by Tom Lloyd
‘Want to know her card? Read as much as you like into it, or none at all so long as you act like it’s fine and normal, okay?’
‘Let me guess,’ Lynx said with mounting trepidation. ‘She’s the Princess of Blood, isn’t she?’
‘Got it in one.’ The grey-eyed man’s smile widened, shark-like. ‘You won’t be the only one doing what she wants now, we all got that pleasure.’
As the first mate reached Anatin and they started to talk, Lynx cast his eye over the ship. He knew little about them, having sailed only a handful of times in his life. The continent of Urden had several inland seas like Parthain, but the ocean surrounding it was a barrier few attempted. With wind mages it was possible to brave the storms, but the distances were vast and the rewards few, while even the largest of the arrow-straight Duegar canals that spanned the continent required only barges.
Shuttered window ports ran all the way down the steel-plate-clad flank of the ship and there were pairs of fixed guns fore and aft, bolted down to withstand the force of firing earth-bolts. A sling-thrower sat behind the fore pair for hurling grenades. Icers were the only mage-cartridge with a useful range and they couldn’t stop a boat, but a grenade could be hurled far beyond the range of sparkers or burners since the magic only activated on impact. Whether as a statement to the other city-states on Parthain or a response to piracy on the sea, in his limited experience Lynx had never seen a more overtly armed ship.
Soon the Cards were being herded on to the deck, past the watchful eyes of the ship’s crew, and into one of two large rooms strung with hammocks. A flight of steps led to the lower deck where they stowed their bags and secured their guns and ammunition in the armoury. Few mercenaries liked seeing their weapons locked away, but they all knew that any loose cartridge could end up sinking the ship.
‘You’ll be assigned to watch teams,’ the first mate called to the company at large, ‘stationed on deck at the guns. If you’re caught with a gun or cartridge at any other time, you go over the side. No exceptions.’ He pointed at Lynx. ‘You, that sword gets locked away too, and any others like it. Nothing bigger’n an eating knife or you get a flogging. I’ve had mercs on board before and I know what you people are like when it comes to blades. I don’t want any o’ my crew getting stuck over nothing.’
Lynx looked down at the falchion hanging at his hip and shrugged as he unbuckled it. The heavy chopping blade wouldn’t be so useful on a rolling deck anyway so he didn’t bother to argue. Soon the variety of bayonets, hatchets and short-swords the mercenaries carried were all stowed away and locked up by the mate after he’d checked each cartridge box was secure.
Lynx went back up to the deck just in time to hear the order to cast off. Most of the mercenaries filed up with him to watch the ship slip beneath the huge arch of Su Dregir’s harbour bay. Before it a shoal of fishing boats scattered and, once they were clear, the main sails were unfurled and began to haul the ship forward. Lynx looked around, surprised at the strength of the breeze, only to find Toil had slipped up beside him.
‘Looking forward to a bit of adventure?’ she asked.
‘Mostly just wondering how we caught the wind so fast.’
She nodded back to the aftcastle where Captain Onerist and the rest of his command stood behind a knot of finely dressed figures. Two were dressed like ship’s officers, three others like rich passengers, with Anatin on the fringes but clearly part of the conversation. Lynx guessed the fatter of the two men he didn’t know was the Envoy – a large man with a pale, fleshy face and a cloth cap.
‘Our ship’s captain is an impatient woman,’ she said. ‘See the tall, dark woman?’
‘That’s the captain?’ Lynx asked, confused. The woman wore a sleeveless pale blue coat, tied with a red sash and edged with fur, a mass of hair fluttering in the wind held back by a band that kept it from her eyes.
‘No, the one in the stupid hat’s the captain, next to her. The other one’s more valuable.’
Lynx gasped. ‘A wind mage?’
‘Yup – this ship’s too big and expensive to risk a drop in the wind. They’ve got a mage on permanent crew.’
‘Damn, all this for one man?’
Toil laughed at that. ‘Why waste the opportunity for a little showing off to the neighbours? The Envoy has to get there somehow.’
‘And where’s that? For that matter, why’re you on board? You’re not the Envoy’s bodyguard, so what’s your angle here?’
‘Oh, Lynx, haven’t you learned yet? I’ve no fewer than six or seven angles at any given time.’
‘Care to share any of them?’
‘But what if you don’t approve?’ Toil said, feigning coyness.
‘When’s that ever stopped you?’
She cocked her head to one side. ‘Best you don’t know, in case you tried to stop me. But here’s a titbit for you – this isn’t really escort duty. You’re under my command, whatever Captain Inbred thinks. Where we’re going, if I’m right, life’s about to get pretty nasty and I aim to offer your services.’
‘How nasty?’
‘Like you’ll wish you were back underground.’ She saw him stiffen at the reminder. ‘Yeah, I reckon even you.’
‘Oh blackest hells.’
Just then Anatin strode down from the aftcastle and walked the length of the main deck.
‘Boys and girls,’ he called, with a wide grin on his face. ‘I bring good news.’
No one replied, they all knew his humour well enough for trepidation to still their tongues.
‘Our destination, my feeble and sickly cadre, will cleanse your souls and purge your bodies of the demons that, as I noted this very morning, you all seem to be plagued with.’
Lynx heard a few angry mutters from behind him, clearly one or two of the company hazarding a guess at what he was about to say. Anatin pointed past him to where Varain stood, the veteran’s reddened cheeks deepening in colour.
‘Indeed, I see the Stranger of Sun has caught on. No need to thank me for this boon to your health, my friend!’
‘Are you fucking serious?’ Varain growled.
‘I am! We sail to the Jewel of Parthain, Shrine of the Inner Seas and grand old lady of the Ongir Canal.’
Lynx had to suppress a laugh as he finally cottoned on. Grand old lady was a term he knew and it didn’t just refer to the city’s age. It also meant the pious attitude of its rulers and the restrictions they placed upon the population. He’d heard some call the place ‘nagging old crone of Parthain’.
‘Yes, my friends, we sail to Jarrazir – City of a Thousand Shrines, two bloody big statues, one possibly mythical labyrinth—’
‘But not even one fucking pub!’ Varain snapped.
Anatin laughed. ‘But not even one fucking pub,’ he agreed. ‘Now you see why I didn’t tell you until you’d been disarmed.’
Tucked into a nook on the forecastle and facing back down the boat, Sitain put one arm out over the side and let the breeze drift through her fingers. This was now her second voyage on a ship and still it bewildered and unsettled her even as it fascinated. The constant pitch and movement, the lurch in her stomach and the treachery of the shifting deck – it all left her on edge, never quite able to rest.
She’d fallen into a fitful sleep the first night, swaying alarmingly in a hammock and for most of the morning had been glassy-eyed and monosyllabic. And yet … Her gaze drifted out over the water again as the sun emerged from behind a cloud.
Every crest of wave glinted gold then faded in the next instant to be replaced by a thousand others, darting elusively away as her eyes followed each wink of light. The water itself was a deep and rich blue, a shifting, shining sapphire that stretched as far as the eye could see.
They travelled within sight of land at all times, their journey taking them up the coast rather than across Parthain. She had already seen huge wheeling flocks of white seabirds, some mere specks in the sky, while others punched like icers down into the water in search of the fish below. P
ebble beaches with brown basking seals lying below slanting lines of blue-black slate cliffs. Tiny shelves of pink wild flowers perched above hammering waves that cast columns of spray twenty yards straight up – she drank in the sights and left the world behind her.
Except she found she couldn’t. Time and again her mind brought her back. Time and again her eyes turned towards the aftcastle where the first mate stood with a hand on the ship’s wheel. Behind him stood one of the junior officers, a young lad apparently taking measurements of some sort, one of the Envoy’s personal guards – and the wind mage.
Sitain sensed movement at her back and leaned into the side to give them space to pass, but felt the person stop directly behind instead. Whoever it was, they stood over Sitain a few moments, looking down at the water below.
‘Are those elementals?’ Toil asked, pointing down.
Sitain heaved herself up to look over, but knew instinctively they weren’t. Water elementals were a more common sight than most, but she would have sensed their presence if any had been so close to the ship. No more than ten yards off the port side a half-dozen dark shapes slipped through the water, not breaking the surface and keeping up with the ship with no apparent effort.
‘Just fish,’ she sighed, sinking back down.
‘Big bloody fish,’ Toil commented.
‘Yup.’
Sitain felt a strong hand close on her shoulder and squeeze it.
‘What’s up your arse today, Sitain?’
‘Nothing. Just didn’t sleep well.’ She scowled. ‘Why do you care? Not like I’ve got any duties right now.’
‘’Cos you’re staring, girl.’
‘What?’
Toil snorted. ‘Not very subtly either. Someone on the rear deck owe you money?’
Sitain looked away, a guilty flush pinking her cheeks. ‘I, ah, no. It’s nothing.’
‘If it was nothing, you wouldn’t be staring. Come now, tell Auntie Toil.’
Despite her mood, that made Sitain laugh. She turned round and squinted up at the woman from Su Dregir. ‘Auntie of Blood, eh?’
‘You ain’t met my aunt, it’s not so far off as you might like.’
Sitain hesitated and took a proper look at Toil. She didn’t know the woman well, most likely few did, but the days they’d spent in the Duegar city-ruin and the weeks that followed meant there was a familiarity there at least. And now we’re comrades-in-arms, apparently.
‘You’re a well-travelled woman,’ she began hesitantly, ‘I mean, you’ve been all over, right?’
‘I suppose so. No more than most of this lot.’ Toil gestured at the mercenaries on the deck behind them, at the ship’s guns. ‘But I think you mean that I’ve done more than kill, drink and screw in all the places I’ve been to, done more than just look to the next bottle.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘I’ve also done a lot of those three, mind.’
‘Yeah, I know,’ Sitain sighed, ‘you’re as much a man as the rest of these swinging dicks.’
At that, Toil laughed. ‘Hey, it doesn’t pay to advertise a brain,’ she said. ‘Dumbshit mercenaries and the like aren’t in favour of women being smarter than them; especially one who’s as strong as them too. Best they think I’m a mad killer with the same limitations as them – gives them something to understand, so they don’t look for any more.’
‘But you know the way of the world.’
‘From what Anatin’s been telling everyone, you’re way past that talk.’
Sitain made a disgusted sound. ‘Ah, fine, forget I asked.’
Toil raised her hand in apology and sat down on the deck beside Sitain, slipping her feet under the rail that ran down the inside edge of the forecastle. ‘Sorry, force of habit. What do you want to ask?’
Sitain was quiet for a long while, but eventually she found her attention drifting to the aftcastle again. ‘Wind mages, know much about them?’
Toil tucked an errant curl of brown hair behind her ear. ‘Some. One of the free trades, so you get more of them around. I’ve met a few over the years. They’re not chatty as a rule, but if you live on Parthain and travel a lot, you come across them.’
‘They’re not tied to the Charnelers?’
‘Ah, I think I see what you’re getting at. Charnelers? I doubt it. On the other hand, as for some Order dedicated to Ulfer, Knight of the Fist and the like, there’s a good chance. Their magic might not have so much military use given wind-cartridges aren’t likely to kill, but if you’ve got a policy of enslaving useful folk, why be overly picky?’
‘But they’re free to travel?’
‘Aye, but have you ever met a young one? Those water and wind mages who ply the seas and canals, they’ve got to grow up somewhere. There are a few guild-houses and the like, but they’re rare. Only the stone mages have one of any significant size. The Orders gather every mage they can on general principle, as you yourself know. Some will never leave the ammunition factories – sorry, Sanctuaries of the Divinely Blessed – but the ones with “trade magics” come out with a good education and, likely, a deep-rooted loyalty to the Order. I’ve no idea how many of those I’ve met are Order trained, but I wouldn’t trust one with my secrets.’
‘Right.’
‘Not what you wanted to hear?’
‘Not really. I …’ Sitain tailed off and looked out to sea again.
‘Looking for someone to teach you?’
‘Or just someone to ask a few questions, someone who’d know what it felt like.’
‘Sorry, not an easy hand you’ve been dealt. My advice, for what it’s worth, is to keep it all close to your chest. Bad enough the rest of the company knows if you ask me.’
‘That’s a cheery thought.’
‘Cheery doesn’t keep a woman alive, so keep your eyes open and mind working. Collect your pay and be ready to drop the company at a moment’s notice.’ Toil smiled. ‘You and Lynx are more alike than you might think.’
‘Now you really are depressing me.’
‘Just don’t eat so much as him and you’ll be fine. He owns only what he can carry, never stays in one place too long. Live your life ready to walk away, plan for it, and you’ll never be caught out.’
‘And that’s how you live?’ Sitain asked, faintly horrified by the casual way Toil had said it.
‘Of a fashion. I’ve got a few ties that complicate it.’
‘Family? Guess I don’t have that. I’ll never see mine again.’
‘You think?’ Toil gave her a fierce smile. ‘I’m not so sure. You prove yourself to Anatin, make him value you. In a year or two you’ll likely be passing by that way. Might be you could wander into your village with a rich coat, a gun on your shoulder and a few of the Cards at your side. No company badges, of course, or distinctive faces like Lynx’s, but descriptions of a few bastards like Varain aren’t going to help the Charnelers. By then I’m sure everyone in the village’ll know who informed on you. Could be you have a little chat with the treacherous shite as you look in on your folks; make anyone think twice about causing ’em trouble.’
Sitain felt the breath catch in her throat.
‘That, I think I might enjoy,’ she said, nodding slowly.
‘Good. In the meantime, mouth shut, eyes open. Don’t get noticed, don’t get caught. And for Banesh’s sake, learn to bloody shoot straight.’
Chapter 4
Lynx looked down at his cards, trying to ignore Anatin’s slyly smug expression and the cloud of cigar-smoke being puffed in his direction. He’d learned the mercenary commander had a thousand faces when playing Tashot and all of them were irritating. It was his company after all, his word that commanded forty-odd guns, so driving his opponents to distraction was a long-standing practice.
‘I don’t like his chances, my princess,’ Anatin commented as he watched Lynx. ‘Think there’s something of a tempest in our Stranger’s thoughts.’
Tonight he’d decided to narrate the game to Toil, who sat beside him. The woman wasn’t playing, electing to repair a shirt
– of all things – and relying on her fearsome reputation to dissuade any jokes. More Cards stood behind and watched, but Toil was the only one of seven at the low table not playing. Again that had gone unquestioned, which to Lynx’s mind proved even rats had a sense of preservation.
Next she produced the cloth badge bearing her Princess of Blood card, one made with more artistry than most worn by the company, and began to stitch that on to her jacket. It bore a rather more refined image than the one on the cards they were playing with – a crowned woman all in red, her hair hanging down over her right side. A cuirass with red teardrop shapes replaced the bared breasts that mercenaries preferred, but the usual mage-pistol and stiletto combination remained in her hands.
Teshen was dealer as usual; the burly man hunched low over the deck with his hair half-obscuring his face. Four cards lay face up, a fifth face down and off to one side to appease the god Banesh. Of what there was on view – 16 of Stars, 11 of Snow, 7 of Blood, Jester of Snow – none of them did Lynx much good after a promising start. He held two Madmen in his hand.
Chances are, no one’s got much with that lot. ‘Okay, I’ll raise.’
‘Oho, man doesn’t like to hang around,’ Anatin said. ‘Anyone would think he’s on watch soon.’
Damn, I forgot about that.
‘How about you, Safir?’
‘Gambling is a profanity in the eyes of the gods,’ Safir intoned, ‘and sinners shall be cast into the uncertain depths between worlds.’
‘That means he’s got a shit hand,’ Anatin whispered to Toil theatrically, ‘he’ll fold.’
‘I raise.’
Anatin winked. ‘Also means he can be talked into playing a bad hand.’
‘The gods hate me already,’ Safir announced as though replying to Anatin. ‘Might as well rub salt into the wound and profit from the failings of others.’
‘So now we’ve got a game,’ Anain said. ‘Lynx is hurrying us up, Safir’s feeling maudlin and reckless, Himbel’s miserable which means he’s got a decent pair at least, Reft’s out, and Varain’s constipated and keeps forgetting his cards. Lastly, there is our scholarly soldier – who’s either marking cards and about to get his face shot off, or wondering what order the noble cards run in again.’