by Pam Uphoff
What? Genetic . . . "And the sweater?"
"It was a present from my sister. I don't ordinarily wear purple."
"Right. What were you doing there?"
"Answering the prayer of someone who called on the God of Spies." He shrugged.
"Very funny. No doubt I babbled my mother's silly tales while half frozen." She glanced at the report. "I see that your spying was as effective as mine."
"Umm, no at that point we hadn't located the shipyard. But we were definitely looking for the Island hulls that flew the Organtes flag.
"Why did your king bring up magic? Do you expect us to believe that bunk?" She leaned back and eyed him.
He looked at her seriously. "You'd better start believing in magic, and recruit some mages yourself. Else you'll be getting religion in the middle of a sea battle. Which will be a rather bad time for it."
"I can always pray to the God of the Sea."
"Would that be the Consort of the Sea Hag? Surely the Collective Subconscious can do better than Will." He looked quite dubious. As if he were speaking of an actual person.
The Colonel glowered. "And where pray tell, would you suggest we look for mages?"
"Forty-one years ago we assisted you with a batch of wizards who had territorial ambitions. See if you can locate their children or grandchildren."
She sniffed. "We know all about them. Whore's children and the babies of women who swore they were raped by goats. They are the Sea Wolves, claiming to be the new lords, chosen by the Sea Hag."
"Hmm. Sounds like they got the jump on you, recruiting. Do you have any idea of what magical training they've had?" The Western captain looked open and honest. Chatting away. He really was good at getting people to talk.
"You act as if we should have nurtured the dregs of our society." The Colonel drummed impatient fingers.
"In retrospect, what do you think?" The man who claimed to be a god shrugged. "I understand that your government restricts the education of your lowest class. Forbids advancement beyond a certain point. That guarantees a weakness, an enemy within, even without this bloom of magical ability. There's an unfortunate difference between poor but hardworking citizens, fairly treated by their leaders, and those who are considered 'dregs' and deliberately not treated equally. As you have found, the difference is loyalty to the crown. All else is mainly perception."
"It takes more than education to raise a whore's get above the stench of the docks."
"And yet the docks, stinking or not, are the source of the Island's wealth." The Westerner shrugged. "That is the Sea King's choice. Now the Navy must deal with the results. I hope this report is of use to you." The Westerner switched his study between them. "What I am especially curious about is whether you've heard of influence from the One World, or Earth?"
"An old name we associate with Heaven. I had not realized the Kingdom of the West was so riddled with religious zealots." She eyed him, very dubiously. I don't understand this whole situation.
"And nothing from One World, either? No strangers swearing by the One?"
"No."
"Good. I'm glad to hear that. They are both . . . nations that are aggressively expansionist. Do let me know if they turn up." He stood up and nodded politely. "Nice to have met you." And disappeared.
The Colonel froze for a second, then frowned. "Well, Kara. A very interesting fellow, your god."
"He's not mine." She denied. Even if I do have a purple damn sheepskin rug.
***
For better or worse, the king sent Admiral L'Kitha after the Sea Wolves' ship building site.
Leaving Kara behind with a few mental bones to chew over.
So the God of Spies witnessed—or for all I know, hosted—a "beach party" for the Sea Wolves, and an admiral attended? But not T'Sanjac.
So do I absolve T'Sanjac or is there more than one admiral involved?
And a resemblance to Oscar Harryson, who gets around? Oscar. O'Kar.
Bah. They must have known I was listening, and amused themselves.
She stepped out of her office and paced down the hall. To stare at the pictures on the wall. Some paintings, some photographs. King Vincent and Queen Hallie, parents of the murdered King Virgil and the current King Milo. A pastiche of Prince, and then King Virgil. A golden blonde like his father. Prince Van, likewise. Nine years old when he was presumed killed with his parents. But rumors persisted that there had been no body, that the prince was raised by the pirate assassins who escaped. Stupid stories with no facts or sightings to back them up.
She stared from dead king to dead prince.
Both T'Sanjac and L'Kitha had that blonde mop of healthy hair. The strong jaw, the eyes slanted up to the outside.
Common enough! It doesn't mean they're related. Hell, I've got hair like that too, just like my mother.
She stepped down to eye the pictures of King Milo, when he was a younger man. And less fuddled by alcohol. Rather ordinary brown hair. A stronger resemblance to his mother than his father. Means nothing. He's the king, and I serve him.
And if that . . . god . . . was speaking the truth, that he witnessed one of our admirals meeting with the sea wolves, I'd better figure out which one.
These two admirals . . . They're too young to be the King's by blows. But how would this Oscar they spoke of, whether or not he was Prince Van, have engendered children on women respectably married to Naval officers? No matter how many jokes about lonely wives playing around while their husbands spent a year or more at sea.
And the tall tales of wizards down on Gendo? Perhaps I should read the official reports. And see if this Oscar Harryson was one of the Westerners who had come. And what the dates are. Then a simple check of the two admiral's birthdates can settle that stupid idea.
She nodded to herself and walked on to the library, to hunt down a forty year old report.
***
In the summer of thirteen fifty-six, a delegation from the Kingdom of the West approached the king to warn of an outlaw gang. Wizards, they claimed, wanting a base near enough an erupting volcano to tap its energy for works of magic.
Kara's sneer froze at the photographs taken by various Intel officers. Especially the shots of every member of the party. Two young officers, in attendance. A shot of the blonde one in three quarter profile.
That face. Old Gods!
Get a grip, Girl! Prince Van would have looked very much like that, had he lived to the age of twenty. But that doesn't mean this is him.
She recognized the background. The way he was frowning upwards he must have been staring at the castle.
She looked through the rest of the pictures. No more that were so clear of the young officer, but none that could shake that jolt of recognition . . . how did the photographer not see it? Had Admiral Sevani T'Enterp noticed?
It's just that I was looking for it. It's my imagination.
She hunched her shoulders and put the report away. I don't believe a word of it. Wizards that could turn into demonic goats? I might as well believe in the Sea Hag.
She pulled out a copy of this year's Officers in Service. A yearly update of officers currently serving. A brief bio, a photo, and their assignment as of the first of the year.
Both Chris T'Sanjac and Boris L'Kitha had been born in the spring of thirteen fifty-seven.
She closed the book and walked out. Wandered through the palace . . . stalled out in the gardens then stiffened her shoulders and walked down through them to the sea gate.
A single bored guard glanced her way indifferently.
The pirates are supposed to have attacked through this gate. Freeing captives in the dungeons and slaying the king and queen on their way out. Why is there not a heavier guard on it?
She walked through it, and down the stepping stones to the black sand beach curving around the small circular cove. A foot step behind her.
She turned. Admiral Chris T'Sanjac. Uncomfortably close to her.
"What are you doing?"
"Thinking." An
d now wondering if my drowned body will ever be found. This is not a safe place to talk to this man. But private enough that I might find something out. Then I just have to survive.
"Oh? Of who to seduce next?"
"A year and a half ago, I seduced an Organtes government official who was involved with the ship yard and the Sea Wolves. I went with him on a tour of those facilities, and stole a record book from the Sea Wolves. A list of bribes, a list of blackmail . . . names and dates . . . I've never heard a thing about it. I didn't have much time to look at it, but I recognized some of the names. Bureaucrats. Serving officers. Officers of the Board. Nothing has happened to those people. I'm really wondering why."
His brows drew together. "Who did you deliver this purloined book to?"
"Colonel T'Enterp, of course."
"Of course."
"Which leaves me very uncertain of who to trust."
"The head of Navy Intelligence. Woman, you terrify me." He walked closer, past her and down to the beach, to stare at the waters as a small pod of dolphins surfaced to breathe. The largest one rolled a bit and seemed to study them.
"At times I could swear they were talking. I feel like if I tried I could understand them."
Kara eyed the dolphin. "Well, don't let the Sea Hag drown you, Admiral. Or trick you with an unwise gift." She turned and walked back to the gate. He didn't follow.
Guess I'll survive—until he asks the boss about the record book. Then I'll be in the soup. As she shut the gate she heard the squeaky call of a dolphin, almost like a woman's high pitched laughter.
***
Admiral Boris L'Kitha returned after six weeks.
In the warm summer weather, Kara and Princess Carmine had taken to playing cards on the shady terrace, just out of sight of the open windows.
"Found the shipyard. Abandoned, at a guess six months ago. The buildings were burned, and two keels. There was enough left of them that the Master Shipwright was certain they were our design. Unfortunately, the local fishermen had no idea where the shipyard might have moved." Snort. "Too frightened of their Amma, if you ask me."
T'Sanjac was there as well. "Any idea how many and what types they built?"
"Fifteen, they said. How much of that was speculation . . . I have no idea. They said, all the same design. Three masts."
"So . . . Probably the same as the ship the Westerners captured. Fifteen or so three masted Frigates. Individually they would be perfect for pirating and, as a whole, a nice addition to the Organtes fleet. It makes their fleet big enough to be a threat to the northern fleet. With enough Organtes additions, they could even outgun our southern fleet." T'Sanjac looked to the King.
Kara winced at the drunken slur in the king's answer.
"Go away, T'Sanjac. You bother me. Take the Northern Fleet and find the rebels. Sink them."
"Yes, Sire!" Definitely an eager tone.
Kara stood and stepped to where she could see most of the room.
Admiral T'Sanjac and the Minister of the Navy were both headed for the door.
"Not giving King Milo time to change his mind." Carmine breathed, behind her, neck craned to watch the admiral stride out of sight.
Her eyes were bright and eager.
Much though I hate the idea of marrying a barely fifteen years old to a forty year old . . . the fifteen year old doesn't seem to be at all reluctant. Is this the way to return the magic of the Sea Kings to the throne? No rebellion, just the right son-in-law?
Grand Admiral T'Linc, the head of the Officers of the Board, leaned to say something to the King.
"Yes, yes, of course. Boris, go to the southern fleet. Tell C'Queen the same. Any Island hull that isn't ours is to be sunk. Tell him I don't give an Old Gods fuck if he starts a war with Organtes."
"Yes, Sire."
***
Kara joined Carmine in the highest tower of the palace.
"It's just a pirate patrol, right? No big battles, no war. Right?" Carmine didn't take her eyes off the ship on the northern horizon.
Kara glanced south, where Admiral Boris L'Kitha's ship and two escorts were headed out to attempt to find the Southern Fleet with their new orders.
I hope. Because . . . if Boris is the admiral associated with the Sea Wolves . . . he could be whistling them up to attack the northern fleet. And they're at near parity. Add in some Organtes ships and T'Sanjac could be in trouble.
Kara looked back at the girl. "It'll be winter, like as not, before we see them again."
Chapter Twelve
Offshore of Karista
Early Winter 1398
:: XEN! Naval battle! ::
Xen paused in mid step, halfway up the stairs to his office. Will Michaelson's mental voice.
:: Thirty miles off shore, an hour south of the mouth of the bay! Cove Island versus Rebels or Organtes. We're going to help a merchantman, but the big boys are out of our league.::
:: Don't get yourself killed. I'll see how much of the fleet is able to head out now, or close enough to be useful. :: Xen turned and bolted back down the steps. :: Lefty? I've got news of a naval battle not very far offshore. Cove Islands vs their rebels or possibly the Organtes. Who do I need to talk to, at the Admiralty building? ::
:: Hold on, I'm talking to Rufi. :: A long mental silence. :: We'll pick you up at the front of the palace. ::
Xen trotted around the corner and was halfway to the gate when the carriage emerged. He crossed to it as it pulled up and sat beside Lefty, facing Rufi and Fossi.
"All I got was a quick flash from Will Michaelson. He said they were an hour south of the mouth of the bay, maybe thirty miles offshore. Let me see if I can get any more details . . . " He closed his eyes and listened, hard. Lots of fast flashing thoughts, calculations as a pair of brigantines bracketed him . . . Will, that was. "They're in the middle of a battle, a couple of Brigantines attacking a merchantman. I don't want to disturb him with questions about fleets."
"Ah! Our pirates are getting a bit bold!" Rufi showed his teeth hungrily. "We'd really like to catch them at it, although I suspect they'll be long gone by the time we can get out there."
Xen nodded. Weather magic. I need to think about how to go about this . . .
The coach pulled up in front of the Admiralty building, just off the west end of the sea docks. Rufi leaped out like a man a quarter his age and charged into the building.
By the time Xen trailed in, men were sprinting past him, and he had to reverse course and stick as close to Rufi as possible just to get to the right boat at the dock. Out in the anchorage, ships were already moving, signal flags raising and lowering.
At the dock Admiral Lowe pinned Rufi with a glare. "No. You can't come."
Rufi grit his teeth. "All right. But I'm sending a wizard." He jabbed a finger at Xen. "Who will be communicating with Major Lebonift. If he says I ordered something . . . take it under consideration."
Sailors were running about, preparing to cast off.
The Admiral saluted and hustled on board, Xen added himself to the officers on his heels. The gang plank was pulled in and the boat pushed away from the dock. It was a fast cutter and headed out for the largest ship, which had already upped anchor and was underway with a sails being raised. The Admiral swarmed up the ladder, his staff and Xen following as the captain ordered more sails raised.
The Admiral looked around, summoned him with a crook of a finger. "What can you tell me, that I need to know?"
"I've had a report of a Merchantman under attack, with fleets, believed to be the Cove Island Navy and the rebel-Organtes group maneuvering roughly a hour's sail south of the mouth of the bay, and thirty miles offshore, and if I can get out of the way, I'll check with the mage who is in the middle of it for an update."
"Right." The Admiral pointed at a spot. "Do that."
Xen sat down and reached out mentally.
This time he got Peter. A view from partway up a mast. :: The Cove Islands have at least twenty ships seaward of the Organtes ships. Hopefully mor
e, over the horizon. The Organtes are closer to us. They have a mix of Cove island hulls with both larger and smaller ships of Organtes design. Thirty-two ships left, now that we've sunk one and seriously damaged another. Both fleets are maneuvering to get up wind of the other. They've got about a five miles separation, at this point. ::
Xen opened his eyes and relayed that to the Admiral. Got hungry grins from everyone within hearing. Then he reached up, high into the air. South and a little west. Pulled power from the bright sunshine, the heat of the air and water. And sent it high and south, returned it to heat over a sizable volume of air, and felt it rising.
Then he relaxed and watched the sailors adjusting the sails as they cleared the mouth of the bay and the wind freshened. Mostly just the seasonal breeze, but if I can keep that draft going, on this side it will augment the wind, on the down wind side it ought to lessen the flow of air south.
He closed his eyes and reached out himself now, across the waves. There was the merchantman, and the triple bright spot of Lord Hell's sons. Heading north, but cutting in toward shore. Just a mile or so south and a bit seaward, a staggered array of ships. Tacking seaward at the moment; he couldn't tell if they were deliberately approaching the ships further out to sea or if they would turn to tack northeast. The ships were speckled with the bright auras of magic users. Sea Wolves. Xen rubbed his right arm.
The Cove Island ships were barely south of due west, also tacking seaward. A single bright spot of magic that he could detect, nothing more.
And at the far reach of his senses, more ships.
He blinked back to awareness. "Make that three fleets. There's a third group to the northwest, they can sail downwind into the fight whenever they want to." He reached out toward that third group again . . . a bit of magic, but they don't feel like the Sea Wolves . . . They feel like Oners. But weak, not trained. Children or grandchildren of the early Action Teams, I'll bet. But not Sea Wolves. The Oners were most active in South America, but I don't know if they ever hit the south west coast there. And lots of density points, they've got cannons.