Stormwarden

by Janny Wurts

  Helplessly Taen watched the foot lancers drag her brother away. The sailors clustered round the hatch, grinning at Emien's curses; aft, the deck was deserted. Taen bit her lip, hesitant. Earlier she had seen the Constable push Anskiere through a companion way left unguarded. Abruptly resolved, the girl crept from the cranny which had sheltered her and slipped from the galley, the drag of her lame foot masked by the slap of wavelets against the hull. She paused, trembling, by the mainmast. Torches moved up forward. A deckhand said something coarse, and a splatter of laughter followed. The white crash of breakers on the reef to starboard was joined by a hollow scream of splintering plank.

  Taen blinked back tears. Dacsen had struck. Through wet eyes she saw sailors crowding the forecastle rail to watch the sea pound the small sloop to wreckage. With a restraint beyond her years, Taen seized her opportunity while their backs were turned. She crossed the open deck into the dark gloom of the quarterdeck.

  The latch lifted soundlessly in her hands. Beyond lay a narrow passage lit dimly by the glow which spilled from the open door of the mate's cabin. Taen heard voices arguing within. She peered through, and saw the two sorcerers who had bound Anskiere's power leaning over the mate's berth. Bright against the woolen blanket lay a staff capped with a looped interlace of brass and counterweighted at the base. Beside it rested Anskiere's leather satchel.

  "Fool!" The sorcerer robed in red gestured with thin splayed fingers at the man in the braid. "You may know your way about a ship, Captain. You know nothing of craft. Anskiere's staff is harmless."

  The captain moved to interrupt. Fast as a cat, the sorcerer in black hooked his sleeve. "Believe him, Captain. That staff was discharged by Tathagres herself. How else could she have raised the sea and ruined Tierl Enneth? You don't believe the power was her own, do you?"

  "Fires, no." The captain fretted uncomfortably and tugged his clothing free. "But I'll certainly have mutiny, a bloody one, unless you can convince my crew that Anskiere can work no vengeance."

  "That should not prove difficult." The sorcerer in red caught the satchel with a veined hand, and in the doorway Taen shrank from his smile. "An enchanter separated from his staff seldom goes undefended. Anskiere will not differ." The sorcerer loosened the knots of the pouch, upended it, and spilled its contents with a rustle onto the blanket.

  Taen strained for a glimpse of what lay between the men.

  "Feathers!" The captain reached out contemptuously, and found his wrist captured in a bony grip.

  "Don't touch. Would you ruin us?" Disgustedly, the sorcerer released the captain. "Each of those feathers is a weather ward, set by Anskiere against need. You look upon enough force to level Imrill Kand, captain."

  The dark sorcerer lifted a slim brown quill from the pile. Taen recognized the wing feather of a shearwater. She watched with stony eyes as the sorcerer tossed it lightly into the air.

  As the feather drifted downward into a spin, it became to the eye a blur ringed suddenly by a halo of blue-violet light. From its center sprang the sleek, elegant form of the bird itself, wings extended for flight. Damp salt wind arose from nowhere, tossing the lamp on its hook. Shadows danced crazily.

  The red sorcerer clapped a hand to his belt. A dagger flashed in his fist. He struck like a snake. The bird was wrenched from midair and tumbled limp to the deck, blood jumping in bright beads across the oiled wood. The bird quivered once, and the breeze died with it.

  Taen shivered in the grip of nausea. The red sorcerer wiped the knife on his sleeve while the dark sorcerer picked another feather from the bed. Before long the hem of his robe hung splattered with scarlet. A pile of winged corpses grew at his feet, and blood ran with the roll of the ship. At each bird's death there was a fleeting scent of spring rain, or a touch of mellow summer sun, and more than once the harsh cold edge of the gales of autumn. At last, sickened beyond tolerance Taen stumbled past the door. Preoccupied with their slaughter, the men within did not notice.

  * * *

  Beyond the chartroom door, Taen heard the wet bubbly snores of the Constable. The lamp had burned low. Her eyes adjusted slowly to the gloom. Past the chart table and the Constable's slumped bulk, Anskiere sat with his head resting on crossed arms. Enchanted fetters shone like coals through tangled hair, and his robe was dusty and creased.

  Taen stepped through the door. At the faint scrape of her lame foot, Anskiere roused, opened eyes flat as slate, and saw her in the doorway. He beckoned, and the chime of his bonds masked her clumsy run as she flung herself into his arms.

  "The soldiers took Emien, and Dacsen wrecked on the reef." Her whisper caught as a sob wrenched her throat.

  "I know, little one." Anskiere held her grief-racked body close.

  Taen gripped his sleeve urgently. "Warden, the sorcerers are killing your birds. I saw them."

  "Hush, child. They've not taken the one that matters most." Anskiere flicked a tear from the girl's chin. "Can I trust her to your care?"

  Taen nodded. She watched gravely as the Stormwarden made a rip in the seam of his hood lining. He drew forth a tawny feather barred with black and laid it in her palm.

  The girl turned the quill over in her hands. The shape was thin, keen as a knife, and the markings unfamiliar. Anskiere touched her shoulder. Reluctantly she looked up.

  "Taen, listen carefully. Go on deck and loose the feather on the wind."

  The girl nodded. "On the wind," she repeated, and started at the sudden tramp of feet beyond the door. Fast as a rat, she scuttled into the shadow of the chart table. The Constable snored on above her head, oblivious.

  Men entered; the captain and both sorcerers. Blood-streaked hands seized Anskiere and hauled him upright, leaving Taen with a view of his feet.

  "Where is it?" The red sorcerer's voice was shrill. Anskiere's reply held arctic calm. "Be specific, Hearvia." Somebody slapped him.

  The black sorcerer advanced. His robe left smears on the deck. "You have a stormfalcon among your collection, yes? It was not in the satchel."

  "You'll not find her."

  "Won't we?" The black sorcerer laughed. Taen shivered with gooseflesh at the sound, and gripped the feather tightly against her chest.

  "Search him."

  Cloth tore and Anskiere staggered. Taen cowered against the Constable's boots as the sorcerers ripped Anskiere's cloak and robe to rags. Near the table's edge, mangled wool fell to the deck, marked across with bloody fingerprints.

  "It isn't on him," said the captain anxiously. "What shall I tell the crew?"

  The red sorcerer whirled crossly. "Tell them nothing, fool!" Taen heard a squeal Of hinges as he yanked open the chart room door. "Confine the Stormwarden under guard, and keep him from the boy."

  The stamp of feet dwindled down the passage, underscored by the glassy clink of Anskiere's fetters. Taen shivered with the aftermath of terror, and against her, the Constable twitched like a dog in his sleep. The smell of sweat and spilled wine, and the impact of all she had witnessed, suddenly wrung Taen with dizziness. She left the shelter of the table and bolted through the open door. With the feather clamped in whitened fingers, she turned starboard, clumsily dragging her twisted foot up the companionway which led to the quarterdeck.

  A sailor lounged topside, one elbow hooked over the binnacle. Taen saw his silhouette against the spoked curve of the wheel, and dodged just as the sailor spotted her.

  "You!" He dove and missed. His knuckles barked against hatchboards. Taen skinned past and ran for the taffrail.

  "Fires!" the sailor cursed. At her heels Taen heard a scuffle of movement as he untangled himself from the binnacle.

  Torches moved amidships. At the edge of her vision, Taen saw the black outline of a foot lancer's helm above the companionway stair. Driven and desperate, she flung herself upward against the beaded wood of the rail. Hard hands caught her, yanked her back. She flailed wildly, balance lost, and the sea breeze snatched the feather from her fingers. It skimmed upward out of reach.

  Taen felt herself
shaken till her teeth rattled. Through blurred eyes she watched Anskiere's feather whirl away on the wind. It shimmered, exploded with a snap into a tawny falcon marked with black. Violet and blue against the stars, a heavy triple halo of light circled its outstretched wings. Taen smelled lightning on the air. The man above her swore, and below, a crowd began to gather in the ship's waist.

  "Stormfalcon!" a sailor cried. His companions shouted maledictions, threaded through with Anskiere's name, as the bird overhead took flight. Wind gusted, screaming, through the rigging. Half quenched by spray blown off the reef, the torches streamed ragged tails of smoke.

  Smothered by the cloth of her captor's sleeve, Taen heard someone yell for a bow. But the falcon vanished into the night long before one could be brought. The sergeant rounded angrily on the girl held pinioned by the deckhand.

  "Is that the brat the boy came looking for? I'll whip the blazes out of her. She's caused us a skinful of trouble!"

  But the voice of the black sorcerer cut like a whip through the confusion. "Leave the child be."

  Startled stillness fell; the wind had died, leaving the mournful rush of the swells etched against silence. The onlookers shifted hastily out of the sorcerer's path as he approached the sergeant who held Taen in his arms.

  "The harm is done." The sorcerer's voice was as brittle as shells. "The stormfalcon is already flown. The girl, I'm told, is valued by Anskiere. Give her to me. He will soon be forced to recall his bird."

  Taen was passed like a bundle of goods to the sorcerer. The touch of his bony wrists, crisscrossed still with bloodstains, caused her at last to be sick.

  "Fires!" The sergeant laughed. "Take her with my blessing."

  "Go and tell Tathagres what has passed," said the sorcerer, and the sergeant's mirth died off as though choked.

  * * *

  Below decks, a guard twisted a key in a heavy padlock. With a creak of rusted hinges, a door opened into a darkness filled with the sour smell of mildewed canvas. The black sorcerer pushed forward and swore with impatience. Nervously, the boatswain on his heels lifted the lantern higher; light flickered over a bunched mass of folded sails and the gaunt outline of a man chained to a ring in the bulkhead. A deckhand's cotton replaced the captive's ruined robe and the gleam of enchanted fetters on his wrists was buried under baggy cuffs.

  The black sorcerer studied Anskiere with contempt. "I've brought you a gift." He threw back a fold of his robe and set Taen abruptly on her feet.

  The girl stumbled into Anskiere's shirt and clung. The Stormwarden locked his hands over her quivering back.

  The black sorcerer smiled. "Stormwarden, you are betrayed." He added sweetly, "Earlier you claimed you would rather burn for the murders at Tierl Enneth than bargain with Tathagres. But for the child's sake perhaps you will reconsider."

  Anskiere did not speak. Presently, muttered oaths and a scuffle beyond the doorway heralded a new arrival as two sailors brought Emien, trussed and struggling, between them. The black sorcerer stepped aside to avoid being jostled. Given a clear view of the sailroom, the boy caught sight of his sister, then the Stormwarden sheltering her.

  "Taen!" His outcry held despair mingled with anger. "Taen, why did you come here?"

  When the girl failed to respond, her brother spat at the Stormwarden's feet. One of the sailors laughed.

  "Do you find hatred amusing?" said a new voice from the darkness behind.

  The sailor who had laughed gasped and fell silent, eyes widened with fear.

  "Or did I arrive too late to share some jest?" Preceded by a faint sparkle of amethyst, a tall slender woman stepped into view. Silver-blond hair feathered around a face of extraordinary beauty; beneath a masculine browline her eyes were thickly lashed and violet as the jewels which trimmed her cloak at collar and hem.

  The black sorcerer bowed. "Tathagres."

  The woman slipped past the boatswain's lantern and entered. She placed an elegant hand upon the bulkhead, leaned oh it, and bent a bright gaze upon the Stormwarden and the girl he sheltered.

  "You are brought low, Anskiere of Elrinfaer." Her accent was meticulously perfect.

  The Stormwarden cradled Taen against his chest. "Not so low."

  "No? You'll do the King's bidding." Tathagres fingered the hilt of the dagger at her waist, serene as a marble carving. "Stormwarden, recall your falcon."

  Anskiere answered with grave courtesy. "The bird is beyond my present powers." He lifted his hands from Taen's shift, and cotton sleeves tumbled back, unveiling the sultry glow of fetters. "Dare you free me? I'll recall her then."

  Tathagres' fingers flinched into a fist around the dagger hilt. The skin of her neck and cheeks paled delicately. "You presume far too much. Do you think your stormfalcon concerns me? She is insignificant, and you are less. If you value that little girl's life, you'll go to Cliffhaven and ward weather for the Kielmark, by royal decree."

  Anskiere stirred. Gently, he covered Taen's head with crossed palms. Her black hair streaked his knuckles like ink as he spoke. "Do you threaten?"

  "Have you never heard a child scream?" said Tathagres. "You shall, I promise."

  Behind her, Emien struggled violently; the sailors cuffed him until he subsided. Tathagres resumed as though no disturbance had occurred. "Aren't you interested enough to ask why?"

  Yet Anskiere showed less regard for the royal intentions concerning the Kielmark, who ruled an empire of outlaws, than for the girl beneath his hands.

  Irritated by his silence, Tathagres straightened and folded her arms. "The King promises you legal pardon for Tierl Enneth."

  Without moving, Anskiere said, "Providing I free the frostwargs," and at Tathagres' startled intake of breath added, "the Constable couldn't resist telling me that the King desires their release so he can break the Free Isles' alliance. What did he offer for your help? Wealth, or the Kielmark's power?"

  Tathagres stiffened. A flush suffused her cheeks, yet only triumph colored her reply. "Nothing so slight, Cloud-shifter. I asked for the Keys to Elrinfaer Tower itself."

  At that, Anskiere looked up, still as the calm before a terrible storm. His fingers tightened over Taen's ears. "Be warned, Tathagres. The King will never command my actions, even should children be made to suffer."

  Which was more than Emien could stomach. He lunged against the sailors' hold, thin face twisted with horror. "Kordane's Fires consume you, sorcerer!"

  Tathagres met the boy's outburst with disinterested eyes. "Be still."

  Emien quieted as though slapped. He glared sullenly as Tathagres tilted her head. Her hair glittered like frost against her gem-collared throat where the pulse beat visibly, giving an impression of vulnerability. Unaware his emotions had become her weapon, Emien was moved by a powerful urge to protect her. He swallowed, and his hands relaxed against the sailors' grip. Tathagres smiled.

  "Boy," she said huskily. "Should your Stormwarden refuse the King's command, will you help me break him?"

  It was Anskiere's fault Taen had endangered herself. Anskiere's fault the sloop was lost. As the son of generations of fishermen, the offense was beyond pardon. He spat on his palm, then raised his fist to his forehead. "By my oath." His voice grew passionate with hatred as he met Tathagres' glance. "Misfortune and the Sea's curse claim me should I swear falsely."

  "So be it." Tathagres signaled the deckhands who held the boy. "He has sworn service to me. Free him."

  The men's hands fell away. Emien shivered and rubbed reddened arms, eyes fixed on his mistress. "I think," he said, then hesitated. "I think you are the most beautiful lady I have ever known."

  And Taen suddenly comprehended her brother's change of alliance. "You shame your father!" she shouted. Anskiere's touch soothed her.

  Emien lifted his chin with scorn. "He'll kill you, sister."

  But Taen turned her face away, into the Stormwarden's shoulder, and refused to move. The boatswain pulled her, screaming, from his arms.

  "Let me have charge of her." Emien raised his voic
e over her cries. "I'll make her understand."

  But Tathagres only gestured to the boatswain. "Lock the girl in the hold."

  Believing she tested his loyalty, Emien made no protest, though the brave new oath he had sworn ached in him like a burden. He waited while Tathagres and her entourage left the sailroom. As the torch was carried past, light cast an ugly distorted profile of his face against the bulkhead. Emien hid his eyes. The sting of his raw wrists reminded him of the shackles which still prisoned Anskiere, and he longed for the simple awe he had known for the Stormwarden of his childhood. Shamed, he lingered, expecting sharp rebuke for the rebuttal of his upbringing on Imrill Kand.

  But Anskiere offered no reprimand. Neither did he plead. When he spoke at last, his words held sad and terrible understanding.

  "The waters of the world are deep. Chart your course with care, Marl's son."

  And Emien realized he had already been weak. "Murderer," Emien whispered. "Sister-killer." Driven by feelings beyond his understanding, he banged the door shut, leaving darkness.

  II

  Cliffhaven

  The wind, which usually blew from the west in summer, dwindled until the sails hung limp from the yards. Crow wallowed over oil-sleek swells, her gear slatting and banging aloft until Emien wished he had been born deaf. The deckhands cursed. The captain grew sullen and silent and watched Tathagres' sorcerers with distrust. No one mentioned the stormfalcon. No one dared. Yet archers were stationed in the crosstrees with orders to watch for her return.

  Emien paused for a drink at the scuttlebutt, but bitter water did nothing to ease the knot in the pit of his stomach. All his life he had lived by the sea; in the oppressive, unnatural calm he read warning of a savage storm. He squinted uneasily at the horizon. No quiver of air stirred. The ocean lay smooth as pewter. Day after day the sun rose and blazed like a lamp overhead until the sky seemed to have forgotten clouds, and the oakum seams between planks softened and blistered underfoot.

  "Deck there!" the mate's shout roused the sailhands who idled in the few patches of shade. "Turn out both watches to shorten sail. The captain's called for oars."