by Anthony Ryan
“Two wolves,” I groaned, climbing to my feet. The room reeled for a moment before consenting to settle. “I killed one. Sergeant Swain the other.”
She glanced at me over her shoulder, a faintly impish grin on her lips. “Then my debt to you grows ever higher,” she said.
Yes, it does, I thought, concealing a wince at the memory of what I had endured on her behalf. “Debts between soldiers are repaid with every battle,” I said. I wasn’t sure where this particular gem came from. I had probably picked it up from a drunken man-at-arms in a tavern somewhere, but Evadine appeared satisfied with it.
“Quite so. Where are we, incidentally?”
“Farinsahl. The lord of exchange was kind enough to provide a room for your care.”
“So Olversahl is lost.” The smile slipped from her lips and she looked away, head slumping.
“I doubt there was ever a chance of saving it,” I said. “I also suspect that is the very reason you were sent there.” I paused, forcing myself to straighten my back despite my aches. “Captain, it is likely the king’s agents are already on their way here. I know you cannot be deaf to the voices that whisper against you…”
“A lie is a lie whether it’s whispered or shouted.” Evadine raised her head, voice soft with reflection. “It makes no difference in the end. For I have no lies to speak.”
Hearing a rising murmur from beyond the window, I moved to the shutters. “It might be best if we closed these.”
Evadine frowned, noticing the crowd for the first time. “Who are they?”
“Townsfolk, villagers and such. All faithful Covenanters come to beseech the Martyrs and the Seraphile for your recovery.”
I pulled the shutters closed as an upsurge of commotion from the crowd signalled many had caught sight of the naked woman in the window.
“Then it is to them I owe this,” Evadine said, hands caressing her bandage before beginning to tear it away. I found myself unable to avert my eyes as she revealed herself in full. The flesh beneath her breasts had been a mass of red and purple, darkening to black where the wolf’s teeth had punctured her skin. Now it was once again her usual paleness, albeit marked by two arcing lines of small, button-shaped scars.
“I had a vision as I slept, Alwyn,” she told me, her voice a tremulous murmur, eyes wide and unblinking. “So different from all the others. Before, when the Seraphile came to me I felt their presence, but never did they consent to show me their face. This time…” A smile ghosted across her lips. “I had thought them beyond such mundanities as gender, for they are so far above us. They transcend these prisons we call bodies. But the Seraphile who came to me was a woman, and so beautiful.” She spread her fingers as they explored her scars. “With such compassion. I am restored by the Seraphile’s grace this day.”
The blank wonder on her face abruptly shifted to determination, her eyes narrowing in decision. “People must know of this. I cannot deny them such knowledge.”
“The king’s agents—” I began, only for her to cut me off.
“The king stands no higher than any other in the Seraphile’s sight.”
This calm statement of heretical treason was enough to still my tongue. Even Sihlda at her most radical had never spoken something so transgressive. I thought about voicing a reminder of the edicts of the Luminants’ Council regarding the exalted status of royal blood and the special blessing it enjoyed, but her steady resolve and still-unblinking eyes told me it would find no purchase on her resolve.
“We should muster the company,” I said, deciding a more practical tack might bear fruit. “March out from here.”
She finally consented to blink, fixing me with a bemused stare. “To where?”
“Somewhere the king’s agents will find hard to follow…”
She let out a faintly caustic laugh, shaking her head. “I will not scurry about this realm like hunted vermin.”
“There are other realms where the Covenant holds sway. Other kings who would welcome your service, especially with a full company of veteran soldiers under your banner.”
“No. My mission is here. I see it now.” Her gaze softened and I contained a spasm of discomfort when she came towards me, reaching out to grasp my hands in hers. We were of about equal height and her gaze was level with mine, lit by a strange mix of kindness and commanding intensity.
“I know you see it too,” she said. “The Seraphile who came to me, in her grace and wisdom, showed me a great deal. I know what resides in your heart, Alwyn Scribe, despite the lies you use as a shield. I know what you have suffered, and I know what you have done to preserve my life.”
She leaned closer, lowering her head so our foreheads touched. Such proximity to so beautiful a woman, naked no less, should have been intoxicating. I should have pulled her close, crushed her too me, pressed my lips to hers. But there was no lust in that moment. I found myself frozen while within churned a welter of bewilderment and fear. She was healed but she was also changed. Her previous ardency had been a mere candle to this flame, and I knew now that if I stayed with her it would surely burn me.
My absence of lust, however, didn’t appear to be matched in Evadine for she shifted closer still. “There are many things,” she said, breath hot on my face, “that I have denied myself. I felt it necessary. To serve the Covenant in the manner required of me I had to shun the temptations that snare so many others. Now, I wonder…”
Many things might have happened next and would undoubtedly have altered much of what follows in this narrative. But it is the way with moments of great import that their outcome can be transformed by the smallest thing. In this case, it came in the form of a light, tentative knock at the door followed by an uncomfortable cough. It said much of the distinctiveness of Swain’s voice that I could recognise even a wordless clearing of his throat.
Evadine sighed out a laugh, squeezing my hands and stepping back from me. “You were right,” she said, moving to the bed. “About mustering the company, although we won’t be marching anywhere. Be so good as to relay the order to the sergeant and ask Ayin to bring me a robe of some description. And food, if she would be so kind. I find I’m quite famished.”
I found Toria playing dice with some sailors in a dockside tavern. She was losing, as was typical since her many talents didn’t extend to success in games of chance. Consequently, they tended to make her mood sour and her throat thirsty. So, when I pulled her from the circle, she was a little dulled of focus but sharper than ever of tongue.
“Get off, you lying gobbler of donkey cocks,” she snapped, pulling her arm from my grasp.
“Are you sober enough to listen?” I enquired. “Or do I need to dunk you in a horse trough?”
She scowled, the inner debate of whether to hit me or voice more profane insults playing out on her face. “Where’s your witch?” she asked, casting a pointed glance to either side. “Buggered off and left you, has she?”
“Yes.” A bland confirmation that masked a good deal of regret. The Sack Witch’s disappearance from the house of the lord of exchange hadn’t been witnessed by anyone, yet she was very definitely gone from this port. The cloak and satchel she’d left in Brewer’s care had also vanished and the watchmen on the gate claimed not to have witnessed the departure of an unusually beauteous blonde woman.
Toria made only a token effort to conceal a triumphant smirk. “And the captain?”
“Fully healed and more determined on martyrdom than ever.”
Toria’s smirk became a weary grimace. “Meaning you’ll be equally keen to march off and get yourself killed at her side, I s’pose?”
I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Meaning it’s time for us to get the fuck away from here. Do you still have that sovereign?”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
“Berrine Jurest, eh?” Captain Brahim Din Faud bared an impressively white wall of teeth in a wide smile. Although the darkness of his skin betrayed foreign origins, he spoke Albermainish with the broad vowels of the southern coas
t, complete with overly expressive contortions to his weathered and bearded face.
“Now, there’s a tidy piece,” he reflected, brows twisting to form something that was part leer and part fond recollection. “Free of spirit and generous to boot, especially if I had books to bestow. How is she?”
“Grieving the loss of her library,” I said. “Last I saw.”
“Ah yes.” Din Faud’s mouth dipped in sorrow. “I heard about that business up north. Always bad for trade, you know, war and such. And, for a folk who proclaim to love freedom, Ascarlians are even harsher with their taxes than your lot. It’ll be a good long while before I take my dearest anywhere near Olversahl, mark me well.”
By his “dearest”, I divined in our short association, he meant his ship. She was named the Sea Crow and the hue of her timbers and sails matched her name. Narrow of hull but with plentiful rigging she had plainly been built with an eye for speed. Her colouring, which her captain claimed to be the natural shade of the very special breed of oak that formed her hull, would also greatly benefit a ship engaged in the smuggling trade.
“But,” Din Faud added with a laboured wink that made me doubt he had ever studied a mirror when practising these mannerisms, “that ain’t where you two lovebirds want to go, is it now?”
“We’re not fucking lovebirds,” Toria told him.
“So—” Din Faud’s brows resembled a coiling snake as he attempted to convey contemplation “—brother and sister, then?”
“Who we are doesn’t matter,” I said. “What matters is where we want to go and whether we have coin to pay for it. Or am I mistaken?”
Din Faud’s chair creaked as he reclined a little, studying us with a gaze that was too blank not to be genuine appraisal. Our tour of the varied and many taverns ringing the Dornmahl docks had unearthed a few possibilities but each captain had been given to excessive inquisitiveness. A chance hearing of Din Faud’s name had led us to this dingy rum palace on one of the narrower streets. The many hard glances and much inching of hands towards knives when we entered had convinced me we were in the right place.
“You’re young,” Din Faud observed and I noticed his accent had shifted to something more precise and less familiar. “But also wise in ways you need to be when venturing into a pit like this, eh? Hands never stray far from your weapons. You sit with your backs to the wall. She watches the room while you watch the door, and I doubt you even know you’re doing it.”
“Is that a problem?” I asked.
“All problems are solvable for the right price.” He leaned forwards, face still mostly lacking expression as he continued to study us. “But you are right; we only really have two questions to discuss: where and how much? The answer to the second, you will understand, depends very much on the answer to the first.”
I exchanged a brief glance with Toria, receiving a short nod in response. We both had ample experience of men like Din Faud. While the chance of betrayal was always present, he was of a sort that could generally be counted on to stick to a deal.
“Across the Cronsheldt,” I told him. “To the Iron Maze.”
His face twitched, something I judged to be the result of containing a dubious frown. “A place of wayward currents and great slabs of jagged rock,” he said. “I’ve seen ships founder there and it’s not a pretty sight. The risk will be reflected in the price.” He lapsed into silence. Not asking why we wanted to go there was, of course, the final test of this particular transaction and he passed it.
Toria’s sovereign made an ugly scraping noise as she pushed it across the table’s surface, placing it to the side of Din Faud’s tankard. “Just for taking us there,” she said.
The captain regarded the coin for a second before picking it up. He didn’t insult us by testing it with his teeth, but he did hold it up to the light streaming through the window. “From the reign of the last Arthin to sit the throne,” he said, baring his teeth once again. “A fine thing, worth twice the value of a sovereign bearing King Tomas’s head.” The coin spun as he flicked it back at Toria, her hands snatching it out of the air.
“Not enough.” Din Faud’s southern burr and fondness for exaggerated expression returned, his brows forming a steep arch. “And, since it seems ye’ve nothing else to offer—” he began to rise from his chair “—I’ll bid you young darlings good day.”
“There’ll be more,” I said, voice forceful enough to make him pause. I moderated my tone before speaking on, alert to the danger of being overhead in this place. “But only when we reach our destination. Consider the sovereign an advance on future earnings.”
“They’d need to be considerable,” the captain warned. “The Iron Maze is far out of my way for I’ve a yen to sail for the southern trade routes, things being so troubled in these northern climes. And I’ve a crew to think of, free men and women who swore to my mast in expectation of decent reward. Can’t see them tolerating such a risky venture just on the word of two Covenant Company deserters. No offence.”
Toria and I exchanged another glance. Reading my intention, her eyes widened in warning but I saw little option. “You may not trust my word,” I said. “What about Berrine’s?”
Din Faud shrugged. “She ain’t here to vouch, my lad. As far as I know you never even met her, just cobbled together a story from gossip.”
“I met her. She showed me the library. Did she ever show you?”
He angled his head, a less exaggerated smile on his lips. “Mayhap she did. What of it?”
“Then you’ll know how skilled she was in rummaging all those many books, digging through all that parchment to unearth treasure.” I spoke the last word with a soft emphasis, but the captain heard it.
I saw his eyes narrow with interest even as he let out a small, derisive grunt. “Been a sailor for forty-odd years now. I’ve heard tales of treasure from here to the Ivory Horn and back again. Chasing after them is folly.”
“Not if you have a map. A map drawn by Berrine’s very own hand.”
Another grunt, this one more amused than contemptuous. “Going to sell it to me, are you?”
“That would be hard. I burnt it.” I punctuated this lie with a tap to my forehead. “It’s all up here.” I leaned forward, lowering my voice to just above a whisper. “Lachlan’s hoard. It’s real, and I know where to find it.”
“And Berrine just gave this to you? It must have been a very special visit to the library.”
“I… did her a service.” The cloud of regret that passed across my features must have made some impression, for much of the doubt slipped from the captain’s gaze. His own attempts to convey emotion might be cack-handed and entirely false, but it seemed he had the gift of reading genuine feeling in others.
Letting out a sigh, Din Faud shook his head. “I’m an old fool, it must be said. But there’s a lure to this tale I’ll not deny.” Looking at each of us in turn, his voice hardened as he added, “But should it turn out to be false, the Iron Maze will have two more sets of bones to litter its rocks.”
Rising, he took a final swig from his tankard. “We sail with the next moon; I have business to attend to in the meantime. Secrete yourselves on board before the evening tide six days hence. If your fellow soldiers come to drag you off for a hanging before we weigh anchor, don’t expect me or mine to fight for you. That sovereign buys passage, and that is all. We’ll talk more of prices if this…” he paused for a cautious glance at our fellow patrons “… promise of yours bears fruit.”
Toria watched him leave before rounding on me, voice quiet but fierce. “Stuck on a ship with a bunch of smugglers who are likely to slit our throats the moment they catch sight of… it. Such a great bargainer you are.”
“Do you have another ship handy?” I enquired. “And would you know how to sail it if you did?”
“I’ve sailed plenty.” She huffed and turned away, muttering, “Not single-handed though.”
“Well, there it sits. We either stay and take our chances with the Anointed Lady or
we cast our die with the good captain.” Gauging the indecision in her face, I added, “You know those faithful loons are already calling her a Risen Martyr. They truly think she died and was returned to life by the Seraphile. Word will no doubt soon reach the Luminants’ Council and the king that the first new Martyr in centuries has not only been acclaimed but also still draws breath. Do you really want to be here once they realise the full import of that?”
She remained sullen but I saw the uncertainty fade from her eyes. “Brewer?” she asked.
“He’ll never leave her, not now.”
The same was undoubtedly true of Ayin and Wilhum, not that I would have risked asking them to join our impending adventure. However, I didn’t like the notion of leaving them behind to face what I knew would be a very ugly storm. There are times when an educated mind can be a curse, for I could see how it would all play out. While the ever curious scholar in me wanted to witness what would soon be a transformative moment in the history of this realm, the outlaw wanted no part of the resultant chaos. In defeat, Evadine Courlain had become far more powerful than she could ever have in victory. Such is the paradox of martyrdom, although she would be unique in being alive to witness the fruits of her sacrifice. The entwined pillars of Crown and Covenant could not tolerate so powerful an agent of change. While Evadine gave sermons, Crown Company would be mustering and the Covenant’s senior clerics preparing their condemnations.
I took some comfort from the distance betwixt Dornmahl and the capital – a good two weeks’ ride even for the fastest horse. Still, I knew the next six days would feel very long indeed.
By the third day following Evadine’s supposed resurrection, the crowd encamped about the house of the lord of exchange had grown to at least a thousand. The next day it had tripled, for it was on the third day that she gave her first sermon. Before, they had been drawn merely by the chance they might catch a glimpse of the Anointed Lady, now transformed into a Risen Martyr. However, the reaction when she began to speak made me conclude that my dire predictions may have been somewhat optimistic.