by Chris Reher
Aletha peered at the map and then looked up at Galen. “Before you say anything, yes, it looks shorter taking the coast road but it’ll be safer on the water. Trust us with that.” She turned to Delann. “I hope someday I can repay you for all you’re doing for me. It means so much to me.”
He lifted his hand to brush the back of his fingers over her pale cheek. His gaze hardened when he turned it upon Galen. “Just get her someplace where she can live in peace. It’s the only payment I need.”
“Del, someone here to have a word,” Yala’s voice came from the dimly lit corridor outside the office. “Important, he says.”
“I’ll meet him outside.” Delann called to her and left, closing the door behind him.
“Are you all right?” Galen said to Aletha. She stood pale and silent, arms wrapped tightly about herself. “Worried about the priests?”
She nodded and bent over the scattered maps, careful to avoid his eyes. “This is getting complicated. I know those islands but it’s a long way away. I’m afraid that…” she hesitated, unable to explain her fears. “I’m afraid,” she said simply.
“You’re probably thinking you’d be safer if you’d just stayed hidden. Do you regret leaving this town? This moon?”
“No,” she whispered.
“Of me?” he said sharply. “Of us? You are afraid of us? Because of last night?”
“No!” she turned from the maps. “I’m afraid for Delann, for his people, for you. This is all so much trouble, so much grief. I’ve known for a while now it was time to leave this place and I should have been long gone. I’m a danger to you all.” She lifted a hand to touch his chest. “But I’m glad I don’t have to do this alone.”
He looked down at her hand and then raised his eyes to search her face. She did not have to be a magic user to see the concern not only showing in his face but something she would have felt even if the room had been in complete darkness. He put his hand over hers. “You are not alone,” he said softly.
“Well, that’s a plan gone down the river!” Both Galen and Aletha flinched when Delann burst into the room, his exclamation sounding as aggravated as his expression looked. He waved a piece of paper at Chor but paused when he saw Aletha’s unhappy face. “What’s wrong, other than what I’m about to tell you?”
Galen stepped away from her. “She doesn’t want you to get into trouble over her.”
Delann sighed loudly and wagged a finger at Aletha. “And you think you have some magic that can stop me? Huh? Can we get to serious matters now, please?”
Aletha had to smile. “What’s happened?”
“They’re locking down the harbor! Damn emissaries. Once the harbormaster gets his orders, no one leaves the bay. By the time we can move out on the tide those orders will be in his hand.”
Galen cursed under his breath. “What if we tried to get out now?”
Delann looked at him as though he had suggested flying to Chenoweth. “The tide is about to turn, wizard. It’s going out! No way will we get through the islands now.” Delann began to pace about the room, rubbing his hands through his short yellow hair until it bore a startling resemblance to Yala’s.
“How about traveling inland? We’d have to get over those mountains but there must be a way to turn north from there.”
Aletha nodded. “There is, but they’re at war there. They’ve been brawling since winter. I’m not sure we want to get caught up in that. They’ll conscript anyone and I don’t intend to fight someone else’s battles. We might be safe in a caravan. What do you think, Delann? Can you spare some of your people?”
“You’ll be stopped for certain. No, you’ll go by ship. Now, like he suggested. But we’ll run south through the kelp flats for a few leagues and heave to in Ayrlie. Pick up some hides from my warehouse or something. As long as we’re not searched we’ll be fine. I pay people to make sure I don’t get searched. Once the tide is up we’ll get through the islands and into the strait. Let’s go.”
* * *
The distance from Delann’s warehouse to his ship was a matter of minutes along a narrow alley and out onto the pier. Yala leading the way, they hurried past freighters and galleys, skirting stacks of cargo and passenger queues, meeting no trouble until Delann abruptly halted and shoved Aletha behind a passage broker’s booth.
“Emissaries. On the wharf!” He gestured for the others to join them behind the stall. He looked up at the towering twins. Although their burnooses hid their easily recognized features, they only served to make the imposing figures more menacing. “This would be a lot simpler if you weren’t so obviously strangers here!”
“I’ll learn their purpose,” Yala said and darted away from them, toward a tall ship waiting a few hundred paces away, before anyone thought to object. They watched from their hiding place as the girl made a nuisance of herself, badgering the seamen with questions and worrying the emissaries with thoughts of pick pocketing.
Galen studied the pier. Several freighters, a sow-bellied ferry, and a dashing cutter or two were tied to the wharf where there was steady traffic from dock to deck as cargo and passengers were loaded. Although the waterfront was bustling with activity, none of it seemed unduly hurried, as might be the case if the impending order to close the harbor were common knowledge. “Which one is yours?”
“The brig with the yellow foresail,” Delann replied with some pride. “The Ruane. Should be ready to sail. Your boat’s already been hoisted up.”
“Fine ship,” Galen said appreciatively. Although he knew little about sail ships he could see that this one was built for speed as well as long distance hauls. The small single-mast dinghy they were to use later in the day had been hoisted into a cradle at the stern, not an unusual accessory for any ship too large to enter the shallow lagoons to take on fresh water, passengers or cargo. “What’s that gear on the ship beside her?”
Delann looked at the massive frigate Galen had pointed out. “Weaponry,” he explained. “Those racks along the side can hurl a dozen spears a great distance. The catapults there are for tossing burning tar at enemy sails. The shields are for the crossbow marksmen.” He saw that Aletha had gone pale. “That ship is not for us, Aletha. That arsenal is defensive and the ship’s for transporting troops and supplies. The emissaries aren’t known to hunt Descendants with ships of war.” He pointed out two almost identical single-mast cutters on the next pier, also equipped with shields and catapults. “Those worry us. Smaller, faster, and they can get into the straits between the islands. As likely belonging to the coastwatch as to fly a pirate’s banner once out of sight.”
“What is she doing?” Aletha interrupted.
The others scanned the wharf for Yala and soon spotted her near the clutch of emissaries. She had crouched down as if inspecting something on the ground. Now and again she poked at it with a stick.
“Having a listen, I’ll guess,” Delann grinned. “Don’t worry so; she knows to keep out of their way.” He turned to the twins. “Yala’s mother was taken away by the emissaries. I don’t think she remembers much of that, but not a day goes by where she doesn’t visit some grief upon at least one of them.”
“And someday it’ll get her killed,” Aletha scowled.
“Her mother was a Descendant?” Galen asked.
Delann glanced at Aletha before shaking his head. “No. Just pretty. One of the emissaries wanted to take her as mistress, but she was a freewoman and of course had the right to refuse him. He offered her wealth and when that didn’t change her mind her husband was set upon by some thugs. They broke his knees. He was left unable to work but instead of taking up the emissary’s offer she complained to the magistrate. She was denounced as a demon Descendant. She wasn’t purged for some time. Until then she worked in the emissaries’ enclave near the delta. Many of the female Descendants end up there for a while.”
“Stop it,” Aletha hissed angrily.
Delann put his hand on her arm in silent apology but continued anyway. “All but the real Descendan
ts. The true magic users can only be drugged for so long and emissaries fear them more than they fear the wrath of the gods. If you are discovered you won’t be locked up for long.”
“How do they prove their case?”
“They don’t,” Aletha snapped. “The gods speak to them and show them the way. And sometimes they are even right.”
Galen frowned. “How often?”
“Enough for us to believe there is some truth to it,” she said. “Of course, most of them use their blue robes to lord over the people with more power than is wielded even by town council. No one opposes them. In anything. Yala’s mother is not the first to discover that.”
“Here she comes,” Delann said, ending the conversation. Yala now ambled back to them, detouring to balance across a precarious conveyor rail with careless grace, like all children of her age assured of her own invincibility.
“Those four of ‘em is all,” she reported upon her return. “No more to be seen. Marlo said none been asking questions or paying much mind to the Ruane. But they’re watching. Except I don’t think they’re watching any particular ship.”
“Well, that is good to hear,” Delann said. He peered around the stall to survey the busy dock. “I wonder how long they’ll be hanging around.”
“There’ll be more of them,” Yala said. “Ship coming in from Tandalay before the tide. More emissaries and some soldiers. They’re looking for someone.” She grinned up at the twins. “Big Inlander killed an emissary this morning. Right in the enclave itself! Came upon him at prayer and gave his brains a stir until they turned to soup. There was a guardsman nearby and the demon’s icy breath froze his soul. They’ll not stop till they’ve found the magic user and cut his throat.”
Delann and Aletha gasped in unison.
“An emissary?”
“You didn’t!”
Galen scowled at the urchin. “Of course I didn’t. Nor could I. Brain stirring? Ice breath? Must we send a child to listen to stories like that?”
Yala giggled. “I just tell what goes in these ears. I know you didn’t harm no emissary. Been following you since you left Del’s house this morning. For a warrior you’re not paying much mind to what’s about you, Mister.”
Delann squeezed the back of Yala’s neck and gave her a gentle shake. “Don’t frighten us like that,” he said before turning back to the others. “Looks like waiting isn’t an option. Now how do we get you on board?”
Galen studied the waterfront and the characters populating it. Both twins removed their expensive vests, boots and belts and tied them into a bundle that they handed to Delann. “We’ll join those loaders.” Galen nodded toward a line of deckhands carrying bales and boxes onto a waiting ship. “Do you often bring women aboard, Delann?”
Delann frowned. “What? Uh, sometimes,” he said with a sidelong glance at Aletha.
“Ladies?”
“Not always,” the merchant grinned, now guessing Galen’s plan. “Take off your vest, Aletha.”
“What for?” she said but shrugged out of her knee-length overvest.
“What have you got on under there?” Galen gestured at her shirt.
She frowned. “Nothing you should be wondering about—” she faltered when she realized their intent. Sighing dramatically, she unlaced the front of her blouse to improve the view and then knotted up its hem to leave her midriff bare. Finally, she tugged the waistband of her baggy trousers to below her navel. “How’s this?”
Galen appraised her for longer than was absolutely necessary, aware of Delann’s discomfort. “Nice. How much per throw, wench?”
Delann rolled his eyes. “Let’s get going already.”
Aletha hugged Yala and gave her messages to take to their friends, explaining and apologizing for her unexpected departure. Before things could threaten to turn tearful, she clasped Delann’s arm. “Care to show a lady around your ship, esquire?” She batted her lashes at him.
Together, they strolled along the wharf, brightly chatting and giggling, his high color as easily a sign of his libertine intentions as it might have been of his state of anxiety. Aletha was not the only woman hanging on a sailor’s arm on this pier, where soldiers and dockworkers also had their pick of companions for hire. Apparently oblivious to the loitering priests on the wharf, the couple promenaded past them to the gangway, where Delann stopped to chat with one of the crewmen. Aletha threw him a flirtatious wink before going aboard, simpering coyly when several sailors rushed to help her step down onto the deck. Delann climbed to the forecastle to speak to his captain.
Soon, they saw one of the twins amble toward them among a group of porters, a bale of cloth balanced on his shoulder to hide his face. Not long later, the other twin followed, bent low over the cart he was pushing. Once both of them were aboard, Delann gave the order to put out to sea and head southward.
Galen found his assumptions about the ship’s seaworthiness to be correct: she ran easily before a strong wind from the north and seemed to fly along the coast despite the receding tide already nipping at her heels. He was accustomed to much faster modes of transport on the Homeworld, where chi’ro allowed them to power aircraft and passenger vehicles of all description, but there was something strangely exhilarating about this ship. Standing near the bowsprit, he felt as though he were riding some strange mythical beast, somehow brought to life by the power of the wind that he perceived as keenly as any surge of chi’ro. The ship seemed alive, her sails straining against the confines of the rigging, banners snapping exuberantly in the wind. With regret he gave up the fantasy when the Ruane slowed to struggle against the tide, soon limping south along the coast as if dragging some immense weight behind her. Someone reminded him of the mundane by calling him to share a midday meal.
He found his companions on the quarterdeck with a few of the off-duty sailors, out of the way of the crew. Someone had brought food and wine but neither twin was particularly hungry.
“Not seasick, are you?” Aletha inquired, grinning mischievously.
Chor grimaced into the shared vat of boiled noodles and greasy fish. “I will be if I eat that,” he said. “Someone’s following us.” He answered Aletha’s unspoken question with a curt nod. Emissaries.
Indeed, not long later the lookout reported a ship in pursuit. The approaching cutter appeared to be on a straight course toward them, still too distant to identify by build or banner.
None of the sailors seemed inclined to question why another vessel would pursue them. Galen suspected that Delann’s cargo was not always part of the legal transactions of Phrar, evidenced by a tightlipped crew and their efficient departure from the harbor. He had seen panniers of messenger birds doted upon by their handler and noticed that some of the crew had little to do but walk about well-armed. Was Delann a smuggler? A pirate, perhaps? It was an oddly intriguing theory; perhaps there were some interesting ways of making a living on this moon, after all. He was amused to realize that, in spite of his pretense of prosperous gentility, Delann was as much of a felon as any of the harbor rabble.
The crew, however, did not know that the contraband on board was three Descendants and not whatever ill-gotten treasures might be concealed in the holds below. Galen looked south along the shore. “More coming. From over there.”
Delann vented a series of ripe curses. “That’s coming from Ayrlie.” He went to the quarterdeck rail and ordered his men to arms. The mood of the crew changed at once. Barefooted sailors leaped from the shrouds to the deck or came from the holds below, swords were brandished and crossbows readied. Delann used a crystal spyglass to scan the shore. “They’ve dispatched more cutters. That’s a lot of trouble over a bunch of Descendants. Are you sure you didn’t kill that priest?”
Aletha gripped his arm. “There’ll be soldiers aboard those ships and that’s bad enough,” she whispered urgently. “But in another moment your crew will see the blue robes. Will they stand against emissaries?”
Delann paled. “Emissaries? On those ships?” He looked ove
r his men preparing for battle. Many of them had sailed on his ships for years and had had to defend his payload against pirates, thieves and even the greed of customs officials on numerous occasions. The lot of them were god-fearing men but ashore were more often found in the alehouses of the wharves than in the temples. None of them were likely to regard an emissary with any fondness. “Perhaps they would,” he said. “But I’m not sure that I can.”
“Go through the islands,” Galen said. “Before we have to find out.”
“Have you lost your mind? This is a brigantine, not some flatfooted gorge raft. We’ll be chopped to kindling!” Delann gestured at the islands rising into the air as the sea level dropped with the receding tide. Black, glistening rock beckoned them with treacherous edges.
Galen gripped Delann’s arms. He jerked his chin toward Aletha. “We are Descendants,” he reminded him. “Demons the likes of which you have never seen. I saw them kill a Descendant this morning, probably Aletha’s friend you were talking about yesterday. Whoever this Tsingao is, he’s not going to let us go. If you want to get out of this, order your ship into the islands and take your hands off the rudder!”
All realized that a stunned silence had fallen and the startled crew, weapons uneasily at the ready, had gathered around Galen and Delann. Time froze in this silence until, finally, Delann waved them away and pulled out of Galen’s grasp. “On your head, wizard,” he said and turned to his captain. “Change course for Tamtam. To the strait.”