Finally he said, “I just wish . . .”
“What?”
“I wish I was back in Beran’s Hill, at my little inn, with Hava.”
“I wish Denbe was studying his scrolls and books, and I was teaching your older brother and never had to spend my life among murderers and thieves. We rarely get what we long for. At least Hava was a wise choice.”
“Choice? For what?”
“Even as a baby you were difficult.” Bodai shook his head as if regretting something. “We had an agent who saved you from Lodavico’s murderers. Everyone in your household was put to death. Children were thrown from cliffs onto the rocks below just in case they might have a drop of Firemane blood.”
Hatu had heard the tale before but said nothing.
“She spirited you away,” Bodai continued, “and found her way into Baron Dumarch’s tent, using every skill the Flame Guard had taught her.” He laughed humorlessly. “She died trying to make her way back to us, and we received only a short message from her.
“We knew you were with the baron but assumed he’d raise you as one of his own, or give you to some noble family or perhaps some wealthy merchant . . .” Bodai shrugged. “We never would have dreamed in a thousand lifetimes he’d hand you over to the care of the masters of Coaltachin.
“I was supposed to spend a few years as the false Bodai, then fake my death, returning to the Sanctuary and the Flame Guard. But once Facaria took you into his care, my instructions changed. Everything I did besides run my own crews was to keep an eye on you and ensure your safety. Word of your temper and difficulties reached me—”
Hatu interrupted. “Is Facaria one of the Flame Guard?”
“No, but with his attitude toward duty . . . he views a contract as a religious document,” Bodai said with a deep chuckle. “If we had planned that it couldn’t have turned out better.”
“And Hava?”
“Facaria said something to me once when she first came to his attention. He realized there was something rare about her. I arranged to be there when he tested her and sensed at once what you now know as truth. I knew that she also had a special kind of . . . magic, for lack of a better word. The sort of magic we find in people like Sabella, but of a different type from that possessed by the other acolytes.
“If you were this untamed wild force, she was a calming force: she would keep you grounded, stop you from destroying yourself. Perhaps she was put on this world to prevent you from becoming a danger to all of Garn. Without her, you would probably have died years ago, and possibly a great number of people with you. For that reason alone, she may be the most important person on Garn. If we can, we will find a way to bring her to you.”
Hatu looked at Bodai and could think of nothing to say.
Hava took a sip from the cup before her and made a face. “What is that?”
“A local drink made from wine, fruit juice, and water.” Catharian gave a slight shrug.
“It’s terrible,” she said, pushing the cup away from her.
“Having tasted the wine you served in your inn, I think you’d find the local wine without the fruit juice even more disagreeable.” Catharian looked over his shoulder at Sabien, who stood behind him, ready to ensure he didn’t leave his chair without permission. “Does he have to hover over me like that?”
“Yes. Now, I’m not killing you at the moment because I want to know where my husband is, so let us not linger over discussing what we like to drink, all right?”
“Fine,” said Catharian, moving his shoulder a bit to alleviate the massive bruise left by Sabien’s boot. “As I tried to explain, I am serving an order that is committed to protecting Hatushaly from harm.”
“So you say.”
“He’s on his way to the safest place on Garn for him to be.”
“Again, so you say. Where is that?”
“A place known as the Sanctuary.”
“Fitting name, I guess,” said Hava. “Where is it?”
“That’s the hard part. It’s not on any known map, or at least not any I’ve heard of, for reasons of secrecy.” He tapped his head. “I know the way, as do others of my order, but it’s a difficult route and I happen to lack a ship.”
“I have a ship,” said Hava.
“I was curious as to how you got here and found me,” admitted Catharian. He glanced around and saw only one big ship in the harbor. “Yours?”
She nodded. “Borzon’s Black Wake.”
Catharian’s eyes widened and he almost spat out his mouthful of wine. “The slaver!”
“The same.”
“Gods of all ages, girl, do you know what you’ve done?”
“I have a pretty fair notion.”
“That’s the Golden Pride’s treasure haul.”
“Who are the Golden Pride?”
“People none of us wish to meet, ever.” He waved his hand quickly. “No, tell me at another time how you stole it. Right now just tell me that other ships of that fleet are not behind you.”
“We were the first to leave Port Colos, and we put in for a day and a bit in Cleverly, then sailed here. We arrived a few hours ago.”
Catharian’s brow furrowed as he thought. “Then we still may have time.”
“For what?”
“To get that ship as far away from here as possible before a fleet filled with Azhante cutthroats arrives and nails us to the walls of these shops as a lesson to any who might annoy them in the future. They will happily kill you, and every person who ever knew you, and even anyone who just saw you on the street once. That’s the sort of monsters they are.”
“We can leave shortly,” said Hava. “I have a ship, and you know the way to this Sanctuary.”
Catharian shook his head. “Not in that wallower.”
“Why?”
“The way is through reefs and shoals that will rip out that ship’s hull three times over. We need something of shallower draft, and far more nimble.”
“See anything around like that?”
“Not today, but there should be at least a dozen here in the next day or two, when the other ships from the raid start turning up. Unfortunately, most will be crawling with fighters.”
Hava looked at Sabien and said, “Start getting our people back aboard. Looks like we may be leaving sooner than we wished.”
“Captain,” Sabien said with a nod. He turned and left.
Catharian echoed the title. “Captain? There is a story to tell, isn’t there?” He shifted in his chair as if he might stand up.
Hava instantly pointed a dagger at him, motioning for him to stay seated. “Hun-hu,” she said quietly, and he sat back. “So we need a nimble ship.”
“Yes, and a solid crew.”
“That I have.”
The boy Surya appeared, with three others behind him. Hava glanced up at the sun and reckoned she still had a couple of hours of daylight. “You’re early,” she said to them. “I thought you said there were six in your crew.”
Surya looked away with a sheepish expression. “Four.”
“What did you find?”
“There is one ship anchored on the other side of that headland.”
“Show us,” Hava said, standing up. A single look at Catharian told him she meant he was coming as well.
Hava picked coins from her belt pouch and passed two silver pieces to each of Surya’s companions. She put her hand on Surya’s shoulder and said, “Lead the way.” To the others she said, “Go get some food.” The three scruffy-looking lads ran off laughing.
Surya said, “Follow me.” He led them through alleyways southwest of the pier, where after a while the town ended and a path up to the headland began. “Sometimes people go up here to look for signs of weather or maybe incoming ships. Most of the time there’s no one around.”
A third of the way up a smaller path diverged to the north and the boy led Hava and Catharian along it. This path wound its way through shrubs and low trees until they came to a small ridge. Here the boy fell
to his stomach and crawled upward until he could look over the edge.
The two adults followed suit until, popping their heads over the ridge, they saw the ship. It was a two-masted vessel, slender compared with the Black Wake, but large enough to carry a decent cargo or companies of men.
“Does that look nimble enough, Catharian?” Hava asked.
He gave a chuckle. “More than enough. That’s perhaps the most feared Azhante warship. It has at least thirty killers as crew and can outrun almost any vessel in Garn, and if there’s one it can’t, it can outfight them. See that ballista mounted on the foredeck? The jibs are dropped, the bowsprit removed, and that ballista mounted and manned in minutes if the crew knows what it’s doing, and that crew most certainly does. That, dear Captain, is the Queen of Storms.”
“I like the name,” said Hava with a grin.
“If we leave now,” Catharian said, “sail around the southwest tip of the island and stay on the western shore and don’t get caught, we could—”
Hava interrupted him. “No. The Queen of Storms. I’m going to take her.”
Catharian looked appalled. Finally he whispered, as if fearful of being overheard, even though the ship was a mile away, “Take her? When?”
“Tonight.” Hava gave Catharian’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “We will take that ship tonight and be on our way to the Sanctuary by dawn.”
Catharian could find no words.
20
Planning and Resolutions
Hava pulled Catharian back down below the ridge as the boy Surya ran off with her message for Sabien.
“Are you mad?” asked Catharian. “That’s the finest ship in the Azhante fleet. They must have put in just after Bodai and Hatushaly left.”
She grabbed his collar and yanked him close. “Bodai?” She searched his face. “You’ve abducted a master of Coaltachin?”
“No,” Catharian shot back, “of course not. He’s one of us. He’s one of the Flame Guard.”
Hava was speechless. Not just a master, but a member of the Council? She finally forced herself to speak. “We’ll speak of this later.”
“If there is a later.” Catharian gestured toward the ship. “The Queen of Storms is the most dangerous vessel on the seas. When I first saw it, years ago, it had just destroyed a trio of ships trying to sweep past the Border. No matter how often word spreads through the Border Ports, there’s always some band of fools who think they’re smarter, tougher, or—”
“In other words, stupid men,” supplied Hava.
“In a nutshell. Now, how do you propose taking a ship crewed by trained assassins?”
Hava took a moment to organize her thoughts. “These Azhante are not that different from my people.”
“More than you know,” Catharian interjected.
“Not every sicari in Coaltachin is Quelli Nascosti. We are feared because of our reputation as much as our skills. Rumors as much as results . . . Reputation wins fights as often as strength.” She laughed. “As Master Bodai would say.
“Every sailor on a ship of Coaltachin is a fighting man, true, but the Hidden Ones are too valuable to waste on all but the most serious missions. When we took the Black Wake, there were no more than two Azhante before we sailed, and after they set sail, only one aboard, whom we killed.
“So,” she asked, “how many Quelli Nascosti do you think are on that ship?”
Catharian shook his head. “I can only guess.” He considered her question silently, then said, “If their seers sensed that Hatushaly was anywhere nearby, they probably put all the assassins on that ship.” He calculated. “There would perhaps be a dozen scattered throughout these islands under normal conditions.” He gave an audible sigh, as if realizing that talking Hava out of this madness was a waste of breath. “Six or eight, I should think. But the rest—thirty or forty of them—will all be fighters. So twelve assassins and forty warriors. All Azhante, and the fighters are just as dangerous as the assassins.”
“And I have perhaps twice their number of fighters.”
“They’re not all trained warriors!” Catharian’s rising tone was evidence of his disbelief.
“I gave every prisoner their freedom: everyone who remained is there by choice.” She looked him in the eye. “They would be slaves or dead if not for me.” She paused, then said, “They would die for me.” In that moment she knew that was true. Strong feelings started to rise up in her and she pushed them back down, locking away this unimagined combination of pride and responsibility.
Hava crawled back up to watch the ship as the sun lowered in the west.
Catharian moved up next to her. After a few minutes he asked, “What are you watching for?”
“I’m planning” was all she would say.
As the sun started to go down over the island, Catharian asked, “Are you going to stay here all night?”
“No. I think I know how to take that ship now.”
Catharian raised his eyebrows. “Good. I don’t welcome walking back down that trail in the dark.”
“I’ll protect you,” she said mockingly, slipping below the rim and standing up.
“Can you protect me from a broken ankle?” Catharian shot back as he followed her.
“Watch your step.”
He couldn’t see her grin as he groaned audibly.
They reached the edge of the village with little difficulty, and when they got back to the cantina they found Sabien waiting for them. “I’ve got everyone back aboard the ship and the gig is ready to take us back.” He cast a questioning look at Catharian.
“Oh, yes,” Hava said. “He’s coming with us.”
The three made their way down to the quayside where the gig waited. Another sailor and Sabien rowed them to the ship, and when they were aboard, Hava asked Catharian, “How far is it to the other end of the island and around to that cove?”
“Quite a distance. The other side of the island has fewer hills, but more inlets and lagoons to walk around.”
“By boat?”
“A day, maybe more if the winds aren’t favorable. It’s why the pier is at this end and most departures are from this end of the island. To the west is a northwestern tack, then a southwestern leg through the shoals and reefs. To the east, it’s a straight run to the northeast to get back to the Twins.” He looked at her in the fading light. “What are you thinking?”
“I need to get that longboat”—she pointed at the boat lashed upside down above a forward hatch—“on the other side of the Queen of Storms at dawn.”
“Too far by three times to row,” said Catharian. “But there’s a narrowing, between two inlets, about two hours south of the town, a dip in the hills, and you could carry the boat across the island there.”
Hava seemed to weigh this option, then said, “That longboat is too big to port for a long distance at any speed. We need . . .” She calculated. “. . . three smaller boats.” Her expression brightened. “And I saw three serviceable boats sitting in a yard not too far from here.
“Sabien, I want eight men to come with me to buy some boats and carry them down to the beach.” She glanced at the sky, seeing that it was almost sunset and she’d have to hurry to get to the boatyard. “Then get everyone who can fight to shore after dark. Try to do it unseen, down the beach a way.” He nodded. “Leave just enough crew aboard to sail the Black Wake around the headland.”
She saw Molly standing a short distance away and waved her over. “Of the archers you’ve tutored, who’s your best?”
“I’ve got a couple who aren’t bad.”
Hava nodded. Turning to Catharian, she said, “I assume none of those sicari are in the town, or they’d already be crawling over the deck looking for a reason why this ship is here and not going where it’s supposed to be going.”
Catharian nodded. “Everyone on the Queen of Storms is probably waiting for someone to try to head out to the west,” he said. He didn’t mention Hatushaly, but Hava took his meaning. The Azhante had arrived just a day too
late to see him leave.
“You’re coming with us,” she told Catharian. “But I want you to stay with the second company. You will wait until we have control of the deck and swim over to join us. If we have to retreat, I don’t want you dead. You’re the only one who can get us to the Sanctuary.”
Dryly, Catharian said, “If you have to retreat, getting to the Sanctuary is the least of your problems.”
She made a face, then shrugged. Turning to the others, she said, “So I’ve seen the strong points of that ship, and I know something of the men on it, so here’s what we’ll do . . .”
Declan found Ratigan in the nearly empty inn he had suggested. Someone had taken it over, for the floor was covered with fresh straw, and a woman in her middle years stood at the back of the room watching over her customers. Ratigan shook Declan’s hand and said, “They have some bread, hard cheese, and a bit of ale.”
“That’s all right,” Declan said, sitting down. “So, tell me what happened.”
Ratigan said, “I was on a wagon, getting ready to roll out a cargo from Ilcomen to here, and Roz was watching them load up a second shipment that was heading north, then looping around to here—we were going to meet up in a few days and take a double load of freight back to Ilcomen.” He shook his head. “Suddenly we hear there’s an attack coming from the west, and the next thing people are running and shouting. Before they could finish loading the second wagon, the workers dropped what they were doing and joined a panicked mob rushing east.” His expression was resigned. “I just told Roz to get a shake on and follow me.
“It was pandemonium. I made it through the gateway of our freight yard to the boulevard. Roz followed, but if she got out of the city, I never saw her. The mob between us just got too large for me to drive the mules through and I got swept along with it. Once through the gate, the mob spread out and I started making decent speed. That slowed when the forests became too thick to pass through and people returned to the roadway. I don’t know what’s become of Roz . . .” His voice trailed away.
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