by C. E. Murphy
It was a fitting time for a speech, Rasim thought. Something about true hearts and good intentions and taking the right path through adversity. But he couldn't get the words right, so all he said was, "You have your ship, with fifty Northmen to fight for you. And me."
Cheers erupted from the crew. Donnin stood up abruptly, face tight with relief. Rather than thank Rasim, she turned away, stalking from the room. A wake of confused silence rippled after her, then was drowned by the crew's enthusiasm. Markus came forward to grip Rasim's hand, but Carley was there first, flinging herself at him for a hug. He caught her and staggered backward, thumping into the door as she said, "Thank you," fiercely.
She was surprisingly strong. Rasim didn't have enough breath to say, "You're welcome," until she released him and stepped back, her pale eyes shining. Rasim's heart thumped nervously. Girls looked at Hassin that way, not him.
Markus elbowed Carley aside, breaking the intensity of her gaze so he too could thank Rasim. The rest of the crew crowded around, enveloping Carley. Rasim smiled weakly, shook hands, and accepted their accolades with a degree of bewildered pride. He had gotten far less than he'd promised Donnin, but the pirates were still better off than they'd been. Maybe that was what most victories were like, rather than being as complete as slaying the serpent had been.
The serpent, though, had come at huge cost. Its death had been vengeance for a fleet, just as the Northern soldiers would help provide vengeance for Donnin's people.
Rasim, shaking hands and exchanging hugs, realized uncomfortably that nothing was simple, and that things would probably only get more complex as he grew up. He escaped the crew's delight, pushing through them to find Donnin.
She'd gone into another room, a sleeping room with views of the harbor. Her ship was just visible, its pirate flag no longer flying. Rasim stood beside her, waiting for her to speak. When she finally did, it was with clarity: "Fifty isn't enough. Not even with a water witch to help."
Irritation rose in Rasim, for all that he'd thought the same thing. "You could always go back to pirating. Then you wouldn't have a chance at all."
Donnin smirked. "You call it like you see it, don't you, Ilyaran? Well, you're the one who slays serpents and negotiates treaties. You tell me how to win this."
Rasim shrugged. "Be sneaky. You always have to be sneaky if you're small, like me, or someone will stick you in a pitch barrel. Don't go at them like you're an army, because you're not. Not a big enough one, anyway. Use the Northmen as a distraction. I've heard they raid seaside villages sometimes, so send them to raid the nearest town the earl's people would protect. Then sneak in and get your daughter. When she's safe, go after the earl. You don't kill a snake by hacking off its tail. You cut off its head. So don't waste time or people on his army. Kill him, and you're their new mistress."
The pirate captain got a peculiar expression as Rasim spoke. She looked amused, amazed, and annoyed all at once. When Rasim squinted at her curiously, she said, "I didn't expect you to actually tell me, Rasim."
"Oh." Irritation pulsed through Rasim again. If people didn't expect him to answer, they shouldn't ask him questions. Then he forgot irritation in surprise. "You know my name!"
"The Northern princess made it quite clear I should know the name of the boy who earned us amnesty. So will you sail with us, Rasim, or will you stay safe with the Northmen?"
Rasim did his best to look put-upon. "If I don't sail with you, you'll never keep up with the Northmen."
Donnin, chuckling, slapped him on the back, and together they went with the crew to the harbor.
Chapter 20
The islands were as different from the Northlands as the Northlands were from Rasim's desert home. Rocky beaches stretched to soft green lowlands that rolled back from the water toward unassuming hills. Farms turned the hills to patchwork, golden with the coming winter. It looked like gentle country, and approaching the shores, Rasim wasn't surprised that Donnin's people didn't know much about fighting or survival beyond their patch of land. The islands seemed to have none of the harshness of the north or the desert. People could live lightly here, so long as no one like Roscord demanded more than his fair share.
"It's pretty," Rasim said to the air.
Carley, bent over a knot someone had tied badly, stood up with her hands in the small of her back and looked toward the approaching shore. "You should see it when the mist comes off the water. It's ghostly then, and sunlight breaks through to make the mist glow gold instead of silver. You'd think you lived in the Otherworlds, then." She cleared her throat, pushing a tremble of sentiment away. "We were raided in the spring, before we'd even planted the crops for the year. It's been eight months since we've seen home."
"It's only been a month, for me." The longest month of Rasim's life, and the one in which he'd changed the most, but still only a month. It hardly seemed possible. "If the captain knows where we are now, we shouldn't sail any closer to shore. In fact, we should return to sea, and let the Northern ship come closer and be glimpsed while we head for Roscord's holdings. Let the gossip run ahead, so his people are on edge. That way they'll come faster when the Northmen raid, and we'll have more time to strike."
Carley eyed him. "You get other people in trouble a lot at home, don't you."
"What? No. I try to stay out of trouble!"
"Probably just as well. I wouldn't want to be on your bad side." She left him blinking after her and went to speak to Donnin, clearly relaying Rasim's suggestions. The captain gave him a look much like Carley had done, then sent an order around the deck. Within minutes the shore receded. On higher seas, they met the Northern ship, which came up broadside to Donnin's ship. She catapulted herself to their deck to talk to the dark-haired Derek, who captained the Northern ship. Jorgensson: he was Captain Jorgensson, not Captain Derek, though calling captains by their last names seemed strange to Rasim. Every Ilyaran captain would be al Ilialio if they did that.
Jorgensson spoke rapidly to Donnin, who laughed and pointed a thumb toward Rasim as she nodded. Jorgensson glanced his way with a barely-concealed sneer, then spoke with Donnin again. A minute or two later she returned to her ship and the Northmen sailed closer to land. "He had the same thought," she told Rasim. "I don't think he cared for sharing it with you."
"I told you," Rasim said, though he hadn't told anyone, only thought it to himself, "I hardly ever have ideas nobody else would think of. I just think of them fast and say them when I think them."
"In my country," Donnin said, "we say to think twice and speak once."
"In your country," Rasim retorted, "you're tall."
Donnin burst out laughing. Rasim slunk off feeling foolish. The argument had made sense in his head, though he had to admit it sounded silly spoken aloud. "I just meant I have to be quick with what I say," he muttered, "or no one will ever even notice me."
"You slew a serpent," Markus said from nearby. "You may be small, Ilyaran, but you're hard to miss."
Feeling a little better, Rasim scaled the mast to perch in the crow's nest. Clear skies meant they had to keep a greater distance from shore than they might have otherwise, but the air was fresh and invigorating, and there was the prospect of excitement ahead. Dreadful excitement: he had fought a serpent and barely won, and wasn't at all sure he wanted to fight other men, but it certainly changed the monotony of daily shipboard life.
From his vantage he could see the distant shadow of the island coasts on the northern horizon, and another faint shadow on the western. They'd sailed through straits to reach Donnin's homeland, and he supposed the western blur was the continental land mass. Rasim thought he would like to visit that part of the world sometime, too, though with the need to rebuild the fleet, it probably wouldn't happen until he was an adult. Still, it was something to look forward to, when a week earlier he hadn't thought of looking forward to much. The fleet's loss still caught him unawares and wrenched his breath away, but he was beginning to accept it. He would have to live for them, that was all. The idea
left a pit of sadness in his stomach, but there was nothing else he could think to do.
The Northern ship wouldn't make landfall for at least a day, probably more. Rasim slipped down from the crow's nest to work and rest, and to try not to think about what was coming.
#
Donnin woke him at sunset the next day. Most of the crew had been too edgy to sleep, but Rasim, expecting he might need to use his witchery to its full extent, had fallen into his berth at mid-day and slept soundly. The captain's voice came as an unwelcome surprise. "Can you cloak us, Ilyaran? Can you hide us as we sail up the river to Roscord's lands? We're close enough to shore that I can hear Jorgenssen's men on their raid. I'll string him up myself if they kill any of my people."
"He swore they would only fight the soldiers," Rasim said blearily. "If you don't trust him, why are we even wasting our time trying this? Um." He pinched his eyes, trying to wake up enough to think. "A cloak. Like fog? I might be able to," he said dubiously. "But it's lifting water into air, and I've never been any good at that. If I manage it'll probably be the only thing I can do. Do you think you'll need me for anything else?"
"I don't know," Donnin said. "A man's blood is much like water, isn't it? Can you stop the very blood in Roscord's heart, just as you stop water from sloshing over the side of a bucket?"
Rasim dropped his hand to stare at the captain in horror. "No!"
Something unpleasant, like a smile but cruel, played at the corner of Donnin's mouth. "Does that mean you can't or you won't, lad? Never thought if that one, did you, clever boy?"
"Blood is blood," Rasim said fiercely. "Not water. It can't be stopped like that."
"Mmm." Donnin looked at him sideways, but let it drop, which only made Rasim feel worse. His vehemence was born from fear and he knew it. The idea of killing a man that way was shocking, and he was more than a little afraid it was possible.
Not by him. Never by him, not even if he could. "I'll try to bring up a fog," he said stiffly. Donnin nodded and got out of his way, letting him go up to the deck undisturbed.
The air was right for fog. Rasim could feel water in the air, waiting for the chill point. Guildmaster Isidri could have done it without a second thought, and Desimi with a little concentration. Rasim knotted his hands around the ship's rail, feeling a roughness of wood that wouldn't be there on an Ilyaran vessel. His life, and the lives of others, might well depend on him calling the fog. He had to do it. He closed his eyes, desperately encouraging his magic to change the water and air around him.
A soft gasp made him open his eyes a few moments later. Mist rose from the water, silver beads drifting higher as the crew watched. Fog rolled in from the sea to swallow the shore and snake along the river, a vanguard softening the land ahead of the ship's silent journey. Within a minute or two they were completely enveloped, mist reaching for the sky and hiding even their tall mast.
Rasim's mouth fell open as muted cheers and back-slaps congratulated him. Then the crew rushed to their duties, leaving him standing agape at the rail. Donnin murmured, "Our thanks," as she strode by. Rasim nodded, but by the time she was past, also shook his head.
He had not done this. His witchery had never stirred, much less strained under the effort of a magic well beyond his talents. There was no weight in the air proclaiming magic had been done, either. The fog had risen naturally.
At just the moment they'd needed it. Rasim huffed a disbelieving breath, but the air had been nearly perfect for fog, and he had no other explanation. He shook himself, then ran to do his duties. For others, that was sailing the ship. For himself, today at least, it was leaning from the ship's prow, extending his witchery toward the water. Sailing an unfamiliar river wasn't difficult in daylight with a wise eye for tell-tale signs of danger reflecting what lay below the surface. But now it was night, and Donnin's crew lacked the experience to recognize the change of water flow that might warn about a sand bar or flotsam that might threaten the ship. Even Asindo would use witchery on a night like tonight, though most other times he would insist his sailors trust their eyes and instincts first. Rasim had never heard of anyone's magic disappearing, but the guild's laws meant they learned to sail without witchery as well as with.
Roscord's lands were settled off a small natural harbor in the river, distinct in its sensation in the water's flow. Other docks had small boats bobbing in the mist, but nowhere else had large ships displacing water. Only two, but even that was enough to make Rasim certain that he guided Donnin's crew to the right place. There was no sense of activity; Roscord's men weren't foolish enough to try coming at the raiding Northmen on ship. They would meet them over land, trusting their swords. Rasim felt faint, distant movement and again fought down frustration. A better witch might be able to carry information about numbers of men, the direction they went, and how quickly, from the disturbance in the fog. All Rasim could tell was that there were people out there somewhere, but any fool would know that. It didn't take magic.
They docked silently, Rasim at least able to quiet the splashes of a ship coming in to shore. The crew armed themselves and filed off the ship behind Rasim, who quested with his witchery to find the easiest path. Water always took that route, even when it rolled through the air instead of between river banks. Rasim felt its ease of passage inland, and found a hard-packed road with his feet. The fog was so thick it was almost impossible to see them, and he felt the warmth of the crew crowding close, all of them afraid to lose each other in the murk. Carley had been right about the island fogs, Rasim thought. He'd never seen anything like them.
The road was straight and well-kept. Even in the dimness, they traveled quickly. The sensation of moving bodies in the mist faded from Rasim's awareness, suggesting Roscord's soldiers had taken the bait and gone south toward the Northern raiders. Nervous triumph bloomed in Rasim's chest, though he said nothing to the pirates.
Ahead, fog swirled more freely, brushing against unmoving figures and stirred only by the slightest internal breezes. Maybe trees and small animals breaking up a clearing, though he wasn't certain what kinds of beasts filled a cool island night. He would ask Carley later.
A weight rolled through the air and firelight turned the fog to gold, dozens of torches coming to full life at once. There was a clearing, a broad crossroads directly in front of them. Armor-clad soldiers, swords glittering, became visible in the haze. Rasim's heart stopped, ice splashing through his body.
They were surrounded.
Chapter 21
A man's voice slipped through the fog, so soft and cultured that even Rasim, who didn't know his language, recognized it as well-bred. The speaker came after the voice, and disappointed: he was not tall, nor was he handsome or fit. But his voice made up for it. Rasim could understand how he came to power, with the smooth, convincing tones and the rich depth rolling in his words.
Donnin stepped forward, face dark with furious color. She spoke her own language, too. Markus, near Rasim, began to translate.
"Roscord wanted to know if we really thought we'd be able to sneak up on him. If a paltry band of pirates thought they could unseat one of the most powerful warlords in the islands. Donnin says warlords her—" Markus glanced at Rasim and obviously edited the rude phrase Donnin had used. "...her grandmother's teeth. She says he's a power-monger and a bully, nothing more, and demands he return her daughter and any of our people he's enslaved."
Roscord actually laughed at that, a sound as sweet as honey. Rasim, knowing the man was a kidnapper and murderer, still wanted to like him, just for the quality of that laugh. He spoke again, Markus's translation running quietly under the beautiful voice: "Perhaps I am, Lady Donnin. Or I should say Captain Donnin now, I suppose. Forgive me, but how far the mighty have fallen. Perhaps a warlord is precisely as you've said, Captain. A power-monger and bully." He smiled, startling and bright, but his eyes remained cold and deadly, like a snake's. "But whatever you wish to call me, I am the victor here, and you are fools. Bring me the water witch."
Mark
us nearly swallowed the last words, as shocked by the translation as Rasim was. Two soldiers shoved Rasim forward. He stumbled, but caught himself, unwilling to meet Roscord on his knees. His heart was hummingbird-fast in his throat, but he lifted his chin with as much bravery as he dared, and wondered how the islands lord had known he was with the pirates.
Roscord examined him coolly. Almost dismissively, though he wouldn't have called Rasim forward if he truly intended to dismiss him. Nor was Rasim surprised when the warlord addressed him in the common tongue. "You've chosen a bad lot to throw in with, Ilyaran. Rasim al Ilialio, if I'm correct?"
Rasim set his jaw. "Yes. How did you know?"
"I would be a poor warlord indeed if I had no sources hidden within foreign courts. Why have you thrown in with these reprobates?"
Rasim's heart hammered until he felt dizzy. Their plans were already in a ruin. They needed to do something new, something unexpected. He said, "It was better than being sold to slavers," without thinking. At least it had the advantage of being true.
Roscord let go his astonishing laugh again. "Slavers? Gods, Donnin, are you that short-sighted? Still," he said to Rasim, "you might have chosen to sail with the Northern raiders, rather than Donnin's crew. Perhaps they've swayed you with their sentiment. Perhaps you've made friends?" He gestured, and soldiers seized one of Donnin's crew, a man called Elex. Without warning, the soldiers cut Elex's throat and threw him to the ground, where blood shone red beneath the fog.
Donnin screamed and launched herself at Roscord, half the crew in her wake. Soldiers surged forward, stopping them without using killing force, though it took four of them to hold Markus, who bellowed like a bull. Rasim couldn't even blink, much less shout or move with horror. His thoughts were a cold hard jumble, panic slashing them to pieces and fastening them together again in ways that made no sense. He was going to die. They were all going to die, if he didn't do something desperately clever.