“Like always. Line of sight with one another and with landmarks. But once we know where they are in reference to our landmarks, we’ll be able to avoid them.” Inda plopped down on a bench, looked around, and whistled. “You raided some castles?”
“All legitimate pirate loot.” Fox’s smile was twisted. “By the way, you are ruining Captain Finna’s bench. Get out of those clothes.”
Inda got up, peered down at the bench inlaid with light wood carved in the form of stylized cranes, and bordered by old runes. “You attacked a Venn?”
“Venn pirate. Just setting up his empire over in Fire Islands, as his countrymen have abandoned that part of the world. I believe he was demoted, or cast ashore, or whatever it is the Venn call it. So he was helping himself to their leavings.”
Inda had begun to shiver, his right shoulder sending shards of white lightning up into his skull.
“Hot water in the bath through there,” Fox said, recognizing that old look of pain in Inda’s tightened jaw and thinned lips. “I got a duplicate of Walic’s pool given to me in gratitude when we took care of a pirate problem off the tip of Toar a couple years back.” He extended his hand toward the bulkhead behind Inda.
“I thought the cabin was smaller.” Inda’s teeth chattered as he shed his clothes.
He grabbed dry drawers and trousers from his bag and soon settled into the bath kept hot and clean by magic. The aches and pain receded, leaving him able to breathe deeply. Fox bent over the navigation chart, trying to comprehend the logic behind its design, as they conversed through the open door and he brought Inda up on who was where. Inda gave a deep sigh at the news about Dasta.
When Fox was done catching him up, Inda forced himself out of the warm bath. He dried off fast, and pulled on the clothes he’d brought into the bath chamber. “Listen. I’m to tell you that Evred offers to make the fleet a Marlovan navy.”
“Does he, now?” Fox said. “Putting me under whose orders?”
Inda had expected derision. “Mine.” He rapidly fingered his hair into his sailor braid.
Fox snorted. “And you are his military Herskalt. What does the King command, O Voice?”
“Establish order in the strait.” Inda rummaged in his sea bag for a shirt.
Fox laughed at the locket swinging against Inda’s chest. “So your keeper has you on a short chain, eh?”
Inda shrugged. “Reminds me. Better let him know I’m here.”
Chapter Thirteen
EVRED Montrei-Vayir hated change, but had come to terms with the fact that he could not always control it. He also hated war, though he accepted all the talk of glory and bravery. Bravery was necessary to face the brutality of war, and glory was the reward the survivors gained for their risk. So the flags and the songs and the precedence bound the people together with pride into kinship.
His reluctant conclusion was that war brought out the best in some people. But that was no reason to seek war. All winter long, whenever he could get a few moments free, he delved into the archives for the reasons people chose to go to war when there was no imminent attack. Most of what he found was self-serving, but here and there he discovered reluctance, regret for possible loss, and most of all, overriding need.
He wrote back and forth to Tau, asking questions about the various kings and their policies, particularly those on the strait. Everyone, it seemed, wanted precedence—just to make certain no one else got it, if for other reason. Ymar wanted it because they saw themselves as first among victims, deserving the highest reward. And the Chwahir just always wanted land.
Everyone wanted precedence, but no one was willing to sail to Bren because they didn’t trust one another.
Everyone wanted Inda to reappear in his Elgar the Fox guise and fix the problem. After all his reading and writing and meditation, Evred began to comprehend that the “problem” transcended the Venn threat.
What they really wanted was someone strong enough to re-establish order.
And Inda was the one to do it.
The rightness of this vision—the Marlovans guaranteeing order—seized Evred so viscerally that his emotions swooped all winter between the heights of a moral conviction, at last, at long last, and the abyssal fear that Inda would die trying to save the wayward, indifferent kingdoms of the Sartoran continent from the evil Dag of the Venn. Every reminder of Erkric’s thwarted plan to capture and ensorcel Evred’s own mind, to force him to betray his people in service of the Venn, infuriated him all over again.
Inda must prevail. For the sake not just of Evred, but every man in the army, every woman and child and horse and dog in Iasca Leror, Inda must bring peace to the southern world. It was no mere military goal, but a moral imperative.
And so, when Inda wrote at last, just before spring, saying that he was now onboard his old flagship—and corroborating everything Tau had said—Evred neatly wrote out the orders he’d thought about so carefully.
Fox left Inda to make a tour of the deck. Barend appeared, having just finished his watch. “Come into the wardroom. I’ve got some eats waiting there.”
They dropped down a deck and entered the wardroom to find two trays of steaming food that smelled wonderful.
They’d just finished when Inda sat up abruptly. “Ho. There’s the locket. I wish Evred trusted the scroll-cases. It’s not just you can use a bigger paper, but these things, it’s like someone’s poking me in the ribs from inside.”
“Hated that,” Barend commented, as a couple of shipmates wandered in to begin their recreation watch, one pulling cards and markers from a worn little bag.
Inda thumbed the locket open and retrieved the neatly trimmed strip of paper. A few moments after, “Read it.” He extended Evred’s note.
Barend sighed. “How about you read it to me? Truth is, I don’t do so well with letters that small. Though Evred writes much clearer than most.”
“What about them?” Inda tipped his head toward the three at the other end of the wardroom.
“Don’t speak Marlovan.”
“Right,” Inda said after a moment—the three were bent in low-voiced conversation punctuated by the clatter of markers.
He lowered his own voice. “ ‘When you have cleared the strait, you will clear the harbors of the strait and establish peace through regular patrols. Give all safe passage, fair trade. No favorites, no secret alliances, no double deals.’ And on the back, he put, ‘If the kingdoms want to fight each other, let them do it at their borders on land.’ ” Inda looked up expectantly.
Barend shrugged. “Sounds clear enough. If what you say about us being a navy is right, well, it gives us something to do after the Venn are gone.”
Inda rubbed his scar hard, the way he always did when he wanted his brain to work better. Only rubbing his scar didn’t help him understand his hesitation. So he turned out his hands. “First thing is clearing the strait.”
Barend’s laugh sounded like a rusty hinge. “I’d call that a big enough first thing.”
“I’ll tell Fox about the orders afterward. Maybe by then he’ll be more used to the idea of being a Marlovan again.”
“He’s always been a Marlovan.” Barend lifted a bony shoulder. “But an exiled one. I don’t know that he’d make an oath to Evred.”
“Hadn’t thought of that.”
More shipmates clumped in then, and the galley crew started bringing in trays of food.
A day and a half later, they’d caught up with the rest of the ships Fox had chosen to sweep the coast in search of Inda’s brig.
The Vixen reached them first. Jeje scrambled up the sides of Death and charged up the companionway, a short, solid figure before whom all gave way.
She grabbed Inda in a crushing hug and lifted him clear off the deck.
“Augh,” Inda squawked. “Can’t breathe!” He gave Jeje a smacking kiss, which made her blush deep red as several of the younger crew hooted with laughter.
“When you’ve finished your touching reunion,” Fox drawled, “you might
join me before the rest show up to pull Inda into five equal pieces.”
“Huh.” Jeje flipped up the back of her hand at Fox, but followed him into the cabin, as did Inda, still rubbing his chest. Barend, grinning, shut the door behind them and quietly moved around the cabin closing the scuttles.
Inda sat on Finna’s bench, elbows on knees. Fox moved to the desk so he could view everyone.
“This is just for us four. Here’s the real plan,” Inda said, leaning forward. “I am going to go after Erkric and Rajnir myself. Jeje, that’s where you come in. I’m going to strut around in the Death and practice maneuvers soon’s we find the allies. When it comes time for actual battle, I sneak onto some ship no one knows—”
Barend raised his brows to find Fox staring at him, eyes wide. Fox let out a low whistle.
Inda flicked his gaze from one to the other. “What?”
Jeje looked mutinous, distrusting Fox’s grin. Except Barend was grinning, too.
“What would you say,” Fox drawled, “if I could give you a ship with all kinds of magic all over it? A Venn ship? An old Venn ship, belonging to one of their kings?”
Inda sat up on his bench. “Venn?”
Barend grinned. “Here’s a hint. Black sails?”
“You got Ramis’ Knife?” Inda asked in disbelief.
“On the south side of Ghost Island. While we were loading the treasure ships, I took Barend over in a boat to see it, just to make certain I wasn’t dreaming. Or crazy.”
Barend shook his head slowly. “It’s there, all right. And it feels . . . strange. Magic all over it.”
“You saw Ramis?” Inda asked, distracted. “I thought he was dead!”
“I don’t really know what dead means in Norsunder.” Fox lifted a hand. “If anything. But he gave me that ship. Said we might find it useful.”
Inda rocked back and forth, eyes half closed.
“It’s probably got more of those magic things than anything Erkric has,” Barend offered. “Weird. How do you think Ramis knew Inda would use it?”
Inda snorted and opened his eyes. “He didn’t. Because I won’t.”
“What?” the other three said together.
“First of all, I wouldn’t trust anything a Norsundrian ‘gave’ us,” Inda said. “Second, think about it. Pretend the magic wasn’t in question. Try to see me sailing a black-sailed Venn ship toward their world armada. Even if there’s magic protecting it somehow—and I don’t trust that at all—wouldn’t that be like painting a target on my chest?”
Fox grimaced ruefully. “Yes.”
Inda dug his fingers into his right shoulder, craning his neck. “Well, maybe my plan is just as obvious. Still, if they think I’m on that thing . . . well, if my plan is to work, I need to be on the sneak. But, say we split off a feint attack and put the Knife at the lead?”
Barend wheezed with laughter. Fox frowned.
Inda snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Use their expectations against ’em.” He carefully opened Signi’s mirror chart and knelt on the deck to spread it, one knee and one palm holding it down. Barend crouched down to put his hand on a third corner and set an empty mug on the fourth.
“So my feint is lined along the south coast, west of the Fangs. Right here, just east of Danai, the headquarters at that old pirate lair we cleaned out after we smashed Boruin. And the rest in line at The Fangs, just as they’ll probably expect. If we could just flank the Venn as they attack our main force, and I’m in something unknown, small, unwatched—”
Fox leaned back. “I see what you’re thinking. Good plan if we had enough ships to mount two attacks. But we don’t.”
“Then we’ll just have to make it look like two attacks. We’ll put Ramis’ Knife at the front of a feint. Durasnir’ll take one look at that thing, straight from their ancestors, and he’s got to think I’m on it, at the head of us all.”
Jeje waved at Inda. “So you’re really on the Vixen? If you want us to be an unknown fisher, I kept that terrible old sail.”
“Good.” Inda moved his knee and the mug, and the chart rustled back into its roll. “Barend, will you take Skimit and while the east wind is strong, go fetch the Knife? If you lay on every stitch of sail, you might possibly get there before the winds change.”
“Then every stitch of sail coming back. Got it,” Barend said. “Well, I’ve always wanted to see how fast I could race the strait, and Skimit’s the one to do it. We’ve rebuilt it twice to make it faster.”
“Fox, you give him your gold case so he stays in touch.”
Barend rubbed his hands and got to his feet. “Can I pick my crew?” Inda and Fox both turned up their hands, noted the other doing it, and Fox looked sardonic.
Barend eyed them, then said, “Be gone by next watch.”
As he left, the halloo, “Boat ho!” came through the open door.
“Captains are here.” Inda rapped the table with his knuckles. “Remember, no one knows about my Vixen plan or about the Danai feint or the Knife. If there are spies in the fleet, as we suspect, then it’s best to have everyone think we’re all going to be at The Fangs, inverted arrowheads as our tactical innovation. We can pick our feint right before the attack and have them get into position at the last moment.”
When Jeje signified agreement, Fox opened the cabin door.
Gillor, Tcholan, and Eflis were delighted to see Inda again. Tough, lean Mutt colored with intense pleasure, looking like a boy again when Inda clapped him on the back so hard his eyes watered. “Good to see you with your own ship,” Inda said. “Sorry it’s Dasta’s, but Dasta must be glad it’s you.”
Mutt did not try to untangle that anymore than the others did, just nodded emphatically as they settled around the big table, which Fox had some of the rats bring back in.
Lorm made up special a jug of the delicious cranberry drink Barend had introduced, which was a mixture of water conditioned with yeast and sugar stirred into the juices of cranberries and lime. Add to that a dash of fiery distilled corn-whiskey, and the cold vanished at the first sip.
The Fox Banner Fleet captains drank with appreciation. Inda, as usual, could have been drinking marsh water for all he seemed to notice as he indicated Signi’s chart.
“Here’s what I heard.” Inda leaned forward, gathering their attention with his earnest gaze. “The Venn promised to come thundering down on Bren by midsummer if they don’t agree to terms.”
“Same with Nelsaiam,” Fox put in. “We got that from several sources.”
“So here’s my question. What have you heard? Why so slow? Why not sweep the entire strait last year?”
“They couldn’t rebuild the damaged ships with what they’d get at Llyenthur.” Tcholan’s white teeth flashed in his dark face as he laughed. “My new carpenter comes from there. Said Llyenthur’s like everyone else, pledged years ahead in trying to rebuild their navy, soon as the Venn disappeared a few years ago. There won’t have been an extra stick or spar by the time the Venn got in there, even before the typhoon swept the harbor clean out to sea.”
Inda tapped a rhythm on his thigh. “Then the Venn warships might be fished and frapped. That would explain why you slipped their blockade so easily.”
“Maybe. But even if their ships are bundles of twigs, they’ll be disciplined and drilled.”
“So here’s what I want to do. Jeje, you’ve got to run ahead. Slip through the blockade and stop at Bren. Tell Chim what’s been decided. If they want to fight, it’s up to them to run a land battle on their own, or else they can slip the rest of their navy out after you. Send ’em to The Fangs to reinforce the allies.”
Jeje rubbed her jaw. “That means they’re leaving the harbor to the Venn.”
“The Venn are going to take it anyway, right? So Bren’s harbor will be occupied for a time, but we hope no more than a month or two. Supposedly, if they surrender the harbor, the Venn won’t wreck it.”
Jeje shrugged. She’d been deeply unhappy about Bren being left to its own devices ever
since she learned that no one from the east coast was going to risk entering the strait on Bren’s behalf.
“I’ve got to take my stand at The Fangs if I’m to make it all work.”
Gillor frowned at the map. “They have to know how many ships everyone’s got since they lost control before.”
“Yes,” Inda said. “And also, every harbor’s got to be full of their spies. Can’t be helped.”
“How we gonna avoid the Venn blockade when we go down the strait?” Mutt asked.
Inda spread the chart open. He whispered the spell Signi had taught him, and the captains bent in to gaze avidly at the glowing lights on the chart still clustered in orderly manner around Llyenthur Harbor and westward of there in precise triangles. “What you see is where all the Venn ships are right now. Since we’ll never use it to ting them—never mind what that means—they’ll never see us. But you cannot mention this thing to anyone outside this cabin, not even to one another. Are we agreed?” He picked up the mug, tasted it, and whistled. “Hoo, that’s good. Have I had that before?”
After Evred wrote to Inda, he wrote to Tau with the addition:
Our trade is established. I would like you to ask my mother to oversee it. Your skills will be necessary to Inda in the execution of his orders once there is peace.
Tau frowned, wishing that he had not helped himself quite so generously to Princess Kliessin’s famed Flower Day Wine Cup.
Squaring himself at his desk, he read more slowly. Inda-Harskialdna was ordered to build the fleet he’d been asked by outlanders to build, defeat the Venn, and then take control of the strait in the name of justice and peace.
Tau got up and moved restlessly around his study. Sounded fine, but what was the truth he sensed underlying these words? The problem was “truth” was not a single discrete item, like a desk. Truth and love, two of the most important words to human beings, and among the most difficult to define. He’d never been able to define love in words, and hadn’t needed to. Jeje was always first to mind, but close behind was Inda—without any component of sexual desire—and Evred with a large component of desire, but friendship tentative at best due to Evred’s profound difficulties with trust. And there they came full circle: Evred trusted Inda to establish peace and wanted Tau to aid him.
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