“The time may come,” Steelfox whispered, “when I have to act against my sister, for the good of the Karvak Realm. Will you stand with me?”
Northwing looked down at a handless wrist, grunted. “I will. I have my reasons.”
“Good. Am I correct that you can journey underwater, and take others? Or was that just boasting?”
“I’ll take you to the bottom of the sea, if that’s what you need. Just don’t ask me to like it.”
“Thank you. No woman has done more for our cause.” Steelfox added quickly, “Or man.”
“I am glad you would say this. But you’re still unwilling to acknowledge that I am neither woman nor man.”
Steelfox sat down beside the shaman. “I confess . . . it is an idea I’ve had considerable trouble comprehending. I can show respect without perfect understanding, however. And I should. I have at times treated you merely as an eccentric woman, rather than the individual you profess to be, one who walks between and beyond dualities. That ends now, my friend. You are Northwing, none other.”
Northwing studied Steelfox in surprise. “You have changed.”
“So have you. You’ve always seemed to dislike me. Yet you stayed by me when Haytham betrayed me.”
“He had his reasons—” Northwing began.
“We all do, Northwing. We all do.”
CHAPTER 30
LARDERLAND
When Bone first boarded Leaping Bison, taking note of its spaces for sixty rowers, its bright red-and-white sail, and its bull-shaped prow, Captain Glint had shown him and Gaunt a chart generously supplied by Eshe of Kpalamaa, whose people’s cartography far outstripped the Kantenings’.
“As I feared,” he’d said, “Deadfall’s island, where we think the heart lies, is boxed in. The Draugmaw blocks the obvious path, and it has gained in strength; I’d not go through it with anything less than your Kpalamaa friends’ galleon. Their map points out another worry. One could go around Oxiland proper—but it’s the worst winter in years and the ice would grind us up. Likewise for passing around Spydbanen. That leaves only the Chained Straits, which the Karvaks hold.”
“But?” Gaunt had said.
“And?” Bone had added.
“All right. The straits may be unavailable, but Lardermen know of many caves in that region, and rumor has it that some caves lead through to the other side. I know a woman who knows the way through. We’ll find her in Larderland. The pirate port.”
And so after their detour to Klarvik they caught the following wind toward the Splintrevej. Days passed, days of fiddling and language lessons, days of rowing and reading, days Bone learned to love the banter of the foamreavers and the sunset on the waters . . . and loathe, with his beloved beside him, the lack of privacy.
At last the Splintrevej’s thousands of rocky islands sprouted from the mists ahead.
Even the Kpalamaa chart did not account for every nook, cranny, islet, skerry, and seamount in that mazelike archipelago, where islands rose like wreckage, piney woods stabbing skyward, surrounded by high-cliffed shores. Here and there they saw chimney-smoke rising from unseen huts, or ramshackle docks with rafts beside. Deep into the Splintrevej the open ocean seemed far away, and the rowers were often needed. It was as though they passed through some salty, many-islanded lake.
“Legend has it,” Freidar told them after they anchored one sunset in the shelter of a larger isle, “this was once a single land, in the days when only one arkendrake had settled and mineralized in these parts. It was a mighty dragon, that Staraxe, so great that its inherent power attracted two cruel younger dragons who contested for its carcass when they became arkendrakes themselves. It was a battle experienced by humanity as earthquakes and landslides and sea-waves. The younger arkendrakes began by slowly smashing the headland of the Splintrevej and consuming its powers. But a curious thing happened. The Vindir, who dwelled upon the body of Staraxe, forged and raised up the Great Chain of Unbeing, binding the three petrified dragons into a deep slumber, and draining their power for the use of the Runethane, their champion.”
He fell silent.
Bone said, “I know you are worried about Svanstad. We have people there we worry about too.”
Freidar nodded, “Nan will do her best for your friend Joy.”
“I’m glad our son spent time in your care,” Gaunt said. “You are good people.”
“If only,” Freidar said, “good deeds reliably produced good outcomes.”
They traveled for two days through labyrinthine passages among the islands. Gaunt, practicing her fiddle, admired the setting, forests rising almost directly from the water to fill these rocky places, ranging in size from sea-stacks to massive islands, almost nations unto themselves. Bison’s mood lifted in this whimsical place. Early the third morning even Deadfall unrolled itself and began talking.
The carpet told a story of traveling with Innocence to many lands, and even to the moon, before crashing into the seas near the Draugmaw. “And so ended our companionship. But during that time, I continually fed his dreams of grandeur, telling him that his destiny lay not just in ruling Qiangguo but also the Karvak Realm and ultimately the world.”
“Why would you tell an impressionable boy such things?” Gaunt demanded.
“Did you never sense the power within him, poet? I was fashioned by an unscrupulous wizard to tap all forms of magic and channel them into usable form. Corrupt magic in particular. I forever feel the call to become monstrous myself. Yet Innocence fed my need for power, and he was by no means evil. If he could embrace his full destiny, I thought I would have all the power I craved, without giving in to the cruel, murderous impulses within me. Without him I was lost. I did not want to be stuffed into the empty place where Skrymir’s heart once lay, but once again I could not resist an evil power.”
“You’re a broken thing,” Bone said.
“You should talk, thief.”
Gaunt removed the Chart of Tomorrows from her gear. “And did you give us this, when we sought the Silk Map?”
“I did. It was on a sudden impulse. I knew it was a powerful thing. I wondered how you would react. I wondered if you would keep it to yourselves, rather than share it with your friends. You did. By this I knew you were essentially selfish people, a fact I shared with Innocence later.”
Gaunt frowned. “Selfish we are, though not as regards him. But your reasons seem vague and strange.”
If a carpet’s ripple could be a shrug, Deadfall managed the trick. “I cannot fully explain my actions. Nonetheless they are my own.”
A whistle cut through the air from a nearby, green-crowned sea-cliff. A young voice cried out: “Are you the Swan’s friends?”
Gaunt and Bone stared at each other, for the question was most strange. But Erik Glint seemed to understand it as a passphrase. “Aye,” he replied, his tone wary, “and the world’s enemies.”
“What shall be your share?”
“The equal of anyone’s.”
“Are there those among you who are not Lardermen? Are they prepared to blindfold themselves?”
“They are.” Erik nodded to the passengers, as well as those few of his crew he’d recruited in Svanstad. He had warned them they could not see the final approach to Larderland. They all tied cloths over their eyes. Even Katta did this, not mentioning his blindness. Deadfall had previously consented to be rolled up and placed within an unlocked chest.
There came a swoosh and creak: Gaunt heard ropes swinging, straining branches. Footfalls hit the deck. There were perhaps a dozen people, half of whom she guessed were children.
This pilot crew steered them through the last channels to Larderland.
“You may remove your blindfolds,” said the young voice, which by now was sounding a trifle familiar. Gaunt did so, and beheld the home of the Lardermen.
Bison might as well have drifted in a circular lake, surrounded on three sides by forested, rocky hills. Gaunt could not see any passage out. The fourth quarter possessed a small riverine va
lley with a dockland and rising rows of tall, snow-covered houses. Windmills rose on the heights, and waterwheels followed the serpentine twists of the river. It was a place for athletes or mountain goats.
“Welcome to Larderland,” said the young voice, and Gaunt saw it belonged to a girl of perhaps nine, capped with an unruly tangle of dark-brown hair, dressed in a peasant tunic but with pants cut short, sandaled even in the snow, carrying a fine shortbow and a gnarled staff with a few carven luck-runes. “I’m Brambletop.”
Protocol probably demanded Erik speak first, but Gaunt heard Bone swear, and she suddenly she understood why. She recognized Brambletop, and stepped forward.
“Hello, daughter of Yngvarr Thrall-Taker,” Gaunt said.
“Hello,” said the girl evenly. “I trust you won’t break the peace of Larderland.”
“I wasn’t aware,” Erik said, “you knew Yngvarr and his family.”
“Only professionally,” Bone said. “As his daughter helped cast me into slavery.”
“Ah.”
“No one is a slave here,” Brambletop said easily. “Even my father obeys that rule.”
“Is he here?” Erik said, not sounding pleased at the prospect.
“Oh yes. Many have come home to Larderland, as Fimbulwinter arrives.”
Gaunt looked and saw that their pilot crew included adults and children of every hair color, with skin color ranging from pale peach to dark brown.
“I see eight ships at dock,” Erik said, “and that one there’s Yngvarr’s Ironbeard.” Gaunt noted the ship and its spiked iron barding at prow and stern, useful for impaling ships.
One of the adults spoke up, the one most girded for battle, with his byrnie, a round shield, and a sword that looked to be a khopesh, a hooklike blade from the far southern land of Ma’at. He had a wiry build, dark skin, curly hair, and an Amberhornish accent. “You won’t know me, Captain, as I ate from the larder only in the last year. Tlepolemus, a member of the Likedealers.”
Erik bowed. To his passengers Erik said, “That means he’s a trusted member of the guards hereabouts. Larderland is as near an anarchy as we can arrange, but we need some organization to divvy things up and keep the work going.”
Tlepolemus said, “It’s also my duty to remind you, if you’ve a grudge with Yngvarr Thrall-Taker, you keep it to yourselves or settle it on the Holmgangway.” Here Tlepolemus pointed his khopesh at a ragged-looking pier, shipless, meandering out into the water on the far side of the dockland from the lighthouse. It terminated in a circular platform on stilts, cut from the heart of some gigantic ancient tree, with plenty of room for a duel.
“That I know,” Erik said.
“Then be welcome. Tie up at Southpier.”
Gaunt was grateful to step upon something stable and was first on the pier, holding out her hand to Bone.
Where the town met the water, its houses looking ready to topple right over, a central square surrounded a vast, gnarled yew tree, supporting no less than four swings. Diving boards extended from all the piers and not a few of the waterfront houses. In the snow-swirled twilight, square and lanes were lit by lampposts stuffed with magical illumination-gems, such as in other towns would only be present in the richest quarters; and the docks were marked by a small lighthouse at the end of the longest pier, its mirrors flashing a fire-born glow onto the timbers, its top flying a black flag with skull and crossed cleavers.
“Pleasant,” said Bone, looking around. “It reminds me somewhat of Deepvein, the thieves’ market of Palmary. Although that place is underground and gloomy.”
Tlepolemus said. “Captain Glint, have you treasure?”
“Some,” Erik said, gesturing, and his men opened chests.
Brambletop said, “You’ve been gone a long time. That isn’t much.”
“I lost Raveneye and all its goods by the Draugmaw,” snapped Erik. “What you see here is everything owed me by every mariner in Svanstad, plus payment from Princess Corinna.”
“You must have a good story,” said Brambletop. “My mother will want to hear it.”
“Your mother?” said Gaunt. She had trouble imagining the woman who would willingly share herself with Yngvarr Thrall-Taker.
“Lead on,” said Erik.
And so they passed up the winding streets, past openings in the cliff-rock through which pockets of farmland nestled. All the while youngsters of the town followed them, and it seemed to Gaunt she’d never seen such brash children. Erik told his tale, and some within a pub (marked with the sign of a cleaver-brandishing mermaid) heard a stitch of it and peered out from the doorway.
The procession reached a four-story house of stone, roofed with glass so as to capture warmth for plants of southerly climes. Here they entered the presence, they were informed, of the Lardermistress, Ruvsa the Rose.
She was a short, strong-muscled woman nearing advanced years, dark-haired like Brambletop, and bearing a cruel-looking scar on her neck. She sat in her hothouse among emerald vines and flowers of all colors. Her wicker chair was not quite a throne, but it was elevated and allowed her a clear view of the town, the harbor, and the falling snow. (Gaunt noted that the egress from the harbor was still bafflingly invisible.)
“Welcome back, Erik,” Ruvsa said, and her voice was warm as the chamber.
“Delighted to be home, Ruvsa,” said Erik with a bow. “Though I’d be more delighted if Raveneye had made it back with me. These are my guests—Freidar, Gaunt, Bone, Malin, Katta. And there is a sixth guest whom I have reason to keep hidden aboard my ship, for reasons I will explain in private.”
Ruvsa raised her eyebrow, but the Lardermistress merely said, “Welcome to you all, so long as you mind our rules. Freidar the Runewalker is known to me, and of the thieves Gaunt and Bone I have heard tales.”
Bone coughed. “It’s pleasant to know one’s fame has swift feet, but we are not here in our professional capacity, ma’am.”
“Good. Young woman, I do not know you, nor you, far-traveled gentleman.”
Malin said nothing, her attention drawn by the many exotic plants and the insects buzzing among them.
“I am a baker,” Katta said quickly. “I’ve also mastered caravans, and I know a sutra or two of the Undetermined.”
“I feel I could spend many pleasant afternoons talking to all of you,” said Ruvsa. “Such are the privileges of a retired pirate queen. My duty lies elsewhere, however.”
“Ma’am,” Bone said, for he was ever saying things that were unwise to voice, “you’re in charge of this hideaway?”
“Larderland is the work of many retired captains,” she said, “and we who hate kings and lords will accept none over us. But I admit I have some unofficial sway.”
“‘Sharpest among equals,’ we call her,” said Erik.
“And we call Erik Glint a rogue and a flatterer,” Ruvsa said. “I would have words with him.”
“And I with you, ma’am. Bison has secret ways it must travel.”
“Indeed! We may find a price for this knowledge. My daughter will be your guide for now, guests of Glint. You may stay aboard your ship, or else there are homes that can serve as inns, if you’ll pay in work or coin. I recommend the one they call the Outside Inn.”
“Are there musicians?” Gaunt asked.
“There are, at the Mermaid’s Cleaver,” said Brambletop. “I’ll show you there.”
The others were more than happy to visit the tavern. The chill nipped them as they left Ruvsa’s home, for the respite in the hothouse had lulled Gaunt into thinking the weather had changed.
“I don’t like this snow,” Freidar said.
“No argument here,” Gaunt said, shivering, not saying how Skrymir had bid Innocence bring on the legendary Fimbulwinter, the final snow.
“It’s more than that. I sense the North Wind’s been riled up by something. This is unnatural. Troll-work.”
“Can you rile up the North Wind?” Bone mused.
“A farm lad could, in Eventyr Seven,” said Malin, loo
king at all the swings and ropes and even slides tucked here and there around the town.
Freidar noticed what she was studying. “Yes, Malin, this place has many youths. It’s a safe place for the Lardermen to leave their offspring while on voyages. They will also bring orphans here, or abandoned children, for their adventuring often brings them to desolate places.”
“I am not a child,” said Malin.
“No, but you were one not so long ago. Brambletop, perhaps you could show Malin places where a young person can enjoy herself. I know my way to the tavern.”
“Gladly,” said Brambletop. “Come with me, Malin? I can send my brother, Taper Tom, to guide these worthies. Come with me.”
“With me,” said Malin, a little hesitantly.
“Is this a good idea, Freidar?” Gaunt asked, looking at Bone, for her memory of Brambletop’s father was fresh.
“It is all right,” Freidar said. “No harm comes to children here. I swear it.”
Gaunt watched Malin and Brambletop head off toward the great tree.
Bone looked down upon swinging youngsters, tree-climbing youngsters, even youngsters diving into the icy water. “Looks like fun.”
“Yes,” said Gaunt.
The moment was so fresh, crisp, and pleasant, at first he disbelieved what he heard: Gaunt was crying.
“What,” he said, “what—what—what—”
He had faced (as he often said to others) sorcerers, assassins, cannibals, demons, and supernatural swarms of bees. He had never been carefree about doing these things, had often been terrified, but he hadn’t been at a loss. But Persimmon Gaunt’s tears left him at sea. He did not know what to do. He could not throw a dagger at them.
He took her in his arms, tentatively.
Freidar and Katta gently informed them they were in search of beer, and left them alone.
Gaunt gripped Bone almost savagely, head against his shoulder.
“Persimmon,” he told her, “it will be all right. Whatever it is. Tell me and I will loot its lair and stab it through the eyes.”
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