The Lost Prince (legends of Ansu Book 3)

by J. W. Webb

The large crimson triangular sails were being hauled in as Shallan watched. Swarthy sailors worked as overseers, mates and bosuns pointed about and swore.

  Suddenly Tomais gasped beside her. The duke’s eyes recognised the flapping banner on the foremost sail. A golden serpent on crimson background. The emblem of the Sultan of Permio himself.

  “The sultan must be on board!” Tomais exclaimed. “They wouldn’t fly his colours else. We had best lie low, my dearest. Captain Barin will want to think things through.” Shallan nodded and reluctantly jumped down to join her father below.

  Several minutes later Barin returned to his cabin and hastily poured himself a flagon of ale. “Moon’s rising,” he frothed. “We’ll be able to slip away soon; most of the soldiers have departed with their royal passenger. Our leavetaking shouldn’t cause much of a stir,” he told them.

  “What brings the sultan this far from Sedinadola?” Tomais enquired, gratefully accepting a tankard of ale from the master.

  “I don’t know, sir Duke,” responded Barin. “But it worries me. Well is it known how much that fat greasy whoreson hates leaving his harem in the royal palace at Sedinadola. Perhaps rumours of insurrection have stirred his slimy flesh. I wish Silon had waited a bit longer, but we cannot help that now.”

  Barin had watched the royal palanquin carried ashore by four muscular naked slaves, swaying in unison whilst supporting their royal burden—hidden behind crimson drapes.

  The palanquin was followed by strange-looking priests in dreary yellow robes. After these marched two columns of crimson-cloaked guardsmen; polished round shields of dazzling steel slung across their backs, at their sides broad tulwars, and short spears angled over their shoulders. The sultan’s elite. They always wore crimson, whilst his regulars were garbed in purple. These were feared men in Syrannos.

  Barin waited until they had entered the city and were lost from sight, then motioned his men to ready the ship for departure. Oars were carefully untied from their racks. Quietly the crew took their seats at the benches. Away to the right, some hundred yards, the great bulk of the sultan’s ship lurked like a dozing sea monster.

  The full moon and the odd stray cat watched them cast off. Aside from these, the city’s focus was on the |sultan’s unexpected arrival. Shallan stole another peep through the deck hatch as her father had retired. She watched as the sultan’s galley slipped to stern. Nothing stirred on its decks. But below them Shallan heard coughing followed by a curse. The whip answered, she almost felt its abrupt lick and was filled with sorrow for the prisoners chained down there.

  Her father was right; doubtless some of them would be Morwellans—captured and sold on by traitors like Hagan Delmorier. Relief flooded through Shallan when at last they cleared the harbour. Tired and saddened, she retired below.

  Ahead churned the rollers of the open sea, dark and broiling beneath that watchful moon. It wasn’t long before the city lights and empty beaches of the Silver Strand had faded to stern.

  Again they were alone on the ocean.

  It was calm and very still. Barin rubbed his eyes whilst fingering the wheel. He felt weary and edgy, and looked up sensing wrongness in the quietening skies. Cogga approached him and Barin offered him a begrudging nod. He was still annoyed with Cogga.

  “I don’t like this quiet,” Barin said. “It’s ominous, foreboding.”

  “That it is.” Cogga shuffled his feet. “I’m sorry we cocked up. That girl.”

  “Who the fuck is she? And why is she on my ship? Has this anything to do with my nephew?”

  “They were going to cut her head off. We had already purchased the other two when Taic offered to buy her too.”

  Barin groaned and rubbed his eyes. “How much coin did you part with?”

  “All of it. Look, Captain, those two villains will shape up quickly with Fassof growling at them. They’re Permian fishermen who fell foul of the magister in Syrannos. They’re workers and they know the sea.”

  “What of the girl?”

  “She is something else entirely. It took all five of us to stop her running off.”

  “Tell Taic to haul her scrawny arse up here. I’ll speak to both of them while I’m in the mood.” Cogga departed and minutes later a sheepish Taic arrived and behind him lurked the black girl, her expression hostile and wild.

  “Relax, I’m not going to eat you,” Barin told her and her glare darkened to a vitriolic sulk. He shrugged and turned to Taic.

  “You, nephew, are a boil on my arse.”

  “Sorry, Uncle,” Taic scratched his own arse and grinned. “Things got a bit out of hand.”

  “They always do with you. Now go away before I hit you with something sharp and heavy. And, Taic.”

  “What?”

  “You’re banned from the ale barrel for three whole days.”

  “Thank you, Uncle.” Taic sloped off to join Sveyn at the prow.

  Barin turned to the girl, who was watching him in silence.

  “They tell me you are called Sukei.”

  “Zukei,” the girl croaked. Her accent was strange. She looked to be about twenty, though it was hard to tell as her face was lined and scarred. Her hair was thick and curly, a smoky grey-black, and her eyes, dark angry saucers. There was no fear in that gaze. Only anger and hostility. She was tall, skinny but wiry and her stance showed that she knew how to fight. But then Barin already knew that. Zukei wore shabby brown trousers and a torn shirt of dirty linen.

  “So?” Barin reached across and offered her his ale. Zukei glared at it for a moment then took it in her bony hands and downed the contents with a greedy gulp. Barin took that as an encouraging sign. “Are we going to get along, you and me?”

  Zukei shrugged. “I’ve nowhere to go. No future back on land.” The girl’s voice was husky, even attractive in a weird sort of way. “I’m no sailor but I can learn. I learn fast. And I have other skills I can pass on.”

  “Fighting skills? Yes, I heard you’re a handful,” Barin smiled. “Where are you from, Sukei?”

  “It’s Zukei,” the girl answered. “Get it right. I’m from Yamondo and have been seeking my father up here in Permio.”

  “Is he a merchant?”

  “No, he is a king.”

  Barin didn’t know how to respond to that.

  “You have a nice smile,” said the girl and then without further word left him with his thoughts.

  Barin yawned and rubbed his beard. Why was life so complicated? He shrugged and returned his thoughts to their present situation. The night was treacherously bright; Barin witnessed the tension building amongst the crew, both new lads and old. He shrugged. It was time to go home; this had proved a long trip and one that had taken its toll on captain and men. Barin thought about his daughters and smiled. Same age as Sukei, though worlds apart.

  Not long now.

  The men stowed their oars when they felt the first swell lift the hull, then at Fassof’s command the sails were set. Their progress was slow. They had to beat against a nor-wester that stiffened keen as the night wore on.

  ***

  Shallan woke with a start. The storm had come upon them suddenly. A loud crack of thunder split the night, making her shudder in alarm. Outside men shouted and cursed whilst beneath her, the bunk rolled to and fro in sickening motion.

  Duke Tomais appeared green -aced at her door. “Are you alright, Shallan?” her father asked. “We appear to have encountered a storm!”

  “Yes, Father,” she answered, gripping the inner cabin rail, her nightgown wrapped around her shoulders.

  “You had best wait here; I’ll go see how we fare.”

  Her father’s expression was strained as he staggered above deck. Shallan’s cabin was lurching, the rolling motion making her stomach heave. She summoned calm and waited until the duke returned.

  Moments later Tomais appeared with Captain Barin. Both men soaking wet and her father looked quite ill. Barin seemed his usual ebullient self.

  “A bit of a blow, milady,” he shou
ted over the din. “They’re not uncommon in these parts. I felt something brewing in the night. Don’t worry we’ve fared through much worse!”

  But the storm raged on through the night, increasing in strength and violence. The wind shrieked: it tore a large rent in the mainsail and Barin was forced to change tack.

  Now they were heading due west, running before the howling breath of Borian the Wind God. Borian was not a kindly deity nor was His brother, Sensuata Lord of the Oceans. Both these immortals worked against them tonight.

  Lightning cast spears through the blackness above as the Sky God Telcanna joined in. Thunder cracked and boomed. Again and again, Shallan emptied the contents of her stomach into a basin. She prayed to Sensuata to abate His watery wrath, and Borian to ease back His violent blow. But both the Sea God and His stormy brother were unremitting.

  The dark waves rose higher and higher forming watery towers, they smote the timber deck, sweeping men from their feet and hurling them at the rails.

  Barin’s crew struggled valiantly, furling and reefing sail, running and slipping on the rain-washed timbers. Then before they could get to it the mainsail was shredded to rags by a great bellow of wind.

  The Starlight Wanderer floundered helpless at the mercy of the storm.

  Barin clung tenaciously to the wheel, turning, spinning and heaving on the spokes, his massive arms soaked and bulging under the strain—anything to avert the swells battering the brig. A man fell overboard, his cries lost in the night. One of the new lads, there was nothing that could be done for him.

  And still the storm raged.

  For three days Sensuata and Borian assaulted them. Barin, tenacious as a boar in a pit and grimly exhausted, battled throughout. Shallan had never seen such redoubt. But the trader was in a sorry state: three sails were in tatters, the great sea eagle flapped wildly above as if trying to escape. Though no one else was killed, six crew had sustained substantial injuries; still Barin counted them fortunate when the wind finally eased on the dawn of the fourth day.

  Shallan felt wretched and filthy. She staggered above deck for the first time since the storm had come, gulped in some fresh air. She was weak from lack of food, water and sleep and still felt sick to the bone. Her father the duke had mercifully been able to sleep. Shallan had not been so fortunate, riding the torrent of the storm wedged in her cabin, cursing and swearing like a fishwife, then retching enthusiastically until her throat hurt and her stomach cramped.

  High above, outriding stormdragons fled east occluding the rising sun. Slowly, as day waxed clear the waves levelled and wind dropped to a spiteful breeze.

  Ahead lay a rocky coastline of tangled dark forest and tumbling, chiming streams. Barin told Shallan they had been driven the entire length of the Silver Strand, miles upon miles. Way past Sedinadola and were hard against the coast of Golt.

  “I do not know these waters,” Barin admitted to her. “But we’ve little choice, save to heave to and find a safe harbour for repairs. At least there’s timber on that shore. I fear our journey is delayed, milady.”

  Shallan helped the men clear debris from the decks, despite her ailing father’s insistence she remain below and regain her strength. They were all exhausted including Barin.

  “I’ve never known such a storm,” he told her. “It’s as though Sensuata and Borian were fighting each other and Telcanna edging on both sides,” he said, shaking his matted sea-drenched head. He was doubly grumpy, one of the ale kegs had burst in the galley, flooding most the cabin and ruining his expensive rugs. Ruagon was still struggling with the mess.

  Shallan nodded weakly, thinking of her conversation with Silon four nights past. The gods were readying for war. It wasn’t a comforting thought. Telcanna, Borian, Sensuata, all hostile—only Elanion favoured mankind. Then there was the Huntsman and the Dark One no one named. All in all, a rather unsavoury bunch.

  Eventually they spied a deep bay and heaved to. Barin sent men ashore to forage and Shallan helped her father up onto the deck. They had survived the storm but it had cost them.

  Chapter 19

  The Note

  Syrannos at night. Silon flitted from building to building, a dark shadow in a darker night. He stole between wooden storehouses that reeked of fish and cluttered the quayside. The taverns were shut at this hour, the sultan having placed a curfew on the city to stop the frequent killings that occurred after nightfall.

  Hungry dogs roamed otherwise empty streets, one showed its teeth at Silon, but he threw it a scrap of meat he had brought from the ship and it skulked off into the night.

  Silon hurried into a backstreet, stepping over piles of filth and excrement, pulling his hood down over his nose to block out the stench. This was the poor quarter of Syrannos. Life was cheap here; murders a common occurrence among the mud-built hovels. A dockside shanty, it sprawled haphazard and filthy below the white walls separating it from the upper city.

  Silon wove through the stinking labyrinth in haste. He had no wish to linger here, but must find the place he had discovered two years ago when being pursued by cutthroats.

  Fortunately his memory served him well. Silon recognised a building with a crumbling gable leaning precariously against the wide bastion of the city walls and itself accessible via a tall olive tree. Silon blessed his luck—repairs in the lower quarter were tardy and infrequent, but you never knew.

  Silon approached the tree, reaching up and grabbing a low branch he hauled himself up until he stood panting on the flimsy roof of the dwelling.

  Beneath him, dark and silent, lower Syrannos bunched around the harbour. Silon could just make out the masts of The Starlight Wanderer in the moonlight. They should leaving soon—not like Barin to linger.

  Tenuously Silon crossed the leaning gable and accessed the wall face. He glanced up at the sheer climb confronting him. It was hard to see anything in this light but Silon knew they were here somewhere.

  At last he located the footholds he had hurriedly carved out with his knife on his last visit here. Faint scrapes allowing just enough purchase for three tough fingers followed by a nimble well-worn boot.

  With infinite care Silon heaved himself up the twenty or so feet. At last gaining the top, he rolled over the parapet, pitched quietly onto the vacant stone platform that formed a narrow walkway below the ramparts. That was the easy part.

  Silon waited there in silence for a moment. Nothing stirred.

  Satisfied that he hadn’t been spotted, Silon hurried along towards the distant gates. During the daylight hours these opened on the upper city, though now as was to be expected, they were locked in place with a lone sentinel at watch.

  Beyond the gates a broad palisade led up the steep hill to the great domed temple ahead. Voices drifted out of the guardhouse as Silon approached. He saw three men sitting at table playing dice. Silently Silon slipped by. Once clear he jumped down onto the road, rolling his body into a ball as he landed. He was now in the upper city. If caught here he could expect to be flayed or worse.

  Beyond the gates the lone sentry lolled lazily on his spear. Silon blew a sigh of relief. He hadn’t been seen.

  He took no time distancing himself from the guardhouse. Now for the next task—the difficult bit. Silon had to access the temple of the Sky God where Barakani would be waiting. He entered a wide street leading up, as all roads did, toward the temple. He ran.

  Inside the walls, Syrannos was a complete contrast to the mish-mash of the poor quarter. Here the streets were wide, tree-lined and ordered. They columned ever upwards in parallel lines towards the domed temple crowning the hill, dominating the other buildings with its pale gleaming minarets thrusting up into the dark—so many twisted spikes piercing the night sky.

  Silon didn’t know this city as well as Cappel Cormac but he had been here several times, when his cohort was unable to make the longer journey to the great city at the Narion’s delta.

  Barakani kept a secret camp close by on the Silver Strand. This gave him easy access to the city
, enabling him to slip inside the walls from time to time, acquire information, and court new allies in the ensuing struggle against the Sultanate.

  It was a risky business. Though the sultan himself seldom left Sedinadola, it was not uncommon for his elite crimson guard to wander the streets at will, searching for enemies of their ruler, (anyone caught out of place fitted that category). Silon hastened up toward the distant temple keeping close to the palms fanning the edge of the road.

  It was getting late. A full moon had arisen to shine directly above his head. Its eerie glow cast silvery light on the tiled roofs of the houses. These were well spaced either side of the palm-shaded street. They were big villas with wide verandas and ornate gardens, about which the air clicked with the sound of cicadas and night thrush. The chime and tinkle of running water came from somewhere close by.

  These were the sumptuous homes of the rulers of Syrannos, mostly administrators and wealthy merchants, the magister’s mansion amongst them. Shadows of trees hung low over clear pools reflecting the moonlight, while fountains trickled and chimed through the jasmine-perfumed gardens.

  Directly ahead of Silon and terminating the road, were the ornate doors of the great temple of Telcanna the Sky God. He it was who was most worshipped by the Permians. It was a magnificent building of polished white marble walls and red mosaic floors. Silon paced swiftly toward the entrance—no time to waste. Seeing no one, he warily approached the great doors, inched one open and then silently entered within.

  The smell of incense greeted him immediately, that and the crackle of candle flame. Silon saw yellow-robed priests kneeling in prayer by the stone altar ahead. This place was sacrosanct. It was death to enter here without permit. But it was the only place where men such as he could conduct their affairs safe from whispering walls. Only the priests of Telcanna, administrative elite, or high ranking soldiers of the sultan were allowed access at all times. Silon was aware he was breaking every covenant in this city—the thought wasn’t comforting so he didn’t dwell on it.