‘You also need to learn some skill in our language. We can’t use Tormalin much further south than these waters.’ Risala stood, one hand on the half-open door. ‘We’ll keep you away from other people as far as possible but we don’t want you giving yourself away every time you open your mouth.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ said Velindre sarcastically.
‘Let’s go ashore and see what you make of our brutal licentiousness.’ Risala smiled with that irritating amusement
‘Ashore?’ Velindre was taken aback, but only for a moment. Very well.’ She got gingerly to her feet. ‘How do you feel?’ Risala held out a supporting hand.
Velindre brushed it aside. ‘Light-headed,’ she admitted cautiously. ‘Fresh air should help.’
The only question in her mind was where she should flee to. Back to Relshaz or to Hadrumal? Either way she would be provided with the means to bespeak Dev before the day was out. He could go whistling for any lore on dragons until he apologised on bended knee for dragging her into this insanity.
The magewoman followed Risala through the narrow door to find herself on an equally narrow gangway running between tiered ranks of rowers. They all looked back at her with frank curiosity, sitting in the shade of the trireme’s side decks. Velindre looked up at the strip of brilliant blue splitting the uppermost level.
‘Up you go.’ Risala urged her towards a broad-runged ladder.
Her desire for the touch of the breeze was more than hunger, more than thirst. Velindre climbed as fast as she could, her knees still weak, her hands clumsy as she pulled herself upwards.
Risala followed close behind her. ‘This is the Kaasik domain. We’re just over half a cycle of the Greater Moon south of Relshaz.’
Velindre ignored the barbarian girl. She ignored the bearded Archipelagans on the cramped stern platform of the trireme. Best to return to Relshaz, she decided, and seek advice as well as some decent clothing from Mellitha. She reached for the breeze toying with an ochre pennant flying from the arching stern post.
There was nothing there. She could see the wafting silk and hear its faint rustle and snap, but she couldn’t sense the air that stirred it. Velindre looked at her hands in disbelief. The breeze drifted across her open palms. She felt it but couldn’t take hold of it. Gooseflesh prickled on her bare arms despite the heat of the sun. She seized Risala by the shoulders, shaking her viciously. What have you done to me?’ Wincing as Velindre’s fingers dug into her, Risala looked past the furious magewoman to one of the mariners, her few words quelling. Then she looked Velindre in the eye, blue gaze emotionless. ‘We did what had to be done. We cannot risk any inadvertent display of your skills. And I
didn’t imagine you’d stay long if you were able to leave.’
‘What have you done?’ Velindre’s voice cracked with fear and fury.
Risala looked over the wizard’s shoulder again, insisting on something in brisk Aldabreshin before returning her gaze to Velindre. ‘It is a different kind of soporific’
Velindre gripped the skinny girl so hard her own hands ached. ‘As soon as I can work the slightest magic, I’ll be gone. You can all be cursed to whatever fate awaits you, along with your dragon.’
‘You’ll be in Chazen waters before that happens.’ Risala spoke through gritted teeth, her eyes creased with pain. ‘You can talk to Dev. If he can’t convince you to stay, we won’t stand in your way.’
‘I’ll be long gone before that.’ Velindre declared, but the girl’s self-assurance was making her uneasy. ‘The mage soporific is in all the water aboard this ship,’ Risala said bluntly. ‘Refuse to drink and you’ll be insensible before you recover your spells. Then I’ll just pour the draught down your throat like I’ve been doing so far.’ One of the mariners behind Velindre said something loud and threatening. She glanced over her shoulder to see the man brandishing a naked dagger back and forth. His dark face was stern and unfriendly. The other two men had their hands on their own dagger hilts.
Reluctantly, she let Risala go. ‘You seem to have covered all the angles on this game board.’
Risala’s laugh surprised Velindre and the three Aldabreshin mariners. ‘I didn’t think you played the stones game on the mainland.’
Velindre shook her head. ‘I was thinking of a game called White Raven.’
Risala looked at her, uncomprehending, before shrug—
ging. No matter. We’ll have plenty of time to discuss such things. Let’s go ashore. The sooner you learn even a little about our ways, the safer we’ll all be.’ As she spoke, she unbuckled the lizardskin belt from around her waist and Velindre realised that the girl had been wearing two daggers all along. She slid one off, sheath and all, and offered it to Velindre.
‘So your eunuchs aren’t entirely emasculated.’ The wizard woman frowned as she took it. ‘What’s to stop me sticking this between your ribs the first time your back’s turned?’
‘Anyone who finds me dead will kill you in the next breath.’ Risala said something to the three men, who all laughed. The foremost waved his dagger at Velindre one last time before sheathing it solidly.
Feeling chilled once more, Velindre followed Risala to the stern of the ship, unbuckling her own belt to thread the plain black leather through the dagger’s sheath. She saw a long ladder hanging down to the water. A piercing whistle beside her made her jump. The bearded Aldabreshin chuckled and pointed to a youth sculling a small flat boat towards them with a single oar over the stern.
‘He’ll take us ashore,’ Risala explained. Velindre’s hand went instinctively to her belt. ‘Where’s my purse?’
‘Safe.’ Risala was unperturbed. ‘It’s no use to you here.’ The youth caught hold of the lower end of the ladder and Risala swung her legs over the slope of the stern timbers, climbing rapidly down. Velindre followed more carefully. The dagger at her belt was hard and inflexible, digging into her thigh. The sensations of wearing trousers were unfamiliar and unwelcome. Worse than anything else was the motionless emptiness all around her. She was cut off from the most basic, instinctive sense of the elements that had been with her for so long she had come to take it for granted. It was worse than being blind or deafened. Nausea rose in her throat.
She landed in the boat with trembling legs and sat down hurriedly. ‘So what—’
Risala cut her off with a merciless smile. When we’re ashore.’
Velindre realised the lad at the single stern oar was watching her, dark eyes hright and curious. She caught his gaze and held it, summoning all the disdain she felt for this place and its deceits. Her bruised spirits rose fractionally when he looked away, unease replacing his cockiness.
The shallows were crowded with a bewildering array of small boats, scurrying to and from the larger ships at anchor out in the deeper water. Velindre searched for any more familiar-looking vessel among the sleek triremes and the fat-bellied galleys with their square-rigged sails furled in hanging swags. There was none that she could see. She concentrated on keeping her growing wretchedness at bay until they reached the shelving golden beach and stepped into the ankle-deep surf.
Risala exchanged a few words with the youth. What does he get out of ferrying us?’ Velindre desperately sought distraction from the realisation that the earth was inert beneath her feet as the two of them walked up the sand.
‘The satisfaction of having done a good turn to a Chazen fast trireme. The shipmaster won’t forget his face, if the lad comes looking to take an oar out of these waters sometime in the future.’ Risala ticked off points on her fingers. ‘And he’s proving to whomever Kaasik Rai has presiding over this trading beach that he’s reliable and trustworthy. If he keeps his wits about him, he should be able to make a few trades of his own.’
‘Trading what?’ Velindre demanded. ‘You want me to learn. Teach me,’ she snapped.
‘His services.’ Risala paused to survey the scrubby fever trees that separated the beach from the dry and dusty clearing beyond. ‘And whatever his fortunes bring him by
way of gifts from people like us.’ Velindre made a derisory noise. What gifts could you offer him?’
‘You’d be surprised.’ Risala reached inside her faded, saggy tunic and produced a small, soft leather bag. Untying the drawstring, she tipped it to let a few glistening pearls roll to the lip of the leather. Earl was as large as a woman’s smallest fingernail.
Velindre blinked. ‘What are these worth hereabouts?’
‘Whatever someone is willing to trade for them.’ Risala secured the pearls inside the bag once again. We don’t reduce everything to some nonsensical number of stamped bits of adulterated metal. Make sure you remember that,’ she warned. ‘Life in the Archipelago is a balance of cooperation and obligation. Every man in a village plays his part in building his neighbour’s new but so that he’ll have help when he needs it. One woman will watch another’s children so that woman can weave cloth for both of them. Fishermen trade crabs for a share in a villager’s vegetable plot.’
‘And the ties of obligation bind everyone more securely to their place and station of birth than chains around their ankles,’ Velindre murmured under her breath.
The earth was no more than dry dirt beneath her feet. The sea was barely ten strides away but it might as well have been ten leagues. She could feel the sun’s heat on her skin, the brush of the breeze, but that wasn’t the elemental consciousness that united her with the whole of the natural realm. She was hemmed in by mere physical sensation. She felt sick again, weak and abject.
Fighting a rising urge to fall to her knees and weep, determined not to give this chit of a girl such satisfaction, Velindre looked along the line of twisted trees. Solitary traders she would call no more than pedlars sat in the shade of the fringed, red-tipped leaves. ‘What are we looking for?’ she asked tightly. ‘This and that.’ Risala led the way along the shore, surveying base-metal plates and spoons on offer beside bracelets and necklaces of polished shell, next to small boxes of intricately carved wood. Beyond the pedlars, more prosperous groups of merchants were distinguished by family resemblance or some common motif on tunic or sleeveless overmantle. Silver and brassware were displayed on carpets spread on the ground. There were bowls and ewers and jugs, plain or chased with florid designs of plants and animals. Some were ornamented with fine enamels or coloured stones. One family had claimed a long stretch of beach, erecting several awnings to protect bolts of fine cloth from the bleaching sun. Some of the soft pastel muslins were plain, some printed with bold designs. Others had smaller, more convoluted patterns in vivid dyes.
‘Ikadi traders,’ murmured Risala.
‘How do you know?’ Velindre wondered.
‘Their daggers.’ Risala tapped the hilt of her own weapon. ‘Every domain has its own design. We’re wearing those of Chazen.’ She smiled with discreet amusement. ‘Archipelagans don’t feign like barbarians. Everyone can see everyone else’s origin, their rank and status.’
The cloth traders’ grey-haired, grey-bearded patriarch sat on a brilliantly coloured carpet surrounded by rolls of vivid silk. He was intent on a conversation with an elderly woman in a loose red gown with frolicking green birds embroidered around the hem. Nodding with satisfaction, the grey-haired woman bustled off towards a cookfire set beneath the spreading shade of a tall, warty-barked tree. As she gestured, several little girls began ladling rich meaty stew into bowls. A woman plainly mother to the children and daughter to the grey-haired cook was deftly slapping unleavened breads on to a searing griddle. The merchant and several of his sons came over and sat in a circle as the little girls handed out the bowls. Tearing scraps from the flatbread to scoop up his stew, the greybeard nodded and chewed as the younger woman spread her arms to indicate the lengths of cloth she required. The little girls eyed the brighter muslins eagerly. ‘You must use coin when merchants from Relshaz or Caladhria come south to trade.’ Velindre tried to keep her desperation out of her voice. There would surely be someone she could pay for passage back to safer waters, if she could find out where this thief had stashed her purse. No, she need only get far enough away for whatever poison the traitorous bitch had given her to fade from her blood. She summoned up all the anger she could to overwhelm the sick fear lurking at the edge of thought. Still searching the assorted traders, Risala shook her head absently. ‘Only warlords who trade directly with Relshaz hoard their worthless metals. They can get rid of them buying slaves.’ She shot a sideways grin at the stony-faced wizard. ‘Kaasik Rai won’t have any dealings with barbarians.’
‘Why not?’ Velindre couldn’t help asking, pointlessly affronted.
‘Some mainlander merchants came down here a year or so back’ Risala indicated the long curve of the bay with a sweep of her hand. ‘Six big galleys that decided they didn’t want to trade through Kaasik Rai as would be customary courtesy for such visitors. They came straight to the trading beach and offered barbarian coin for whatever they fancied. They had no notion of honest bargaining, offering the same insulting sums for pieces of vastly different value. They grew more and more angry when the traders wouldn’t take their tokens. They saw every refusal as a ploy to drive up the price.’
They were passing by a merchant sitting between two wide, shallow chests holding beautiful glassware nestling in soft cotton cloths. Risala gestured towards what looked like long-necked bottles, each capped with a pierced silver dome. One was as clear as crystal, adorned with precisely engraved flowers. The other was blue-green glass with threads of white spiralling upwards. ‘Which rose-water sprinkler would you say is more valuable?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Velindre caustically. ‘I’m no merchant.’ She took a deep breath as her stomach roiled at the smoke from a cookfire.
Risala smiled briefly at the hopeful-looking merchant before shaking her head and moving on. ‘If you were from the eastern reaches, you’d favour the coloured one. If you were thinking of trading down to the far west, you would want the crystal piece. Knowing that would affect what the merchant would take in trade, as well as any history between you, any obligation owed or sought. How can you reduce such complexities to some arbitrary weight of impure metal?’
Raised voices interrupted her. Every head on the beach turned to see one of the youths who’d been fetching and carrying for the cloth merchant standing toe to toe with some other bare-chested lad. The cloth merchant’s boy shoved the challenger, modest beard bristling. The bare-chested youth responded in kind, sending the cloth merchant’s boy stumbling backwards. He followed up his advantage, shouting insults. The cloth merchant’s boy recovered his footing and yelled back.
Two tall men in gleaming chain mail appeared out of the trees. One had his sword drawn, striking vivid glints from the sunlight. The murmur of more normal conversation resumed as everyone else on the beach turned tactfully away to leave the youths explaining themselves.
‘Kaasik Rai’s men keep the peace.’ Risala glanced at Velindre. ‘Those barbarian traders soon discovered that. They left after suffering a beating sufficient to match the offence they had offered. And Kaasik Rai decided that branding them was appropriate, not least so that everyone would see them for what they were if they ever returned.’
‘The Relshazri didn’t object?’ Velindre was almost shocked enough to forget her weakened, sickened state.
Risala shook her head. ‘Archipelagan trade is too precious to be risked because some ignorant individuals bring down suffering on themselves.’
Cold fear halted Velindre. ‘So some imprudent mage meeting a hideous death in the Archipelago would be of no concern.’
No wizard would be so foolish as to travel these waters.’ Risala steered her inland with a merciless hand at her elbow. ‘As a scholar, you will know that.’
‘A scholar?’ Velindre shook her arm free. ‘First I’m a eunuch and now I’m a scholar?’
‘The two often go together.’ Risala nodded. ‘If you’ve no stake in the future through your body, you want to leave your mark for posterity with your wits. Many of our greatest philosoph
ers, mathematicians and physicians have been eunuchs.’
‘Oh.’ Velindre couldn’t think what else to say. ‘So what manner of scholar am I?’
‘You had better be an historian.’ Risala smiled. ‘Reading our histories as we sail will do wonders for your understanding of our language. I’ve the pearls to trade for books to get you started and that’s the man I’ve been looking for.’ She pointed to a white-bearded ancient sitting on a battered chest bound with tarnished brass, idly kicking his feet as he listened to a younger man sat cross-legged on the ground reading steadily from a sheaf of white reed pages. The old man had a stoutly bound book open on his knees and was following the text with one gnarled finger.
‘He’s taken a copy of the scholar’s book.’ Risala nodded at the younger man. ‘When the scholar’s heard him read it back, to be sure he hasn’t made any en ors, he’ll certify it as accurate and it can be bound properly.’
‘And how does he pay for it, if you don’t use money?’
Velindre demanded.
‘He offers what he thinks it is worth.’ Risala spoke as if that were obvious. ‘As well as something of equal value to whatever other teaching he’s had. Noted scholars, highly appreciated poets, particularly astute seers—they’ll often find a warlord to house and feed them. So you need to be able at least to bluff you way through this, so no one thinks it too odd that Chazen Kheda is willing to be known as your patron.’ The sensation of crushing emptiness all around was threatening to wholly overwhelm Velindre. She focused desperately on the strange incomprehensibility of the Aldabreshin language instead. What’s he saying? What does the book say?’
The white-bearded scholar spared the pair of them a faintly irritated look. Risala drew Velindre some way back. ‘It’s philosophy.’ She listened for a moment before continuing in a low voice. ‘Consider the round lute. Only one string is plucked but the others around it resound in sympathy. The experience of any individual affects all those around. Consider the fig tree. If its fruit falls in its shadow, the seedlings cannot thrive. If a loal carries the fruit away, whatever is lost on the way can grow into a new tree that feeds many more animals than just the loals. If a village’s hunters kill all the loals, eventually they will have no fig trees. Other animals will go hungry. All our actions have consequences, even if we cannot see them at first hand.’
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