and the Northern prince waved a hand in exasperation, nearly spilling his mead again. Rasim thought he was young, though his yellow beard helped to hide it. Younger than Inga, anyway, and she hadn't been old. The beard also helped to hide the fact that Lorens was more finely-featured than his sister: without the beard, he might have been almost pretty. Like Hassin, except with the color bleached out. Rasim wondered if women liked Lorens as much as they liked Hassin, but the prince interrupted his thoughts with another question. "Not your names, though yes, it's splendid to meet you, Rasim. Carley."
The smile he gave Carley—and the one he got in return—suggested he was as good with girls as Rasim's shipmate. Rasim grinned and Carley blushed, glaring at Rasim like he'd done something wrong. Surprised and a little offended, Rasim folded his arms over his chest and scowled at the table. The prince shifted, making Rasim look at him again. Lorens's expression was curious, almost apologetic. "Who are you? Why, of all the men and women flying under that flag, did you sneak off the ship? You're one Ilyaran," he said to Rasim. "You don't belong on an islander ship at all, much less one flying a pirate flag."
"I got lost from my fleet," Rasim said stiffly. "A sea serpent dragged me away. Captain Donnin rescued me. Sort of."
Carley hissed, "Sort of? We rescued you entirely!"
"It's not much of a rescue if you're going to be sold into slavery the minute the chance arises," Rasim snapped back.
Clarity flowed across Lorens's face as swiftly as shock rushed over Carley's. The prince only said, "Go on," though, and Rasim, defiant with anger, said, "I'm a Seamasters' Guild journeyman. Captain Donnin thought I'd be worth enough to slavers that she could hire an army with the coin, so her crew could avenge their dead and try to rescue her daughter, who was kidnapped by a nobleman. I told her I'd talk my fleet into helping her if she'd just catch up to them, so we came north to find them."
"That," Lorens said after a moment, "is not quite the same story Donnin gave us."
Rasim, still angry, said, "I imagine not."
Carley finally rallied, her spine straight and eyes bright with indignation. "Captain Donnin would never—"
"Ask Markus," Rasim said flatly. "He's the one who warned me about the slavers. Do you really think she wouldn't have? You were already out there stealing water and lives. What's one more, if it rescues her daughter? I was afraid I wouldn't have a chance to tell what had happened if I was taken with the pirates," he said to Lorens. "I jumped overboard and brought Carley with me."
"As a hostage?"
Carley burst out laughing, outrage turning to surprised humor. "No. I didn't want to be caught either. A hostage? Really? I'm five inches taller than he is and weigh more. And I know more about using a sword than he does too."
Lorens shrugged. "And he's a witch. We might have listened, Rasim. You're the only Ilyaran on board, and your people aren't known for working for others."
It was as much opportunity as he might be granted. Rasim blurted, "But sometimes we ask for help. Please, where's Captain Asindo? Where's my fleet? We lost at least four to the serpent, but we can't have lost them all, we—"
It was as if Lorens hadn't heard his first comment about the serpent. The prince stiffened now, coming out of his casual position to sit straight in the chair. "You meant it, about the sea serpent?"
"We saw its body," Carley confessed. "Rasim said he killed it."
Lorens's face went long with surprise. "Did you, now. How?"
"I let it take me underwater and stabbed it through the eye," Rasim said shortly.
The prince stared at him wordlessly a few long moments, then made a brief expression of acknowledgment. "We'll have to add you to the mural. Lad, do you know they swim in pods? Where there's one there are usually three, sometimes five. We think they swim as families, with the young eventually leaving its parents to start a new pod. Lucky for sailors they seem to breed slowly, or the sea would be overrun and no ship would be safe."
Rasim's knees went weak as jelly. He fumbled for his chair, couldn't find it, and leaned on the table. His arms trembled with the effort of holding himself, but he couldn't even feel his legs, wouldn't believe they were still there if he didn't see his feet on the floor. He hadn't imagined more serpents. One had destroyed four or five ships in seconds. Three more could have wiped the fleet out while Rasim still fought the first.
Bad enough to have lost Kisia. The thought of having lost practically everyone he'd ever known overwhelmed Rasim. His arms gave way, too, and he sat down hard. Into his chair, which scraped across the floor unexpectedly and caught him behind the knees. He caught a glimpse of Carley's concerned face as he sat and thought she must have pushed the chair under him, but the rush of blood was like a riptide in his ears, and his vision filmed until he saw nothing but white water. He put his head down, trying to catch his breath, and distantly felt Carley pat his back in concern, then awkwardly withdraw.
His thoughts felt thick and slow, devastated by the idea of the fleet being gone. It took forever to manage a few raw words: "I...can I stay here? Until you send a ship south? I can work to earn my keep..
."
"You are welcome to asylum in the Northlands as long as you need it," Lorens said gently. "Winter is coming and the harbors become ice-bound. If my mother allows it, we'll send a ship south immediately, to bring you home, but you may have to wait the winter out."
Rasim, blankly, said, "Your mother?"
"The queen. It will take a few days to get word to her. We share the royal duties between our two largest cities, and travel back and forth twice a year, but she went north again weeks ago. At least you'll be sailing from here, instead of there. They'll be frozen over soon, but we should have a little more time before the ice comes."
"He's a water witch," Carley muttered. "A little ice shouldn't stop him from sailing."
For once Rasim had no heart to argue about his lack of skills. He only nodded and drew his feet up, making himself as small on the chair as possible. Forehead against his knees, voice muffled, he said, "I made Donnin a promise. If the fleet is lost, the only people I can ask to keep it are your own, Prince Lorens. Would you even consider it?"
Carley made a sound of astonishment. Rasim lifted a dull gaze to watch her clap her mouth shut, but she then whispered, "Why would you even ask, if she was going to sell you?"
Sudden strong anger made Rasim's stomach twist with sickness. "Because I'm better than she is. Maybe I'm not brave enough to sail back with her, even if I promised her sea witches. Not alone, not when she wanted to sell me, but I can at least ask for help. Besides," he added more bitterly, "maybe if she gets home safely someone can put her on trial for acts of piracy. How many soldiers did your crew kill, out there on the sea?"
Carley looked away and Rasim's gut twisted again, loss souring any thought of apology. "Still, losing her lands, her people, her daughter, that wasn't her fault," he said in a low voice, to the Northern prince. "I know you have no reason to help her, but at the least her daughter doesn't deserve to have been taken, and she's done nothing wrong. A ship of Northmen would make a lot of recruited soldiers think twice about fighting."