by Morgan Rice
“If not necessarily a more sensible one.”
Felene sighed. There was no point in all this trying to argue with herself. She knew what she was going to do.
She was going to Delos. She would find Thanos if by any stroke of luck he was still alive. She would find Stephania, she would find Elethe, and there would be blood for blood, death for death. Probably, Thanos would have argued for something kinder or more civilized, but there was only so far you could go in emulating people. Even princes.
Now, there was just the question of getting to Delos and getting inside. By the time she got there, Felene had no doubt that it would be a city at war, if it hadn’t fallen outright. Felldust’s fleet would probably be a floating barricade before the city, and it was a long established tactic in times of war to blockade ports.
Not that Felene cared about that kind of thing. She’d occasionally made quite a healthy profit from smuggling her way around blockades. Food, information, people who wanted to get out, it had all been the same.
Still, Felene couldn’t imagine that Felldust’s soldiers would be very welcoming to her if she were stupid enough to just charge for the city. Already, Felene could see fragments of Felldust’s fleet ahead of her, vessels strung out across the water from Felldust to the Empire like jet beads on a necklace. The main fleet had long since sailed, but they were going in clusters now, forming groups of three or four, setting off together as they tried to make the most of the invasion to come.
In a lot of ways, they were probably the sensible ones. Felene had always had more of an affinity for the people who came up after a fight to steal than for the ones risking their lives. They were the ones who understood about looking out for themselves. They were Felene’s people.
An idea came to her then, and Felene steered her skiff in the direction of one of the groups. With her better arm, she pulled out a knife.
“Hoy there!” she called in her best Felldust dialect.
A man appeared over the railings, holding a bow aimed at her. “Think we’ll take all you—”
He gurgled as Felene threw the blade, cutting him off mid-sentence. He tumbled from the boat, hitting the water with a splash.
“He was one of my best men,” a man’s voice said.
Felene laughed. “I doubt that, or you wouldn’t have made him the one to lean out and see if I was a threat. You the captain here?”
“I am,” he called back.
That was good. Felene didn’t have time to waste negotiating with those who weren’t in a position to do it.
“You all off to Delos?” she demanded.
“Where else would we be going?” the captain called back. “You think we’re out catching fish?”
Felene thought of some of the sharks that had hunted her on the way in to the shore. She thought of the body tumbling among them now. “Might be. There’s bait in the water, and there are some big prizes in these parts.”
“And some bigger ones in Delos,” the voice called back. “You looking to join our convoy?”
Felene made herself shrug as if she couldn’t care either way. “I figure an extra sword is good for you.”
“And an extra fifty is good for you. But it looks as though you can fight. You don’t slow us down, and you eat your own supplies. Fair enough?”
More than fair, since Felene had found her way into Delos. However careful the cordon around the city, Felldust’s fleet wouldn’t look twice at her when she was a part of it.
“Fair enough,” she called back. “Just so long as you don’t slow me down!”
“Eager for gold. I like that.”
They could like what they wanted, so long as they left Felene be. Let them think that she was there for gold. The only thing that mattered was—
The coughing fit caught Felene by surprise, almost doubling her up with the force of it. It ripped through her, her lungs feeling as though they were on fire. She put a hand to her mouth, and it came away wet with blood.
“Are you all right down there?” the captain of the Felldust ship called, in a voice of clear suspicion. “Is that blood? You’re not carrying some plague, are you?”
Felene had no doubt that he would make her travel alone if he thought she did. That, or fire her ship just to be certain that no disease got close.
“Got gut punched in a fight on the docks,” she lied, wiping her hand on the railing. “It’s no big deal.”
“If you’re coughing blood, it sounds bad enough,” the captain called back. “You should go off and find a healer. Can’t spend gold if you’re dead.”
It was probably good advice, but then, Felene had never been one to listen to such things. Especially not when she had better things to do. If it had been just gold on the line, she might have done exactly what the man suggested.
“So they say,” Felene joked. “Me, I say they’re not trying hard enough.”
She let the other ship’s captain laugh. She had better things to do.
It was time to kill Stephania and Elethe.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Every day, the convoy of former conscripts made its way around the countryside surrounding Delos, and every day, Sartes found himself staring at Leyana, trying to find a way to tell her how he felt having her around.
Every day, Sartes spent time trying to put it into words, thinking of the things someone more eloquent might have come up with. What would Thanos have said, or Akila, or… or anyone else who was half in love and didn’t know what to do next?
He spent his time caught between thinking about Leyana and thinking of the things he ought to be doing. They went from village to village, passing out what supplies they had, giving back conscripts who had been taken from their homes, and reassuring people as best they could that the rebellion would not be another set of tyrants.
Every day, he tried to compose something to say, and every day, he found himself getting to the point of making camp without having done it.
“Are you all right?” Leyana asked with a smile. She’d taken to riding on the same wagon as Sartes, and Sartes had to admit that he liked that. When they made camp every night, her tent was never far away from his. Sartes liked that too. He found himself grateful that if they were to be attacked, he would be able to rush out and save her.
He found himself half hoping that someone would attack so that he could.
Was this what being in love felt like? Sartes didn’t know. He didn’t have enough experience with girls to know for sure, and it wasn’t as though he could just ask someone, because he was supposed to be the leader, and he’d learned from watching Anka that leaders couldn’t afford to be that uncertain in public. He had to be strong, so that they could keep doing what Ceres had sent him to do.
He wished that Anka were there to talk to, rather than dead. He wished that Ceres were there too. Maybe his big sister would have been able to give him some advice. Maybe she could have told him how she knew what she felt about Thanos.
They traveled down through a village, handing out food. As seemed to happen in almost every village now, people started to appear the moment it was clear that the conscripts weren’t there to attack them. Far too many looked painfully thin, starving after Lucious had burned the countryside.
There were more of them now. Sartes had seen the lines of refugees, some carrying everything they owned. Twice now, his conscripts had come across thieves or bandits trying to rob them. Twice, Sartes and the others had driven them off.
He hoped it would be that simple with the invasion. Every group of refugees they passed brought rumors with them, talking about the great fleet that was coming, the battles that were raging on the open water around the city as Akila’s fleet tried to slow the invasion.
A part of him wanted to rush back right then and help, but Sartes had to trust that his sister knew what she was doing. If Ceres had a role for him in the defense of the city, she would send a messenger. Until she did, the best thing Sartes could do was keep going, trying to make the countryside safer.
The next time they stopped, though, he took his sword from his belt, holding it up for everyone there to see.
“This is coming,” he called out to the refugees. “You’re running from it, but you won’t be able to run forever. The invasion will spread beyond the city, so you might as well learn how to protect yourselves. Grab whatever weapons you can find. You’re going to learn how to use them.”
He hoped that he sounded enough like a leader for them to believe it. Plenty of them grabbed what they could: knives and hatchets, hoes, and even the occasional sword. Sartes tried to remember what he could of the lessons they’d forced into him in the army.
“You need to stand together if soldiers come,” Sartes said, moving around the group of them. “You can’t just look after yourself; you look after the people next to you as well. No, hold it lightly, or you won’t be able to put the blade where you want. Stay in line. If you go off alone, you’ll be surrounded by anyone who attacks.”
To his surprise, he found Leyana at the end of the line, holding a knife as long as her forearm.
“I want to learn how to fight,” she said. “The next time men come, I might not be able to hide.”
“I won’t let anything happen to you,” Sartes promised.
She smiled at that. “That’s sweet, but what if you aren’t there?”
Sartes couldn’t imagine not being there, because that would mean leaving Leyana’s side.
“I’ll be there,” he promised. He realized what he was saying. “That is… I mean… if you want me to be.”
“I want you to be,” Leyana replied. “But if you’re protecting me, it’s only right that I should protect you, isn’t it?”
That was a fair point, and Leyana seemed to get the basics of using the weapon quickly. Even so, Sartes hoped that she wouldn’t have to fight anytime soon. He couldn’t stand the thought of her potentially being hurt, and any fight came with risks.
To Sartes’s surprise, when they left, a couple of men walked along with the wagons. Sartes frowned at that.
“They want to help fight the invasion,” Leyana said beside him. “You said it yourself: we have to stand together.”
“That wasn’t what I meant,” Sartes said.
Sometimes, though, it didn’t matter what you were trying to do. It mattered what you did. Sartes just hoped that everything he did would prove to be enough.
***
They moved on, heading for the next village. There always seemed to be another village. When they finally stopped for the night, Sartes wandered from the road a little way. He spun at the sound of footsteps behind him, padding across the meadow grass, his hand already going to his sword.
He relaxed when he saw it was Leyana, although her presence brought nerves of a very different kind.
“I just wanted to see what you were doing, wandering off like that,” Leyana said.
“I was just trying to get some time away from all the others,” Sartes replied.
Leyana looked suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I could go.”
Sartes realized what he’d just said, and how that had to sound. He didn’t want Leyana thinking that he wasn’t interested in her.
“No, don’t go. I like having you here. I mean…”
“What do you mean?” Leyana asked. She gave him a look that Sartes couldn’t decipher. “What is it you want, Sartes? Are we… do I mean something to you?”
“Yes, of course you do!” Sartes blurted, and then realized that he should probably be saying something more poetic. That was what people did, wasn’t it? “You… you’re like… the most beautiful… the…” He trailed off. “I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this.”
She kissed him then. Sartes hadn’t even dared to imagine what it might be like to kiss Leyana, because he’d been sure it wouldn’t be possible. Yet when she put her arms around his neck and their lips met, it was better than anything he could have imagined. It felt as though his body was filled with fire and ice, both at the same time.
He kissed her back, not knowing if he was doing it right or not. All the things he’d been through since the rebellion started, but none of it had prepared him for this. He’d prepared for battles and sneaking around past enemies, not for kissing the most beautiful girl he’d ever met.
“I think,” Leyana said when they pulled back from one another, “that you’re better at this than you think.”
“I just…” Sartes tried to get a grip on his stray thoughts. “It’s just that there are all these things I want to say and do, and I want to tell you how I feel, but I try and I just get into a big jumble.”
“Pretend that you’re giving a speech to some of your men,” Leyana said. “You do that well enough.”
Sartes laughed at that.
“I’m not sure I’m ever going to give them a speech telling them how much I love them.”
Again, it felt as though his mouth had run ahead of the rest of him.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know it’s far too early to say things like that, and I—”
“It’s all right,” Leyana said.
For a moment, Sartes thought that they might kiss again. Only the sound of someone else approaching made him turn from Leyana, and then it was reluctantly.
The man who was approaching was one Sartes didn’t know well, but he was wearing the colors of one of the rebellion, and Sartes thought he recognized him from the forges. He was tall and lean, obviously out of breath, as if he’d just run to try to catch up. Sartes knew a messenger when he saw one.
He wasn’t alone. It seemed that half the camp had come with him, eager to hear the news. Sartes did his best to hide his embarrassment. Whatever this was, it had to be important.
“What is it?” Sartes asked. “Did Ceres send you?”
There was something about his expression that said whatever it was he’d come for, it was serious. Maybe that was why so many of the others had followed him.
“Your father,” the messenger said, still almost doubled up with the effort of it all. If he’d pushed himself that hard, it had to be important.
“Take your time,” Sartes said. He offered the man a water skin.
“There isn’t time,” the messenger replied. “I’ve been looking for you for days, but I couldn’t find where you’d be next. There’s trouble. The invasion has come.”
Sartes nodded. He’d heard that much.
“What does Ceres need?”
He saw the messenger shake his head.
“Ceres… has been taken. We went to the walls to fight the invasion, and the Empire took the castle back with Ceres in it. Stephania leads them, we think.”
Stephania? That didn’t make a lot of sense, but Sartes knew how bad that made things. Stephania had been the one to send him to the tar pits, after all. Stephania had been the one behind so much of this. If she was there, Ceres was in a lot of danger.
Sartes turned back to Leyana. “I have to—”
“You have to go help your sister,” she said, reaching out to touch his arm. “I know.”
The others stood around him then, as if waiting for orders.
“Tell us what you want us to do,” a young man named Hedrin said. “Do we leave for the city now?”
Sartes looked around at the young men there. They were all conscripts, and far too many of him were his age, or even younger.
“I can’t ask you all to do this,” he said.
He saw Leyana smile at that. “I think you don’t have to ask,” she said. “This is for Ceres. More than that, this is for you.”
“I still can’t ask,” Sartes said to the others. “I can’t make you do this. I’m sorry, I need to get ready to go.”
He didn’t want to be the one responsible for bringing them back into a war. Even so, when he went to collect his things from around the campfire they’d been setting up, the others were there doing the same. It seemed that he wasn’t going to stop them.
He saw Leyana gathering her things too, and ran over.
“You shouldn’t come, at least,” he said. “It will be dangerous.”
“I don’t mind dangerous,” Leyana replied. “I do mind not being there next to you.”
“Leyana—” Sartes began, but Leyana cut him off.
“We’re doing this together,” she said. “I’m going to help you, and together we’re going to save your sister.”
She made it sound so simple, yet there was so much they could all lose. Sartes swore then that he would keep her safe.
Whatever it took, he wasn’t going to lose her.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Thanos hadn’t thought that Port Leeward could get any darker or more dangerous, but somehow the cave ports managed it. He stepped into them, unable to shake the feeling that someone might try to cut his throat at any moment.
He kept his hand on the twin hilts of his and Lucious’s swords, looking around for dangers. The trouble was that there were so many to find it was hard to pick one out from another.
The cave ports were cut into the cliff that overshadowed Port Leeward. Perhaps they had started life being eroded by the wash of the sea, but teams of slaves and engineers had obviously worked to enlarge them, creating a series of caverns like the froth on the edge of the tide. Shacks huddled up against the side, some stacked atop one another at improbable angles. There were jetties there, and merchants. Or smugglers. It was hard to tell the difference in a place like this.
“What’s too evil even for Port Leeward?” Thanos asked himself as he made his way down there.
The difference was hard to spot at first, if only because Port Leeward already had spaces for its drug merchants and its slavers, its killers and its fences. There was an edge to this place, though, that said it was a shade or two darker even than that. Thanos spotted a team of men transporting a squirming sack onto a boat. He saw a crowd of hollow-eyed men, emaciated from years of chewing traga leaf.
He saw a man’s corpse chained to a post, with a sign around his neck, the words “tax taker” scrawled in several languages. That said more about this place to Thanos than the rest of it put together. If Port Leeward was a place where Felldust took from the world, this was one where its inhabitants took what was left from one another.