The Fox

by Sherwood Smith

  He said, at last, “Speaking as an Algara-Vayir, I declare the matter must rest until we have finished dealing with the Brotherhood, who lie between us and home.”

  Barend struck his fist against his heart, and Inda did the same before he realized his arm had moved.

  In silence they walked back to the main street.

  The two women looked at Fox in total incomprehension.

  Fox frowned down at the table, grunted, then surprised Jeje by answering. “You may as well know.” His teeth showed in an unpleasant smile. “And I may as well spare him questions he obviously doesn’t want to answer, since he hasn’t told you before now.”

  Jeje’s heart thumped. “Go on.”

  “You do know that Inda is the son of a prince—in Marlovan his father is Adaluin of Choraed Elgaer, right?” Fox asked, lounging back in his chair, arms crossed.

  “Right. His real name is Indevan Alga—blah-dee-blah. So?” Jeje said, since Thog wouldn’t speak.

  “The Algara-Vayir device is an owl in flight. They wear it here on their formal clothes.” He unfolded one arm long enough to touch his chest. “And on their shields. And the stone on the ring is carved with the owl so that when you press it into a seal, it leaves an owl impression. Rather like a sved, but the owl sign is bound by honor, not magic.”

  “I know what you mean,” Jeje said. “Go ahead.”

  Fox sighed. “Well, you don’t, really, if you have to ask. You see, years and years ago Inda’s father’s family, his first family, were all killed in a pirate raid on their castle. This man was there. He told me all about it. He was young then, and set to have adventure, though it turned out he didn’t have a taste for slaughtering civs. So he took his skills as a chart maker and set up shop here decades ago.” Fox looked out the window at the ghost-lit snow falling softly. “He was a cheery, gabby fellow. Told me about the attack, showed me their map, which he kept as a reminder of his pirate days, and then showed us the ring, which their leader had taken off a beautiful young woman after he killed her.”

  Jeje sensed there was something missing, that Fox was avoiding it. Though he was difficult to comprehend, and always prickly, that change she’d seen in Inda’s face when Fox said those words in Marlovan emboldened her to speak. “And?”

  Fox glanced her way. His eyes had gone narrow and nasty again. “It was Barend’s father, the king’s brother, who hired these pirates—a secret their leader was paid to keep.” Fox made a derisive gesture. “But he died of drink not long ago. And before he died, he paid his debt to our chart maker by giving him the owl ring.”

  “Barend’s father hired them?” Jeje repeated. “Weren’t they all Marlovans together?”

  “Marlovans, yes. But not together,” Fox said, his smile really nasty now. “You could probably say that we’re a little like Delfs: we band together best when attacked from the outside. Otherwise we make do with one another. So, the king’s brother provided them with a map to find the Algara-Vayir castle. Said they could take anything, they just had to kill the family. The leader surprised the beautiful princess carousing in a tower room with the prince’s brother and their favorites among the castle guards, whom we call Riders. All drunk as pirates, when they should have been guarding the castle. Said he would rather have taken the princess along with him—she offered to go, begging for her life—but business was business. They were paid to kill them all.”

  Jeje glowered. “All right, it was bad, but it was also thirty years ago. So what? That happened before Inda and Barend were born. So why did Inda look like someone had ripped his heart out?”

  “It is a matter of honor.” Fox opened a hand. “Which is, you will probably observe, about as definable as the weather, to which I will have to reply that it is also as powerful. ”

  Thog whispered, “I understand.”

  Jeje glared at them, half rising from her seat. “Wait! Wait! Understand what? Are they going to do something stupid? I’m going to personally wring their necks if they try fighting a duel or some idiocy like that!”

  Fox patted the air in a languid gesture. “Calm down, calm down. They won’t lay a hand on each other. But unless I miss my guess, they won’t speak to each other either, until the matter is resolved, unless it relates to the battle we face before they can get home to resolve it.”

  Thog nodded in slow agreement.

  Jeje smacked her hands on the table. She saw people at the other tables glance her way; she fumed, leaning forward and forcing her voice down to a whisper when she wanted to yell and stomp at the unutterable madness of Marlovans, of the world. “The only resolve that makes sense is for them to go together and kick this father of Barend’s off the highest tower of his castle.”

  Fox grinned. “If only it were that easy.” If it were that easy I would be on a throne right now.

  Jeje eyed that grin, recognized the self-mockery in it. “Marlovans,” she stated. “You’re all crazy.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  "THERE’S only one I’d trust to stick it with us and not stab us in the back if the fighting gets hot,” Tau said the next day. "Or to refrain from looting all over the countryside if we do manage to win.” He turned his thumb up, indicating the building behind him, but Inda still saw it as the Marlovan gesture of approval, and had to make that unsettling mental sidestep. “Little private room top of the stairs. Name is Swift. Says he will bring us a fleet of three: his son’s raffee and a couple of fast, tight trysails.”

  They stood outside the Dancing Sun, a long, low inn that, from the looks of it, had managed to stay prosperous despite Pirate Island’s violent changes of ownership. The porch was long with sturdy posts; during the summer it was probably quite pleasant to sit out here and watch the sea crashing on the rocks below and the ships sailing in and out of the harbor. Now a row of scrub-aged children stood at the mossy stone wall, their gender indistinguishable in their sturdy winter coats and boots and mittens. They tossed pebbles into the sea down below, their laughter sounding like the cry of gulls.

  Inda’s brow furrowed as he watched them.

  “You don’t like the idea?” Tau asked, always quick to catch changes in mood.

  Inda snorted as he surveyed the harbor town below, its jumble of roofs wearing a light coating of snow. Ice definitely on the way. They would have to sail soon, before the wind shifted north for the winter and the Narrows closed up with ice for months. The weather and wind were holding steady now, but that could change any day.

  His breath clouded as he said, “Children. Below. Reminded me. I meant to get the small ones to stay here, if it was safe—”

  Tau’s watchful gaze eased into irony. “I heard about that. You apparently made a fine speech about safety.”

  “Which no one listened to,” Inda admitted.

  He grimaced, remembering Nugget holding hands with another scrawny tube of a twelve-year-old girl, this one with vaguely Chwahir features, who—Nugget explained with passionate accusation—had been forced to be a cabin girl on Sharl’s flagship. And though it wasn’t her fault, no one wanted her here. So of course Inda would take her, wouldn’t he, wouldn’t he, her very own age—

  And when he delivered his carefully thought out speech, Nugget wailed, “You promised Woof you’d never leave me behind!” Her wail so loud that people poked heads out of doors down the hall at the inn where they’d stayed.

  And Mutt appeared, scowling in accusation. “How old were you in your first battle?”

  Inda wanted to say much older, thought back, then realized in surprise he’d been about their age. “But that was different—it was a mutiny, not facing the entire Brotherhood of Blood.”

  “But the marines were right after. And you could have fought them—”

  “Yes! You would have, if they hadn’t gone west!” Nugget shrilled, bouncing on her toes, Pilvig bouncing with her, black eyes wide.

  “And you can’t make Uslar stay,” Mutt added. “Thog would never allow that.”

  “The idea is to give you all
a choice to stay—”

  “But we want to be with yoooooooou!” Nugget wailed.

  And so he’d given in. And still felt guilty.

  So he shook his head. “What’s this Swift want?”

  Tau opened his hands wide. “Revenge.”

  “Don’t they all,” Inda retorted, rubbing his mittened hands together. His wrist ached. He’d been practicing hard that morning with the new barbed wrist guard, before Nugget and her new friend had confronted him.

  “Yes, but this is personal. There’s bad history between him and Marshig. And he’s got probably the best information of any on this island. We’re not sailing clear—they will outnumber us by two to one, at least—but Swift seems to think we can bring it off. Come listen to him.”

  Tau led the way inside and up a narrow staircase to a private room built like a captain’s cabin—same dimensions, smooth wooden floor, low ceiling, windows across the back shaped like stern windows. Four people awaited Inda, who studied each one. First was an older man, balding, with a thin fringe of white-streaked black hair. He was the only one seated, near the fire; behind him stood a tall, strong young man some years older than Inda, and to his right a young woman Inda’s age. They both bore a distinct resemblance to the seated man with their brown skin, narrow cheeks below watchful dark eyes, and high-bridged noses. The fourth, leaning against the window, was a very young man, also dark of hair, but with pale eyes and a challenging smile.

  At the same time they scrutinized him, this short young fellow about whom so many surprising stories were spreading: he won all his fights, and he used fire not only to attack—like the Brotherhood—but to punish. Like kings.

  “I’m Swift of the Swift,” said the older man. “And these are the captains of my consorts, Silverdog and Moon.”

  Inda said, “You say we’re outnumbered. But you want to join us. Why?”

  Captain Swift leaned forward. “We sift the news of you as carefully as you do of us.” His accent brought Testhy to mind; he had to have originated on the Toaran continent, northwest of the Land Bridge. “Marshig and I began in service together. Mids in the Damondaen navy. But he was thrown out before half a year. You probably heard about his crimes, and his rise to captaincy and to command. In the Brotherhood that’s done by treachery and being faster and more vicious than anyone else. But I can tell you this: he still does not understand that in the end treachery and viciousness will only carry you so far. In a battle when it be not predator chasing prey, fear seldom stands against discipline.”

  “Ah,” Inda said, leaning forward. “Ah.”

  Three days of mad labor, day and night under a canopy of lamps, and Inda’s fleet set sail. When they had sunk Pirate Island behind them, and the purple-black juts of the Narrows loomed on the horizon, Inda signaled for All captains.

  By noon they were on board. Inda bent over the big map in his cabin, tracing the last dogleg before the open sea of the west, the Toaran continent curving out toward the setting sun, and Halia jutting northward, giving way to the great Iascan plains. “According to Captain Swift here, they have upward of thirty ships. Tell them?”

  Swift looked around at his new allies. “We counted the red sails going north to join Marshig and his fleet of eleven. Thirty in all, not counting a few small craft. We do not know who maybe joined him from the north, coming down from over the strait. Not as many, as apparently that fleet took a terrible beating at the Nob.”

  The woman spoke up in broken Dock Talk, “They was taking it out on the coast here ever since.”

  “Trying,” the younger of Swift’s captains said, with a sardonic lift to his brows. “The horse boys been handing it right back. What you can say is the Brotherhood has destroyed all trade. Nobody goes into any western harbor except on attack. Pirates or Venn get ’em out at sea.”

  Tau drifted along the back of the cabin, watching the people. He knew he was useless in making military plans. He’d go where he was ordered and do whatever had to be done. Where he was of use to Inda was in observing the individuals who made up the captains of Inda’s fleet.

  And what a fleet! If we manage to survive, what will history say of us? Tau wondered, watching the night-black heads of the three Chwahir captains bend near Inda’s sun-streaked brown head, a startling contrast to Fox’s ruddy waving hair strictly schooled into its long queue; on the opposite side of the table was the silvery-black braid of old Captain Swift, tied with a ribbon Colendi-style, though he had come from the continent of Toar. Will the stories go out reducing us all to faceless and equally disreputable pirates?

  He laughed to himself, glancing past the Chwahir to Tcholan and two hand-picked mates from Freeport Harbor who were now captains of the three old, round-hulled brigs Inda had bought the day before.

  “What I figure is this.” Inda looked from face to face. “They know we’re coming. Makes the most sense to be waiting right on the other side of the Narrows. They’ll know we’ll sail with the wind, on flood tide. So they’ll have the position of strength, squatting in the bay waiting for us to emerge one by one. And Swift says that Marshig’s usual strategy is to send his worst in. Then charge our flank—” Inda shook his head impatiently. “Tack in from both sides for the kill.”

  A pause as everyone glanced Captain Swift’s way, then back to Inda. He frowned, organizing his words in his mind. He’d spent the previous day working out exactly what he’d say. These people were all much older than he— Swift had said casually a couple days ago, “You scarcely look twenty, Captain Elgar. Your experiences don’t seem to have aged you outside of a few scars.”

  Inda did not want them knowing he was younger than that by a couple of years. Though he felt stupid at the idea of dressing flash, he had taken seriously Tau’s words about part of success being in the mind, of being how one was perceived. That meant he had to sound older than he was. And more assured.

  He glanced down at the map. “What we don’t have in strength we have to make up in trickery. They will have been told about Boruin’s defeat. Might expect us to use a fire ship. What I hope will not be expected is that all three brigs will be fire ships. And they’ll come out behind me.”

  A muted intake of breath.

  “But you filled them with supplies,” Captain Swift said.

  “Right,” Inda said. “Necessary for the ruse to work. You know as well as I that at least one spy is ahead of us, sailing something fast and small through the Narrows right now to report on everything we did in the harbor.”

  The Chwahir fleet commander spoke, his accent so flat it was impossible to distinguish any emotion behind his words: “How do you see the order of battle, then?”

  “The Death goes in the lead. So they see Boruin’s famed trysail. See the crew at the ready. The three come right behind me, with real people moving about on their decks. When they start closing in on me, then the three can split their line and do the most damage. That means the three cannot look like old firewood, but must appear to be fighting ships ready for battle. Marshig’s ships will probably be in at least two lines in order to keep us from fleeing. I want the fire ships to break the first up so thoroughly the second line can’t move in concerted attack.”

  The Chwahir said, “You will take terrible damage.”

  Inda sat back. “Probably. I’ll shift to the Vixen when we’ve broken the line. Then Fox commands the Death.”

  Glances Fox’s way. He straightened up and leaned against a bulkhead, looking far more like a pirate than Inda.

  “But there are too many of us, and we will be too spread for me to count on commanding from Vixen. Therefore I’m dividing you into three fleets, and if you cannot see my signals—we’ll use flags and screamers both, for as long as we can—then command goes to the fleet captains. Your orders are to divide their lines, board, carry, set fire. Jeje, your fleet of scout craft has the same orders. I want the enemy scouts put to work for us, either as fire ships or to carry boarding teams, or to foul their hawses. So your scouts will have extra crew to boar
d and take as many as you can.”

  Jeje signified agreement. Inda was speaking for the others to hear; they had already planned her part out between them, deciding whom she’d take. She was going to get most of the younger, more disciplined fighters, capable of independent thinking—new crew would be under Fox and Dasta.

  Inda spread his hands. “Work out your signals, fleet captains. The only way we will win is by concerted action. Marshig has numbers. We’ll have discipline.”

  Tau wondered if anyone saw the Marlovan in Inda now—the narrowed gaze, the aspect of command. But they want to see command, they rely on it. You can only follow someone you believe will lead you through to life, to light, to safety.

  Inda said, “There are two things that could destroy our plans at the outset. The first is the Venn. No one has reported any sightings, but that means nothing. We all know they can navigate in the deep waters, so they can appear where they want. If a huge force of them come hull up in the west, I will turn and run. Thirty pirates with no habit of order we might be able to take on, but a fleet of Venn warships, drilled for years, will destroy us as mere drill.”

  Inda saw acceptance, and continued. “The second possible destruction of our plans could be the appearance of Captain Ramis and the Knife.”

  Dasta spoke from the other side of the Chwahir captains. “He’s by way of an ally, yes?”

  Inda shook his head. “He’s been fighting the Brotherhood commanders, that much we know. But we don’t know why. One of the few consistent stories about him is that he then sends them straight to Norsunder. So I would not call him an ally. Not when he might be recruiting. Pirate-style,” he added, when he saw subtle signs of unease in his listeners. “No asking for agreement, that too I heard; he just sends them beyond the world. If he’s taking warriors for Norsunder’s future battles, then his purpose is so far from ours that in his eyes we might be no different from Brotherhood. He could blast us out of the world because we know how to fight.”

  Silence, except for creak of the hull and the moan of the wind in the rigging.