Rebuild the warehouse district.
I felt my stomach clench. But not from regret over causing the fire that had destroyed it. No. Not this time.
My stomach clenched because in the vision the warehouse district had been burning, just like the rest of the city. Because it had been rebuilt.
Before I could respond to Eryn’s suggestion, or tell her about the warehouses burning in the vision, a horn began to sound from the city below, followed closely by the sudden clamor of bells. The noise grew as more and more bells were added, until it seemed every bell in Amenkor was tolling.
Eryn and I shared a look, then rose and moved to the balcony’s edge.
At the docks below, men were scrambling to clear a mooring, others lining up along the wharf, crowding its edges in the last of the sun’s light.
“Look,” Eryn said.
I turned to where she pointed and saw, coming through the entrance to the harbor, a ship. One of its masts had been snapped off, and its sails were torn and ragged.
I felt Erick move up behind me. I hadn’t even heard his snoring halt.
“What is it?” he asked, without a trace of sleepiness.
“It’s one of the ships we sent out to search for supplies,” I said, as it began a slow crawl toward the dock.
* * *
The wharf was thronged with people, all trying to see the ship as it pulled in to dock, their faces tense with worry in the torchlight. The entire wharf was ablaze with light, every torch, lantern, and wide bowl of oil lit.
I frowned as my escort of guardsmen began forcing a way through the crowd. The escort was led by Baill, who’d been waiting at the bottom of the steps of the promenade with twenty guardsmen behind him when I’d emerged from the palace. Without a word, Avrell had joined up with Eryn, Erick, and me inside the palace. It had taken us only thirty minutes to reach the wharf, the streets nearly empty.
“I can’t see the captain of the ship,” Avrell said, frustration clear as we ground to a halt.
“It’s Mathew,” I said. At his questioning look, I added, “It’s Borund’s ship, the first one to leave once the blockade was lifted. I can tell by the flags on the main mast.”
He nodded. Ahead, Baill suddenly bellowed wordlessly and the crowd parted, startled.
We began moving forward again, tension rising as the crowd closed in behind us and crushed us together. I gasped as the escort was pressed up on all sides, started to panic when I realized I was too short to be noticed and could get trampled. Then a reassuring hand grabbed my shoulder, and I twisted to see Erick behind me. He smiled tightly, eyes darting to either side. Eryn and Avrell were close behind him.
“I wonder what happened,” Erick said, shouting above the noise. “Did you see the mast had been broken?”
I shrugged, didn’t try to answer as I was jostled sharply to the left, a piece of guardsman’s armor digging into my side. I hissed in pain and irritation, fought the urge to shove back, to draw my own dagger in response.
Just when I felt the crowd becoming too much for me, even with Erick at my back, we broke through to the dock, spilling out into cleared space. A line of guardsmen held back the throng of people, the noise on this side almost deafening. People lined the wharf in both directions, those on the edge threatening to drop over into the dark water. A few hapless fools already had, bobbing in the swells as they fought their way back to shore cursing and spluttering. Others had mounted the wharf’s supports, or were dangling out over the water, one foot on solid dock, held up by a grip on a rope. Those lucky enough to be on a ship moored close were packed at the railing or swung from the rigging. Almost everyone was shouting or whistling.
“They all know we’re low on food for the winter,” Avrell said grimly, scanning the mob. “And they know the ships were sent out to find more. It’s going to be all kinds of hells getting this to a safe warehouse without the mob running off with it.”
Baill turned from scowling at the crowd to look toward the end of the dock, where the battered ship was already moored. “Looks like the ship’s already docked,” he muttered.
“And Borund has already beaten us here,” Avrell added.
Baill grunted.
I looked toward the end of the dock, saw Borund’s red-and-gold coat, easy to pick out among the scrambling dockworker’s drab grays and browns and bare skin. William stood at his side, and I felt myself straighten. They were both talking to Mathew, the ship’s captain dressed in the same dark green coat he’d worn the first time I’d seen him, years before. But his face looked haggard, eyes dark with lack of sleep and shadowed in the flickering light.
“Let’s find out what happened,” I said grimly, thinking of the vision.
We headed down the dock, stepping over coils of ropes and around stacked crates, the wood creaking beneath us as the waves slapped against its supports. The closer we got to the ship, the more damaged it appeared. The sails were shredded, held together by hasty stitching and prayers. The foremast had been torn completely away, the splintered stump at the prow the only piece remaining. Rigging hung limp and useless, what was left working obviously repaired. The workers hastily unloading casks and cargo seemed shaken, eyes wide, movements sharp, even the few darker-skinned Zorelli workers from the far southern islands. And there weren’t as many crew as there should have been.
My frown deepened.
“—found a good supply of dried fruits in Temall nonetheless,” Mathew was saying as we approached. His voice was hollow, sounding aged and empty.
“Good, good,” Borund muttered, motioning to William, who was keeping a running tally, marking papers beneath the lamps scattered along the end of the dock. “What else?”
Mathew drew breath, but then held it as he saw us approaching, his brow creasing.
Borund caught the look and turned, straightening. William scribbled down a last item, then glanced up, stilling when he saw me, eyes going wide before darting sharply away.
Something stabbed deep into my chest, thin and cold, like a dagger’s blade. I winced, found I didn’t want to be here anymore, but bit back the feeling and concentrated on Borund and Mathew.
“Mistress,” Borund said, his voice happy, relieved, and pained at the same time. He bowed, Mathew and William doing the same a moment later. As he rose, he said, “Mathew has brought us back a full load of food for the winter.”
“But at a cost,” Mathew said. “We lost twenty crew to the storm.”
“So this was done by a storm,” Eryn said, voice sharp and commanding. The Mistress’ voice.
“Yes,” Mathew said, uncertain where to look, at Eryn or me. “We picked up our last cargo a week ago in Temall. We knew we were cutting it close—the sea was already rough—but thought the need for the food was worth the risk. We headed out to sea immediately.” He drew in a steadying breath, wincing. I suddenly noticed his hands were bandaged and raw from working the ropes and wondered how many bruises were hidden by the clothes he wore. “The storm hit us only half a day out. We thought to skirt it, but got caught in the squall and were dragged out to deep ocean. By the time it ended, we were two days off course, our mast was broken, and we’d lost good men. We managed to limp back, but it wasn’t certain we’d make it. The seas are the worst I’ve seen in years.”
“But the cargo is intact?” Avrell demanded.
I glared at him, and he stiffened.
“I’m sorry, Mistress, but if he’s brought back a full cargo, without spoilage, then we may have enough supplies for the city to survive the winter with tight rationing.”
I wasn’t about to let it go, but Mathew interceded by saying, “Then perhaps the loss of men was worth it.”
I let the awkward silence hold for a moment, then turned to Mathew. “So a storm caused all this damage?”
“Yes,” Mathew said again, and I traded a relieved glance with Eryn and Erick. “Why is
that important?”
Before I could answer, Borund spoke, his tone serious. “Because most of the ships we sent out along with yours haven’t returned. We’ve had no word of them. In fact, we’d assumed your ship was lost as well. We’d hoped you’d have word of the others’ fate.”
Mathew shook his head. “I heard nothing of the other ships at any port we stopped at, even on the return trip.”
I swore silently to myself. What had happened to all of the ships? Where had they gone? And did it have anything to do with the city burning to the ground?
No one said anything for a long moment, faces taut with worry.
Finally, Borund said succinctly, “We should get these supplies off-loaded and to the warehouses.”
“Of course,” I said. I glanced toward William, but he refused to look at me, head lowered to the papers he clutched, white-knuckled, in one hand.
The dagger of pain I’d felt earlier inside me twisted, dug deeper.
I nodded to Mathew, not trusting myself to speak, then turned away, my escort enfolding me.
“So,” Avrell said as we moved, “we know nothing new.”
Trying to keep the bitterness over William’s reaction out of my voice, I said, “But we have food.”
Behind, I felt Erick’s attention fix on me, concerned and troubled, but he said nothing.
“I’ll have to bring down another brace of guardsmen from the palace in order to control this mob and help get the food safely to the warehouses,” Baill said, voice all business. He turned to me for permission, his face harsh with scars in the firelight on the docks.
I wondered again if he’d had any dealings with Alendor and the consortium or whether he’d simply been following the Mistress’ orders, but nodded. “Do it.”
I sighed, pushed thoughts of William and Baill and the consortium into the background, and looked over the horde of people on the docks. I saw a riot of faces, mostly those from the coast, with dark hair and light skin. But there were others as well: the small, dark-skinned Zorelli from the south, of course; a few of the followers of the Tear of Taniece, their straw-colored hair vibrant in the torchlight, the blue mark of the Tear beneath the right eye appearing black in the night; even a few of the Kandish from the east, their hair braided and feathered, their clothes merely lengths of cloth wrapped and tied around them in intricate folds. All people we had to keep alive. There wouldn’t be any more ships, any more food. Not until spring. I could feel it, an emptiness deep inside. Like hunger.
“Now all we have to do is survive.”
Chapter 5
“Now hold on to the threads, and I’ll attempt to break through the barrier,” Eryn said.
We were standing at opposite ends of a rectangular plot of winter-dead flowers in one of the palace’s enclosed gardens. Ten Servants including Marielle and Laurren—a third of the total Servants in the palace—were arrayed around the edges of the garden, watching, their eyes intent, focused beneath the river on the eddies and currents. In a few moments, they’d be asked to do the same thing. Most of them were nervous, the river rippling around them, disturbed. Only Laurren appeared calm, her mouth turned down in a frown.
The stone of the path crunched under my feet as I shifted, but the noise was lost in the background sound of wind, the currents of the river flowing around me smoothly. I concentrated on the threads of the river I’d woven into a wall of force before me. Not as solid as the barrier that Eryn had constructed in her private garden, when I’d stormed in to confront her about the wine hidden in the stablehouse, it was still stronger than anything I’d constructed before. I’d improved steadily during each daily practice session, after Eryn had tested my strength the first week, determining what I had already learned by necessity on the Dredge and as Borund’s bodyguard. In the weeks since, she’d pushed me harder and harder, focusing on the techniques I already knew, refining them, using me as an example to hone the Servants’ skills. And I’d continued to experiment on my own.
“Are you ready?” Eryn asked, voice deceptively calm.
Tying the last threads of the wall together, I scanned the close-knit mesh of power for flaws, then glanced across the plot of dried leaves and spent flower stalks at Eryn. Her hair gleamed a shiny black in the winter sunlight, her face calm and expectant, hands folded before her.
My eyes narrowed. She expected me to fail. I could see it in her eyes. We’d worked on the barrier for the last two weeks, and each time I’d broken under her assault, the threads fraying as she beat at them relentlessly. And when the barrier failed, Eryn would send out a final punch that would knock me onto my ass.
But not this time. I was tired of picking myself up out of the dirt. Especially in front of all of the others.
“I’m ready,” I said, and settled into a relaxed stance.
Eryn struck before I’d finished answering, a hard thrust hitting low, where she’d caught me unprepared once before. But I’d reinforced the barrier there, and the thrust slid to one side, its power dispersing into the natural flow of the currents around me. Another lesson it had taken a week of bruising to master. I didn’t need to stop the blows; that used up too much energy. All I had to do was turn them to one side, let the river itself take care of it once the danger was past.
Eryn nodded in approval, then followed the initial thrust with three hard punches directly at the center of the barrier. Unlike the first thrust, which had been edged like a sword thrust, these punches were blunt, with all the weight of Eryn’s power behind them, like fists.
I grunted as they struck, twisted slightly as I let the threads bend and absorb some of the power before turning them aside. Immediately, I reset the barrier, slid back into the balanced stance I’d learned from Erick.
“Good,” Eryn said. “Very good.”
To either side, I heard the other Servants murmur, but I didn’t relax, never let my gaze waver from Eryn, my jaw set.
Eryn’s eyes hardened. “Now let’s see how long you can hold it.”
I barely had time to draw a breath to brace myself.
She struck high, a single thrust as thin and deadly as a rapier, followed almost simultaneously with two blunt punches near my midsection. Blows began to rain down on my left flank, hard, vicious cuts that made me gasp with the effort to turn them, while at the same time, macelike thuds landed to my right. I deflected them all, breath coming sharper as the attacks continued, slicing from the left, from above, dagger blades of power cutting in from below, scoring hard against the barrier. The wall flexed, allowed the heaviest thrusts to slip off to the sides, then firmed to allow the blade cuts to glance away. The attacks didn’t cease, coming harder, faster, from all sides. I heaved short breaths through my nose, my stance shifting from the relaxed pose of a Seeker to the more familiar defensive half crouch of gutterscum on the Dredge. My breathing altered, coming in gasps now, and sweat broke out on my forehead, between my shoulder blades and breasts, in my armpits.
But the barrier held.
On the far side of the flower bed, Eryn’s expression changed. Her mouth pressed into a thin line, lips whitening. Creases appeared in her forehead as she focused. The hands clasped so casually before her tightened.
I felt a surge of triumph. She’d broken through my barriers before without blinking, had barely even moved. I used the sudden elation to shore up the barrier’s edge, only to feel Eryn suddenly retreat, her energy pulling back, swirling around her as she regrouped.
I hesitated, uncertain whether the match had ended, began to let the barrier go as I straightened, a tentative grin touching my lips.
When my threads started to unravel, Eryn struck again.
The initial impact was stunning, and I cried out and fell back, felt my barrier shudder beneath the assault, felt its edges fray before I could regroup. Stone bit into my hand as I stumbled and caught my balance. Then I lurched forward with a sharp curse, knelt down painfu
lly on one knee, and poured energy into the wall. A cruel smirk twisted Eryn’s mouth, and I growled, thrusting the barrier higher to match the intensity of her blows. Without pause, she hammered at the wall on all sides, each blow shuddering with force, beating at me mercilessly.
I found myself using every last bit of strength just to keep the barrier erect, coherent and solid. I had nothing left to put into deflecting the thrusts, into shunting their power aside. I raised my hands before me, fingers splayed, and braced myself against each crashing blow, wincing at the sheer force Eryn put behind each one.
I wasn’t certain how long I could hold out, but I gritted my teeth and dug in. This was the longest I’d lasted against her since the training had started. I wasn’t about to yield.
It’s a trick.
I hissed as the voice bled through the currents. A man’s voice, scented with a pungent incense I didn’t recognize. Someone from the throne.
Fear lanced through me. The Fire was weakening. But I couldn’t shore it up. All of my energy was pouring into the shield.
It’s a trick, the man’s voice repeated, more sharply this time, stronger, full of authority, the accent strange, almost indecipherable. She’s distracting you with the heavy bludgeoning. She’s undermining you somewhere else while you try to hold steady.
A cold presence slid around me, ephemeral and heavily scented, like smoke. I could feel him as he paused before my barrier, could see a vague shape, a hint of clothes, of a wide face with a short, angled beard and shoulder-length hair. He scanned the shield, dark eyes darting left and right, examining the ripples on the barrier’s surface as I repulsed each blow.
The shield was weakening. My strength was ebbing, draining away faster than I thought possible.
The Throne of Amenkor Page 44