Hava stood with her hand on the hilt of her sword, waiting.
A few seconds later she could hear the muffled sounds of alarm from below. Catharian moved close to her. “Good thing that ball didn’t land on a barrel of lamp oil.”
Hava’s eyes widened slightly, welling with tears from the smoke. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“They’re usually stowed in the fore part of the hold, secured to the wall, so any shifting cargo won’t break loose and crush them.”
“Good to know,” she whispered.
“What now?”
“We wait.”
Balven looked at Donte, who was sitting on the bed of the former officer’s room in the barracks, where he was under guard. “What shall we do with you?”
Donte shrugged. “Things have seemed very busy around here since we arrived, sir. I could work.”
Balven smiled. “I know where you’re from. Should I trust you?”
“Probably not,” answered Donte with a grin. “But I have nowhere to go, it seems. From what I hear, the last place Hatu and Hava were seen has been burned to the ground, and I wouldn’t begin to know where to look for them.
“Besides,” he added, craning his neck a bit, “I’m bored, and I have this odd notion that someday they’ll return to Beran’s Hill or maybe even here.”
“Based on what?”
“Nothing, really. Just a feeling, sir.”
“Like the feeling that you’re supposed to kill Hatu?”
Donte spread his hands slightly. “It’s a puzzler, for certain. He’s my best friend, yet . . . it’s like a whisper. I ignore it most of the time, but every once in a while, just as I’m falling asleep, waking up, or just sitting here, I can almost hear it.
“It’s one of the reasons I’d like to do something. I don’t mind the free food, scant as it may be, and this bed is comfortable compared to just about anywhere else I’ve slept, but just sitting here is wearing a bit thin.”
“Very well,” said Balven. “We’ll find some work for you. Do you have any particular skills?”
“Like most boys from my home island I’ve been apprenticed to a fair number of trades. A little smithing, carpentry, a bit of masonry. I’m a fair hand with horses and dogs, and I can work in the kitchen.”
“Come along then,” said the baron’s closest adviser. “I think I know a good place for you to start. We’re losing some men working on the walls, and if you know a bit of masonry, that will come in handy.”
Donte followed Balven out of the barracks and down to where the new outer wall was being erected. Donte saw a company of mercenaries, a few of whom looked familiar from his short time in Beran’s Hill, riding past.
“My brother is sending them on a mission, and until today they were building this wall. I sent a few more to replace them, but I could use more workers.” He waved over the foreman and said, “Take this strong lad and put him to work.”
“Yes, m’lord,” the foreman replied as Balven departed. He looked Donte over and said, “What do you know about stone?”
Donte smiled. “It hurts a lot when you drop it on your toes.”
The foreman chuckled. “That it does. What else?”
“I can cut from the quarry if someone shows me where, and I can trim to fit.”
“Trimming to fit it is then,” said the foreman. “I have lads who can only lift heavy stones and put them where I want, but trimming stone to fit well, that’s useful.”
As they neared a makeshift pavilion with a planning table set up inside it, Donte looked past it and saw a familiar figure on top of a completed portion of the wall. It was the soldier named Deakin who’d tried to garrote him. He grinned.
“What’s making you so happy?” the foreman asked.
“I’ve been cooped up. This is going to be fun.”
“Strange idea of fun,” said the foreman, handing him a large, flat-bladed stone chisel and a heavy wooden mallet.
“You have no idea,” Donte said softly, his eyes fixed on Deakin.
“The Sanctuary,” said Bodai.
“Where?” asked Hatu.
“Behind that wall of clouds. We’re about to pass through another string of shoals and reefs scattered among tiny islands, some no bigger than this quarterdeck.”
Hatu stood mute, astonished by what appeared to be a solid wall of grey stretching from one side of the horizon to the other. As they neared, he felt the humidity in the air rising and the temperature falling from very warm to cool.
“The coming together of currents, cold and warm, and the specks of land that stretch for literally a thousand miles or more create this mist. Many ships were lost on those reefs, I suspect, before a way through them was found.”
They entered the mist and quickly all visibility fell away. “There was a time,” said Bodai, “when I would have had someone on the bow tossing out a line and calling out the depth. But over the years I’ve learned there’s only one turn we must make.” He stopped speaking, and then Hatu saw him moving his lips in a silent count. This went on for almost a minute, then suddenly Bodai called out, “Hard aport!” and moved the wheel quickly, counting again before centering the helm once more. “There,” he said to Hatushaly. “Now it’s straight through to . . . well, you’ll see.” He shook his head slightly with a satisfied expression. “You could lash the wheel and, if the wind didn’t change, head straight to the Sanctuary on this bearing.”
Hatu nodded. The ship was now engulfed in mist that was almost as thick as fog, but there was a light breeze. Still, the ship seemed to be moving faster than it should. “Are we in a current?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Bodai. “It’s probably what carved this channel through the reefs and shoals. Wait.”
“Wait for what?”
“A few minutes more.”
Hatu waited curiously, wondering what was coming next. As time began to drag, the entire seascape brightened abruptly and it was as if they had stepped out of a dark room into vivid daylight. “Amazing!” Hatu said in hushed tones.
“Isn’t it? Once in a while, when the wind is blowing almost due south, the mist lifts through the islands, but I would guess that on ninety out of every hundred days the barrier of mist remains. Over the centuries, most ships have just come to avoid it. There’s little on this course for any to seek out but those who serve the Flame Guard. Now, see that speck on the horizon?”
Hatu squinted, peering between sheets and sails over the bow, and saw a tiny smudge of darkness on the horizon. “Yes,” he answered.
“Watch it.”
Hatu glanced at Bodai, then moved down from the quarterdeck, across the main deck, and up the ladder to the forecastle, where he stood to the right of the bowsprit. He watched the smudge on the horizon grow larger. Soon it was clearly an island or the tip of a peninsula. He became mesmerized by the emerging image, as details began to resolve themselves, and after less than five minutes he could see distant columns and larger structures behind them.
As they approached, a vista of former grandeur began to reveal itself. The columns he had seen were cracked and broken, surrounded by fallen stones. He had been apprenticed to stonecutters long enough to recognize that a massive outer ring of columns had once risen high on both sides of what he could now see was a harbor, with an enormous edifice rising behind: colonnades of arches that must once have been splendid but had now fallen into neglect and ruin. What must this place have looked like before whatever destruction had visited it? It must have been breathtaking, Hatu thought.
Bodai came to stand at his side and said, “Once the majesty of this place shone like a brilliant flame to rival the sun.”
“I can imagine,” said Hatu quietly. “What happened?”
“Well, we left. The Flame Guard is an ancient order, one of the oldest in the history of Garn, but our mission evolved over a long time. Some of your training will explain the history of our order and the protective role we have played.
“When the Firemane line rose in Ithrace, we began to sen
d more of our people there. You’ll be taught more in due course, but for now let me just say it became vital for us to be there. The Firemane succession was far more important than simply that of a line of kings and their families; it was the holder of one of the elemental powers of this world.
“After years passed, only a few remained here to train people like Sabella and Denbe and to care for our archives and library. There were never a large number in our order to begin with; at our height we had perhaps two thousand spread across the whole world. At the time of the Betrayal there were only six hundred, and most died in the sacking of Ithrace, including your family’s slaughter at Betrayer’s Field.
“A hundred or so years ago an earthquake caused most of the visible damage, and we lacked the resources in both workers and wealth to carry out the necessary repairs.” He took a deep breath as they approached the island, and Hatu saw that a single dock that looked a bit makeshift was their destination. A small ship was anchored a short distance away, making room for their vessel.
“You mentioned Sabella. I haven’t seen her.”
“She left before we did, after I had you brought aboard this ship. She arrived on that ship over there, to bring word to the prior that you’re coming. She also brought those three lads Catharian rescued.”
“Really?”
“Again, as you study, you’ll understand why we need to repopulate this place.” Bodai waved his hand in a sweeping motion at the massive ruins ahead.
A small group of men on the dock made ready to catch lines and make the ship fast. Hatu glanced over his shoulder and upward to see the expert crew furling the sails. “Well, if you need orphans, the world’s full of them,” he said. “Especially after the slaughter at Beran’s Hill.”
“I wonder. Rumors were flying around Elsobas that something much bigger than a raid on one town in Marquensas was under way. People from other islands sending word . . .” Bodai shrugged. “Rumors are always flying around the Border Ports. That’s why Catharian is going to return to Marquensas on the first available ship.”
As they settled in next to the dock, snug against the fenders, and the mooring lines were secured, Bodai said, “Who knows? He may very well be on his way there now.”
Catharian said, “They’ve been quiet for a bit.”
Henri looked at Hava. “They’re either puking their guts out or unconscious.”
She appeared dubious. “I know the sort of men they are better than most. If there was any way they could avoid that, they will have devised it.” She let her gaze sweep over all the men around her. “We go in hard and fast. Any man who has never fought before stays back. I don’t want you accidentally sticking a blade into one of our own, or yourself for that matter. Your duty is to kill anyone trying to climb out of that hold dressed in black. Understood?”
Several of the men and women nodded, but no one spoke. She could smell the fear of people who had been ripped from their homes and seen mothers, fathers, children, sisters, and brothers killed before their eyes, then endured captivity and worse. Still, each seemed willing to face that fear, and for that she was thankful.
She pointed to those who seemed best prepared and motioned them to step to the fore. “First in,” she said. Then she motioned with her hand to those not selected and said, “Second in. Wait and then come in ready! Let’s do this thing!” she declared, hoping her own fear wasn’t evident.
Four men lined up on the fore and aft sides of the hatch cover. Hava indicated that they would need to lift and move the hatch cover to the starboard side of the deck in a single swift motion. Two men were ready with heavy gloves, and Hava picked up a piece of a cut-up shirt and tied it over her nose and mouth. Others followed her example. When the cover was moved, no arrows shot out, and all was quiet. She nodded to one of the two men and jumped over the edge and down into the hold, hoping she didn’t land on anything that would trip her or, worse, break her bones. As Master Kugal had said several times to her, Hatu, and his grandson Donte, “Sometimes you just have to leap into something on faith.” Or as Master Bodai had said once, “I’d rather be lucky than good.”
She struck the deck below with her knees slightly bent and her legs took the shock easily. She’d jumped from greater heights. The smoke that filled the hole was blinding, and now it began to blow up from the open hatch. The man with the gloves landed next to her a moment later and looked for the smoldering source of the smoke, locating the still-burning ball of oily grey ambergris at the rear of the deck, where it had probably been kicked in an attempt to get it as far away as possible.
The gloved man grabbed it and heaved it up through the hatch to the deck above, where the second gloved man would toss it overboard.
Hava crouched, sword ready, as the smoke began to clear. She saw bodies sprawled everywhere. She quickly counted, engulfed by the stench of vomit and shit.
She took a moment to steel herself and knelt next to the nearest body, while others from above jumped down carefully one at a time. The man she examined was dead by suffocation. By the time Catharian arrived, she had counted twenty dead.
“With the eight we killed on deck, then one Molly shot, is that a full crew, do you think?”
“I doubt it.” He looked around. “I said maybe thirty at the least, but we need to search every inch of this ship, because at least one will be trying to escape and carry word back. Sometime today, or tomorrow at the latest, this island will be swarming with Azhante and their companies of killers and mercenaries. This ship is the jewel of their fleet, and they will come looking for us as soon as they know it’s taken.”
Hava nodded. She instructed some of her crew to fetch ropes and haul up the bodies and dump them in the lagoon. She had no doubt the local sharks and crabs would make short work of them. “Search them first. Anything that looks like a message comes to me. Weapons and valuables are for anyone who wants them.”
Rope slings were quickly fashioned while Hava led a thorough search of the hold. Bodies were stripped of weapons and some coins, but the only jewelry found were the black lacquered pendants she had observed before.
One of the men approached her. “We’ve checked every corner here, Captain, but there’s a forward bulkhead with a door. Thought it best to tell you before anyone opened it.”
“Show me.”
He led her past barrels and crates lashed to the sides of the ship, probably provisions that could be supplemented with fresher food from the local markets. If it hadn’t been for the horrible gas concoction devised by Henri, those twenty men could have hunkered down in here for a month, she thought. And, at best, she and her crew had one day. A fleet of ships, many with Azhante aboard, would be arriving soon.
She reached the door and got down on her knees to look under it. She took out her dagger and tried to slip it under the doorway, but immediately felt it hit something that gave just a little. She stopped pushing.
Standing up, she motioned her men to step away and whispered, “It’s battened.”
“And we have no idea how many men are on the other side,” Catharian said.
“More than one, I’m guessing,” replied Hava. “That’s the crew quarters or I’m a fool, and if you say this ship has a crew of thirty or more, it’ll hold hammocks or bunks for at least ten men. There could be a full watch of killers waiting in there.”
“Maybe we could block the doorway and starve them out?” asked Catharian in a joking tone.
“Even if the Azhante fleet wasn’t arriving, I suspect they have a scheme to get off this ship. Chew through the damn hull, maybe.” She thought for a moment, then added, “If they come out it’s going to be bloody, as they know what they’re doing and most of us don’t.” She looked at Catharian.
He nodded. “I’ve been in my share of fights, but only street brawls and the like. Serious combat, no. I’ve seen these Azhante a few times, and they are lethal.”
“Street brawls . . .” she said slowly. “Perhaps that might be the thing.”
“What have
you in mind?”
“When we took the Black Wake, I simply had everyone trip up a single Azhante and rush him. Someone kicked the Azhante in the head before he knew what was happening, and he was dead shortly thereafter.”
“I doubt you can trip however many are in there as they come out,” he said dryly.
“I need to get up on deck,” she said. To the first men in the hold she encountered, she ordered, “If anything comes out of that door, kill it. Don’t think; just kill it.”
The rope slings used to haul up the bodies were still dangling, and using one, she quickly climbed to the deck. The men still on deck began to question her, but she held up a silencing hand and hurried forward. As she had suspected, the bulkhead at the fore of the hold aligned with the entrance to the cabin that supported the foredeck. She climbed the ladder, estimated the distance to the bow, and then returned to the main deck. Two young men who looked both anxious and determined were watching her and she motioned them over. “Stand by the ladder, and if anything comes through that door, kill it.”
One of the young men said, “I don’t see a ladder, Captain.”
“The little stairs,” she said impatiently. “Stairs on a ship are called a ladder. I don’t know why, they just are.”
They positioned themselves as ordered, which gave them a clear line of attack should anyone come out, as the door’s hinges were on the opposite side to where they waited.
She returned to the hold, slid down a rope, and hurried to the bow of the ship. “I have an idea,” she said to Catharian, taking him aside. “That bulkhead rises to the rear of the foredeck, and I have no idea what is in the cabin above, but there might be a hatch between the two.”
He pondered this. “Most ships don’t, but a few do. If this one does, that might put our cornered rats up there, rather than behind the door.”
“Or both,” Hava added, “if we’re especially unlucky.”
She moved back to beneath the open hatch and shouted, “Molly, you up there?”
“Here, Hava,” said the archer, leaning over so Hava could see her.
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