by Glenda Larke
“See,” the King roared at him, shaking a blood-stained spear in triumph, “there’s life in this old royal hound, and don’t you forget it.”
“I never doubted it,” he replied, grinning to see his father not only unscathed, but also brimming with vitality. He dismounted and doffed his hat to place it on his breast in salute. “Not old father, but honed. Age has merely seasoned you.”
“Then let us celebrate!”
Edwayn tossed his blood-soaked spear to the nearest guard, clapped Ryce on the back and called for his spare mount. “Beck’s Field, men! Ale to quench your thirst, food for your empty bellies. Maybe this afternoon will produce a boar with bigger tusks.”
Servants, busy since the day before, had transformed the meadow bordering the forest, known as Beck’s Field, into a gathering ground fit for a king. Colourful tents flying royal flags and courtiers’ standards surrounded a central area of trestle tables laden with food and drink. Ryce, even accustomed as he was to the feasts served to hunt parties, was taken aback by the opulence of the trappings and the sumptuousness of the provender.
The King was in fine spirits; for a while he appeared to be his old self. He joked and jested, ate heartily and ribbed Ryce about being too slow on his horse to keep up with the hunt. “You missed the kill!” he chided. “What kind of a hunter are you?”
Ryce smiled and joked and hoped his father would let the afternoon hunt continue without the King to lead them, but wisely kept that hope unspoken. I’m learning, he thought.
When some of the older courtiers joined the King, Ryce withdrew, unnoticed, to take a look at the morning’s kill, already being skinned or plucked and dismembered at the far end of the field. No one had brought in a deer yet, so the boar was still the largest of the bag, but there was a good selection of hares, pheasants, grouse and squirrels. He spoke with the butchers, then returned to the tables to eat and drink.
The feast was almost finished when he looked up from his platter of jellied fruit to see Prime Valerian Fox ride up. His appearance was an odd mixture of austerity and wealth, dressed as he was all in black, yet adorned with ostentatious gold jewellery. He ignored Ryce and dismounted to bow to the King.
Ryce gritted his teeth. The man couldn’t have come for the hunting; killing animals for sport was not considered appropriate for a cleric of Va-faith.
He watched the Prime greet the King and chat to him, doubtless congratulating the monarch on his hunting success. His bow was graceful, his smile charming. The confounded man never seemed to age. His face was unlined and his hair without a trace of grey, his body as lithe and supple as a cat’s.
“Your highness.”
He turned to see Horntail standing at his shoulder. “Yes, sergeant?”
Horntail leaned down to say quietly into his ear, “The question you asked yesterday, about who influenced the King to come a-hunting.” He nodded to where the Prime and the King were being served wine by a lad dressed in the palace livery. “Me sister’s son.”
“And he said—?”
“The Prime.”
“Speak to him again when you have a chance.”
Horntail nodded. He didn’t need to be told that Ryce was interested in what the Prime was saying to the King now.
Still later, when the King announced that he was returning to the palace, but hoped the hunt would continue without him, Horntail again materialised at his side.
“Anything?” Ryce asked.
“They spoke of the hunt. An amiable conversation, according to the lad. The King said he would not hunt in the afternoon, otherwise his royal arse would trouble him for a sennight; the Prime laughed. ’Twas all.”
“Glad to hear it. I will return with the King. Tell your men and instruct them to keep clear of the King’s guards. We don’t want any arguments.”
“Quite so, your highness.” Horntail’s expression was wry; there had been some not-so-amicable encounters between the two troops of guards over the past year, for all that the sergeant had attempted to rein in his men.
Ryce walked over to where King Edwayn was chatting to the Prime, the Master of Hunt, Lord Dashell and several other huntsmen.
“Nursemaiding me?” the King asked, his eyes flashing in his annoyance, when Ryce told him he would ride back with the royal party.
The Prime stepped in, saying smoothly, “Oh, I’m sure he was only showing his concern for his father, as any dutiful son ought.”
“I do not need his concern,” Edwayn snapped. “I am the King, not some senile old man, and I’ll thank you to remember that, Ryce. This is a royal hunt, and your presence is required when I am not in attendance.”
Ryce tried to keep his expression blank. “Of course, sire. I did not think.” Damn you, Fox.
“It would be my pleasure to accompany you, sire,” Fox said, “if you will permit.”
“Of course,” Edwayn agreed, and waved Ryce away.
He bowed and withdrew to tell Horntail of the change in plans, fear for his father’s safety growing. The King’s party would contain all the older huntsmen, or anyone bruised or injured by falls, plus a few others whose horses had taken a tumble. The younger, fitter men would remain to continue the hunt.
Am I worrying over nothing?
He didn’t know. He didn’t even know what made him feel so fearful for his father’s safety. He had nothing tangible to hang his worries on, no evidence of plots or assassination attempts. He had no ambitious cousins or uncles with an eye to usurping the throne. In fact he had nothing but a growing hatred of Prime Fox, prompted–as far as he could see–by a baseless unease that seized him every time he was in the Prime’s presence.
It had started the day father told him about Mathilda’s supposed ravishment. It had been compounded by his realisation of how much the Prime had enjoyed bringing Saker down. The supposed perfidy of a cleric ought to have grieved him, but Fox hadn’t been grieved. He’d been pleased.
A pox on you, Saker. You ought to be here. Va-damn, he missed the witan.
24
Alliances Under Scrutiny
When Saker, Juster and Ardhi left Golden Petrel to appear before the Karradar Council, Sorrel expected the worst. She spent the time with the wet nurse, the woman’s six month old son and Piper, but her mind was in a turmoil of dread. What if the men never returned? What if the Council had them imprisoned for sinking the longboat from Spice Winds?
She need not have worried. When the men returned several hours later, they were laughing.
“The Lowmians had been called as well,” Saker explained. “They complained about us to the Karradar officials, demanding that Ardhi and I be forcibly returned to their ship–only to find themselves in trouble with the Council because they had fired their carronade without permission!”
“Even worse,” Lord Juster added, “Lustgrader sent Tolbun to negotiate instead of coming himself, a tactical error the Council interpreted as arrogance.” His grin broadened. “The real truth is the islanders find my activities more lucrative to them than Kesleer’s. I pay the godowns handsome fees to store my privateered goods. Moreover, Pashalin merchant ships have been coming to pick up those cargos, paying their port fees and buying their provisions. Docklumpers and bumboat owners earn more wages. So, the islanders are more worried about upsetting me than they are about upsetting the Lowmians.”
“Without the Lowmians, you wouldn’t be here with all those benefits for them,” she pointed out.
“No one said the Council was a logical bunch of reprobates,” he replied. “Anyway, Mistress Sorrel, it all went well. The Council said that if Ardhi and Reed Heron wanted to jump ship in Karradar, that was fine with them. No one mentioned you at all.”
“Moreover,” Saker said, “when we asked for our belongings, the Karradar Council said we were entitled to them and instructed the Lowmians to hand them over!”
“Don’t hold your breath that you’ll get anything of value back,” Juster said.
“I want my sword. It’s Pashali steel,
a gift from a Pashali trader when I was a young witan on duty up on the northern borders.”
“And I want the rest of your story,” Juster said. “Come on down to my cabin.” Without waiting for an answer, he headed for the forward companionway.
“How is Piper liking the wet nurse?” Saker asked before he turned to follow.
“She adores her,” she replied. “I feel quite put out. It’s only for while we are here in Karradar, though, so I suppose I should make the most of the rest I’m getting!”
Saker smiled at her, then followed Lord Juster.
It was Ardhi, standing beside her, who commented, “No one replaces loving mother.”
“But I am not her mother.” The truth of those words almost choked her.
“Yes, you are, in every way that matters, no?”
Something clenched in her chest, as tight as a closed fist. Sweet Va, one day she was going to have to give Piper up. She was going to lose her. First Heather, then Piper. How would she ever bear the agony a second time around?
She turned her face away, not wanting him to see her pain.
“She’s happy because you love.” He struggled to express himself while she looked at him in surprise. “I admire you,” he added. “You have courage, kindness, heart, wisdom. I’m sad because you meet me and bad things happened to you.” He gave an exasperated grunt. “My words tangle in your language; I’m sorry. My Pashali speaking much better.”
“They–your words were exactly right.” Only it was Saker I wanted to hear say them. Now, how silly was that? She started to smile, her heart lightening, and was grateful Ardhi had cared enough to say what she needed to hear. “It seems I must learn Pashali. We’ll be on the same ship to Javenka, as passengers. Perhaps you can teach me?”
His answering smile lit up his face. “Yes! I teach my language too, if you want. Journey long. You can learn much.” He paused, then added in his own tongue, “Kami perlu berteman.”
“What does that mean?”
He grinned. “One day you can tell me.”
“Oh, that’s not fair!”
He relented. “ ‘We both need a friend.’ ”
She smiled back at him. “I think you’ll soon have a friend on this vessel. While you were all ashore, I met a sailor called Iska. He’s a lascar too, from the Summer Seas.”
He shrugged carelessly. “Oh? You call us both ‘lascar’ because we come from the same seas. Summer Seas are vast. Many, many islands, many languages. Word ‘lascar’? That means nothing to me.”
He turned and walked away.
Oh vex it. I hurt his feelings. You are a ninny, Sorrel.
It was dark by the time Saker had finished telling Juster his adventures since they’d last met. The remains of their evening meal littered the desk in the captain’s cabin, although in truth, Saker had not eaten much. He’d said very little about Piper, but he’d omitted nothing else of importance.
Lord Juster swirled brandy in a goblet of blown glass and shook his head in disbelief. “If anyone else had told me this tale, I wouldn’t have believed a word of it.”
“If I hadn’t experienced much of it, I wouldn’t have believed it either.” Saker took a sip from his own goblet, thinking how typical it was of Juster. He may have been on board a ship in a foreign land, but he still surrounded himself with his luxuries.
“So, Piper is the twin sister of the heir to the Basalt Throne.”
Saker spluttered over his brandy. “What?”
“Oh, come now, Saker. It’s obvious. Did you really think I wouldn’t guess? Why else would Sorrel have a baby who’s not her own? Let me see if I have it right. Princess Mathilda gave birth to twins. Sorrel, at the Princess’s request, spirited the firstborn away because of Lowmeer’s superstitions about devil-kin twins.”
Saker said nothing.
“Just as well Piper was a girl. You want my opinion? There’s no such being as A’Va. But I think there’s a good chance that the Prime of Ardrone, the oh-so-despicable Valerian Fox, is in the service of something or someone not remotely connected to Va. I’d call it sorcery.”
Saker waved a hand in acknowledgement.
“But that’s not all,” Juster added. “We have sorcerous plumes and daggers that swim and alien witchery and pox knows what else, and, according to Mistress Sorrel, a possibility that Fox fathered the heir to Lowmeer.” He shook his head. “On one level, all this sounds absurd. But on another–do you know how worrying all of it is?”
“Indeed, which is why I have told you. Will you consider either taking Ardhi and me to the Summer Seas, or alternatively will you take Sorrel to Vavala? The Va-cherished Hemisphere could well be in jeopardy from two threats from different sources. I don’t know which is the greatest danger. I do know that I don’t have any choice. Va-forsaken magic is sending me to the Summer Seas, whether I like it or not. I also know that it must surely be important the Pontifect deals with the whole problem of Piper and her brother to ensure that the devil-kin never sits on the throne of Lowmeer. I’m asking for your help.”
“I’m already doing what I do best. And if I understand your story correctly, it appears to me that Sorrel or Piper–or both–is being drawn, by magic, to the Va-forsaken Hemisphere. At least, that’s what Ardhi believes, right?”
“Yes. Rot it, Juster, I don’t know what I should be doing. Sometimes I feel Va-forsaken myself! I struggle constantly against this Chenderawasi magic, and I remain caught up in its web. Will you help us?”
“Have you any idea what you’re asking of me?” He sipped his brandy. “I can be a rake and a sot and a rogue, but I take my duty to my country and my liege lord seriously. I would have to disobey the orders of Prince Ryce. Because of the stupidity of King Edwayn, the cupidity of his advisers and the avarice of Ardronese merchants, I am all that is standing between Ardrone and financial disaster.
“You’re right. I am trying to do the impossible, one person attempting to halt a rolling ocean comber by flinging this vessel in front of it. But if it weren’t for me, every time someone in Ardrone or the Principalities bought a stick of cinnamon or a single clove bud, or a dried nutmeg–in fact, any spice at all–the money they spent would go direct to Lowmian coffers. And people would buy because they are terrified of the renewed outbreaks of the Horned Death, and they believe in an unfounded rumour about spices as curatives, a tale probably being fed by minions of A’Va, or Fox, or Lowmian merchants, or someone equally unscrupulous.”
“I understand that. But I believe what is facing Ardrone is worse. If a devil-kin ascended the Basalt Throne, or if Lowmeer gets its hands on these magical plumes, Ardrone and the other nations of the Hemisphere will suffer. And if both of those things came to pass–Juster, it could be catastrophic. It could mean war for generations.”
“Perhaps. But how can I be certain what to do when even you aren’t sure? You don’t really know what’s going on. For instance, it’s perfectly possible that neither of the twins is a devil-kin. Piper looks and behaves like a perfectly normal baby to me.”
“And what about the plumes?”
He shrugged. “Their power would be curtailed if everybody knew that accepting one as a gift was the pathway to being a slave.”
“You don’t know what it’s like being offered something so bewitching. It has power. Regal Vilmar was a victim. He made a fool of himself by obeying every suggestion of Uthen Kesleer, a ruthless, greedy merchant. Sorrel says it was the gossip of the court, although they didn’t know the cause, of course. Then, once he is free of the compulsion, what does he do? He decides to get as many of those plumes as he can so that he himself can misuse them! There is something diabolical about this sorcery. We have to stop it getting to the Va-cherished Hemisphere. And if that means going to the Va-forsaken lands, then that is what I will do.”
Lord Juster sat still with a thoughtful expression. Saker was silent, hoping that the more Juster considered it, the more alarmed he’d be. However, in the end he shook his head. “I’m sorry, my friend. I ha
ve my orders and my inclination is to obey them. My expertise is not necessary to you, or to Sorrel. I will arrange for you all to get as far as Javenka with someone I trust.”
Saker rose to his feet. “I see. Thanks for the brandy. And thanks for coming to my rescue once again.” Rueful, he smiled. “I do appreciate it. I’ll tell Ardhi and Sorrel.”
“I am sorry.”
“Not half as sorry as I am. Sorrel is going to be furious because I’ve spoken to you about Piper.”
“Tell her the truth: I guessed. The secret is safe with me. For ever.” As he stood, he asked, “Do you really think it possible Valerian Fox could have fathered the Lowmian heir?”
“Possible, yes. But how can we ever be sure?” And how will I ever know if I did? That was one thing he had not told Juster; he was too embarrassed. With that thought foremost in his mind, he left the cabin.
The cloud-darkened night sky was starless and as black as printer’s ink. The only light came from the candle lanterns hung at the sides of the ship, one green, one red, and two clear-glass lanterns, one on the prow and the other over the stern. Although the ship was still and quiet, sounds spilled across the water from the port: music, laughter, revelry, a barking dog, all the sounds of a town backed by the strains of a forest orchestra. The sawing violins of insects, the drumming of frogs, the clicking and thrumming and wailing of a night-time world Saker couldn’t begin to comprehend.
The humidity in the air was velvet against his skin as he walked the length of the deck. He nodded to the officer of the watch midships, but the two tars also on duty, one on either side of the deck, continued to scan the bay. In a place like Karradar, even a length of worn rope had value beyond its initial cost, and thieves were always ready to take advantage of the careless or unobservant.
He’d come topside, restless and tense, unable to sleep despite his exhaustion. Enclosed in the stuffiness of the lower decks, he’d been unable to free himself from the events of the day.
Coming so close to an unpleasant death does that to you, I suppose.