Stormtide

by Den Patrick

  ‘Do the bones still whisper my name?’ Steiner asked the high priestess, a small smile on his lips. Sundra looked at him from the corner of her eye and pursed her lips.

  ‘I have not communed with my goddess of late,’ she said. ‘And you would do well not to mock my methods of divination.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to mock,’ replied Steiner. ‘But if the goddess or her high priestess have any advice in the coming weeks …’ He let the request go unspoken, afraid he might reveal just how daunting he found the endeavour.

  ‘You’re a good boy, Steiner.’ Sundra’s usual severe demeanour softened and she patted him on the shoulder. ‘Not a Spriggani boy but no one is perfect.’ Steiner chuckled and ran a calloused palm over the long stubble on his jaw.

  ‘I’ve not been a child for a while now.’

  ‘You all look like children from where I stand,’ replied Sundra. There was a quietness to her words that almost hid the pang of sadness. Steiner was suddenly aware of the high priestess’s papery skin. The usual olive hue, so common to the Spriggani people, carried a hint of grey that had nothing to do with the forges of Vladibogdan. Her hair was run through with strands of dull silver, while her eyes, usually so quick and piercing, were heavy-lidded with a great weariness. Steiner offered her his arm.

  ‘The sooner we get you back on land the better.’

  ‘You’ll get no complaints from me,’ said Sundra, linking her arm with his. ‘Though I’d prefer Shanisrond to Svingettevei. Or Yamal for that matter.’

  ‘I’ll speak to the captain,’ replied Steiner. He cast his eye across the deck, over pirates and novices, pale-skinned and dark. It was hard to imagine where such a disparate gathering might settle in peace, if such a thing could be found.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Kimi

  Seen from afar, Virag was a sprawling port city that discoloured the Svingettevei coastline like grey lichen. Plumes of smoke dissipated above the buildings creating a fug over the winding streets. The pall of grey reminded Kimi of Vladibogdan.

  ‘I never thought I’d set foot on the mainland again,’ said Kimi. She was almost shaking with nerves. Tears of relief shimmered at the corners of her eyes despite the fierce wave of happiness she felt.

  ‘How long were you on the island?’ asked Marozvolk.

  ‘Five years,’ replied Kimi. ‘Five years as a political prisoner. Five years as a token of loyalty to the Emperor.’

  ‘You must have arrived just after I finished my training,’ said Marozvolk. Kimi could feel her trepidation. There had been no jailers on the island: the number of soldiers and Vigilants present was more than sufficient for the task. ‘I served on Arkiv for a time but found myself back on Vladibogdan four years later.’

  ‘Why didn’t you come to me sooner?’ said Kimi with a note of frustration in her voice. ‘I spent five years without hearing my mother tongue. Five years without even meeting another Yamali.’ A pained expression crossed Marozvolk’s face but Kimi received no answer. ‘Five years in the forges,’ continued Kimi, ‘with only the Spriggani and the souls of the dead for company.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Marozvolk avoided her eyes. ‘It wasn’t as if I could simply visit you and take off my mask. I had duties. I was lost when I first reached the island, unsure of myself, unsure who I could trust. The academy fill your head with strange ideas. They instil a sense that we couldn’t possibly survive without the Empire.’

  ‘So you could be loyal to Felgenhauer but you couldn’t make yourself known to me?’

  ‘Vigilants watch each other with constant suspicion,’ said Marozvolk. ‘Especially the young ones, and especially the Vigilants close to Felgenhauer.’ The ship drew closer to Virag and sailors made ready to drop anchor.

  ‘Well, it seems you’ve figured out who you’re loyal to now,’ said Kimi over her shoulder as she walked away. ‘And who you are.’

  Marozvolk watched her go. ‘You don’t sound very convinced, your highness.’

  The view had not improved as the Watcher’s Wait made port. Kimi waited to disembark with Maxim, drumming her fingers against the side of the ship with impatience.

  ‘All these beautiful chalk cliffs and the city looks like this,’ muttered Marozvolk. The pirates tied off the Watcher’s Wait at the long pier they’d been assigned to and Kimi clenched her fists with impatience. ‘I’ll never understand why people would willingly live in a city.’

  ‘I’ve never been in a city before,’ said Maxim, staring wide-eyed at Virag. Kimi could feel his excitement. She dropped to one knee and took his hand in hers. For a second she thought of her younger brother, though Tsen would be fully grown now, ready to take on the responsibilities of a—

  ‘Kimi, why are you holding my hand?’ asked Maxim, frowning slightly.

  ‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ Kimi smiled, aware even as she knelt beside the boy just how large she was. ‘You reminded me of my brother for a moment there.’

  ‘Can we go ashore now?’ he asked, eyes straying to the city and all the wonders and terrors therein.

  ‘I’ll need you to stay on the ship.’

  ‘But I wanted to see—’ Kimi held up one finger to silence the boy’s protests the way her mother had gently quietened Tsen when they were little. He was so like Tsen at the same age. Their mother had still been alive then.

  ‘It’s safer on the ship,’ explained Kimi, her tone calm and even. ‘We don’t know how unfriendly the locals are, or if there are Imperial soldiers here.’

  ‘But I can be useful!’ pleaded Maxim.

  ‘And more useful besides if you’re not dead,’ countered Kimi. ‘I don’t want to argue about this, Maxim.’

  The boy’s shoulders sagged with defeat. ‘I’ll go up to the crow’s nest and watch you from there,’ he said solemnly.

  ‘Good. Keep an eye out for anyone unusual and stay up there if any fighting starts.’ Maxim nodded earnestly, then scampered off to start his long climb to the crow’s nest.

  ‘That’s your idea of safety?’ said Marozvolk, staring up the main mast to the crow’s nest above.

  ‘He’ll be out from underfoot,’ replied Kimi, ‘and so far away from trouble it might pass him over.’ She paused and waved to a tall woman with long, dark red hair who served with the crew and went by the name of Rylska.

  ‘Can you keep an eye on that boy up there?’

  Rylska beamed a broad smile and saluted enthusiastically. ‘Of course! I don’t know much about children, but then I didn’t know much about sailing when the captain took me on, so why not?’ She began climbing, whistling cheerfully as she went. Kimi watched the red-haired pirate ascend to the crow’s nest.

  ‘That didn’t exactly inspire confidence, did it?’ Marozvolk chuckled and then looked at the city. ‘Will our reception really be that bad?’ she asked.

  ‘Two unescorted, dark-skinned women on the west coast of Vinterkveld.’ Kimi cocked her head to one side. ‘I don’t know what to think.’ She looked over Marozvolk’s cream robes. ‘But I do know we should get you some new clothes. Clothes that don’t hint at your former occupation.’

  The boarding ramp had barely made contact with the stone pier when Kimi set foot on it. A few steps and she was swiftly on dry land. For the first time in weeks she felt as if she could breathe again, away from the novices, away from Steiner.

  ‘Shouldn’t we wait for the others?’ said Marozvolk, hesitating as she reached the cobbled pier, but Kimi was already moving, keen to be among the bustle of Virag’s winding streets.

  ‘Romola said we should split up and scout ahead,’ shouted Kimi over her shoulder. ‘So that’s what I’m doing.’ Maxim and Rylska waved from the crow’s nest while Steiner stood at the prow, watching her leave.

  It took Marozvolk a few minutes to weave through the crowds at the docks and catch up with the princess. Kimi held her sleeve up to her nose and mouth as they pressed deeper in to the city.

  ‘It smells worse than the Izhorian swamps in summer,’ she muttered darkly in her mother to
ngue.

  ‘And what do they smell of?’ replied Marozvolk.

  ‘Death, mainly. Anyone travelling from Yamal to Midtenjord rarely survives that journey.’

  ‘I’m from the south coast,’ replied Marozvolk. ‘Or … I was before I was taken. There was never much call to go anywhere near Izhoria.’

  ‘Just as well,’ said Kimi with a grim smile. ‘The swamps don’t really smell of death, but they do smell of sulphur and I don’t know what’s worse.’ The two women turned a corner and found themselves on a wide thoroughfare full of carts and horses. Dung, mud, and rotting food spattered the cobbled street.

  ‘What kept you?’ said Kimi as she stepped around something foul.

  ‘What do you mean?’ replied Marozvolk.

  ‘You took a while to catch up after I disembarked. Did Steiner ask you to have a word with me?’ Marozvolk shook her head, then caught the stern glint in Kimi’s eyes and sighed.

  ‘He did speak with me. He’s concerned about you. He doesn’t blame you for being angry with him—’

  ‘I should think not,’ snapped Kimi.

  Marozvolk cleared her throat. ‘What happened between you two?’ Kimi stopped walking, then pulled out the sliver of stone that hung from a chain about her neck.

  ‘This is all that’s left of the Ashen Torment. One of the mightiest artefacts in all of Vinterkveld and this’ – the jagged rock was no larger than Marozvolk’s little finger – ‘is all that’s left of it.’

  ‘Felgenhauer told me about its existence. And what it does,’ replied Marozvolk. ‘What happened? How did it …?’

  ‘I lent it to him so he could command the cinderwraiths to rise up against those loyal to the Empire.’ Kimi’s eyes became hard, her mouth a narrow line. ‘When he was done he destroyed it with that damn sledgehammer he’s so fond of waving about.’

  ‘No ordinary weapon could unmake an artefact of such power,’ said Marozvolk with a frown. ‘The Ashen Torment was crafted by Bittervinge himself.’

  ‘The sledgehammer is most decidedly not ordinary, that much is clear.’ They resumed walking at a much slower pace.

  ‘But the destruction of the Ashen Torment is a good thing,’ said Marozvolk slowly. ‘Those souls could pass on to the afterlife once they had been released.’

  ‘True enough, but when the Emperor hears that I let his most powerful artefact be destroyed he’ll send soldiers south to Yamal and wipe out every last one of us as punishment.’ Kimi felt tears prickle at the corners of her eyes and told herself it was the city’s smoke that made them smart. ‘I’d forgotten how fragrant western cities are.’ She coughed behind her sleeve.

  ‘Why didn’t you stop him from destroying it?’ asked Marozvolk, her voice low, a note of caution in her words.

  ‘I’ve been asking myself the same question ever since we left the island,’ Kimi growled with frustration. ‘He wanted to make sure no one else rose up as a cinderwraith. It’s hard to say no to something like that.’

  ‘And what will you do now?’

  ‘I need to return to Yamal and speak to my father. We need to gather the tribes and prepare for war. I owe the sly bastard that much.’

  Marozvolk remained silent and looked uneasy.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Kimi.

  ‘Nothing. I just …’ Marozvolk, stripped of her snarling wolf-faced mask, was an open book. Her expressive face told of a deep worry that consumed her. ‘I’m not sure I can go back to Yamal, Your Highness. I want to. I want to help you, protect you if I must, but … my parents disowned me when I failed the Invigilation.’ Marozvolk shook her head and looked away.

  ‘What would your parents do if they saw you?’ asked Kimi gently, slowing her stride. ‘What could they do? They should be grateful you’re alive at all.’

  ‘Part of me would give anything to see my family again,’ said Marozvolk, eyes downcast. ‘But they disowned me in a heartbeat. I can’t go back to that.’

  Kimi eyed the other woman for moment. They’d shared a cramped cabin for three weeks but carefully avoided any difficult conversations. Until now. All their efforts at interaction had been directed at caring for Maxim. Without the distraction of the boy, Kimi was painfully reminded that Marozvolk had been one of her former jailers, but it seemed even jailers had problems of their own.

  The women continued into the city in silence. The buildings stood three storeys tall, so different to the nomadic tents of Yamal. Virag’s rooftops were adorned in grey slate as opposed to the thatch more common in the northern reaches of Vinterkveld.

  ‘Everything is grey and damp here,’ said Kimi. ‘It’s a wonder anyone gets out of bed.’

  ‘Hard to disagree with that,’ replied Marozvolk. The further they ventured away from the docks the more people watched them pass. Eyes filled with suspicion followed their passing, or was it merely curiosity?

  ‘I imagine most sailors from Shanisrond or Yamal stay near the docks,’ said Marozvolk.

  ‘We’re not sailors,’ replied Kimi. She looked at the shingles hanging outside each of the shops. Each bore an illustration of the profession practised inside. They appeared to be on a street of scribes, judging by the depictions of quills, scrolls and even the odd book. ‘We just need to find a …’ Kimi turned into an alley and pressed on before coming to an abrupt stop. Marozvolk walked into the back of her, apologising in hushed tones until she spotted what Kimi had seen moments before. Three dockers waited at the end of the crooked cobbled alley. All were heavy-set men with deep frowns and mouths set in flat lines. The largest of them clutched a cudgel in a scarred fist.

  ‘It’s a shame Romola didn’t have a few weapons to spare for us to come ashore with,’ said Marozvolk under her breath. She clenched her fists and a silvery glimmer of arcane power moved across her skin. Her fists began to turn the colour of granite.

  ‘You can’t use the arcane here,’ said Kimi just as quietly, grasping her arm quickly. ‘It will attract too much attention. Come on.’ She took Marozvolk by the hand and led her through a door.

  The tailor was a gentleman who had not seen fit to die despite his great age. The elderly man’s spotted pate and rounded shoulders stood in stark contrast to his sharp eyes and firm jaw, and Kimi doubted she had ever met anyone so old. Even Sundra and Mistress Kamalov demonstrated a blush of youth compared to the tailor. Weak light filtered into the shop through the uneven windows at the front. It smelled of dust and sandalwood, stewed tea and quiet desperation. A fire snapped and popped in the hearth, lending the shop a reprieve from the dismal chill outside.

  ‘I do not make clothes for women,’ said the tailor slowly, first in his own tongue, then in Solska when it was clear he had not been understood.

  ‘I don’t want clothes for women,’ replied Kimi with a lift of her chin. ‘I want britches, a shirt, a good coat and some boots that just happen to fit my friend.’

  ‘And how do you propose to pay for all of this?’ replied the tailor, pursing his lips. He had a sour look about him, but Kimi imagined she’d be sour too if she’d lived a long life in Virag. She unfastened her thick leather belt and laid it across the counter, then slipped a few coins out of a false lining on the reverse side. Each was solid gold and bore the profile of the Emperor.

  ‘Given you speak their language, I assume you’ll take their coin?’

  ‘Solmindre crowns are very welcome here.’ The tailor attempted a smile but the expression might have easily been constipation.

  ‘Half now, half on completion,’ said Kimi.

  ‘As you wish,’ replied the tailor, smooth as silk. ‘Will there be anything else?’

  ‘Make the three shirts and as fast as you can. I don’t know how long we’re going to be in town.’ She cast an eye over his bony hands. ‘You have assistants to help you, I hope?’

  The tailor rolled his eyes, then held up one forbidding finger and shook his head. It took Kimi a moment to realise the gesture was not for her but the three thugs waiting in the alley outside. They looked even more bruti
sh through the uneven glass.

  ‘Friends of yours?’ asked Kimi.

  The tailor took up a measuring tape and bade Marozvolk stand on a low stool. ‘They are not even friends to each other,’ said the tailor. ‘And they are only friendly to me when they come to collect their due.’

  Kimi eyed the thugs in the alley. They stared back with dead-eyed indifference. ‘Is there somewhere close by that I can buy a weapon?’ asked Kimi in an idle tone. She held up four fingers in an obscene gesture at the thugs outside.

  ‘There is always somewhere to buy a weapon in Virag,’ muttered the tailor. ‘Which is entirely the problem.’

  The tailor ignored the women in his shop once the measurements had been taken. A young girl was sent to round up seamstresses to begin the work. Kimi and Marozvolk left the shop and headed back to the main thoroughfare. They had barely walked a hundred feet when they spotted an Imperial Envoy, dressed in the customary blue robes of his office, with a soldier’s black cloak across his broad shoulders. His hair and beard were close-cropped, and he could not have looked more different to the men of the Scorched Republics, who wore their beards long and their hair longer still.

  ‘Frøya save us,’ hissed Marozvolk as Kimi pulled her behind a stationary wagon. The Envoy was escorted by four soldiers, looming over the crowd in black enamelled armour. Each helm bore the red star of the Solmindre Empire proudly on the brow. The soldiers were led by a sergeant carrying a two-handed maul, while his subordinates carried maces and shields.

  ‘What are they doing here?’ breathed Marozvolk, barely daring to peek around the corner of the wagon.

  ‘I think we’re about to find out,’ replied Kimi as the Envoy mounted the steps of an impressive but dilapidated building.

  ‘Citizens of fair Svingettevei!’

  ‘I loathe Envoys,’ muttered Marozvolk. ‘What is this place?’ she added, looking up at the building.