“If I must,” said Hatu.
Catharian motioned for Hatu to follow him into a tiny rear cabin that barely held the two of them. “The captain slept here,” said the false monk. There were three large sacks sitting on a bunk: he opened one and took out an apple, some hard cheese, and a slice of salt pork. “There’s nothing like a proper galley on this lugger. It never sailed out of sight of land, as best I can judge.”
Hatu recalled looking around the deck and said, “We’re out of sight of land now.” He nibbled at the cheese. Finding the flavor less muted as he chewed, he swallowed and then accepted a skin handed to him by Catharian, took a drink, and almost choked. He had been expecting water but was greeted by the pungent bite of a stout red wine, though once he made the adjustment in his mind, the fruity liquid tasted acceptable.
“Not too much,” said Catharian. “It helps nourish your recovery in moderation, but too much and I might as well drug you again.” He held out a second skin. “Water.”
Hatu accepted the second skin, discovering as he drank just how thirsty he was. After a long pull, he put the skin on the small table and asked, “Why did you abduct me?” As the food started to refresh him and the drugs slowly wore off, he found his old nature starting to assert itself. A hot spark of anger within him was slowly building in intensity, and he knew if he didn’t put it out he would attack the false monk. Given that Denbe was standing only a few feet away outside, this was a very stupid idea, but part of him didn’t care.
Catharian said, “How much have they told you of your past?”
“Depends on which ‘they’ you mean. My masters in Coaltachin always skirted any questions about my birth, simply letting it be known I was to be treated like any other student, except I wasn’t. That was a cause of much anger in my life, the chafing at not knowing the truth about who I was.
“If by ‘they’ you mean Baron Dumarch and his man Balven, they told me that I’m the son of a dead king, of a kingdom reduced to ashes in a land I’ve never visited since my birth. My wife, Hava, and I joked about it: I’m the King of Ashes.”
Catharian sighed. “That was, I suppose, necessary. But there’s a great deal more to it, and that will take some time.
“First, be certain that no one here or where we’re going means you harm. In fact, the opposite. We abducted you from Beran’s Hill because we couldn’t risk you dying there. For that I apologize, but after I’ve finished here, I hope you’ll understand the need.”
“I doubt it,” said Hatu, for his anger was still rising, albeit more slowly. “Go on.”
“Had your father, the King of Ithrace, lived, there were . . . secrets, you could say, about your lineage and who you were destined to be that you would have been told. Your eldest brother would have been king, but you and your brothers and sisters would have all been important members of his court, as your children and his also would have played a vital role in the future of Garn. A great deal of what you would have learned is unknown to me, as my role is relatively minor, but others can give you all that you should have learned as a youngster. It’s vital that you, the last scion of Ithrace, survive. The future of Garn depends on it.”
“I don’t understand,” said Hatu. “How can one kingdom be vital to the future of the world? And anyway . . . it’s gone, right? Ithrace and my family are all gone.”
“But you’re not,” said Catharian. “There’s an old legend that a curse attends the death of the last Firemane.” He tapped Hatu lightly on the chest. “That’s wrong . . . or at least partially wrong.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You will, in time. Do you know how to sail?” asked Catharian.
Hatu hesitated at the change of topic, then said, “I’ve crewed ships before.”
“Good,” said the false monk. He stood up. “If you’re up to it after your long rest, we could use a hand.” He led Hatu out of the small cabin.
The sun was setting and to the east, stars were appearing. Hatu gripped the railing of the boat as he attempted to get his sea legs back. He took a deep breath and accepted another draft of water from the skin Catharian had brought with him.
“I won’t expect you up in the rigging, but if you could watch the lads—they’re earnest, but inexperienced with anything bigger than a dinghy.”
The lugger was being manned by Denbe and three boys who were maybe twelve or thirteen years of age from the look of them. Catharian pointed to one. “That fellow with the dark skin is Williem. The dark-haired lad who’s not Williem is called Bowen. And the gangly chap with dirty-blond hair is Jenson.”
The questioning look on Hatu’s face was answered by Catharian. “Their village was destroyed. They were the only ones who survived—they hid deep in the woods. Everyone they know is gone. We couldn’t leave them, and we needed help sailing this boat. So we scavenged what food we could, found this lugger anchored a short way up the coast—it’s one of the few the raiders didn’t burn to the waterline—and here we are.”
“Where is here?”
“We’re taking you to the safest place on Garn, Sefan.” Catharian saw a reaction to that name. “Or do you still prefer to be called Hatushaly?”
“It’s the name I’ve grown up with,” Hatu answered.
“Then Hatushaly it will be.”
“Hatu. Most people call me Hatu.”
“Then so shall I.”
“Where are we bound?”
“To a land very far from the twin continents. As distant a land as exists on Garn.”
Knowing a little of geography, courtesy of Master Bodai, who seemed to know something about everything, Hatu said, “We’re heading west by south. Are we traveling to Alastor?”
Catharian seemed impressed by the question. “I forget you were raised by people who travel widely. No, Alastor is the most distant continent to the west, north of the midpoint of this world, an imaginary line called the equator. We travel even farther and south, to a continent as large as both Tembrias combined. It’s a land called Nytanny.”
Hatu’s face showed no recognition.
“It simply means ‘our land’ in the language of the most dominant nation there, Aurenton Sothu, which means ‘Empire of the Sun.’ Oh, and they’re very distant kin of yours. Anyway, we’ll be at sea for a few weeks.”
“In this?” said Hatu, looking at the boys scampering about their duties. “With them?”
“No,” said Catharian. “There’s an island on the way where we will leave this boat for a proper ship, one with a full crew and provisions.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
Catharian had discarded the robe of the Order of Tathan and was wearing a loose-fitting dark green tunic and heavy canvas trousers. “We are the Flame Guard. We have been tasked for a very long time to protect the line of the Firemane.”
“From what?”
“From your extinction. Should you die, what we think of as ‘magic’ in Garn will die with you.”
Hatu stood motionless, blinking in confusion.
Hava and Molly sat on the promontory looking down into the city as the sounds of slaughter carried to their distant observation post. Their vantage was close enough to the main gate of Port Colos that they could see people attempting to flee the city being chased down by horsemen. Some were cut down, but others were netted and dragged back. “Slavers,” said Hava softly.
Molly’s expression was one of confusion. “Slavers? Here?”
“Why not? The attack from inside the city was completely unexpected and those attempting to defend it were taken unawares.”
“How . . . ?” asked Molly in hushed tones. The terror she was witnessing was reinforcing the horror of the slaughter she had survived.
“I don’t know,” said Hava. “The governor welcomed them as allies, and they betrayed him?”
Molly nodded. “When I fled the battle at Beran’s Hill, some of us made it to a farm at the wood’s edge—myself with that captain, Bogartis, and some of his men, and a few others. Those that cam
e after us didn’t expect the fight we gave them, and none got back to town for reinforcements. Hava, I know well what happened there, but I swear there weren’t enough raiders to take a city of this size.”
“Look,” said Hava, pointing to the horizon.
As the evening mist thinned, dots of light began appearing on the water beyond the city. While Hava and Molly watched, the scattered pinpoints of light, like stars in the sea, increased in amount and intensity as night descended.
“Ships. There must be . . . hundreds,” said Molly. Then she said, “A thousand?”
“Is there a fleet this big anywhere?” whispered Hava.
“They only sent a small part of their numbers to Beran’s Hill. The rest . . . ?”
“Sitting here waiting,” said Hava. “Or raiding up and down the coast.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea. All I know of military matters is avoiding drunken soldiers.” She stood up.
“Where are you going?” asked Molly.
“Down there,” said Hava. “If Hatu is in that city, he’ll need my help.”
“You’ll both end up dead!” Molly stood and gripped Hava’s wrist. “He’s either dead already or somewhere else.”
Hava disengaged her arm from Molly’s grasp. “I have to know.”
“Then wait until it’s over. People are being slaughtered from the sound of it, and as skilled with a knife as you might be, that’s an army down there!”
Indecision rooted Hava to the ground. What Molly said was obviously true, but she needed to know about Hatu. At last, she said, “I have to know. If I’m not back by dawn, get as far from here as fast as you can.”
Molly watched silently as Hava vanished down the ridge and into the darkness.
Hava kept low as she scurried along the rock face of the ridge that ran down from the overlook where she and Molly had watched, toward the northernmost wall of the city. She knew she was masked by the darkness, despite a lack of any sheltering trees or brush in this cleared area before the wall. And, from the sounds coming from the city, it was unlikely that someone would be looking out for anyone approaching the city.
Hurrying as fast as possible, she reached the intersection of the rocks and the wall. The fighting was starting to abate, or at least the sounds of battle were.
Port Colos had a wide bay backed by enough solid ground that there had never been a need to build a wharf. The city had erected the quay from this northernmost section and had continued adding to it to the south.
Hava had chosen this edge of the city because it had seemed to be the quietest section she and Molly could see before the fighting broke out. It still seemed relatively quiet, though no doubt anywhere inside the walls was fraught with risks. She reached the wall and looked up, and as she expected, there was a buttressed ledge supporting a defensive position for archers above her head. Without a grapple and rope, getting up there looked as if it would prove problematic.
Hava moved to where the ridge and wall met and found what she hoped: years before, the end of this wall had been nestled hard against the side of the ridge. Over the years, erosion and neglect had cause stones to crumble and earth to wash away, so there was a narrow passage between the wall and the rising ground.
She could see faint light ahead and reckoned it looked wide enough to scrape a way through, into the city. Turning sideways and making sure her large belt knife was on her left hip, so that she wouldn’t impale herself trying to sidle through, she started. As she had expected, it was a tight fit—a large man would not be able to try this, or a large woman for that matter.
Slowly she inched along sideways, hoping nothing collapsed or moved, as this would be a terrible place to be trapped or killed. The rock scraped against her cheek three times, and her backside felt as if it was being rubbed raw, but she continued at a steady pace.
She had a jaw-clenching moment as she came to the end of the gap, for she would be helplessly exposed to anyone who might look her way as she emerged. But her luck held and at last she could see clearly around the wall: she was alone. Some lights farther down the quay indicated that someone was down there, but no one was moving this far to the north.
A noise to her right caused Hava to spin into a crouch, ready to fight. Although the ridge of stone sloping down to the ground had created a natural barrier, some old stonework had been added to the top of it, providing a defense of sorts should an attack come from the north along the rocky beach. Stacks of abandoned crates and rubbish had been shoved into the corner.
From within that pile came movement, and Hava waited silently, not wishing to investigate but knowing she couldn’t afford to leave a potential enemy at her back. She circled slowly to her left and reached the end of the makeshift defense. Glancing to her left, she saw a steep drop-off to the rocks and sands below and realized that defending this part of the city had always been of minor concern.
Creeping over to the pile, she reached out and grabbed a flat piece of wood. Yanking it aside, she peered in and saw three small figures crouched in the dark, their large eyes barely illuminated by the distant light.
Her stomach knotted and she felt her heart sink as she recognized what she had found. “Damn,” she muttered, as three terrified children gazed up at her. Kneeling, she said, “I won’t hurt you.”
Too terrified to speak, they crouched even lower, unable to move. Half a dozen questions popped into Hava’s head only to be instantly dismissed. She knew their parents were probably dead, their home either ablaze or being sacked, and that these murderous pigs would either slaughter these children or sell them into slavery.
Softly she asked, “Who is the oldest?”
No one moved or replied, and she repeated the question. Finally a young girl whispered, “I am.”
“You’re the big sister?”
The girl nodded, the movement barely perceptible in the gloom.
Hava did not know how to deal with children who had not been raised as she had. The older girl looked as if she might be nine or ten years of age, perhaps a bit more, but by that time in her life Hava had already been trained to fight and survive. These children had not.
“Listen,” she said as calmly as she could. “I need you to leave here.”
The older girl immediately started shaking her head, while the two smaller children clung to each other with terror etched across their tiny faces.
Trying to think how she’d heard parents talk to children who weren’t from the school, she kept her tone soft, despite the distant clamor, which sounded as if it might be getting closer. “Listen, I need you to be brave. Those men who are hurting people are getting closer. You need to go through that space.” She pointed to the crack through which she had entered the city. “You’ll be next to a big wall of rock. Follow the rock till you’re outside the city. Can you do that?”
“I’m scared,” the older girl whispered.
“I know you are. Being scared is . . . all right.” Without thought she added, “I’m scared, too,” and she realized at the moment of saying it that she was terrified. She was frightened at the prospect of not finding Hatu, at being captured or killed, of abandoning Molly. Swallowing hard, she said, “But you just have to do things even when you’re scared, all right?”
“I suppose so,” came the quiet reply.
“These your brother and sister?”
“Yes.”
“You have to be . . . a big girl. In charge. Do you understand?”
“No.”
“You have to look out for them, because you’re all they have left.”
“I can’t.”
“You must.” She reached out and took hold of the smallest child, the boy, and pulled him away from his sisters. Deprived of his siblings, the boy suddenly clung to her hard, trembling uncontrollably, and Hava found herself momentarily overcome by a need to do something, but having no idea what. Nothing she’d ever experienced seemed remotely helpful in dealing with this situation.
From the strong odor
that reached her nostrils, it was clear that the boy had soiled himself, but there was nothing she could do about that. She moved slightly, freeing up her left arm, and motioned for the two girls to come closer. When they were cradled in her other arm, Hava said, “Some men are coming.”
The older girl whimpered, and Hava quickly said, “No, some good men who will protect you. If you go through that crack and follow the big stone cliff away from the city, you’ll see them coming along the road in the morning.” She desperately hoped that would be true. “They will take care of you, but if you stay here the bad men will find you like I did, and you don’t want that, do you?”
The older girl shook her head.
“What is your name?”
“Merrylee.”
“Take your brother and sister. Can you do it, please?”
The older girl said, “I’ll try.”
“Be brave,” Hava said as she opened her arms. The older girl took the two younger children by the hand and led them into the crack between the wall and the ridge. Hava felt a sudden stab of fear for them and tears stung her eyes. But there was nothing more she could do for them, and there were already hundreds of other children lying dead or captured.
She forced herself to remain calm as the children vanished from view and moved toward what looked to be a collection of abandoned stalls, perhaps the merchant stalls that had lined the city wall for about a hundred years or so. These would provide a bit of cover as she moved toward the center of the city.
As she moved purposefully and cautiously along from stall to stall, darting in and out, a passing thought struck her. She’d never asked the names of the two other children.
11
Investigations, Discoveries, and the Unexpected
Declan waved away an attempt of help from a baggage boy as he made his way through the almost abandoned kitchen tent: the bulk of the baron’s army had departed at first light. He elected to grab a bowl and had it filled with stew. He did accept a boy’s offer to put a big wooden spoon in it, as he was limited to the use of his left hand only.
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