The Ships of Air (The Fall of Ile-Rein)

by Martha Wells

  Arites dropped his bag on the stone and rocked back and forth on his heels, observing the dark water lapping against the pilings and the shapes of the other ships with apparent satisfaction. On impulse, Tremaine asked, “Arites, were you married?”

  “No, I’m an orphan,” he said, with no reluctance. “My family were inland traders, and they were killed when I was a boy.”

  “Oh.” Tremaine nodded slowly, the wind pulling at her hair. “By wizards?”

  “Yes. It happened frequently back then. Livia had been the Chosen Vessel for Cineth, and this was just after she died. The god had Chosen Giliead already, but he was still just a boy. The Chosen Vessel for the Uplands already had a lot of territory to cover, and Tyros didn’t have a Vessel then. The gods can’t be everywhere at once either.” He looked down at her, his face calm in the light from the lanterns. “Just bad luck.”

  “But how did you—Who took care of you?”

  “The lawgiver’s family is supposed to adopt all orphans, but I ended up at Andrien village, even though Ranior wasn’t lawgiver anymore. Most people with problems end up at Andrien village.”

  “Is that why you came? Because you owe them?”

  “No.” He grinned down at her. “I just want to see new places.”

  “That’s why I came too,” Kias volunteered from down in the boat behind them.

  At the end of the Arcade, Ilias and Giliead suddenly pelted around the corner, running as if they were being chased by an army. Tremaine took a step toward them, alarmed. As they passed under one of the torches she saw their faces clearly and realized they were both laughing.

  One of the sailors moved up beside her, asking sharply, “Something wrong?”

  “I think they’re racing.” She pushed her hair back, feeling a flush of pure relief that made her face hot.

  “Oh.” He stood there a moment, watching with a smile, then shook his head, turning back to the boat.

  Giliead trapped Ilias against a cart someone had left in front of the Arcade. Ilias feinted, dodging Giliead’s attempt at a tackle, tripping him so the bigger man staggered into the wall. He bolted for the dock, pounding triumphantly down the stone pier with Giliead barely a step behind him. He banged into the boat, grabbing one of the stanchions to stop himself catapulting headlong into it, his earrings flashing in the lamplight. Giliead stumbled to a halt, grinning self-consciously.

  “You made it,” Tremaine said foolishly.

  Ilias looked flushed too, but that was probably just from the run. “Karima sent for some things from the house this afternoon; the courier got back just as we were about to give up on him.” He dropped a leather pack and a cloth bag down into the boat. He had a sword strapped across his back, the curved horn hilt sticking up over his shoulder. One of the Rienish sailors came to help stow the gear under the seats, and Arites jumped down to help. Giliead had a sword too and a couple of long cases of light wood, one almost as tall as Ilias, the other about half the size. They had both changed clothes and cleaned up: Ilias wore a rust-colored shirt, sleeveless to show off the copper armbands, and the wrap thrown over his shoulder was the color of red wine.

  Gyan returned from the group around Pasima, giving Giliead a clap on the back and Ilias’s shoulder an affectionate shake. Giliead jerked his chin toward Pasima, Cimarus and their companions, asking in a low voice, “Are they coming or not?”

  “She wouldn’t back out now,” Gyan said, grunting as he grabbed a stanchion and swung down into the boat. “But by the look of the others, they want to,” he added in a low voice.

  Ilias hopped down, holding up a hand to help Tremaine as she clambered after him. “What’s wrong with them?” he demanded impatiently. He seemed anxious to get on the way. Tremaine couldn’t think of anything to say that didn’t sound stupid, so she kept her mouth shut.

  “Now, you two have gone out beyond the reach of the gods since you got your full growth.” Gyan gave Ilias a look of mild reproof. “Those youngsters have never been farther than the next city for the trading days.”

  “Are we ready?” Seaman Vende asked Tremaine. The other sailors were preparing to cast off, one of them stepping back up onto the dock to take down the lanterns.

  “Five more,” Tremaine told him, having to think a moment to switch back to Rienish. She turned to Giliead. “Should we call them, or—” She stopped when she saw Pasima and her group walking toward the boat, the lamplight revealing their stiff set expressions.

  This is going to be an interesting trip, Tremaine thought grimly. “We’re ready now,” she told Vende.

  They survived being winched up the Ravenna’s side again though the Syprian newcomers shifted uneasily and looked green in the lamplight. Tremaine couldn’t blame them since the experience filled her with terror too.

  She was aware that the Syprian delegates’ first close-up look at the Ravenna was not one guaranteed to impress. With a possibility of Gardier in the area, the ship was still in blackout, and the deck was unlit except for a few small handlamps held by the sailors. The upper decks and the great stacks looming above them were just shapes and shadows in the dimness.

  They gathered on the deck in an uneasy group, Pasima and her companions separating themselves from the other Syprians and from the sailors working to get the boat swung up and locked down in the davit. Ilias drew Tremaine a little further away from them, and said, “Hey, an Argoti merchant already offered Karima a shipload of grain for two of those coins. She’s keeping one for the family.”

  “That’s great.” Tremaine suppressed an urge to throw herself over the rail. She didn’t know if it was a suicidal impulse or just a rational response to the situation. “Ah, one thing. I’d rather you not tell Ander about the details of the, uh, marriage settlement.”

  “Why? Will he be jealous?”

  “He would be, if he had any right whatsoever to be, which he doesn’t; we talked about that before, remember?” She managed to force herself past that thought and on to the next. This was as good a time as any to try to explain the difference in Rienish society. “It’s just that in Ile-Rien, paying for someone to marry is not looked on very well.”

  Tremaine knew she shouldn’t have said anything when Giliead made a faint noise in his throat, possibly an aborted, instinctive warning, then found something very interesting to look at on the deck between his boots.

  She couldn’t see Ilias’s expression in the jerky light of the sailor’s handlamps, but he stared at her for a full minute. Then he said in a clipped tone, “If that’s how you want it.”

  “Tremaine, can you come here a moment?” Gerard’s voice called from somewhere behind her.

  Ilias walked away without another word.

  Giliead stepped up beside her, and Tremaine said, “I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”

  He shook his head, said under his breath, “The amount of the marriage price is…important. I’ll talk to him,” and followed Ilias.

  Tremaine clapped a hand to her forehead. I have the feeling I’m not getting laid tonight, either.

  “Tremaine!” She looked around to spot Gerard, gesturing emphatically at her in the dim light from the nearest hatch. As she made her way toward him, he said, “I’m glad you’re back. There’s a meeting in the Third Class drawing room. You’ve been asked to attend.”

  “Oh, goody.” She followed Gerard’s lamp inside and up the stairs.

  Tremaine winced as they turned into a dark-paneled interior corridor where the electrics were far too bright. Suddenly she found herself grabbed and hauled aside by Florian.

  The other girl stared at her incredulously. “You got married!”

  Tremaine nodded. “Yes.”

  Florian looked worried. “But it’s a matriarchy.”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he have a choice?”

  “I asked him—afterward—and he said ‘what?’ but everyone was talking. So maybe, no, I don’t know.” Tremaine rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on. “So who do you think di
d that, the flighty poet or the maniac?”

  Florian let out her breath. “I think it was some scary combination of both.”

  “But I had to do it,” Tremaine protested. “It didn’t exactly get everyone on our side, but it helped.”

  “And you wanted to do it,” Florian prompted hopefully.

  “Oddly enough, yes.”

  Gerard came back down the corridor, saying impatiently, “Tremaine, come along, please.”

  “I’m coming, dammit!”

  Florian squeezed her arm. “I’m sure it will work out. Well, I’m not sure, but you know what I mean.”

  Gerard led Tremaine to the doorway of the Third Class drawing room. It was relatively small, for a public room on this ship, and almost cozy. There were still overstuffed armchairs, a marble hearth, and a floor-to-ceiling mural on the far wall of picturesque Parscian fishing boats at dock in some sun-drenched seaside town. Tremaine didn’t want to contemplate it too closely, afraid to recognize it as a real place that had been bombed to extinction by the Gardier.

  Seated around the room, Tremaine saw Niles, his assistant Giaren, Colonel Averi, Captain Marais, Count Delphane and Lady Aviler, as well as other ship’s officers and some members of the Viller Institute she didn’t know well. Colonel Averi was at the front of the room, saying, “We proved one thing conclusively. It is the crystals that provide protection against our spells, not anything inherent in the Gardier as individuals. That explains why the only spells that have any effect on them are illusions and glamours and concealment wards. The crystals can defend against an outright attack, but passive spells don’t provoke a reaction.”

  “Is it true about the crystals actually containing…the spirits of people?” Lady Aviler frowned, as if she felt odd asking the question. “Of sorcerers?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.” Averi nodded to Gerard. “We’ll hear a more complete report on that later. The captured Gardier have verified it, though they seem to know nothing more about the subject. They are beginning to speak to us, though they haven’t said much of strategic value yet. We were trying to get them to tell us where the Gardier capital is, or at least what direction their homeland lies in. They seemed unable to point it out on the maps we have. I say unable, rather than unwilling, because once we realized spells would affect them Niles made us a confusion stone to use during the questioning. We have heard some details of their society. Some of these men seem to have been soldiers from birth. None of them can read or write except for a few simple symbols. This certainly explains why we found so few examples of written records in the wreck of the airship the Institute examined. It’s my belief that only the upper-level officers are literate.”

  And I thought Ile-Rien’s Village School Authority had problems, Tremaine thought wryly. “How very odd,” Gerard muttered. “For a society that seems so advanced in other ways.”

  Averi continued, “Now the one female soldier admitted that she can read. So she may have some sort of higher rank than the other prisoners, and may have more knowledge of where their homeland can be found. We’re concentrating our efforts on her.”

  The colonel took his seat, and Gerard took advantage of the opportunity to move up to the front next to Niles. Tremaine edged into the back of the room, groping for a chair where she could think and possibly doze, when she heard her name.

  Ander was on his feet, obviously about to report on the negotiations with the Syprians. “There was one problem. Miss Valiarde instructed the Syprian leadership not to sign any agreements with us.”

  Gosh, thanks, Ander, Tremaine thought, trapped on her feet by a sideboard and a small table someone had shifted into the aisle.

  Delphane turned in his chair to fix his eyes on her. “Why was that?”

  Tremaine tried to conceal her irritation. “I was negotiating on their behalf. It wasn’t in their best interests.”

  “You’ve caused trouble, young lady. If you think—”

  Fine. If that’s the way you want to do it, let’s put all the cards on the table. “If we’re going to have a meeting like this, don’t you think we should ask the Princess Olympe to attend?” Tremaine leaned back against the sideboard, folding her arms.

  Silence settled over the room. She saw Gerard cover his eyes with his hand. Lady Aviler’s head turned sharply toward her. Tremaine watched Delphane’s face as he made a startled effort to conceal his real shock with angry disdain. He gave a short bark of laughter. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  Tremaine shrugged slightly, milking the moment for all the brittle satisfaction it was worth. “I just hate to think of her getting bored, up there on the Sun Deck in Special Suite 3.”

  Someone coughed nervously, and Delphane’s gaze narrowed with suspicion and defeat. He said grimly, “How did you know?”

  Tremaine shrugged, making it look careless. There was only one explanation for Count Delphane, Lady Aviler and the Solicitor General all taking the Ravenna when they should have gone to Parscia with the rest of the court and the government. “I think Niles’s report on the success of the sphere at deflecting Gardier spells did reach the palace by the day we left. There wasn’t much time to do anything with the information since the Gardier were so close to overrunning Vienne. But you must have realized how dramatically the chance of the Ravenna getting through the blockade had improved.” She looked down, idly scuffing her boot against the tile floor. “Reynard Morane told me the royal family had already left Vienne for Parscia that morning, but there would have been time to telegraph ahead and suggest an alternate escape route. The Queen wouldn’t take it; if she was going to abandon the government, she would have done it before now. But she might take the opportunity to send one of the heirs to the throne, along with suitable escorts who could help her negotiate with the Capidarans. If she had sent Prince Ilorane, there would be no reason for Lady Aviler to come along. That leaves the Princess Olympe. Oh, I knew the number because that’s the suite that was built for the royal family. It’s on the tourist brochure.” She looked at Delphane, lifting her brows. “So? Should we telephone and see if she wants to join us?”

  The room was quiet. Someone shifted uneasily, and someone else stifled a cough. Delphane’s eyes met hers, cold, assessing. You broke cover, Tremaine told herself. The clumsy diffident girl with the odd sense of humor shows her true colors. The realization should have left her cold, but somehow it didn’t. She gave Delphane a cool little smile.

  Lady Aviler said quietly, “She’s asleep at the moment.” Her expression was thoughtful. “You know Captain Morane, Miss Valiarde?”

  Tremaine knew she felt more at ease taking on Delphane than Lady Aviler; she suddenly recognized that as the self-preservation instinct it was. Delphane had a higher position in the court and the government, but Lady Aviler had organized the evacuees; until they reached Capidara she had more real power on the ship, possibly almost as much as Captain Marais. Tremaine deliberately softened her voice, dropped the challenge from her tone. “He’s an old friend of the family.”

  Lady Aviler lifted a brow but didn’t comment.

  Captain Marais cleared his throat and got to his feet, taking control of the room. “This is all very well, but we need to discuss our immediate plans. Niles, if you would?”

  Niles stepped briskly forward, taking a pointer off the mantle and indicating the map. “We’ve discussed prospective routes at length, using the captured Gardier maps. We’ll travel through this world’s ocean until we reach the approximate location of Capidara’s coast. Then we’ll create a world-gate and cross back through to our world and proceed to the port at Capistown. There, we drop off the civilians and resupply and refuel, and pick up whatever troops are available. Then back through the gate to this world. We sail back in this direction but head further west until we’re in the approximate location of Parscia’s coast, create another world-gate and dock there, and make contact with the government-in-exile.” He turned to regard his audience, his face serious. “We’re in a unique position. The Raven
na is the only Rienish vessel currently capable of moving between this world and our own, and she can make that crossing at will. The Gardier airships can only cross between worlds when they’re within a mile of one of their spell circles. The Ravenna can also easily make the crossing between Parscia and Capidara in four to five days, faster than any military vessel we have left, twice as fast as the Gardier’s airships. She can also transport, if pressed, close to ten thousand troops, perhaps more. Even though the Gardier inhabit this world, they don’t seem to have devoted much of their resources to patrolling these waters as they have in ours. If we can establish a corridor of transport between our two allies—”

  Tremaine edged into a chair, glad for the respite, even if it was temporary.

  Their boat had been hauled aboard at a different place than last time, much closer to the stern, so finding their way back to their quarters took longer. The outer rooms were kept dark for safety, so the Gardier wouldn’t be able to see the ship’s outline from their flying whales. “If you get lost,” Gyan told Pasima and the others kindly as they blundered through a nearly pitch-dark chamber, looking for a passage inward, “it’s easiest to find a stair and go up or down until you see something you recognize. In the passages you could walk ten ships’ lengths in the wrong direction before you know it.”

  “Where is Ixion kept?” Pasmia asked sharply. Ilias suspected her hard voice masked nervousness; at least he hoped so. “Is it near here?”

  “A few decks down,” Giliead answered, deliberately vague.

  They found the stairway down into the big chamber with the marble pillars and glass-walled rooms, the wizard lights making bright reflections behind their glass covers. There were quite a few people there now, most sitting on the cushioned couches and chairs. A large elaborately woven carpet was doing duty as a play area for several babies and small children just big enough to walk. Some of the people pointed or called “hello” as they saw the Syprians, one of the Rienish words Ilias could recognize if the speaker didn’t slur it too much. Arites waved back cheerfully, and Ilias made himself smile, since Pasima and the others kept expressions of aloof contempt. Arites, Gyan and Kias were acting as if they were completely accustomed to all the exotic colors and fine wood and crystalline glass.