Chapter Fifteen
Early morning mist had settled over the harbor. The city was just waking up in the predawn light, yawning before a reluctant rising. A few ships, from massive brigantines to fishermen’s sloops, were slowly leaving and entering the bay, their crews probably only partly awake.
Janir had not slept well, but that was no change since becoming Lucan’s prisoner. Well before dawn, Lucan had awakened them, paid the innkeeper to house the horses until their return, and then dragged his captives out into the sleepy city. Janir was beginning to wonder where the Argetallams carried all this money.
Saoven was awake and appeared to be fine. Yet asking him how he was proved futile. Lucan was stricter than ever when it came to talking. He’d become lenient over the past few days, but since last night he was treating Janir as if Camak’s attack had been her fault.
The Argetallams followed Lucan without a word as he marched to the shipyards. They had been unusually quiet since Lucan’s nonchalant treatment of Camak’s death. They moved a little more carefully around him now, like they weren’t quite certain if he should be feared or not.
Fisherman were on the beach, spreading their nets in preparation for the day’s work, while the rhythmic clanging of a blacksmith’s hammer tolled through the salty air. Squawking gulls soared overhead, eager to steal what they could when the fishermen brought their wriggling catches back.
The skiff was waiting for them at the docks. The “captain” welcomed them onto the deck and showed Lucan a place by the prow of the vessel where he could deposit his prisoners—no questions asked.
The Argetallam girl, elf, and enchanter were dumped just behind the prow on the hard oaken planks. With cool efficiency, the Argetallam warriors secured Janir and Karile’s chains to rings, conveniently located in the front of the ship. Janir wondered if this crew was in the habit of flaunting Brevia’s slave boycott.
Burly and filthy sailors heaved the oars up and down, throttling the small skiff onward. Lucan and the others marched about the deck, making sure their gear was properly stored.
Saoven cast her a meager smile before Lucan noticed. The elf was trying to reassure her and somehow that made it worse.
Their small craft stopped at the mouth of the harbor to load supplies for the brief, but nonstop voyage. The skiff pulled close to the docks and a series of barrels were dragged out of the warehouses to below deck by the hefty sailors.
The harbor warehouses were an almost ramshackle collection of large wooden buildings, weathered by years of facing the harsh sea air and salt water. They were built up on stilts to hold them out of the tide, resting against the jagged cliffs of the harbor mouth with ramps that went down to the ships. Merchants and sailors moved about the warehouses, each one to his duty without any concern for his surroundings.
Karile, Saoven, and Janir slumped behind the prow, watching the proceedings, helpless to do anything but wait. At this early morning hour, there were hardly any other vessels coming for supplies, so things appeared to be running quickly.
“Where are we going?” Saoven whispered. He kept his eyes straight ahead, pretending to ignore the other two captives.
“The Rivellis Peninsula,” Janir softly answered. “For the…crystal something.”
“Crystal chamber!” Karile hastily corrected. “The holding cell of the greatest source of power in—”
Janir landed a hard elbow to his ribs. “Quietly!”
“Oh.” Karile cleared his throat. “Right. Let me explain—no, let me summarize—the Argetallams have the Key of Amatahns and they want to use it to get to the crystal chamber. We don’t know exactly what they plan for after that. They’ve dragged us along because I know some things that might be helpful and apparently Janir is that lovely gentleman’s sister.” The enchanter then did the great service of pointing out Lucan.
Janir couldn’t look at Saoven then. She wasn’t sure which she feared more—him already knowing the truth or him learning it now.
“Your Argetallam brother?”
Surprise rippled down her spine. “You knew?”
Saoven offered a discreet shrug that reminded her of Karile. “As of a week or so ago. My father and Armandius explained it.”
“Forgive me,” Janir said reflexively.
“Forgive what?”
“Just…” There were a great many things. She was sorry for having been born with the blood of the Lord Argetallam in her veins. She was sorry for being the reason they were all here, she was sorry for not thinking of a way to free them. “All of it.”
“There is nothing to forgive.” Saoven said it without inflection, as if it should be a readily accepted fact.
“You…you hate Argetallams,” Janir whispered, almost afraid to say it.
“I do not hate you,” Saoven softly answered. “I could never hate you, even if I so wished it.”
Janir experienced that familiar fluttering in her belly. He didn’t hate her—and he couldn’t. Warmth spread through her chest and for just a moment, she didn’t see the morning as so terrible.
“I realize that in the past I have said,” Saoven cleared his throat, “things that were hateful. Things that must have upset you greatly. For that, I am sorry.”
With a deep breath, Janir tried to think of what to say. “That…means a great deal.”
Saoven risked looking at her sideways to cast her a brief smile of gratitude.
Karile’s face screwed up in a disgusted pose and mimed vomiting. Janir and Saoven elected to ignore him, though Saoven seemed more irritated by it.
Lucan and the Argetallams brooded as they waited for the supplies to be loaded. The warriors stood a little apart from their leader. Janir could only imagine what sort of things they must be saying about Lucan now. None of them were watching the captives at the moment, leaving the trio free to speak to one another.
Saoven took advantage of it. “Janir, listen. Duke Ronan was given a substantial sum from Stlaven to kill Armandius. We believe their aristocracy might be planning another invasion.”
Seventeen years ago, Brevia had been invaded by the Stlavish armies. The invasion had been largely successful in the beginning, reaching all the way into the heart of Brevia to seize the capital of Saaradan, but their forces were spread too thin by that point.
The High Lords had rallied their men together and attacked them at their weakest, cutting off the army from their supply routes and destroying them. The ultimate result was that the then sultanate was replaced by a ruler from the house of Vanmar, made strong through unparalleled politicking and an alliance with the Argetallams.
Janir herself wouldn’t have existed without that war. Aryana Caersynn had been carried off in the fall of Saaradan. If Janir’s memory served her correctly, her mother had been a gift to the Lord Argetallam from one of the Stlavish generals in an effort to smooth over some dispute.
“Whatever these Argetallams want with the Key, it cannot be a coincidence,” Saoven surmised. “They must be trying to collect it for their allies. They cannot use the magic themselves.”
Lucan came back along the deck, casually sauntering like a panther in the early morning sunlight. It occurred to Janir that many girls would probably think her brother handsome. He had the fit build and artful bone structure envied by many.
“We should be loaded soon.” Lucan leaned against the railing, just out of reach in case one of them thought to try something. “Then we’ll be on our way.”
“Thank you for the update,” Karile said with mock appreciation.
“I was not addressing you, enchanter,” Lucan snapped. He must have been in a forgiving mood as he didn’t strike anyone. “You may speak when spoken to. Is that not right?”
Janir realized he was singling her out. “Whatever you say.”
“Hmm.” Lucan straightened, surveying the early morning ocean. “The sea is different this far north,” he said contemplatively. “More frigid and less alive.”
Janir didn’t believe he was actuall
y trying to illicit a conversation, so decided to keep quiet. Her karkaton were still tucked in his belt and while she couldn’t be hurt with them, it had been proven that both Saoven and Karile could.
“I’ll be glad when this is done with and we can return to Adasha. Then you can disappoint all those unpleasable wretches.” His lip curled as he brushed his hand over the railing, flicking away imaginary dust. “I assume you have not forgotten home?”
Janir felt like he expected a response. “You…you mean to take me back to Adasha?”
“Of course. Why else would I be dragging you over creation?” He sounded suddenly irritable. “Once I have contained the power from the crystal chamber, we will be going back.”
Janir peered discreetly at Karile and Saoven, but neither one of them seemed to have any clue as to what he was talking about. “What…” She cleared her throat hesitantly.
Saoven shot her a cautioning look and shook his head almost imperceptibly. But if Lucan was in a chatty mood…
“Are you going to take the power for yourself?” Janir’s mind flashed with images of Florete’s small body on the ground.
“The magic in that chamber is strong enough to kill an Argetallam. No, I am going to use either the elf or the enchanter or both to contain the magic.”
“Kill an Argetallam? But—”
“No, that makes no difference,” Lucan impatiently corrected. “This magic was taken from the mazag—even you remember them?—and distilled in pure form. It can effect us in its raw state. Once contained in another life form, however…” Lucan stared out across the water pensively. He looked so harmless when he stood like that. No one would guess he had murdered a little girl just a few weeks ago. “It will be tainted by their blood and then it will be useless against our kind.”
“Who is it for?” Janir pressed, pushing her luck.
Lucan glanced to her sideways with suspicion. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
The sailors finished loading the few barrels into the bottom of the ship. They separated the skiff from the ramp and pushed off into the open sea. Waves rocked the vessel and the sail idly lolled in the breeze. There was the creaking of wood as the oars twisted in their sockets, rising above the sound of distant gulls.
Lucan seemed to lose interest in his sister. He meandered to the other side of the ship to speak with his Argetallams.
Karile leaned over, keeping his voice down as much as possible. “Is it just me or was nothing about that chat reassuring?”
“We must escape,” Saoven flatly stated. “Whatever happens, we must not be prisoners when we reach the peninsula.”
The Key of Amatahns Page 29