“Do you want to get with child?” said a familiar voice in an otherworldly timbre.
Rhinne rolled over, blinking at the predawn sky, soft and clear as the petal of a violet. Ascarion knelt by her side, his golden hair moving on the wind, the edge of his cloak draped over the rocks. In one hand he clutched a sopping clump of seaweed.
“Where have you been?” was all she could think to say.
“Do not let your desire to heal Carmaenos’ violation put you in an unintended situation,” the war god said quietly.
He dropped the seaweed by her hand.
*
Rhinne awoke in the captain’s cabin of the Winterscythe entwined with Adder’s warm body. Predawn whispered still and gray in the cabin windows.
Sleep fled as she remembered a dream. Ascarion. She hadn’t seen the war god since he had helped her out of Eyrie. Then she recalled seaweed, dark green with golden edges. Waterwort. When Rhinne had reached womanhood, her mother told her the kelp would keep her barren when placed in tea or wine. Rhinne hadn’t used it often, as it tasted absolutely horrid and left her lightheaded for two days afterwards.
She moved her hand tenderly over Adder’s back, twining her fingers in his hair. Wulfgar had once warned her: Don’t ever fall in love with a man of the sword. Fine as a mountain cat, Adder was a warrior from a distant land and wouldn’t hang around when his mission was done. And he had put his seed into her twice.
He stirred, tilting his hips into hers. The faint pulse in her loins grew stronger. With a soft sound in his throat, Adder got up on one elbow and twisted around, reaching to the floor to fetch the wine bag he had left there.
“What the hell is that?” he said suddenly.
Rhinne pushed herself up and leaned over him. “What?” Then she froze, her breath catching in shock.
Something glistened in a puddle on the floor. It smelled of the sea.
Adder untangled himself from her body and got up. He knelt and touched the slippery kelp as if it might be poisonous. “Looks like seaweed.” He looked up. “How did this get here?”
Rhinne’s heart started to pound. Ascarion, you bastard. No quick response made sense. What she believed made less sense.
Adder picked up the waterwort and moved to a small window on the other side of the cabin. It had a latch on it.
“Wait!” Rhinne blurted. She swung her legs over the bed as the naked warrior turned around, his face pale.
“What do you mean?”
A knock sounded on the door. “Milady,” growled a voice outside. It didn’t sound like Captain Laegir.
“Shit,” Adder swore. The seaweed splattered to the floor as he dropped it. He moved around the cabin like the wind, fetching his clothes and gear with the practiced skill of one accustomed to being called to arms in a moment’s notice. Still shaken by the impossible appearance of waterwort, Rhinne put on her smock and grabbed a woolen shift. She yanked it over her body, arranging it to hide the wine stains on her smock. Unsuccessful, she grabbed her cloak.
The knock sounded again. “Milady!”
“Hide!” she breathed. Casting her a look, he strode for the door. This man hid from nothing.
Rhinne backed up and sat on the bed as Adder raised the bar and opened the door. Fletch loomed in the shadows of the corridor. “Captain wants you,” he said gruffly.
Adder replied in a low voice; Rhinne didn’t hear what he said. Then he turned to her and said, “Drop the bar.”
The door closed, leaving her in silence with her wine-stained smock, a mess between her thighs and a blob of seaweed on the floor. Drop the bar. She lay back on the bed in a huff. Always dropping the bar. So much for secrecy! A testament to the power and cunning of a man’s lust that Adder would think he had a chance of bedding her without Laegir finding out about it.
She lay there staring at the ceiling, her stomach growling, the Winterscythe moving on the waters around her. She feared to consider what the captain would do to Adder for disobeying his orders. Fletch wouldn’t likely cover for him.
She placed her hands on her belly. Adder had asked her about the wound healing there. She hadn’t been able to tell him it was self-inflicted; instead, she told him the warlock who had carved the pattern in her back had done it. Close enough. Adder knew enough about their enemies on Tromb not to question her further. But it had left an unspoken gulf between them.
Unease prickled beneath her hands, in her womb, the chill of sadness left by a departing lover. The chill deepened as she recalled Ascarion’s words: Do not let your desire to heal Carmaenos’ violation put you in an unintended situation.
Waterwort. Rhinne lifted her head and rose. As she stood, a draft stole across her feet. Her gaze shot to the door as it opened slowly. She had forgotten about the bar.
No one had ever come to the door without knocking. Not even Adder.
The cold in her belly intensified into a ring of thorns as a man slipped into the room, closing the door soundlessly behind him. Pale as the north, he wore the woolens and leathers of a hired sailor, including arms. But the air around him said otherwise.
Oborom.
As he turned to drop the bar, Rhinne sprinted across the cabin for her sword. He beat her to it, bringing the heavy scabbard around to strike her in the head. She ducked, avoiding the blow. But her newfound skills at the hands of the Eusiron Guard didn’t interest a warlock. He spoke a word that hit her in the gut like a fist, buckling her to the floor. Bands of steel closed around her throat, making it hard to breathe and impossible to scream. Then he struck her in the face so hard it knocked her on her back. She rolled over with a grasp as pain consumed her, mixed with ice.
“I knew you would whore yourself to one of them eventually,” the warlock grated. “I could smell it from the lower deck.” He leaned down and picked up the waterwort, unlatched the window above the table and casually threw the seaweed outside. “You are wasted on your careless lover,” he added, turning to her with a penetrating air. “I am another matter. Through me, my Lord Carmaenos will know you once more.”
Rhinne looked up through the tangles of her hair, her nose dripping blood. The frost on her heart and the virulence of his devotion to the Riven God told her this man was a priest. “What,” she breathed, wiping her nose. “Coward doesn’t have the balls to do it himself?”
He grabbed her by the fabric at her throat and hauled her up. She swung out and struck him in the face. He didn’t flinch as he forced her onto the bed. She clawed at him, but her strength had been drained away by his spell. The only thing he didn’t touch with his filthy magic was her womb; it recoiled like a snake, silent and strong in the hidden realms of her being. The darkness spread out from beneath; the sea surrounded her, cradled her. Her eyes went out of focus as she slipped into a vision, reaching out.
Mistress. Help me.
Fumbling with the buckle on his belt, the priest was unaware as the bands of his spell fell away from Rhinne’s throat like a frayed rope snapping apart. But she didn’t need to scream. Her silent plea spread into the sea like ink, a wild cry, winds swirling and dark clouds blotting out the dawn. Voices and shouts raced around the ship. Footsteps shook the decks and ladders. Wind lashed the windows. The ship lurched, throwing everything loose in the cabin across the floor—including the priest.
Rhinne pushed herself up and made for the door. The ship came to rights, hurling her against the wall. Black fire flowed into her veins. Her vision clouded, turning the features of the cabin into undefined shapes of darkness and light. An enormous shade the color of pitch swooped down on her.
Rhinne rolled out of the way as the priest came down with enough force to break her skull. The ship turned with a cracking groan. Rhinne staggered to the door. With unearthly strength, she lifted and hurled the oak bar at the priest, knocking him down. Then she ran out into the corridor.
The grayish shapes of men moved to regain control over the ship on the stormy waters. Rain pelted the decks in heavy sheets and thunder rent the sky.
/> The priest came up behind Rhinne, causing her to trip. As she fell, his opaque shade descended on her, dragging her back into the shadow of the quarterdeck, out of sight. He growled a string of words in the virulent tongue of his god involving blood and semen. Unaffected, Rhinne wriggled from his grasp like an eel and stumbled up. She ran onto the main deck, nearly colliding with someone coming the other way. Several men shouted her name. Their voices sounded strange, dreamlike. Someone ordered her to get below.
Her flight ended abruptly as something struck her in the back. It sent her sprawling, every nerve howling in shock. She couldn’t move.
Warriors shouted and gathered around her. A pale shade came down, muttering. It felt like Laegir. “Och! now lassie, don’t you be leaving us...” He pulled the knife from her back, covered the wound firmly with one hand and held her close with the other. “Get Stitch!” he said over his shoulder, calling for a healer. Someone moved away to comply with the order. Another cried out the healer’s name.
When Laegir returned his attention to Rhinne, something changed. Black fire flowed into the fatal wound in her back, sealing it. The captain uttered an oath as he lifted his bloody hand away. Rhinne untangled herself, leaving him quiet as snow on the swaying deck. She crawled past the bloody knife until she reached the bulwark on the port side. She slumped against it, gazing up with an unholy blend of rage and longing.
Sailors and warriors stood still, staring around them at the water. Someone spat a word to avert evil. Amid the waves, shining coils surfaced and writhed, churning the sea into a cauldron. Unlike the sailors, the immortal serpent appeared to Rhinne’s vision in surreal detail: clear colors, hypnotic motions, a dream come to life. Perceiving the ship from her own point of view and that of the monster, Rhinne hauled herself up and grasped onto the rail.
Crow’s voice rose above the sailors’ cries: “Off the riggings! Off the decks! NOW!” The men were already jumping and scrambling for their lives. Something swelled into a pale green hill off the port side. It struck the Winterscythe, causing the ship to heel. The blow sent everyone shrieking and tumbling to starboard, some splashing into the sea. Water roared up over the deck.
Rhinne held onto the rail. Another wave rose up and crashed down upon them as the ship returned to center. Men shouted and tossed lines and floats over the side to retrieve those who had gone overboard. The loerfalos submerged, coiling around the ship, the hull a mere smudge on the surface of the roiling sea.
The waters swelled again as the serpent moved sinuously beneath. Then she broke the surface, rising up to tower over the ship. She had slick, blackish-green scales and a ridge of spiky, thorny fins along her spine. Water poured from the thick hairs of flesh hanging down around her jaws. Her head was as nearly big as the Winterscythe, with emerald green, slitted eyes gazing down a longish snout blunted at the end. The monster opened her mouth, showing teeth the length of young trees, crowded together and stabbing downward, curving in.
Her roar shook the timbers of the ship.
“Loerfalos!” someone cried. Too frightened to move, they fell to their faces on the deck.
All but one. Clear, brilliant and focused as the Mistress, Eusiron strode forth clutching the black, writhing form of the oborom priest by the throat. The warlock screamed like the wind as Eusiron approached the port rail. In a deep, guttural voice not of the world, the war god said:
“First One. By the Pentacle of Eaon and the Light of the Origin, I come with an offering.”
The serpent’s teeth shone gray from behind the curl of her jaws. Clouds of mist moved around her nostrils as she breathed. The ship rocked to and fro, tall masts listing as the waters churned. On the tip of her tail hung a single, wicked fin, elegant, sharp as a blade and pale as a moon. She had coiled her body twice around the ship; she could crush it like a paper box if she chose. Strangely, Rhinne didn’t care if she did.
When the Mistress spoke, Rhinne heard her in her mind. She didn’t know the words, but she understood. Dark Warrior. For what purpose are you focused here?
“We intend to cast down Carmaenos.”
As he uttered the name of the Riven God, the loerfalos uncurled her body and jerked her head back as if she might take the ship in a single gulp. Do you, she hissed, lowering her eyes down before the entity. Rhinne’s body shivered with prickles. The Mistress was angry at something besides the Riven God. What is this offering?
“A priest of the oborom, Mistress.”
She drew down, slavering with wrath. You will give me this and one more thing. Rhinne caught her breath as the serpent focused on her, flooding her mind with information: The oborom priest had signed onto the crew of the Winterscythe with Eusiron’s full knowledge, and the war god had left it alone to see what would come of it.
He had essentially used Rhinne as bait.
The immortal serpent returned her attention to the entity and added, Your honor is lacking, Dark Warrior. By Menscefaros, you will make reparation to me ere I allow another ship to sail these seas. You have until the full moon to make land.
The war god looked at Rhinne, his expression holding the closest thing to remorse she could imagine on him. Then he bowed his head, his fist clenching the priest’s neck as he replied, “Agreed.” With immortal strength, he threw the priest’s unconscious body high over the rail.
The loerfalos closed her jaws over the shade and sank into the water with a mighty crash that spewed brine straight up in the air. It rained down on the ship, causing warriors and crew to take cover. The waves parted, folded and rolled the ship to and fro. The rain stopped. The clouds hung low. Only the sound of dripping and creaking disturbed the silence.
Rhinne let go of the rail and stumbled as the deck came into focus. Crow and Laegir approached Eusiron, their expressions wax-pale and holding questions. Not taking his gaze from Rhinne, the Dark Warrior held out his hand to the men to silence them.
“You knew,” Rhinne accused, her hair wet and hanging in her face. “You knew the priest was here. Did you know what he had planned for me too?”
Eusiron’s eyes turned steely cold. “Rhinne, I—”
“It didn’t matter, did it. Everything’s game in the big picture.” She straightened her back and risked a glance across the deck. They all gathered there, some staring at their feet; others at her, with only slightly less fear than they had the loerfalos. Adder stood among them looking as if he were trying to work out what he had just slept with. The gulf Rhinne had felt with him in the cabin after talking to him about her scars grew wide enough to swallow the sea. A lump formed in her throat.
Eusiron said, “I did not know.”
Rhinne turned on him, tears springing into her eyes. “You knew enough. You took the chance. I hate you!” She rushed him and struck him in the face as hard as she could. Closing his eyes, he took the blow. “Now you’ve doomed us all and I hope you’re on this ship when she devours it!” She hit him in the chest with both fists, knocking him back a step. Then she backed away and fled aft, flinging warriors aside as they moved out of her way.
Rhinne entered the prison of the captain’s cabin and slammed the door hard enough to shake the timbers. Choking on sobs, she retrieved the bar, dragged it across the floor and rammed it into place. Then she crawled into bed and wept for the loss of all she had once thought safe.
*
Lorth lay in the lower deck of the Eastfetch against the supports for the foremast. It was very late, nearing dawn. Most of the sailors had gone above to their duties. Raptors slept, strung about in hammocks or lying in the shadows amid equipment and supplies. A small group of warriors were gathered farther aft, talking quietly. Now and then one of them would raise his voice or laugh at something. Lorth huddled in a blanket, wedged between a barrel and a sack of oats. Wulfgar’s hound Torlach rested quietly near his legs. The prince had earlier given the wolfhound a big strip of dried beef, and Lorth could hear his belly working on it. The hound’s ears moved about and his eyes shone bright and clear with the rooted inno
cence of animals.
Lorth hadn’t slept well since the dark moon three days ago. In the predawn twilight, a storm had risen from a calm sea without cause or reason, torn over the Eastfetch like a woman’s temper, frightened the wits out of everyone and then vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving crew and warriors muttering to their gods. Since then, the landscape in Lorth’s mind beneath the threshold of consciousness had taken on a forbidding and familiar hue. Deep in the sea, a presence watched.
Loerfalos.
Only Eaglin and Wulfgar had believed him, knowing him well enough. The quartermaster, a lean, weathered man named Ciril, had laughed. A bloody myth! he said, rubbing the smile from his beard. Lorth had heard those claims before while on assignment in the Gray Isles. Claims that cost him the life of a friend and nearly destroyed the realm.
Each dawn since their departure from Caerroth a week ago, Lorth had stood upon the fo’c’s’le and swept the seas with his mind for impressions of the Winterscythe. Since the dark moon, this ritual had taken on a particular urgency. But the sea yielded nothing. The Keepers’ warship was known far and wide for speed, and under Eusiron’s hand she would be rigged and sailed to her greatest capacity.
None of them were certain that Eusiron had taken Rhinne onboard the Winterscythe, though the assumption had merit. Eusiron was the only one who could have known about Alinan’s treason when the rest of them hadn’t; and he was capable of a spell powerful enough to trick both the oborom and Eaglin.
But then another thing had come to light that gave the wizards confidence to sail. Shortly before Rhinne vanished from the guardhouse, Eaglin had been summoned by the harbormaster and given a report that northmen from Ostarin had been arriving in Caerroth. This wouldn’t be unusual if not for the timing and the fact that they hadn’t come in uniform. No one but Eusiron would have given those orders and, being immortal, he would have been able to plan it any time in advance of what he learned from Lorth in the Otherworld. He moved outside of time.
The Riven God Page 29