Unfettered III

by Shawn Speakman (ed)

  Gregoric shook his head against the sudden ache in his stomach. “I guess we’ll know soon enough.”

  Then Rudolfo drained his chai with one gulp, stood, and broke out in the one song they’d memorized as children. “Far into the Ghosting Crests and beyond the Emerald Sea, I swear my sword to the pirate lord and a life of piracy.”

  Gregoric blushed, and Rudolfo smiled and sang all the louder. He was into the third—and raunchiest—verse when a Grey Guard, face red with restraint, arrived to escort them out.

  And Gregoric quickly covered his embarrassment at the spectacle of it all. The look of delight upon his friend’s face was like time turned back by magick, like light brought back from darkness, and for the briefest moment, Gregoric let himself rejoice in it.

  The ride south and west onto the Entrolusian Delta was a wet and cold affair with autumn moving closer to winter. The staunch Gray Guard officer they’d met at the main doors had shown them to a quartermaster for re-outfitting, given them a map, Letters of Introduction for Rafe Merrique, and generic letters that proclaimed the Ninefold Forest engaged in service to the light on behalf of the Order. The Order also sent birds ahead requesting discretion and non-interference for a kin-clave nation’s traveling retinue in service to the light, including the promise of any and all appropriate fees and taxes for such discreet passage. These of course being carefully accounted for in Rudolfo’s offer.

  Once they were out of Windwir, Gregoric sent half the squad back to the Forest. Those who remained turned their horses toward the Delta.

  They made good time to Dandylo Terrace, dressed in the nondescript clothing of lumbermen on leave from the evergreen forests that blurred the border between the United City States of the Entrolusian Delta and the Protectorate of Windwir to the north.

  The city states were united under an overseer—currently a pompous man-child named Sethbert—and were Windwir’s largest, closest neighbor. They had kin-clave with the Ninefold Forest, as well, though the two nations had little to do with each other. The Ninefold Forest was largely self-contained and its Gypsy Scouts seldom rode farther south than Windwir—and even that was rare. So Gregoric turned his three scouts loose to gather intelligence on their immediate vicinity while exploring and experiencing Dandylo Terrace. Even this smallish town, here on the southern tip of the Delta, was a metropolis to the wide-eyed Foresters. Still, he trusted them to enjoy themselves properly while at the same time maintaining their presence.

  Only the best became scouts of the Ninefold Forest, and these were the best of Rudolfo’s Gypsy Scouts.

  With the men left to their own devices, Gregoric and Rudolfo found a quiet corner in a tavern where they could wait for Rafe Merrique to make contact.

  Time away and unknown, in a tavern full of a variety of food and drink that defied Gregoric’s imagination. Time spent hunkered over a table with his best friend, listening as he predicted their future at sea. It was a good enough time together. At least, it was when Rudolfo wasn’t trying too hard to engage the various ladies of the establishment. Still, even one day in a tavern would be too much for Gregoric, and three was becoming unbearable. He closed his eyes against Rudolfo’s latest attempt, with a woman who looked maybe five or ten years his senior. “Stab me in the eye with a fork,” he muttered to himself.

  The woman smiled sympathetically at Gregoric, and he blushed at being overheard. “He’s not that bad,” she said. “Just too young.” She raised an eyebrow, pouted a little, and it was the first time Gregoric thought of her as pretty. “And too poor.”

  Rudolfo winked. “I may be that book that is on the wrong shelf of the library.”

  She returned the wink and leaned in. “An unfinished book, I fear, in a rather small library.” Then the woman leaned even closer, her hands moving down the front of Rudolfo’s shirt toward his waistband. “On, I suspect, a rather short shelf,” she finished.

  Then the woman flashed a smile at them both and bolted for the back door.

  Rudolfo’s face turned crimson even as he leapt up. “She took it,” he said. “She took the brooch.”

  Gregoric was on his feet and whistling for his men by habit. He doubted any were within earshot. Then he was out the door and in the alley behind the tavern in the gray of midafternoon. His hands ached to draw his knives, but he resisted and focused instead on the woman. He could hear the splashing of her feet in the puddles as she ran, and he followed.

  A low whistle reached his ear, and Yaric, one of the older scouts, slipped in beside him. “First Captain?”

  “Stay near the general,” Gregoric whispered and stretched his legs into a run. He felt the pouch of scout magicks beneath his shirt and was tempted to take them for the burst of strength, speed, and clarity they would give him. But scout magicks also rendered one nearly invisible, and they were expressly forbidden by kin-clave except during time of war. Gregoric wasn’t about to violate the Forest’s kin-clave with the Delta.

  Instead, he ran. He heard Rudolfo and Yaric following.

  The alley spilled out into a wider paved street still awash with puddles. Overhead, a dark sky drizzled rain on the tired city. The street was largely empty, and the few stalls along it were closed. The woman ducked behind one and then down another alley. Gregoric willed speed into his feet and raced after her, entering the alley as she leapt through an open door.

  He was two sword spans behind her when the door closed behind her, and he hit the oak with outstretched hands full force before it had time to latch. Gregoric’s momentum carried him through the door, and he had a moment of stark panic that caught his breath as his feet found no floor beneath them.

  As he fell, he heard the door close and latch above.

  When he struck the water below, his entire body felt the penetrating cold of it, and his mouth and nose flooded with salt. As he sank, Gregoric felt ropes grabbing at him, and a net closed over him and lifted him from the water.

  “Ho there,” an amused voice said. “Look what we’ve caught.”

  Gregoric took in his surroundings as his net began to move. It was a large stone room stacked with barrels and sacks and crates, and a single canal that exited toward a distant slit of light. A long boat loaded with supplies was tied off not far from where Gregoric hung, and he saw a system of ropes and pulleys. A slender, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair tied back behind a colorful scarf stood at the levers, a cutlass at his hip, as Gregoric swung toward him. A pirate. The pirate. Rafe Merrique. Gravity and the tightness of the net made moving difficult, but Gregoric’s hand found the hilt to one of his knives and he started quietly working at the netting behind him.

  The woman from the tavern entered the room from a door that Gregoric noted as the exit up and out. She crossed the room, her face flushed, to stand beside the pirate. She held up the box she’d stolen from Rudolfo. “He had it, Captain. Like you said.” Then she nodded toward Gregoric. “This one has two knives. Might be a third in his boot.”

  The pirate raised an eyebrow and yanked the lever another direction. Gregoric stopped moving toward the man, instead swinging back out over the dark water he’d fallen into. “Is that true?” Rafe Merrique chuckled. “I invite you into my home and you bring weapons? I thought your king wanted to parley with me, Forester.”

  Gregoric gritted his teeth and saw Merrique work another lever as the rope released and he plunged back into the icy cold.

  He came up sputtering a minute later as Merrique hauled him up. This time he left Gregoric hanging over the water.

  “Let’s start over,” the pirate said. “I’ll ask some questions. You can answer or you can keep trying to cut your way out. Either way, the water is quite cold, and I truly have all the time in the world.” He smiled, and Gregoric growled. “What does the Gypsy King want with me? Why has he spent a dozen fortunes to compel the Order to summon me?” He held up the box, now opened, and the stones sparkled in the dim light. “And how in the nine hells below did he find this?”

  Gregoric glared and s
aid nothing. Rafe Merrique laughed and hit the lever. There was something in that echoing peal of laughter that touched spark to some deeper anger, and Gregoric didn’t feel the water this time. Instead, he felt heat and a throbbing in his forehead.

  He came up roaring his rage at the pirate and his accomplice. They both laughed all the louder.

  He was still bellowing when the water closed over him again. He wasn’t sure exactly how many more times the pirate asked or how many more times he was dunked.

  Finally, he hung limp in the nets, coughing and shaking.

  “Well?” The pirate raised his hand above the lever.

  Gregoric tried to shake his head. “We read Brother Hyrum’s book as boys,” he finally said. “And he did spend a dozen fortunes. He would’ve spent more to find it; he knew you wanted it.”

  Rafe Merrique grinned. “And now I have it.” Gregoric’s anger flared briefly at the sight of that grin, but this time, Rafe’s voice took on a gentler tone. “But why?”

  Gregoric’s frustration gave his voice more urgency and edge than he’d intended. “You’re his hero. For the life of me, I don’t know why,” he said. “Especially after sampling your generous hospitality.”

  The pirate looked dumbfounded. “His hero? The King of the Ninefold Forest Houses?”

  Gregoric nodded and met Merrique’s eyes. “He wanted to meet you and sail with you.”

  Rafe Merrique stroked his perfectly sculped beard. “Well I’ll be d’jin-and-crested,” he muttered. “It’s as they said it was.” His eyes narrowed. “Did you really get tossed out of the office singing that damnable song of Hyrum’s?”

  Gregoric said nothing.

  Finally, Rafe looked at the woman beside him. “What do you make of all this, Jasper?”

  The woman shook her head and gave Gregoric a sideways glance where he dripped above the water. “I make of it whatever you tell me to make of it, Captain.”

  He worked the levers, and Gregoric lurched forward to slowly settle on the dock. “Then I reckon we’re taking on servants of light,” Rafe said as he slipped the brooch into his pocket and tossed the box aside. “I will get you dry clothes and send you back to Rudolfo. I’ll take you around the horn and back, but I have a condition, and the ship has rules.”

  Gregoric waited as men slipped out of the shadows to pull him from the nets and stand him up.

  Once he was standing, he bit back anger again. “I’m certain Lord Rudolfo will be eager to hear your condition himself.”

  Rafe Merrique laughed again. This time it was loud and long, and the others in the room, suddenly more of them than Gregoric had realized, were laughing with him.

  “Oh no,” Rafe Merrique said. “The condition is yours to meet, First Captain Gregoric.”

  The merriment in his voice and the twinkle in the pirate’s eye told Gregoric that whatever condition it might be, one thing was assured.

  It could not possibly bode well for him.

  Gregoric put one foot in front of the other and avoided eye contact as the handful of people at the dockside market whispered and gawked. He felt more heat in his face as a child laughed, and he pretended not to notice the pointing finger.

  They’d given him the choice of dressing himself or being dressed. But they were clear on what he would wear for his walk to the tavern. So now he walked quickly, head low, and followed the directions they’d given him. Supposedly, Merrique had sent word to Rudolfo that Gregoric would return shortly bearing instructions.

  The colors he now wore were not so much the issue. His own uniform bore the colors of the kin-clave rainbow. But these silks, and the laces and the buckles and bells, made him the caricature of a pirate. Gregoric couldn’t help but notice how similar the outfit was to the one worn by the pirate lord on the cover of Hyrum’s book.

  “Now that you’re an honorary member of the Kinshark crew,” Merrique had said, “go tell your king we sail at dawn. You know what door to find us at.”

  And so Gregoric walked and endured the growing noise of being noticed until he reached the tavern and the last humiliation of his day.

  “Gregoric!” At first Rudolfo’s face was concerned, but the weather shifted quickly. The amusement there looked too much like Rafe’s expression for Gregoric’s liking.

  Their eyes met, and he fought the anger down again. He strode into the room in the midst of more laughter and kept walking, past Rudolfo and up the stairs to the room they all shared.

  He was digging through his pack for new clothing when Rudolfo entered. His friend and king was quiet for a moment, and Gregoric swallowed against a sudden lump in his throat as the day caught up to him.

  “How are you?” Rudolfo finally asked.

  “Worn,” he answered. “But it’s done. We sail at dawn.”

  “And how was he?”

  He looked at Rudolfo. “He’s a bastard. I’d tell you this was a mistake but I know you won’t listen.”

  Rudolfo nodded. “You’re right.”

  Gregoric looked away. “You never listen.”

  “Sometimes I do, when you’re not looking. But you’re right about the other. It might be a mistake.” Then he shrugged. “Mistakes,” he said, doing his best impersonation of Gregoric’s father’s gravelly voice.

  They finished the saying together. “Those that don’t kill you just might teach you something.”

  Rudolfo turned away and sat on the bed as Gregoric peeled out of his costume. “We’ve had birds from home,” he said. “You’ve a message from that girl you’ve been seeing. The one with the big brown eyes.”

  “Adela?” Gregoric wasn’t sure why he was asking. She was the only one of late he’d spent much time with. She’d not been happy about him leaving for a few months but had understood well enough why he needed to be with their king. And she’d found the whole notion of going to sea both terrifying and elating.

  But why would she write? It was a surprise and the first time he’d received a personal bird while out and about with Rudolfo.

  He pulled on the sturdy woolens of the northern wood and dug a pair of soft slippers from someone else’s pack, after looking long and hard at the brightly shined and brightly buckled boots he’d pulled off. He’d get his own boots back in the morning according to Jasper, Rafe’s first mate.

  Rudolfo offered up the scrap of paper and Gregoric took it.

  The note was brief, and it dropped him to the bed beside his friend.

  “Sorry, Gregoric,” Rudolfo said. “I didn’t mean to read it but . . .” His words trailed off, and Gregoric felt a hand on his shoulder. “Congratulations are in order.”

  He looked at the note again and blinked. The anger and humiliation of the day melted away into a wonder he’d not considered but found welcome.

  “I’m going to be a father,” he said. “The River Woman says it will be a boy.”

  Rudolfo squeezed Gregoric’s shoulder then dropped his hand. “Yes. I know. And I also know that you’ll have the biggest, most audacious Firstborn Feast that the Seventh Forest Manor has ever known. A week, I think, and perhaps even a traveling celebration.”

  He heard excitement in his friend’s voice, and it took some of the fear out of him. He stared at the tiny scrap and read the coded words again.

  “So,” Rudolfo said after another two minutes had passed, “if you need to return, I’m prepared to forgo this voyage and send Captain Merrique our regrets.”

  Gregoric wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly and looked up. “Forgo this voyage?”

  Rudolfo’s eyes were warm. “Of course. You’re becoming a father. There’s much preparing.”

  He looked back to the paper. “It’s months away,” he said.

  Rudolfo’s eyebrow arched. “That is true. Or at least I’m told that it works that way.”

  Gregoric nodded and gestured to the boots. “And I’ve endured much to secure our passage.”

  “You have indeed,” Rudolfo said. He leaned over to examine the boots. “But these are actually a bit fanta
stic.” His eyes lit up. “They look like the ones on—”

  Gregoric cut him off. “They’re meant to.”

  Now Rudolfo nodded. “Then to sea?”

  Gregoric took a deep breath against the ocean of fatherhood that threatened to flood him. “To sea,” he finally said.

  Rudolfo had them all awake well before dawn, and the enthusiasm in his eyes and grin were too much for Gregoric’s pre-chai capacities. To make matters worse, his king had decided to dress himself in the ridiculous garments—and the boots—that Gregoric had returned in.

  “How do I look?” he asked with a flourish.

  Gregoric grunted and pulled on his boots. Yaric and Bryn were already dressed and packing. Gerundt fussed at the sheaths tucked beneath his oversized shirt, adjusting the knives so that they were within reach.

  Gregoric stood and did the same, slipping a fresh pouch of magicks over his neck once his blades were in place.

  When they were ready, Gregoric opened the door to lead them out. He’d expected the tavern to be dark at this hour and was surprised to see a lantern lit and a small group gathered in the common room below. He picked out Jasper and Rafe Merrique immediately, and he paused long enough that they looked up at him there at the railing.

  And Gregoric finally found something in the morning worth smiling over. Rafe wore exactly the same outfit—or at least the original that the model was based on—that Rudolfo now wore. Only his bore the marks of time and were obviously made from the finest silks. His black boots were decorated with polished seashells of deep burgundy and bright silver buckles. His feathered hat was deep purple, and he bore twin rapiers at his waist.

  “Captain Merrique,” Gregoric called out in a gruff voice. “Allow me to present to you Lord Rudolfo of the Ninefold Forest Houses, General of the Wandering Army.”

  Then he stepped aside for Rudolfo, who leapt forward and bowed deeply. “Well met, Captain Merrique,” he said.

  Rafe Merrique stood. “I am at your service, Lord Rudolfo,” he said. Then he returned the bow. There were snickers and chuckles. Jasper rolled her eyes. Gregoric noted it all with suspicion.