by Amy Raby
Probably she really didn’t. Janto suspected the deal had been struck behind closed doors, and nobody knew the details outside the imperial family. He had a sick feeling it involved Rhianne’s marriage. “Is the princess getting married?”
“Of course,” said the mind mage.
Gods curse it. She’d traded something, and it couldn’t possibly be good. She shouldn’t have intervened. It was his failure, getting caught at the docks. He should be the one to suffer the consequences for it.
“Be still,” ordered the mind mage. “This won’t hurt. And once it’s done, you’ll be out of prison and off to Dori.”
“Hope you like volcanoes,” added a guard.
Sashi, called Janto.
Mm? answered the sleepy creature.
Wake up. They’re shipping us off to Dori. But first—
He felt the unfriendly magic invade his mind, probing crudely against his defenses. It would be a simple matter for him to throw the spell off. But a forgetting spell was more invasive than a suggestion, and if he simply threw it aside, the mind mage might notice. Instead, he touched the repugnant magic tentatively with his own. The mage’s spell was soft and pliable. In the domain of his own mind and body, his magic was stronger. Gently, he diverted the invading spell. He played with it, making it spin in harmless circles.
The magic vanished.
“It’s done,” said the mage. “He’s forgotten everything that’s happened in the last six months.”
Janto feigned a look of blank incomprehension.
A Legaciattus chuckled. “Instant sapskull. I wish I could do that.” He unshackled Janto’s wrists. “On your feet, idiot.”
Janto stood, his legs shaking with weakness at the unaccustomed effort. Sashi, they’re about to move me, I think to a ship at the docks. You’ve got to meet me there somehow.
I have more distance to cover than you! cried a panicking Sashi.
Hurry. I’ll try to delay them.
Going, said Sashi. The link died as he went out of range.
The mind mage left, and the Legaciatti led Janto up the stairs and out of the palace. Outside, a carriage awaited them.
He looked around desperately for his familiar. The link was still dead. He could orient on Sashi’s direction—northwest of him—but he had no idea how much distance lay between them.
A Legaciattus opened the carriage door. “Get inside.”
Janto yanked his arm out of the guard’s grip and punched him in the face. A brief scuffle ensued. In moments, Janto was pinned in the grass with his arms wrenched behind him.
“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” cried the Legaciattus he’d struck.
“He’s confused,” said the other Legaciattus. “He’s forgotten everything, remember?”
Janto fought them as they hauled him up. He shoved a foot against the carriage wall as they tried to force him in.
“Let go!” cried a guard. Another kicked his leg aside, and they shoved him into the carriage.
His world lit up. The link came afire, and though he couldn’t see Sashi yet, he threw a shroud over him. In the carriage!
The Legaciatti climbed in. One sat across from Janto while the others took places on either side of him, squeezing him in tightly. He craned his neck to see through the open door. A rust and white streak bounded over the grass, invisible to everyone but himself. Janto’s heart leapt.
The carriage surged into motion. Nobody felt the impact, but Janto sensed it, when his ferret leapt onto the footman’s seat in the back.
The ship they brought him to was the Lynx. It was a clipper, small and narrow bodied and fast. Unlike the big warships moored out in the harbor, the Lynx was shallow enough to be tied up right at the docks.
“You there!” called a Legaciattus to the man standing watch, high above them on the ship’s deck. “We’ve got your passenger.”
“Hurry up or we’ll lose our tide,” the sailor called down.
Sashi, get in now, advised Janto.
The shrouded ferret ran up one of the hawsers fastening the ship to the docks and disappeared through the cat hole.
The Legaciatti forced Janto to climb a rope ladder leading up the side of the clipper, one man ahead of him and one behind. Once on board, they showed him into the darkness of the ship’s hold and chained him to the wall. Janto was prone to seasickness. On a ship’s deck, his stomach was always a bit dodgy. Just the idea of being in the hold, belowdecks, made it clench, and his mouth began to water.
“Here are your orders concerning the prisoner,” said a Legaciattus, holding out a packet of papers to the sailor. “Direct from the Imperial Heir, so don’t improvise.” Janto watched the papers change hands and hoped they didn’t contain any surprises.
The Legaciattus tossed a sack at Janto. “By imperial command, you are to have supplies when you reach Dori. There they are.”
That had to be a good sign. If the Kjallans meant to kill him at sea, or when they reached land, why bother giving him supplies? Rhianne must have negotiated this deal carefully.
The men climbed hurriedly up the ladder to the upper decks. Janto sat very still, hoping to avoid seasickness, though he knew it would be unavoidable once the ship left port. When his nausea subsided, he opened the sack. Clothes, a blanket, a block of soap wrapped in linen, and food—hardtack and dried meat. All would be useful things when he landed.
He was not enthusiastic about his destination. Several decades ago, the gods had cursed Dori, destroying its coastal cities with a massive sea wave and its inland cities with a volcanic eruption. People still lived there—one could see lights when passing by the shores of Dori at night. But few dared to land there, except to drop off exiles. Mosar had twice sent expeditions to Dori to see if there was anything worth recovering from that broken nation, but neither expedition had returned.
Still, Janto had his magic. He might survive the gods-cursed island better than most.
His questing fingers discovered something hard inside the blanket. He searched through the folds, located the item, and drew it out.
It was an alligator, about half the length of his hand and heavy for its size. Cast in bronze and painted, the creature was openmouthed, revealing teeth carved of onyx. Janto ran his finger across them. They were sharp. Tiny gemstone eyes glittered at him in the darkness.
He stared at it for a while, his eyes swelling with tears. I never gave her anything.
His stomach began to gurgle ominously. He lay down against the ship’s hull, pulled the blanket over him, and cradled the trinket against his heart.
27
Janto slept on and off for several days, weak and ill. His sleep was fitful and marred by discomfiting dreams. At first, the crew mocked him for his seasickness, but as he grew weaker, they became concerned. It seemed their orders required them to deliver him alive. They started bringing him a cup of broth several times a day.
A sailor named Bellus, delivering his morning broth, spotted the bronze alligator in Janto’s fist. “What’s that?” He snatched it up and ran his finger over the shiny onyx teeth. “Too nice a piece for a Mosari beast-worshipper.” He moved to pocket it.
Janto launched himself at Bellus. His fist glanced off the sailor’s jaw as the man scrambled out of range, leaving Janto to flail uselessly against his chains. “Give it back! Give it back, you jug-bitten, jack-scalded . . .” He couldn’t think of anything sufficiently insulting. Sirali would have had the words on the tip of her tongue.
Bellus laughed and held the alligator just out of Janto’s reach. He called to his mates who were rigging a pump nearby. “He’s not so weak now, neh? Look at him!”
“Give it back!” Janto roared.
“Give it to him, Bellus,” said one of the sailors at the pump.
“Why?”
“It’s a talisman,” said another of the men. “A good luck charm. You want to bring ill upon us near the gods-cursed island?”
Bellus pocketed the alligator. “If it’s a good luck charm, might as we
ll be my luck, not his, neh?” He winked at Janto and climbed up the ladder.
Janto sank back against the ship’s hull.
He upset you, said Sashi, fierce and angry. Kill.
No, su-kali, said Janto. It’s a piece of bronze. Not worth killing over.
But he already missed his alligator.
* * *
Janto awoke to screams in the night. He’d been dreaming of hunting rats. Kill! Kill! No. He shook his sleep-clogged head. That was Sashi’s dream, spilling over the link.
“Help! Oh gods, there’s blood everywhere!” came a yell from above.
What’s going on? he asked Sashi.
Don’t worry.
Don’t worry about what? Janto sat up and looked for Sashi in the nest he’d made for him in a corner of the hold. The ferret was not there. Where are you?
On my way back, said the ferret cheerfully.
I told you it wasn’t worth killing over!
I bit him in the neck. He won’t die.
As the fog of sleep cleared from his mind, he could sense his familiar’s movements. Sashi was scampering along the upper deck. Janto’s eyes went to the far wall just in time to see his ferret drop through a hole to the bottom level. Sashi bounded across the ship’s bottom, leaping over pools of bilge water. Chittering in triumph, he dropped the bronze alligator into Janto’s palm.
It wasn’t necessary, said Janto. But thank you.
The trapdoor to the lower hold flew open, and three men stormed down the ladder. Sashi, invisible, scampered for his nest.
One of the sailors pointed at Janto. “There he is!” They ran toward him.
One man picked up Janto’s wrists, still manacled, and followed the chains back to the wall. “He’s chained. He couldn’t have done it.”
“Look!” cried another sailor. “The alligator. It’s in his hand!”
The men looked at it, gasped, and backed away.
“H-how’d you get that?” stammered one of them.
“I don’t know,” said Janto. “I woke up, and it was in my hand.”
Their faces paled. “Fucking gods-cursed Dori,” said one of the sailors. They retreated toward the ladder as if afraid to turn their backs on him, then climbed, casting frightened looks in his direction as they disappeared onto the upper deck.
That’s not all I got for you during the night, said Sashi.
Janto turned toward him. What else?
Sashi bounded from his nest and looked up at Janto proudly. Clutched between his teeth was a ring of keys.
* * *
For the second night in a row, Janto awoke from a fitful sleep to screams. The ship was heeling frightfully. What’d you do this time? he asked Sashi.
Wasn’t me. I think something hit the ship.
Oh gods, were they under attack? Janto scrambled into a sitting position. On the decks over his head, men shouted above the roar of wind-filled sails and the creaks of stressed wood, but he could not make out the words. Through the cacophony came the whine of a cannonball. Janto clutched his knees and ducked his head, taking cover as best he could. The arc ended in a splash. Another cannonball whined, and he ducked his head again, waiting.
An explosion rocked the ship.
Janto slid to the full length of his chains, yelling as the floor tilted. Something struck him—a wooden crate. It ricocheted off him and slid to the other end of the ship. Sashi, get over here!
His bag of supplies, which he’d wedged against the side of the hull, began to slide. He grabbed it. The supplies weren’t too important, but the keys Sashi had found for him were hidden in the bag. The floor was tilted too much for easy walking. To get some slack into his chains and reach the wall, where he’d have something to hang on to or at least brace himself against, he grabbed the chains and climbed up them.
Cold droplets spattered his face, and he looked up. Water gushed through a hole in the side of the ship. As he stared, the ship began to list to the other side. The crate that had smacked into him began to slide again, in the opposite direction.
Sashi was close. Clinging to his chains with one hand and pressing himself against the wall, Janto grabbed his familiar with the other hand and stuffed him into his shirt. We’re getting out of here. He reached into the bag and searched for the ring of keys.
The hatch opened above him, and a crowd of sailors hurried down the ladder.
“Who’s attacking us?” Janto called to them.
They ran past as if they hadn’t heard, struggling through the bilge water toward the hole with hammers and canvas and a ship bung. Some of them began rigging the pump.
Janto wrapped the chains several times around his wrists so he wouldn’t slide around, extracted the proper key, and snapped his manacles free. Ready? he called to Sashi.
The ferret trembled inside Janto’s shirt. Ready.
He let go of the chains and staggered toward the ladder.
There was another terrible impact—a great lurch and the sound of splintering wood. The sailors shouted. Janto’s feet slipped out from under him, and he splashed into the water. His hand found the base of the ladder, and he hauled himself up.
All right? he asked his familiar. Sashi was sodden and gasping against his chest, too stunned and terrified to answer. Weighed down by his dripping clothes, Janto struggled up the ladder to the upper deck and from there to the quarterdeck.
He emerged into the night air, which smelled of blood and gunpowder. Another splintering crash brought down the foremast, spilling ropes, sails, and men into the water. The deck beneath his feet was a horror, slippery with gore and seawater, littered with ropes and pulleys and shards of wood. An enormous warship loomed on their port side while another rode at their stern. Strangely, both seemed to be of Kjallan make. Beyond them were many more vessels, an entire fleet bearing Mosari and Sardossian flags.
“Why haven’t we struck our colors?” cried Janto, searching for the captain or anyone with authority. His eyes went to the flag mast. The ship had struck. The Kjallan flag had been lowered and replaced with the Sage, but the enemies seemed not to be accepting their surrender.
An authoritative voice boomed nearby. “Clear away the after bowlines! Up helm!”
Janto turned and ran toward the man issuing the orders. “Why aren’t they accepting our surrender?”
“Don’t fucking know. Get to work.” The captain shoved him away, looked into the tops, and cried out, “Clear away the head bowlines! No, not there, can’t you see it’s been shot through? Use the ratlines!”
“Sir, I’m your Mosari prisoner. I’m an important man among the Mosari. If we signal to those Mosari ships out there and tell them who I am, they may help us.”
The captain turned and looked at Janto as if he hadn’t really noticed him before. He called, “Signaler!”
A pale adolescent boy ran up. There was a splinter, thick as a man’s thumb, embedded in the boy’s arm. Janto gaped at it. “Yes, sir?” said the boy.
“Signal whatever this man tells you,” said the captain. He turned back to his crew. “Lay the headyards square! Shift over the headsheets!”
The boy looked at Janto expectantly.
“Signal Jan-Torres,” said Janto. “Spell it out. J-A-N-T-O-R-R-E-S. That should work in any language. If you have a signal for valuable information, add that.”
The boy summoned an enormous magelight ball and began to signal letter by letter. When he reached the N, the nearest ship’s cannons blazed orange. Janto and the others dropped belly-first into the wreckage on the deck. Debris rained down on them from above.
They staggered back to their feet. “Finish,” commanded Janto. The signaler continued.
When the signal was complete, he and the boy watched, trembling in anticipation.
One of the Mosari warships threw up a signal. It was no poor man’s magelight signal, but a blast of colors and shapes of the sort that only a pyrotechnic could produce. The signal was repeated down the line from ship to ship, a rolling wave of fireworks that lit
up the black sky. Answering signals rapidly followed. They rolled their way back through the fleet, finally reaching the two attacking ships.
The cannons stopped firing.
28
The small boat plunged down the crest of a wave, splashing everyone within. Janto wiped the spray from his face and looked up at the rapidly nearing Mosari ship he’d insisted the Kjallans deliver him to as a condition of their ship being spared.
“All right?” one of the rowers called to him.
“Quite all right,” said Janto. Was it obvious he wasn’t a sailor? His stomach, which had calmed considerably since the start of the voyage, was voicing its displeasure at the rolling waves. He hoped it didn’t show. This was a bad time to display weakness.
Soon the Sparrowhawk, Janto’s brother Kal-Torres’s flagship, loomed above them. Sashi wriggled out of Janto’s shirt and perched on his shoulder, virtually proclaiming Janto to be a shroud mage. Janto had finally allowed his ferret to become visible, and the rowers took turns gawking at the creature. Sashi eyed the ship as they approached it. The hackles rose along his neck and shoulders. This task will fall to me, he said.
What do you mean? asked Janto.
But his familiar was quiet, as if preoccupied.
The rowers turned the boat neatly until it thumped against the hull. Kal’s men dropped a rope ladder down the side, and Janto climbed up. Not wanting to make a poor first impression on these countrymen he hadn’t seen in months, over whom he intended to rule, he mustered his strength to spring over the rails at the top.
Kal-Torres stood before him with his familiar, the seabird Gishi, perched on his shoulder. He’d matured astonishingly since Janto had last seen him, more than nine months ago when the war with Kjall had begun. He’d be twenty-two years old now, to Janto’s twenty-five.The soft lines of his once-boyish face had hardened, becoming angular and masculine, while the sun had bronzed his skin to a deep copper and lightened his blond hair. Still the lady-killer, thought Janto, but in a different way. Faint lines on his brother’s face suggested stress and worry.