Slayer’s head came up at the word meat.
Gently, she straightened and aligned the bone in the dragon’s leg, then bound it to a splint. She ran her hands over the dragon’s scales from nose to toes, looking for other damage. In places, the scales were softer, thinner, as if recently regrown, but otherwise they seemed intact.
“Scales regrow quickly,” Jenna said. “Bones take longer.”
The only open wound seemed to be a large gash across Slayer’s face, where the scales were thinner and not as densely packed. One end was dangerously close to his eye. She gently cleaned it out. Several times, Slayer tried to twist away, and once he set Lyss’s sleeve on fire, but Jenna was apparently soothing him mind-to-mind. Lyss packed the gash with a salve that prevented infection.
Leaving Slayer in Cas’s care, they returned to the inner cave for the second casualty. This one had a badly mangled wing. Lyss did her best, but it was difficult to construct an apparatus that would keep him from disturbing the splints while allowing him freedom of movement.
She wondered if he would ever fly again. What would that do for his odds of survival?
By the time Lyss was finished, darkness was falling, and she knew she’d better head down the mountain before someone came looking for her.
“Do you think there’s any chance of persuading them to stay quiet for a few days?” Lyss said.
Jenna rocked her hand. “Maybe, if we wait on them hand and foot, and make sure they’re never hungry,” she said.
“It won’t be ‘we,’” Lyss said. “It has to be you. I’ve got to get back, or the empress will send a search party.”
“Don’t go back,” Jenna said bluntly. “Stay here. Let the empress come. We’ll give her a welcome.”
“I wish I could,” Lyss said. “But I have to play the long game, and that involves going back to the Fells and fighting for my homeland.”
Still, it was hard to turn her back on new friends on the mountain and descend into the snake pit below.
13
TARVOS
Ash couldn’t help feeling like a helpless crate of cargo with Strangward at the helm of the longboat and in command of the weather. The pirate pulled a bag of hardtack, sausage, and dried fruit from under the thwarts and a large skin of water from the chest wedged into the bow. He handled the sails and tiller in a calm, methodical way, as if this was all part of an overarching plan.
It wouldn’t be hard to believe that Strangward had somehow engineered this disaster so that he could sail them straight into a trap he’d set for them.
But it wasn’t Strangward who’d attacked them. It was Finn.
Or was it? As the details of the attack on Sea Wolf grew fuzzier in his mind, Ash began to question what he’d actually seen. Could Finn have been aiming for the Hydra but the motion of the ship caused his shot to go astray?
Or had the trauma of the bombardment surfaced the pain Finn had buried since he was wounded? Everyone said that Finn had been changed by his experiences in the war. Right before they’d met Hydra, he’d confessed that he was struggling. Maybe he’d lashed out blindly, mistaking friends for enemies.
You shouldn’t have asked him to come, Ash thought. You, of all people, know what the trauma of war does to people, even the so-called survivors.
What about Talbot? What did she see? From the looks Talbot was sending Strangward, she was planning a mutiny. Ash wanted to ask her about it in private, but with the three of them packed into such a small space, there was little to no opportunity.
Anyway, a mutiny against a stormcaster seemed like a boneheaded move, especially since that stormcaster was the only one aboard with sailing experience.
Experience Evan seemed eager to share. He spent considerable time teaching Ash and Talbot the ins and outs of sailing, even when it seemed like it would have been easier just to do it himself. With Talbot on the tiller and Ash handling the sails, the pirate would conjure up shifts in wind and wave, challenging them to adjust to constantly changing weather.
“Big ship, small ship—the principles are the same,” he said, scrambling fore and aft, showing them how to take the best advantage of a variety of conditions.
Gradually, he began to give over to his novice crew. He’d lie on his back, cloud shadows sliding over his face, fingering that odd-looking amulet he wore, as if his mind was a thousand miles away.
Ash found himself mimicking Strangward’s behavior at night, when he couldn’t sleep. He’d cradle his father’s serpent amulet, tempted to reach for a connection. He heard the echo of his father’s voice, heartbreakingly familiar, when his mother was dying.
Come see me in Aediion.
Present circumstances seemed to violate Kinley’s stipulation that the corporeal self be left in a safe place.
Is it ever going to be the right time? Ash thought.
I’ll wait until we make landfall, he thought. If we ever do. And then decide whether to risk a visit to the Drovers’ Inn.
The rest of the time, he stared up at the sky and wondered if Jenna might be looking up at the same sky. Was she in the Fells, as Strangward claimed, or a captive in the empress’s dungeon, or dead?
Finally, one night, while Strangward slept, curled up in the stern, his fair hair glittering in the moonlight, Talbot crept up next to Ash and hissed into his ear, “You know the bastard planned this all along.”
“No,” Ash said.
“You know he did,” Talbot said, shooting a dark look at the pirate. “There just happened to be supplies in this boat, and dry clothes, and—”
“I made sure that all of the longboats were stocked with provisions before we left, just in case,” Ash said.
“And we just happened to run into a Carthian ship when we—”
“Strangward told us that would happen if we sailed north,” Ash said. “We didn’t listen.”
“That could’ve been a trick to get us to sail north,” Talbot said, the way people do when they are grasping at straws.
“If that was his plan, it could’ve gone wrong in so many ways,” Ash said.
“Then the ship blew up—which I don’t understand, because Finn had put up barriers, and Strangward claimed that the empress wasn’t even there.”
Ash looked aft, to where the pirate lay, apparently sound asleep. “The barriers were down.”
“What do you mean, they were down?”
“I don’t know what happened, but they were,” Ash said.
That stopped the conversation in its tracks for a moment. Then Talbot returned to her original tack. “And then Strangward just happened to save us, and—”
“Strangward did save us. Otherwise, we’d have drowned,” Ash said.
Talbot lowered her voice further. “How do you know it wasn’t Strangward who blew up the ship? Maybe he and the empress are working together, and he means to turn us over to her as soon as we get to shore.” Talbot’s knuckles whitened as she gripped the sides of the boat. “For all we know, Sea Wolf is at the bottom of the sea, and we’re the only ones left with a chance to save Lyss, and—”
“It wasn’t Strangward who attacked us,” Ash said. “It was Finn.”
Talbot looked as if she’d been clubbed. “No,” she said. “I don’t believe you.”
“Look,” Ash said. “I could have misinterpreted what I saw, but I don’t think so. After the first explosion, I looked back to see what had happened to Finn, why the barriers were down. I saw him take direct aim at me and let loose.”
“No,” she said. “No. I know Finn. He’s been fighting for the Fells since he was thirteen.” She paused, and when Ash didn’t respond, said, “Maybe he was aiming at the other ship and missed. I mean, both ships were moving.”
“Maybe,” Ash said. “Whatever happened, and whatever Strangward’s involvement, he has us in a box. We can’t sail into Tarvos or Celesgarde without him. We’re just going to have to wait and see what happens when we get to shore. We must be getting close.”
By dawn, Ash began to see b
its of vegetation in the water. Shorebirds began to appear, resting in the rigging, carrying images of rocky cliffs and desert landscapes. It was heartening to be able to connect with them again. He’d been walking the narrow path of revenge and survival for so long that he’d nearly forgotten how to open his mind to the creatures around him.
The next morning, a dun-colored streak appeared on the horizon. At first it looked like someone had drawn a brown chalk across the impossible blue-green of the ocean. As they drew closer, Ash could see the sheer sandstone cliffs that rose hundreds of feet above a sea that frothed and churned and seethed along the base. Eventually, he could make out the whitewashed shapes of buildings at the tops of the cliffs and two huge pillars of stone on either side of a narrow channel. Strangward seemed to be aiming for that.
“Sweet Hanalea in chains,” Talbot muttered. “Are those dragons?”
Ash squinted, shading his eyes. Talbot was right. The stone pillars were mammoth stone dragons that faced each other across the channel, guarding the entrance to the harbor.
Strangward must have heard, because he glanced back at them. “Those are the guardians, protectors of the port,” he said.
“Did—did you build those?” Talbot said.
“No,” Strangward said, with a wry smile. “I cannot take credit for them. They were erected by stormcasters long ago. You’ll get to see them in action. You’ll be among the select few who live to tell about it.”
Ash took another look and saw what he hadn’t before—that the air shimmered and danced between the Guardians and the sea boiled, so that he couldn’t see past the channel into the harbor beyond.
Strangward drew an ornate mirror from his pocket and turned it so it caught the rays of the sun, directing it into the eyes of the stone dragon to the left of the ship, then the one on the right, then left again. And, all at once, the air cleared before them and the surface of the sea settled, now only pleated with the wind. Their little boat hung almost motionless for a moment, then plunged into the cut. They passed through the straits, and Strangward quickly dropped sail.
“I developed the mirror system,” Strangward said, “so that my harbormasters could control the port in my absence.”
Inside the harbor, the water was clear and deep, indigo against the rocky shore. Two large ships rocked gently at anchor, Strangward’s dragon standard flying from the masts. They looked to be sisters to the ship Strangward had sailed into Ardenscourt half a year ago. The ship that had carried a dragon to Ardenscourt. The dragon that Jenna had insisted that Ash free before he and Lila blew the ship to splinters.
It seemed he’d lived a lifetime since then.
Several other tall ships prickled the bay—one bearing the name Scorpion and another, Viper. Three small schooners were lined up along the wharf, alongside a small ketch, her sails furled and stowed.
Using sails and rudder, Strangward threaded their longboat through the traffic in the harbor and brought it up beside the smallest of the docks. He leapt lightly onto the quay and looped the line over the nearest cleat. He turned back and extended his hand toward Talbot, meaning to help her out of the boat.
Talbot hesitated, then grudgingly took the pirate’s hand and clambered up onto the pier. After, she scrubbed her hand on her breeches, as if to wipe the magic off, then turned and gave Ash her hand. When they finally stood side by side, they both looked shoreward.
Spread out before them was the city of Tarvos.
Ash half-expected to find the empress’s banner flying from the palace roof, the bloodsworn swarming over the shore like the deadly scorpions in the deserts of Bruinswallow.
But no. What struck him first was the color—white stone and stucco buildings, red tile roofs, blue sea, flowers spilling from every niche. Most waterfronts were a jumble of old and new, good ideas and bad, sailors’ chapels and clicket-houses. Here were the usual warehouses, taverns, inns, and other marine businesses. Yet they seemed somehow organized, as if, in the recent past, the waterfront had been knocked down and rebuilt to a standard.
“Celestine burned the port a few years ago,” Strangward said, like he’d read Ash’s mind. “Most of this is new within the past five years.”
The ground sloped sharply up from the quays, ending in another massive wall of sandstone a mile or so away. Beyond the few narrow streets along the water, the city climbed the steep terraces of the hillside, seemingly chiseled out of the rock. More whitewashed and pastel buildings capped with red tile roofs, more flowers, cascading down from terraces and spraying from hanging baskets and packed into every level patch of ground. It was spectacular, completely unexpected in a desert town like this.
“It’s beautiful,” Talbot whispered.
Strangward blinked at her, as if surprised to hear this coming from her, then nodded and smiled, visibly pleased. “Thank you,” he said. “You could say that’s my mission in life—stubbornly growing flowers in the desert.”
“Do all of these ships belong to you?” Ash swept his hand, taking in the harbor.
The pirate shook his head. “I share the port with a handful of other ships’ captains brave enough to defy Celestine. I take a piece of whatever comes in—that’s the price of harborage and protection.” He pointed toward the two largest ships. “Those are mine—Sun Spirit and Free Spirit. Plus our ship, the little ketch—Destiny.” For some reason, he stumbled over that name.
Their arrival had not gone unnoticed. A small crowd had gathered at the landward end of the dock, simmering with excitement. Some of them shone with the same reddish glow as the rest of Strangward’s crew. They were stormborn, then, and seemingly riveted by the arrival of their stormlord.
Talbot leaned toward Ash. “The way they look at him reminds me of the way the busker looks at a wad of leaf,” she said.
A handful of men and women stood off to one side, arms folded, their stances challenging, their expressions grim.
The pirate’s lips tightened as he looked over the welcoming committee. “The ones without auras are the independent shiplords,” he said, nodding toward the surly group. “I’ve been away for a while, and I’ll need to catch up with what’s been going on in my absence. In the meantime,” he said, “trust none of them. No doubt the empress has eyes and ears here, as she does everywhere.” Lifting his sea bag from the longboat, he slung it over his shoulder and led the way toward shore.
A formidable-looking woman in leather and linen stood, muscled arms folded, at the front of the delegation. She’d shaved her head save one long, braided lock that dangled over one shoulder. Like the shiplords, she wasn’t bloodsworn.
“Maslin,” Strangward said, smiling with what seemed like real affection. “It’s been too long.”
She ran a critical eye over the longboat. “Lord Strangward,” she said, “if you traded Sun Spirit for that, you must have been deep in your cups.”
Ash and Talbot looked at each other. Lord Strangward?
“These wetland traders are merciless,” Strangward said, shooting a look at his companions. “I was lucky to escape with the clothes on my back.”
“Where are Teza and the others? Did you trade them away, too?” Ash could read the worry behind the words.
“No,” Strangward said. “We got separated. It’s a long story. But I have two new crew members with me.” He gestured toward Ash and Talbot. “Freeman and Talbot, meet Akira Maslin, my harbormaster.”
She eyed them, making it clear that they didn’t measure up to Teza and the others. “They are not stormborn,” she said finally.
“No,” Strangward said.
“But your orders are that everyone who crews under your banner who isn’t—”
“Let me worry about that.” There was an edge to his voice now, a not-so-subtle message to back off.
“I will worry anyway,” Maslin said. Then changed the subject. “The shiplords are eager to meet, my lord, at your earliest convenience.”
“I see that Jagger and Jasmina are here. Who else?”
�
��Sangway, Blazon, Heff, and the Mongrel. We also have messages from two coastal smugglers and a fisherman seeking access and protection.”
“Do they know the price of protection?” Strangward’s voice was cool, transactional.
She nodded. “They are willing to pay it. I have drawn up the contracts for you to look over.”
“I’ll talk to the smugglers. Tell the fisherman that he’s better off finding protection elsewhere. He should avoid entangling himself with me or Celestine.”
Maslin nodded. “Yes, my lord. Also, the factors want to bid on your shares in the warehouses, and the stable master asks that you deal with the dreki. Their attacks on the paddocks get bolder every week.”
It reminded Ash of when he was little, and his parents would return home after months on the battlefield. Ash and Lyss wanted them all to themselves, but every other official and lordling in the capital had a claim on them, too.
Strangward rolled his eyes and shifted the sea bag on his shoulders. “They need to understand that you have full authority in my absence. My comings and goings are my own business.”
“Should I tell them that or will you?” Maslin said, clipping off each word.
Unexpectedly, Strangward laughed. “Sorry, Maslin. You’re always the messenger. I’ll meet with the shiplords tonight, the factors tomorrow afternoon, and the bloodsworn tomorrow evening,” he said.
“Tomorrow evening,” Maslin said, making a note.
“I’ll see the smugglers the day after that at a place to be determined.” He leaned in closer to the harbormaster. “One more thing. I’ll need provisions for a crew of five for a monthlong voyage ready in two days’ time.”
“So soon?” She couldn’t hide her disappointment. “But you’ve only just arrived.”
“Yes. And I’m sailing again day after tomorrow.”
“For which ship, my lord?”
“Destiny.”
“Destiny?” Maslin slowly turned her head and eyed the little ship with grave misgivings. “Do you know if she’s even seaworthy?”
Deathcaster (Shattered Realms) Page 10