by J. W. Webb
“This will be the culmination. The third and final war of the gods. The severed head of the Evil One has awoken deep beneath the mountains of Yamondo—so King Ulani tells me and I believe him.”
Shallan had no idea who King Ulani was but she was captivated by Silon’s words.
“Ulani rules eastern Yamondo. It’s very far from here, south beyond the desert wastes lying at the very heart of Ansu, this troubled world of ours.
“Yamondo has been tainted by a canker of late. A creeping evil, Ulani says. Its source that terrible mountain somewhere amongst the steaming jungle regions in the west of that land. They say Old Night’s head was incarcerated there after the Second War of the Gods. But He wakens—wants revenge.”
Silon folded his arms and chewed his lower lip. “Even as we struggle against Caswallon and his warlock masters, the gods above us will be battling each other in heavenly conflict.”
Shallan shook her head, confused. The answer had been so much more than she expected.
“But what has all this to do with Corin?” she pressed.
“Everything and nothing,” came the elusive answer. “Corin has been chosen by the gods, Shallan. Don’t ask me how I know this—I just do. Too many things have happened to that boy. Uncanny things. Like King Torro before him, Corin is the fulcrum. He is the central hub around which the wheel spins, and it is spinning quicker every moment. Corin comes from noble stock. At the moment he is hiding from that knowledge. One day he will have to face up to it and then he will change.
“You can rest assured immortals will interfere when they can, aiding him and assailing him both. Oroonin, Elanion and Her daughters the Fates; vain Telcanna the Sky God, down here in the desert where He holds sway. And Old Night through His minions and slaves.
“They will be watching Corin an Fol. They know he alone holds the balance in his fragile erratic fingers. They will meddle when they can. This I have known for some time. Corin’s destiny holds the key.”
“And I thought he was just a freebooter—a loyal hireling.” Shallan was lost for words. She wondered what manner of man it was that had strolled with her so awkwardly through the merchant’s gardens. That had held her close and then so passionately taken her beneath that starry, blissful night.
“That he is. Though what Corin will become, who can say. I can guess. You see, I know who Corin’s real father is, and I’m sure in time you will too.
“The wheel turns!” Silon’s gaze softened, seeing the alarm on the girl’s face. He smiled, placed a placating arm on her shoulder. “Do not fret. One thing I believe ardently; it is not Corin’s destiny to die in the desert. You will see him again, Lady Shallan.”
“I hope so.”
Shallan looked up, hearing sudden noises. “Ah,” Silon announced, “it seems we are entering the harbour of Syrannos.”
Shallan watched Fassof skilfully steer clear of the harbour’s rocky arm. Ahead lay a colourful jumble of sails and painted hulls. These were all sizes, bobbing to and fro as their mooring lines tautened and slackened in the late afternoon breeze.
The Starlight Wanderer’s crew had furled the sails and tied off gaskets to hold them in place. They were now seated on benches sweating and heaving at their long oars, rowing steadily over to a wooden jetty jutting out from the main quay.
As she looked across at their dock, Shallan saw people everywhere dressed in all manner of garb; shouting, cursing, and laughing and doing wily deals with each other.
A cacophony of mayhem. Dogs barked and donkeys bellowed and kicked, whilst squawking fowl scattered and flourished feathers beneath their hoofs.
Strange spicy smells wafted across the water, making her hungry. Cart wheels clattered on cobbled stone. Women bickered and men swore as they struggled with heavy goods. There were grubby children running here and there. Everywhere was chaos, bright colours, hubbub and stench. Away in the distance came the scrape of saw on wood, carpenters erecting a platform that looked like a gallows. Shallan crinkled her nose. She hoped this stay wouldn’t prove a long one.
“Welcome to Permio, milady.” Captain Barin had joined her at the prow. Silon had just retired below deck to prepare for his jump ashore.
“I suggest you stay aboard my ship, lass. Else some greasy merchant tries buying you. We are no longer in the Four Kingdoms,” he told her. “Anything is possible here!”
“That I do believe, Barin.”
Duke Tomais had joined them on deck, scowling at the sights, smells and noises of the harbour. The duke shook his head in consternation at the shouting and clamour rebounding across the quayside. He looked visibly shocked, thinking of Vangaris’s ordered harbour and neat mooring arrangements. Before the fires of invasion of course.
The moment Barin’s men jumped ashore to tie off, eager hawkers crowded round them like flies, gabbling loudly in their ears. Fassof winced when a fat man arrived yelling oily expletives and peddling a battered trolley of sweetmeats and cheeses.
“Bugger off!” Fassof yelled but the man persisted stoically.
“How long are we staying here, captain?” the sweating mate asked, ushering the peddler away with an irritated shove. “I said bugger off!”
“As long as it takes to shift some of the goods we acquired in Raleen,” answered Barin. “And I’m sending Cogga to the taverns to get some fresh crew.”
“Is that wise?”
“Maybe not, but where else will we get the help you’re always nagging me about? We’ve a long voyage ahead, Fass. Oh and keep an eye out for rubies in the markets. Marigold is fond of Permian rubies.”
“I know—but they are expensive.”
“I’ll refund you.”
“You didn’t last time.” Fassof growled at the hawker who was still lingering expectantly at the end of the dock. “You still here?”
“Just leaving, good sir—I’ll be close if you change your mind.”
“Just piss off.”
“Thank you.”
Barin watched Fassof fade into the crowd, then turned when someone coughed in his ear. Cogga stood there with the two recruits, Taic and Sveyn. The boys had been keeping a low profile since leaving Port Sarfe. But they’d pulled their weight, so Fassof had told Barin.
“You ready?” Barin asked Cogga.
“Aye. And I’m taking these tossers with me in case there’s a scrap.”
“Make sure they don’t cause one.”
“We’re reformed characters, Uncle,” Taic grinned at Barin.
Barin ignored him. “Return before dark, Cogga. I don’t want to spend too long in this shithole. Soon as Silon’s gone we’re away.”
“Will do. Come on, you pair.” Cogga and the two younger sailors shoved and grumbled their way down the jetty and like Fassof, soon faded into the crowd.
Barin scratched his eyebrow and brushed a fly from his forearm. He watched in disgust as three ungainly beasts with humps on their backs deposited steamy lumps of filth on the cobbles and spat mucus at each other, whilst their owners (ignoring them) squabbled over coin. Barin hated Permio.
Silon’s plan was to wait until dark before slipping ashore, lest prying eyes ask questions. Once the merchant had departed the brigantine would slip out of the harbour as quietly as was possible.
Syrannos, like most Permian cities, was best avoided after dark. Even the big men of Valkador would be in danger here were they to linger dockside.
Barin urged Shallan to go beneath deck but she would have none of it, laughing instead as she saw Cogga and the other two surrounded by a swarm of angry peddlers as they made their way to the nearest tavern.
“You wouldn’t really sell me, Captain Barin, would you?” Shallan teased.
Duke Tomais looked at her sharply, hearing that.
“Shallan, get below!” the duke scolded, and reluctantly she heeded his words. Barin had spoken light-heartedly enough but Shallan accepted the crew would be in more danger if she were spotted on deck. Permian slavers prized northern women higher than their own. Shallan’s was a rare beauty
too. Nevertheless it rankled her to so meekly obey her father’s wishes.
At least it was cooler below deck for a change. A helpful breeze drifted down through the master’s sumptuous cabin from the open hatch above. Shallan found herself surveying the ornate tapestries draping the timber walls of the cabin.
Strange beasts patrolled scarlet forests, while pointed snow-clad mountains reared above. Valkador, Shallan thought, must be an amazing place. All ice and snow—no wonder the Northmen were hardy. And small wonder they hated this Permian heat.
Had Shallan known the hunt scenes on some of the tapestries depicted the forest of Enromer in northern Leeth her opinion of them might have altered. Valkador and Leeth were separate sides to the same coin. The same people, were it not for the feud.
Ruagon the portly cook emerged, grinning whilst handing her out a plate of piping fish fresh from the harbour. This Shallan ate gratefully and waited rather restlessly for evening’s gloom to approach.
Time dragged in the cabin but at last evening arrived and noise abated. Outside the air grew cooler and the manic bustle of the harbour dwindled into quieter chat. The calm ended abruptly when Cogga returned with the two younger men dragging a screaming yelling creature between them. Shallan couldn’t help herself, she’d clambered back on deck to witness the kerfuffle. She stood wide eyed beside her father. Both watched in silence as the scene on deck unfolded.
“What the fuck is that?” Fassof demanded. He’d got back an hour ago. He’d fretted and cussed beside Barin and was about to send a search party for Cogga and crew when they returned. And not empty-handed.
“I said what is…that?”
“Crew,” replied Cogga. “As are these two behind.” He motioned to where two dark-skinned, evil-looking men skulked behind Taic and Sveyn. Despite their unsavoury looks no one noticed them. It was the spitting, hissing, kicking, swearing, bony, black-skinned girl with the wild smoky hair that drew all eyes. “We’re back to full complement, captain,” announced Cogga as though this was something to be pleased about. “There wasn’t a lot of choice,” he added, seeing the bleak expression on Barin’s face.
“Tell me everything,” Barin demanded as they dragged the deranged-looking girl below decks lest her racket draw attention to the ship.
At that point Silon appeared from his cabin wearing a dark hooded leather tunic, which shrouded his features and covered the long curved sword at his side. The merchant shared a few friendly words with Shallan and her father before wishing them well. He nodded to Barin, glanced quizzically at the black girl still struggling between Taic and Sveyn, and then peeped his head above deck.
Silon watched and waited in silence for a moment until satisfied all was clear. He waved back at those watching from the cabin and heaved his body through the hatch. Within moments Silon had negotiated the jetty and slipped ashore. A flitting shadow, Silon’s silhouette vanished swiftly from the quayside.
Chapter 18
A Change of Course
To say that their search for new crew had been a challenge was an understatement. Taic nursed a black eye, whilst Sveyn had a small chunk missing in his left ear. Both gifts from the she-lynx they’d rescued from the gallows. You’d think she’d be grateful. Instead she’d kicked Cogga, tried poking Taic’s eye out with a broken-nailed finger, and then bit that chunk out of Sveyn’s ear. Taic liked rough women but this girl was something else.
They’d started with the taverns and inns. No luck. Most had been empty (the sultan disliked taverns apparently, so soldiers were always raiding them and arresting those within) and those few occupied contained wastrels that looked incapable of lifting an oar, let alone climbing out on a yard in a stiff force niner.
Cogga had been on the verge of quitting and returning to ship when he saw the gallows. The carpenters had finished and three abject figures stood dreary behind a huge shaven-headed fellow with an axe.
Cogga deeming it worth a try, and believing Permians would sell their mothers for the right price, took to strolling across and addressing the small crowd gathered below the scaffold. “Who’s in charge here?”
“I am,” answered three men in the crowd, and, “me,” the grim lad with the axe above. Finally a voice with some hint of authority cut in with. “What do you want, Northman?”
Cogga turned to see a skinny shaven-headed man in a yellow robe glaring up at him. “I want two of those prisoners for crew. I’ll pay good coin.”
“Forget it. They are condemned for prompt execution by the city magister himself.” Cogga didn’t reply and the smaller man scratched his ear. “How much coin?”
Sveyn hoisted the small sack he’d stowed inside his shirt. “That much,” Cogga said as the shaven-headed official’s eyes gleamed seeing the sparkle of gold as Sveyn loosened the sack.
“Maybe something can be arranged,” the official said. “Sixty percent and forty percent,” the man addressed the axeman above.
“I’d prefer it the other way round,” grumbled the executioner but nodded his agreement. “But what about this one?” He kicked the scrawny tangle of dark sinew and bones kneeling between the other two captives. “Hardly seems worth bloodying my axe on that scrawny neck. This third prisoner Taic suddenly realised was a girl (it had been impossible to tell up to now).
“We’ll take her too,” said Taic.
“What?” Sveyn said.
“Are you mad?” Cogga added. The executioner shrugged, leaned his axe against gantry and folded his arms. “Your call, boss.”
The official grinned, seeing some amusement in the situation. “You can have that one for free,” he smiled. Cogga, glaring at Taic, had bid Sveyn hand over the sack of coin to the official. The small man stared at the contents within then took a coin out and bit it. “Deal done,” he said, still smiling. “Cut them loose!” The official tossed a small amount of coins on the ground to appease the onlookers, who were grumbling about missing the show. Minutes later Cogga and his helpers led the freed prisoners back toward the markets and the waiting ship.
That was when their problems started.
Her name was Zukei, the executioner had informed them whilst polishing his axe and wrapping it in leather cloth. “Be careful with her.”
Taic hadn’t grasped his meaning until they approached the jetty and the silent, pliant girl lashed out with sudden fury, kicking, punching, biting and spitting. It took Cogga, Taic and Sveyn, plus the other two prisoners to get Zukei under control. Which was understandable considering who she was. But then it wasn’t until much later that they found that out.
***
Shallan watched on while the crew struggled to stow the newly purchased goods and made ready to depart. Cogga was already instructing the rough-looking new recruits in sail craft. Of the wild-haired girl there was no sign. Barin had ordered they lock her in the hold fast, or else he’d hurl her overboard. He looked furious about the business and was muttering something to Shallan’s father, when Fassof’s thin freckly visage silhouetted the sky above.
“What now?” Barin’s frown deepened seeing the worry on the mate’s face as he jumped down from the hatch.
“Permian war galley, big ugly bugger full of soldiers, currently entering the harbour.”
Barin mouthed an oath. “How many soldiers?”
“A lot… I don’t know. Two hundred maybe. It’s a slaver—largest one I‘ve ever seen.”
“We must warn Silon!” Duke Tomais cut in.
“Too late for that,” muttered Barin. “Besides, Silon can look after himself. This delays our leaving a while. Do not fear, sir Duke, soon as the Permians have vacated their vessel we’ll slip away unnoticed.”
Shallan looked at her father’s worried face as Barin and the mate crept on deck to watch the lumbering galley enter the harbour.
“I would fain see this ship,” said her father, and Shallan nodded. She wanted to see it too. Carefully the two of them raised their heads above the main hatch.
As they waited the sound of oars approached, d
ipping and rising quietly in perfect rhythm, and then as they watched the approaching ship rounded the harbour’s arm.
If ship was the right word for such a monstrosity.
It was a huge wooden galley, almost twice as long as The Starlight Wanderer, and at least three times the width.
It was ungainly tall, built square like a castle, with half score of turrets and parapets. The galley looked top-heavy and unseaworthy. Shallan (who knew a little about maritime matters having grown up in Vangaris) questioned how such a leviathan could sit so easily upon the water.
The vessel possessed three rows of decks: the lower two enclosed. From these the sound of whips cracking and drums penetrated the night. Shallan shuddered, thinking of the poor souls imprisoned down there. She deplored the concept of slavery but had never encountered it before as it was banned in the Four Kingdoms.
Crimson-cloaked soldiers paced about on the top deck carrying long spears, their faces concealed beneath full-face helmets that glinted in the moonlight. Above the soldiers, near naked sailors sprang lithely from rope to rope. There were so many. Shallan’s eyes widened at the sight, it reminded her of a circus that had visited Vangaris when she was a child.
“Filthy slavers!” cursed her father angrily, making her jump. “There are probably some of our people chained below those decks, daughter. It vexes me so!”
It vexed Shallan too.
Permian slavers were not a common sight this far east. Most tended to trade goods and wage their wars in the mysterious lands beyond Golt. They were despised by the sailors of the Four Kingdoms and generally stayed away from their waters, lest the patrol ships stationed at Port Wind or Calprissa attack them—not to mention the Assassin’s sharks who would revel at the chance of bringing such a monster into tow, nor would they have qualms about slavery, but rather take over custodianship of the unfortunates and sell them on.
These huge Permian galleys were shallow-keeled, making them unwieldy in rougher seas, and thus lacking the fleet manoeuvrability of the northern vessels.