Healer's Touch

by Amy Raby

  “Another child?” He looked instinctively at her belly, and his cheeks went hot. One shouldn’t look at the empress in such a way. At least she was covered by the boat cloak.

  “It’s early, and I’m not sure, so don’t say anything yet,” said Vitala. “But Vagabond’s Breath, two boys is enough. I’m hoping for a girl.”

  ∞

  Isolda had never rowed a boat in her life, and Chari’s flailing attempts made it clear she hadn’t either. The Frolic had drawn away from them, carried forward by the wind in its sails, but Isolda was aware the merchantman could come back, if only to recover its jollyboat. They had to reach shore as soon as possible.

  When her oar tangled with Chari’s for the third time, Isolda said, “Let’s take it in shifts. You rest, and I’ll row. When I tire, we’ll switch.”

  Chari dragged her oars into the boat and went to the stern to check on her children. The older boy was still sleeping, but the baby was beginning to fuss. She picked him up and bounced him.

  Isolda hauled at the oars. Her arms burned. All the walking she had done in Kjall, to and from her various places of employment, had made her legs fit but not her arms and shoulders. “What did you drug the children with?”

  “Rum,” said Chari.

  Isolda raised her eyebrows but said nothing. She shouldn’t judge. Chari had done what she had to do to escape Sardos, and if the children had been awake and fussing, the sailors might have caught them more quickly and foiled their escape.

  “I’m sorry about how I treated you, back in Sardos,” said Chari.

  Annoyed by this overture, Isolda gave the oars a vigorous stroke. Did Chari think such treatment could be atoned for with an apology and nothing more?

  “I never wanted to marry Jauld in the first place,” said Chari. “Did you?”

  Isolda said nothing. Escaping with Chari was one thing; strength in numbers justified a temporary alliance. But that didn’t mean they needed to have a friendly conversation. They weren’t friends.

  Chari sighed. “Forget it.”

  They rowed for a while in silence. Chari sat pensive, looking out over the ocean, idly bouncing the baby, while Isolda wondered. Who was Chari, anyway? Isolda had lived in the same house with her for years, hating her without knowing a thing about her. Grudgingly, she answered the earlier question. “I wanted to marry, but not specifically Jauld.”

  “Were you in love with another man?” asked Chari.

  Isolda shook her head. The truth was that back then, she barely looked at men, having convinced herself that none would want her, and why create a desire that could never be fulfilled? “I wanted to marry somebody, and I wasn’t thinking a whole lot about who it should be. And Jauld was the one who offered. I was happy to be chosen—for about a week.”

  Chari stared out over the ocean. “I was in love with another man, but he had no money. He wasn’t his father’s heir.”

  Isolda sniffed. Poor little Chari, who’d loved another man but couldn’t marry him. Isolda glanced behind her at the shoreline. It was depressingly far away.

  “I envied you, though,” added Chari. “I had to stay home while you got to run the store. I wanted to work, too—anything to get out of that house!—but Jauld wouldn’t allow it. He said you knew what you were doing, and he wouldn’t let a stupid girl like me muck it up.”

  Isolda’s rowing rhythm slackened. She had never known that Chari wanted to work at the store, or that she’d been unhappy at home with Jauld. It made sense, now that she thought about it—Isolda would have hated that too. Back then, she’d been so blinded by her jealousy and her fear of losing Rory’s inheritance that she hadn’t considered that Chari’s life was not much better than her own. Possibly it had been worse. “I didn’t realize.”

  “And then you left,” said Chari. “How lucky you were to get away.”

  “It wasn’t luck,” said Isolda.

  “Well, you got away, and I was stuck at home with an infant. Jauld became paranoid that I might leave too. He watched me constantly.”

  “Then I’m glad you finally got away from him.”

  “I always wondered,” said Chari. “Did your father take multiple wives?”

  Isolda shook her head. “No.”

  “Mine did.” Chari sighed. “I had two older brothers, once—they died in childhood.”

  “Of what?” asked Isolda.

  “Fever, supposedly,” said Chari. “But that doesn’t happen anymore, not when they’re warded. You know it doesn’t.”

  “I know,” said Isolda. She’d heard the story many times, from different families. Competition among the male children in a Sardossian family, especially a family with several wives, was intense. It was not uncommon for male children to die suddenly, in suspicious circumstances, leaving less competition for those that remained.

  “Shall we swap places?” asked Chari. “I can take a turn at rowing.”

  Isolda’s arms were burning; she nodded. Chari put down the baby, and they stepped past each other in the boat, rocking it and sending up an unlucky splash that hit Isolda in the face. Chari took up the oars, and Isolda rested, licking saltwater off her lips, while the baby fussed nearby.

  The little one looked so much like Rory had at that age. Gods, how long ago that had been! Now that Rory was half grown, she ached to hold a baby again. “Does he need feeding?”

  “Soon,” said Chari. “For now he’s all right.”

  Isolda’s arms twitched; she hated to watch a baby cry. Finally she picked him up. He hiccupped, and she rocked him gently. He was a cute baby; it wasn’t his fault that his parents were Chari and Jauld. Any child deserved a chance to succeed on his own merits.

  Including her own. Dear Rory—she missed him with all her heart. Where was he now? She hoped he’d gone to Marius and was sleeping safely in the villa.

  Isolda blinked. Were those blue lights out in the channel?

  As she squinted at them, trying to determine if they were twinkling stars or something more significant, a tall vertical line of them materialized out of the darkness.

  She set the baby back in the stern. “Row faster. The Frolic’s come back.”

  Chari’s rowing arms jerked in surprise, and the jollyboat bumped over a wave. She craned her neck toward the approaching lights. “It’ll be the jollyboat they want.”

  “They can have it once we reach shore.” Isolda picked up the second set of oars, slid them over the edge of the boat, and stabbed them into the water. But as hard as she pulled, she could not outrun a sailing ship in a good wind. The single blue line became two crosses in the sky, outlining the Frolic’s masts and main spars. Then she could make out the prow. The ship was not heading directly toward them, she realized, but moving southwest, parallel to the shore. “They might go by us. Stay silent.”

  “There’s a second ship.”

  “Where?” Isolda turned in the direction Chari was staring. Orange lights outlined three tall masts—no merchantman at all, but a sleek frigate. “What in the Soldier’s Hell?”

  “It’s got to be Kjallan,” said Chari.

  “Or it could be a pirate.” Isolda backed her oars. The Frolic had seen the orange-lighted ship too and was turning around. The blue light-glows illuminating its masts and spars were winking out, one by one. Meanwhile, the newcomer was coming on fast. Already she could see its bright white sails in the moonlight. Its topgallants were set, and its studdingsails reached outward like wings. As the Frolic turned her stern to the frigate, colors erupted in the air. Someone from the frigate was communicating with the Frolic in the arcane language of pyrotechnics.

  “What do you suppose they’re saying?” Isolda asked.

  “I have no idea,” said Chari. “But I don’t think a pirate ship would have its lights on. Maybe it’s a Kjallan warship asking for information, seeing if the Frolic has a right to be in the strait.”

  “Perhaps.” But since the Frolic had doused its lights to flee, it clearly saw the new ship as a threat, which meant caution
was warranted. Colored lights erupted over the sea, first in one place and then in another. They seemed almost random, and Isolda feared that, purely by chance, they might illuminate the jollyboat. The frigate was searching the darkness for the fleeing Frolic. Why? A wild hope sent her heart racing. Could it be that Marius knew the Frolic was the ship that had taken her? Could he have petitioned the emperor and come for her by sea?

  As Chari raised her arms to pull at the oars, Isolda stopped her. “Be silent a moment. I want to watch.”

  Finally a set of pyrotechnic lights found not open ocean, but the stern of a ship. The pyrotechnic lights stayed where they were, popping and scintillating in the sky, illuminating the Frolic.

  Then the first cannonballs were fired.

  Chapter 34

  “I don’t understand!” cried Marius, leaning over the railing for a better look at the fleeing Frolic. “Why are they running away?”

  “I don’t know,” said Vitala. “They didn’t answer our signal.”

  “Three gods, what did we say?”

  “Nothing that should have frightened them this much,” said Vitala. “We ordered them to heave-to. We said a woman had been kidnapped from Kjall and we needed to see if she was on board.”

  “Is Isolda so important to them that they’d risk the lives of everyone on the ship?” She was important to Marius, of course, because he loved her. And she was important to Jauld, who wanted her to run his store. But the captain of the Frolic should have no great interest in her, unless he was a personal friend of Jauld’s. At the first sighting of the Frolic in the strait, the frigate had cleared for action, crowding sail and beating to quarters. The sailors were ready to fight, but the Frolic wanted no part of it. She’d doused her lights and tried to run, and the Sweep’s pyrotechnic mage had found her.

  “It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” said Vitala. “I think there’s something else going on.”

  Emperor Lucien headed toward them on the rail, his wooden leg thumping against the ship’s deck. “Our warning volley didn’t stop them, so the triarchus is going to get serious.”

  “He can’t shoot at them,” said Marius. “Isolda’s on board.”

  Lucien laid a hand on his shoulder. “It must be risked. Do you not see? There is no other way to stop the ship.”

  “But Isolda might be killed!” The ship lurched, and Marius grabbed for the railing.

  “Here we go,” said Lucien. “Never you worry. Isolda is probably imprisoned in the hold. We won’t be firing at the hull at all, only at masts and sails. The intent is to cripple the ship, not to sink it.”

  The Sweep was turning side-on to the Frolic, bringing its broadside to bear. Marius stared at the merchantman, which looked small and frail in comparison. “Cannonballs don’t always go where you point them.”

  “We either do this, or we let the ship take her to Sardos,” said Lucien.

  Marius closed his mouth. They couldn’t let the ship go. Still, he felt helpless to protect Isolda. In desperation, he uttered the Vagabond’s Prayer: Great One, pass her by.

  Someone below them called, “Fire on the upward roll.”

  Marius tightened his grip on the railing.

  The cannon fire began at the stern of the ship, proceeding toward the prow where Marius stood. A rolling boom like thunder rocked the warship onto its haunches. Clouds of black smoke and the stink of brimstone rose from below.

  Staring through the smoke, Marius saw that one of the Frolic’s two masts had come down. The gunners below them were cheering their success.

  “Perfect,” said Lucien. “She’s crippled now.”

  All was quiet on the Soldier’s Sweep as the gunners sponged their cannons and reloaded. On the Frolic, Marius saw desperate activity as sailors climbed aloft on the rat-lines, cutting the wreckage free with axes. The Frolic, out of control, swung its stern toward the Sweep.

  “They’ve lost a mast. Why don’t they surrender?” asked Marius.

  “I don’t know,” said Lucien.

  “Fire at will,” called a centurion below.

  This time there was no rolling broadside, but each cannon fired as it became ready, raking the Frolic’s stern. Marius’s stomach clenched. How much abuse could the merchantman take? Isolda could be bleeding to death right now, and he couldn’t get to her.

  “Grape,” called the centurion.

  Marius shot the emperor a frightened look. What did that mean?

  “They’re switching to grapeshot,” said Lucien. “It won’t damage the hull or the spars, but it’s deadly to the men.”

  “The men?” cried Marius. Then it would be deadly to Isolda.

  “It will prevent casualties when we board,” said Lucien.

  The Soldier’s Sweep wheeled ponderously—they were changing direction again.

  “You’re not boarding,” Drusus said to Marius. “You’re staying here.”

  “Of course I’m boarding,” said Marius, his eyes on the Frolic. “Isolda could be dying over there.”

  Drusus sighed.

  The Frolic limped northward and the Sweep, which had ceased fire with its great guns, gave chase. As it caught up, it bore wide and moved alongside. Meanwhile, sailors with soot-stained faces gathered at the Sweep’s prow. A bosun handed out knives and muskets.

  “We need to get out of their way,” said Lucien.

  Marius headed amidships with the emperor, the empress, and their team of Legaciatti. Someone yelled a command, and a horde of sailors who weren’t among the boarding party swarmed into the tops. The Soldier’s Sweep wheeled around and pointed its prow directly at the Frolic.

  “Three gods, are we going to ram them?” cried Marius. It was clear that they were, so he grabbed the railing. The uninjured sailors on the Frolic yelled and gave way as the Sweep’s bowsprit drove toward the Frolic’s starboard side. More commands from the bosun, and the Sweep spilled its wind and slowed.

  The two ships collided. Marius was flung forward. His knees buckled, and he caught himself on the railing. Dragging himself back up, he saw that the Sweep’s bowsprit hung above the Frolic’s deck, and the boarding party was jumping down onto the merchant ship in groups of two and three.

  “Let’s go,” he called to Drusus, running forward to join them.

  When Marius reached the bowsprit, he found himself largely alone, as the boarding party was already below on the enemy ship, carving their way through the defenders. He climbed out onto the long spar and hesitated. It was a six-foot drop down to the Frolic. But the sailors had managed it.

  Kneeling on the bowsprit, he grabbed a rope and let his feet dangle off the edge. Then he let go of the rope and dropped onto the merchantman’s deck.

  Drusus landed beside him. “Vagabond’s Breath.” He drew his sword. “Where to?”

  Marius sized up his surroundings. Resistance was thin. The grapeshot must have done its ugly work, because the boarding party had cleared most of the deck already. Near the stern, he saw a group of Sardossian sailors lying face down with their hands behind their heads.

  “The deck is ours,” said Drusus. “If we wait a few minutes, our men will have the hold as well.”

  “Let’s go down now.”

  Marius found a trapdoor in the floor. Drusus insisted on going down ahead of him. As Marius scurried down the ladder, he heard shouts and banging, as well as an occasional gunshot. The fighting was still in progress.

  The merchantman below decks was a maze of narrow passageways. Marius picked a passageway at random and ran along it, checking all the doors.

  In one room, he found a sailor who instantly surrendered. Marius left him where he was. In another room, he found a dead body, male. Nobody else in this passageway, so he darted into another.

  As he was checking the first door, a Sardossian pelted down the corridor toward him, knife in hand. Drusus ran to engage him. A few quick slashes, and the Sardossian sailor was on the floor, bleeding and crying out for mercy.

  Drusus took the man’s knife and frisked him. Fi
nding nothing, he abandoned him, and they continued their search.

  By the time they’d checked all the rooms on the second corridor, the sounds of fighting had stopped. “I think it’s over,” said Marius.

  “Think so, too,” said Drusus, panting.

  A Kjallan in the uniform of a principal, one of the ship’s junior officers, spotted them and came running up. “Marius—sir—we’ve searched the whole ship, and we did not find the woman Isolda. Or any woman at all.”

  “What?” cried Marius. “But she’s here! She has to be.”

  “One of the Sardossians told us she was on board, but she and another woman stole the jollyboat a while ago and escaped.”

  “Isolda stole the jollyboat?” Marius blinked. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He could readily imagine her doing something like that. But who was the other woman? And where was Isolda now?

  “We found something else,” said the officer. “May I show you?”

  “All right.” Where would Isolda have gone in the jollyboat? Toward land, surely. They were in the Neruna Strait, so if she was uninjured, she should be capable of rowing to shore.

  Summoning a ball of magelight, the officer led them down a dark stairway into the ship’s storage hold. As Marius’s boots hit the ground, a rat squeaked and scurried away.

  “See these crates?” asked the principal, sending his magelight ball to illuminate them.

  Marius looked around. The hold was packed from stem to stern with them.

  “They say they hold wine, but they don’t,” said the principal. The nearest crate had been opened. The man reached into it and pulled out a bottle. “Be careful—don’t strike a spark.” He knocked the bottle against the wooden crate, and its glass top broke off. Black powder spilled out.

  “Three gods,” said Drusus.

  “What is it?” said Marius.

  “Gunpowder,” said the principal. “Thank the Sage we didn’t fire at the hull.”

  “Glaucus,” called a sailor from above.

  The principal turned to the ladder. “Yes?”