Islands of the Inner Sea

by L J Chappell

  As befitted a Sister so recently accepted into the Chapter, her cell was small and cold and at the farthest end of the corridor. But it was infinitely better than the shared dormitories used by Novices: it was entirely her space. She closed the door behind her, dropped her bags and threw herself on the bed, stretching her arms and legs until her muscles hurt. She hugged her pillow, and then rolled over onto her back. She lay there and stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, feeling the pressure and the tension of the last few weeks draining out of her.

  She would have climbed under the bed covers, but her clothes were grimy after the long journey and she didn’t want to dirty the sheets. She had clean clothes in a wooden closet, but she was dirty as well – she needed to wash.

  Her room was narrow, and the single wooden-framed bed occupied almost the entire length of one wall. The opposite wall hosted a wooden closet by the door and a sink at the far end, for cleaning herself and her clothes. Three shelves, fixed to the wall, ran between the sink and the closet and beneath those shelves was a desk with a simple chair tucked underneath.

  There was a small window with metal bars and shutters above the head of the bed, that looked out onto the courtyard. She reached up and pulled the shutters open, letting in both the fresh air and the unmistakable sounds of cane sticks clacking against each other: a group of Novices practising swordplay.

  Her room was simple and bare; austere, even.

  She had clothes of course – a small number: nondescript and forgettable as her working clothes should be, and several of each item. But she had nothing brighter or more extravagant: nothing for special occasions or for relaxing in company. Her three shelves could have displayed personal items such as books, religious items and icons, keepsakes and anything precious; instead, all they held were clothes and weapons and one tiny metal box on the top shelf.

  The box was not locked – there was no point. The small enamel ring inside had no value except to her: it was old and cracked, but the colours still seemed as bright as the day her mother had given it to her. And it was too small for her to wear now, except on her little finger.

  When she had fled her home all those years ago, she was wearing four of five pieces that had genuine value. She’d sold everything she had except that little enamel ring to pay for her way here, to the Guildhouse in Arafel, because that was what she’d needed to do.

  It had been obvious to her, even at eight years old, that she had to become a killer.

  Chapter Two

  The Geography of Mehan’Gir

  1

  Lanvik found it both comfortable and comforting to stand on deck and watch the shore and the sharp brooding islands of the Spine pass by. Captain Redwolf avoided sailing close to the mainland. There were defences, he explained: catapults, cannon and small fast coastal patrols that might feel they should engage the Night Princess if she came within range. As a result, they sometimes sailed between the islands, though always at a distance – never so close that the ship was in their shadow. Though most of the islands seemed uninhabited, and uninhabitable, each looked a little different.

  As they travelled south from Stormhaven, the days grew noticeably longer and there was more light: the sun was stronger – warmer. As the days passed, there was less and less snow lying on the hills and islands around them. The mountainous islands seemed curiously naked, with neither forest nor snow covering their slopes.

  He wondered whether there were mountains where he grew up, with snow and thick forests? Was that why these bare rocks unsettled him?

  He concentrated, trying to remember, but nothing came. Had his childhood been on Ceran’Don, the Land of Mists? That was a mountainous land, he had heard; the land of mages, they said.

  But why was it the land of mages? Was being born there a prerequisite? Or did mages come from every corner of the Three Lands, and Ceran’Don was simply where they lived or trained? He supposed there had to be training, but he couldn’t remember any. The more he thought about it, the more he realised that other Humans must know the answers to some of these basic questions; they must know how mages were picked and trained, where they got their staffs, and when they shaved their heads. If people from normal families and villages trained as mages, as he assumed they did, then they must surely know all about it.

  There were Humans across the Three Lands, so he was just as likely to have grown up somewhere flat and warm as among cold mountains. Perhaps he came from a small community of Humans, or a larger town or city with a diverse population, or perhaps he had grown up on a farm, like Karuin, surrounded only by his family.

  Lanvik couldn’t remember any of his childhood – his schooling, his friends, his home. He couldn’t remember anything about his parents, whether they were kind or cold, strict or relaxed, even alive or dead. He couldn’t bring a single face from his past to mind. No – that wasn’t true. He had dreamed of a face, and that dream had felt very much like a memory: the face had belonged to a young, attractive woman with ginger-red hair. They had argued in his dream and he had been holding a mage’s staff: she had lifted her hands as if to protect herself. He didn’t like thinking about it, didn’t like remembering it, but the images sprang unbidden to his mind from time to time.

  ‘You enjoy the views, Mister Lanvik?’ Captain Redwolf interrupted his reverie.

  ‘They’re very similar, but always changing,’ Lanvik explained. ‘Each of these little islands is different from its neighbours. And I get easily bored just sitting in my cabin.’

  ‘I’ve heard it said that the best thing about long voyages is the ever-changing view,’ the Captains remarked. ‘Would you agree with that?’

  ‘Oh no,’ Lanvik reflected. ‘I would say that the best thing about this journey is that the weather is getting warmer.’ Only a few days had passed, but the bitter bitter cold of Stormhaven and Darkfall were now only bad memories.

  ‘Hear, hear!’ the Captain laughed. ‘And it will become far warmer over the days to come. I’m afraid you will lose your view, though. We are nearing the end of the Spine, and after that there will be no great chain of islands such as these. We may even swing out and away from the shore altogether, to avoid Scarthann, and then your only view on the starboard side will be empty, open water.’

  ‘Scarthann?’

  Redwolf frowned: ‘You don’t know Scarthann?’

  ‘No,’ Lanvik shook his head, hoping he hadn’t given anything away. Up until this point, they had not mentioned his memory loss to Captain Redwolf or his crew: he wasn’t sure, but perhaps Kiergard Slorn thought it might be a weakness that might somehow be used against them. Was “Scarthann” so well known, so famous or infamous, that it was inconceivable that anyone could be ignorant of it. He didn’t say anything more – to try and bluff might risk revealing even greater ignorance. The Captain was alert, sharp, clever: he would surely pick up on any trick.

  Not for the first time, Lanvik wondered at how his memory was working … or not working. He knew words, but no names, no places, no directions. Whatever range of knowledge he had once been taught, he now remembered sciences and maths, but no history or geography; he had language, but no literature; and nothing of magecraft at all. Was it normal for memory loss to be so selective? Or was that specific to him?

  ‘Scarthann,’ Redwolf explained after a pause, ‘is the great Imperial naval base in the west: on the island of West Durrant, in fact. The normal route southwards from here runs between West Durrant and the Imperial port of Ariste. It is a wide stretch of water, but narrow enough that the Empire could block it if they chose to; they could intercept or destroy any vessel that sailed through it. The alternative route would take us out, around the western shore of West Durrant.’

  ‘But …?’ Lanvik prompted: the Captain had sounded ambivalent.

  ‘I don’t like it. That route is not so well known, it is longer, and the wind and tides are not as predictable. Also, choosing to sail into the Outer Ocean rather than follow the normal channel would appear suspicious if anyone
saw us.’

  ‘So we’ll take the normal route?’

  ‘Probably. I think that I might have decided after all. If the wind holds at this strength, then we will take the strait: we will be through quickly, hopefully before any trouble can find us.’

  A voice shouted down from above, interrupting them: ‘Ship ahoy, thirty degrees to starboard!’

  ‘Though I may have spoken too soon,’ Redwolf commented.

  At every hour of the day and night, one of the crew kept watch from a narrow platform near the top of the main mast, just above the highest sail. There was rope rigging in place at each mast to allow the crew access to the sails, and Lanvik had watched them clamber up it to reach that very highest part of the ship. He had also watched the top of the mast sway alarmingly from side to side as they changed direction. It was not a duty he envied.

  ‘Mister Rannsen.’ Redwolf shouted across to one of the deck officers: ‘Get up there and tell me what you see.’ The Captain left Lanvik and returned to the quarterdeck: it had the best view of the rest of the ship, and seemed to be where Redwolf based himself whenever there were decisions to be made.

  The officer, Rannsen, collected a narrow metal telescope from a chest on deck and climbed up to the top of the mast to join the man already stationed there. Lanvik couldn’t really see either of them from below.

  ‘Well?’ the Captain demanded after a few seconds. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘Too far away to tell, but not a merchant. They’ve altered course to intercept us.’

  During their journey, they had seen numerous other ships along the Durrandir Spine, normally at a distance. When their courses had looked as if they might pass or converge, the Night Princess had altered course slightly to avoid coming too close. From their shape and speed, it had always been easy to identify cargo vessels.

  ‘Ring the alert,’ the Captain ordered, and a single bell rang out three times.

  The rest of the Company and a number of the crew emerged on deck a few seconds later. ‘Another ship,’ Lanvik explained. ‘And they’ve change course towards us.’

  ‘Should we prepare for combat?’ Kiergard Slorn called up to the Captain.

  ‘I doubt that it will come to that, but the situation may change. It will be obvious if it does.’

  ‘Who are they?’

  ‘We don’t know. But if they were on their own business, then they would have stuck to their course and ignored us.’

  ‘Slavers?’

  ‘Not so far north, and not operating in Imperial waters. Slavers are cowards, not fighters, and they are interested only in profit, so they do not take risks. They will not take on anything that they have to fight for. They only prey on the helpless: slow ships with small crews, far from any friendly shore. It is obvious from some distance that that is not us.’

  ‘Who are they, then?’

  ‘A pirate vessel perhaps, or a government patrol: some vessel fitted for combat.’

  ‘What do we do? Try to outrun them?’

  ‘If we add more sail or change course to avoid them then they will be suspicious. The wind is with us, but that is no advantage – if they choose to give pursuit, then obviously the wind will be largely with them as well.’

  ‘You’re always boasting about how fast this ship of yours is,’ Kiergard Slorn complained. ‘Can’t we just outrun them?’

  ‘We probably can, yes. We are capable of bursts of speed, and have an agility at close quarters that would be difficult to match. In a long pursuit, it is more difficult to say without knowing more about their ship. We’re light at the moment – a full company but no cargo to speak of and only a couple of weeks’ supplies. Also there are a number of items onboard that we could throw overboard if we needed to. But some Imperial vessels are built only for speed and could overtake us. So, without knowing who they are and what their intentions are, I would prefer to avoid a chase unless it is necessary. Perhaps they are coming closer to get a better look: once they have seen us at closer range, they may return to their own business.’

  Over the next hour, the other vessel came gradually closer until it was visible to the naked eye from the top deck. It was about three miles behind them by the time it crossed their course, and it turned to follow them.

  ‘Almost certainly an Imperial patrol,’ Captain Redwolf told them, ‘and they’re matching our speed. Going just a fraction faster than us, in fact. They’re just following us, too close to disguise their intent and too far to get a good look at us or to talk. I can think of no good reason why that would be deliberate – I’m guessing they’re at full sail already and this is their best speed. So we’ll add a touch more, and see if we pull away or if she matches us.’

  The sun was beginning to fall in the sky.

  Over the following hours, the Night Princess gradually edged away from her shadow. As sunset turned the clouds a glorious orange colour above the waves, the other ship eventually altered course away from them was soon out of sight, either unwilling or unable to give pursuit.

  ‘It is reassuring to know that we are faster than Imperial ships,’ Slorn remarked. Together with most of his Company, he had stayed on deck throughout the chase.

  The Captain laughed: ‘The Empire has some ships that are faster than us, but we would have to be extremely unlucky to run into one of those. A more likely danger is that two or even three slower ships could outflank us. I’ll be happier when we’re round the Cape and out of Imperial waters.’

  He looked directly at Lanvik, whose face must have been broadcasting his ignorance, and explained: ‘Cape Firendal is as far as Imperial waters extend, just south of the Durrant Archipelago. Once we pass it, our journey is mostly through open seas where territorial claims end a few miles offshore and the Imperial navy is far less likely to harass other ships.’

  ‘In those waters, we are far more likely to be bothered by slaver or pirates,’ Garran joked.

  ‘Indeed,’ Redwolf agreed.

  Later that night, the Captain finally committed to a course slightly east of south, rather than swinging out westwards to place his trust in the open ocean. By the following afternoon, they were entering the broad and busy channel between West Durrant and the mainland. The further they travelled into the strait, the more ships they saw – long distance merchantmen heading north or south; small transports shuttling back and fore between Ariste and the islands of the archipelago; customs vessels; ferries; patrols and other military ships. The width of the strait forced them all closer together, though most were much closer to one shore or the other than the Night Princess.

  A number of smaller patrol vessels came closer from time to time, but after determining that they were either far smaller or far slower than the Night Princess, or simply that she was of no interest to them because of her course, they turned away and back to their original station. From time to time they overhauled and passed other vessels on a similar heading southwards, altering course to allow a wide space between them and then leaving them quickly behind.

  For all its traffic, the strait was broader than Lanvik had anticipated: most of the time, they were out of sight of both shores and could only occasionally see even the tops of the mountains. When they passed Ariste that night, a few hours before dawn, the only sign of the port was a faint glow on the horizon off the port side. Like an early dawn.

  It took them all of the next day to pass the Archipelago completely, but by the following morning they were sailing south-west through clear water for the Cape. The tailwind that had been with them since Stormhaven had held all the way down the Western Reach.

  As they finally rounded the Cape, buffeted by the crosswinds, Lanvik found Kiergard Slorn on deck, gazing westwards. He had noticed Slorn looking idly towards the open ocean a number of times over the last few days.

  ‘What’s out there?’

  Slorn glanced around: there were none of the crew in sight, or in earshot: ‘The Twilight Isles, or so they say,’ he said. ‘Somewhere beyond the western horizon, but no-one is
exactly sure where.’

  ‘The Twilight Isles? From the Mysteries?’

  ‘Yes … where the Ruby Hand waits, or so they say.’

  ‘And the Ruby Hand is second on your list?’

  ‘Perhaps. Of the Four Trophies, the Crown was the most straightforward – not even hidden, but left in plain sight and celebrated. The Glass Sword lies on the eastern shore of the Land of Mists – the land of the mages – so that would seem to be almost impossible to reach. The fourth is somewhere south of the Great Desert, in the land of the Dragon Lords, and we don’t even know what it is. So of the remaining three, a lost island might well be the easiest and most obvious to pursue.’

  ‘Is that where we’re heading next?’

  ‘No. We’re in the middle of a contract: we have to deliver the boy to the Inner Sea, to our common benefactor, and that will take us in the opposite direction. And also I would like to spend some time trying to understand the Crown: what it is, and what it might do … perhaps even how to use it. I have one of the Trophies already. It would seem greedy to go looking for a second, before I’ve spent any time with the first.’

  Lanvik had already concluded that Kiergard Slorn wasn’t simply collecting the Trophies for the sake of it: he had some purpose for them, some use to put them too. His comments now seemed to confirm that.

  ‘Are you aware,’ Slorn continued, ‘that Captain Redwolf has decided that you must hail from the Land of Mists, whether you are a mage or not?’

  ‘Has he?’

  ‘Yes. And do you know why he has decided this? It’s because of your complete lack of knowledge concerning the geography of Mehan’Gir. You have no idea where we’ve been, where we are or where we’re going. And you don’t recognise the names of any places.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t apologise. But I think we have to address the matter – it’s too suspicious, especially for someone who is travelling, not to be familiar with the major cities and kingdoms of the world. The Gods only know what Redwolf would think if he discovered you have no idea about the Land of Mists either. Come with me. On the way, we’ll collect Magda or Bane for the key.’