Griff finally returned to the conversation. “I told you we had help from a woman with magic.”
“Yes,” Captain concurred, “but I thought you meant Tem’aree’ay.” At the time, it had seemed the logical conclusion. Griff would certainly think of Tem’aree’ay as a woman, regardless of her elfin race. “Raw chaos is raw chaos. What makes you so sure Ivana played a role in this?”
Tem’aree’ay nodded vigorously, indicating she understood his thought processes, had followed them herself. “At first, I didn’t. Chymmerlee told me she could feel two elves assisting her, and Ivana was the only possibility.”
Captain mulled the matter, fascinated by the many implications. Even in the days when human users of magic existed, he knew of only one circumstance where one might have combined her power with an elf’s. The Northern Sorceress, Trilless, had chosen an elf as her successor, the first time any wizard had done so. Unfortunately, the line of Northern Wizards had ended with her, and the elf, Dh’arlo’mé, had led the svartalf before Odin took over his body and both had died at the Ragnarok. Captain had no idea whether sorceress and apprentice had managed to find a magical means of linking. Even if they had, it might not prove anything. Cardinal Wizards had always developed a direct connection to their successors. “This is . . . significant.”
Though Tem’aree’ay nodded, she seemed more confused than in agreement. “To which event are you referring? Ivana’s ability to channel chaos? Locating a human user of magic? Or the fact that we found a way to work together?”
“All three.” Captain looked at Griff, who needed to know. “This is all very significant.”
“Yes,” Griff said, as if the point were so obvious it did not need speaking. “That’s why we have various groups working on Chymmerlee and on the elves. It took three users of magic and our two best warriors to defeat one of the Kjempemagiska. If Tae is correct, and—as you pointed out—he usually is, we will need to entice every user of magic to assist us. If not, we will lose this war and all of our lives: magical or otherwise.”
That point, Griff had already made very clear to Captain. The elf suddenly realized that getting the king’s permission to use the Pica Stone for scrying would prove no obstacle at all.
There may well come a time, Captain, when you need to choose between what’s right for your people and your loyalty to them. When that time comes, the world may rest on your decision.
—Rantire Ulfinsdatter
WELL AFTER MIDNIGHT, yet hours before sunrise, Tae, Imorelda, and Subikahn reached the lateen-rigged sailboat that Captain had dubbed the Sea Skimmer. It looked even less sturdy in the dark than in the dawn, a tiny craft with no business navigating the open ocean. Yet, Tae did not worry for that. No one knew the many aspects of the sea like Captain. If he felt comfortable with the vessel, Tae had no doubt it could do what the elf claimed it could.
Subikahn studied the ship impassively, showing no more concern than his father. That, Tae believed, stemmed from ignorance. Subikahn knew nothing about sailing or their captain. Clearly, he trusted his father’s instincts on this one. He knew better than anyone that, for all his risky behavior, Tae rarely took chances that relied on something other than his own competence.
Captain met them at the starboard bulwark, nearest the docks. He looked refreshed, though Tae knew the elf had spent much of the night in conversation with Griff and Tem’aree’ay. When he and Subikahn had sent their separate messages to Weile Kahn, the guards had informed them of Captain’s whereabouts. Tae knew different elves needed varying amounts of sleep; and, from their previous voyage together, he had discovered that Captain required little or none. “Welcome, welcome.”
Subikahn froze on the dock, staring. “Papa,” he said softly. “That’s an elf, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Tae replied, equally softly. While most of the elves could pass for human in a pinch, particularly to those like Subikahn who had seen no elves besides Tem’aree’ay, others never could. Tae had interacted with several elves, as individuals and in a large group, and he could spot the differences more easily. They were generally androgynous, lean, and unhurried. Their faces were more angular, sometimes more animal than human in appearance. Their eyes were canted, singularly colored and uniform, lacking the stellate cores around the pupils that most humans displayed.
Elfin hair spanned the gamut from elder white to inky black, with every shade of brown and yellow between and a propensity toward reddish hues and highlights. They sported eye colors that did not exist for humans: yellows and oranges, purples and reds, and even their greens and blues held the brightness and consistency of gemstones. Tae had never seen a brown-eyed elf. Their bodies had a gawky adolescent quality, even the elders, that defied gender; yet they wielded their long limbs and fingers with astounding grace.
Captain stepped aside as his charges, including the cat, scampered over the gunwhale. Imorelda set to work sniffing lines and planking, leaping onto every perch as if testing its worthiness to serve as her personal seat.
“Good to have you back, Tae Kahn. And this young man must be your brother.”
From almost anyone else, Tae would have taken the words as a deliberate attempt to flatter him. Captain, he suspected, simply had some difficulties keeping track of time. “This is my son, Subikahn. Subikahn, this is our captain.”
Subikahn bowed and raised his head. “Nice to meet you, Captain . . .” He paused, clearly waiting for the elf to fill in the missing name.
Captain politely returned the nod. “Just Captain, if you please. I’ve long forgotten my original name, and others keep hanging new ones on me.” He winked. “I collect names like a hull collects barnacles.”
Subikahn laughed. “Well, I, for one, appreciate just Captain. I’d heard elves had names that would take an entire sea voyage to learn. In the East, it’s considered an insult to shorten a man’s name. I’m hoping elves don’t feel the same way.”
Tae made short work of the query. “I think we can assume from his request that it doesn’t bother him.” He winked at Captain. Subikahn’s time spent with Ra-khir and Saviar made him more formal than necessary on occasion. “You don’t think Tem’aree’ay, a mere four syllables, is a full elfin name, do you? And that’s how we address the high king’s second wife.”
Subikahn gave his father a sour look. “Well, maybe I’d rather hear that from him . . . Tae.”
Tae chuckled. His son made a good point. His father, Weile, had deliberately given him a one syllable name to prevent anyone from shortening it. He had added the family name “Kahn” but only as a separate appendage. The Renshai had a limited pool of names, as they greatly preferred to name children after heroes who had earned their places in Valhalla. This Einherjar supposedly protected his or her namesake, so only one living Renshai could use a specific name.
Subikahn, originally spelled Pseubicon, was the only available Renshai name with the “kahn” sound at the time of Subikahn’s birth. To a man, the Easterners called the young prince Subikahn, though their closest, non-Eastern friends frequently referred to the twins as Savi and Subi. Talamir sometimes called his lover Kahn.
“Shortening a name is not, in and of itself, an insult,” Captain assured Subikahn before addressing Tae. “You’re early. I figured you wouldn’t come back until you’d had a full night’s sleep in a soft and steady bed.”
Tae snorted. “Soft and steady,” he grumbled. “Are you calling me a princess?”
Captain smiled his perfect smile. “If the diamond-encrusted slippers fit . . .”
Tae merely shook his head. They could banter all day, and that would defeat the purpose entirely. “I’d like to cast off as soon as possible.”
Captain leaned against a cleat to which the mainsail had been belayed. “We can cast off the moment our last passenger arrives.”
Tae had known they would have to have this conversation, and he had no idea what the elf might have pro
mised King Griff. “I agreed to bring a captain and a Renshai.”
*And a cat,* Imorelda added unnecessarily.
“That particular Renshai was not mentioned by name. I would have objected. Strenuously.”
Subikahn studied his father, head cocked. “So I’m a last-moment substitution.”
Tae would not lie. “Yes.”
“For who? Calistin?”
“Rantire,” Tae supplied.
Apparently, Captain had not made the vow Tae had not. The Easterner hoped that, after so many millennia, Captain would have learned not to throw promises around freely. “Rantire’s a competent and resilient bodyguard with a wise head. I’d trust anyone to her.”
“Even me?” Tae knew Rantire and Griff had ridden on Captain’s last ship, the one destroyed by the demon. He had witnessed the over-the-top dedication she displayed toward her charges. Or, at least, to the one who mattered.
“She could keep anyone alive,” Captain insisted.
“Alive is not the concern in this case.” Tae met Captain’s gaze, not put off by the oddness of those canted, steady eyes. “There is also the issue of sanity.”
“Ah.” Captain straightened. “I see your point, but I want you to understand something.” He lowered his volume, “I like Rantire very much. More even than you, if you wish to know, though I consider you an ally, too.”
Tae’s heart sank.
Imorelda looked smugly down from the forecastle. *You’re in trouble. About time someone took measure of your relative worth.*
Too irritated for witty repartee, Tae sent only, *Shut up.*
Captain explained, “When I first met Rantire, she was a prisoner of my people, treated savagely by those who became the svartalf. She told me the sagest words I’d heard from a Renshai since Colbey Calistinsson stood against the other Cardinal Wizards.”
*Not that Renshai are known for their brains.*
Tae phrased it more diplomatically. “Excuse me for pointing out such a thing, but when one thinks of Renshai, sage words do not automatically come to mind.” He looked at Subikahn to ascertain he had not insulted his son. “Not that there aren’t plenty of intelligent Renshai, it’s just not usually their best known quality.”
Captain shrugged, then made a throwaway gesture. “These particular words from that particular Renshai literally saved Midgard and the life of every human and, probably, most of the elves as well.” He turned his attention to Subikahn. “So your son is also Renshai, then?”
“Kevral was his mother.”
Captain bobbed his head. “They don’t come more Renshai than Kevralyn Tainharsdatter.”
Tae could scarcely deny it, although he found Rantire just as dedicated and far more irritating. Grief invaded his thoughts, and the deck blurred. He closed his eyes to stop the tears. Even after so many months, Kevral’s death still plagued him. The lack of control bothered him, and his tone grew terse. “Subikahn can keep me safe. Can we leave now?”
Captain hesitated only an instant before turning his attention to the lines. “Agreed. But only because doing so will, ultimately, make Rantire happy. She was going at Griff’s command, but she despised the thought of leaving him.” He dashed off to prepare the ship.
Tae looked after the elf, shaking his head. He wondered if the suicidal nature of the mission had anything to do with the decision as well. Captain would never say it, but he might consider Rantire’s life more significant than Subikahn’s or Tae’s.
The elf took over immediately, indicating a dock line for each of them to manage. “Release on one.” He pointed at Subikahn. “And two.” He nodded toward Tae. “Then prepare to fend off.” Without explaining the nautical terms, he trotted off to tend the rudder.
Clouds overcast the moon, lending the sails a ghostly glow against a backdrop of gloomy gray-black. Exhausted, Tae leaned against the forecastle, scratching Imorelda while she quietly purred. The night wind felt cold against drying sweat, and the honest exertion that accompanied casting off a ship, even one this small, brought him a sense of deep pleasure that had kept tiredness at bay until this moment. Now, his eyelids felt as heavy as anchors, and he wondered if he had the energy to crawl down the hatch. It seemed so much easier to curl up on the forecastle with the cat.
Subikahn caught Tae’s arm. “Come on, Papa. Captain says he’s finished with us. Time to get some sleep.”
Tae did not argue. He stumbled through the darkness with his son, too foggy to wonder why Captain had worked them so hard. He did not recall the elf needing much help the last time they had sailed together, at least not until the summoned demon had assaulted and destroyed the ship. Tae had no idea whether or not the Kjempemagiska had the ability to do something similar, at the moment did not even care, but he filed the thought in the back of his mind. Eventually, he would want and need to know.
Tae had no idea how he got midship, but found himself confronting the hatch sooner than he expected. Wearily, he reached for it, and Subikahn did the same. Together, they pried it open and descended belowdeck into a small compartment that contained only a wooden desk and chair, three pallets, an empty chamber pot, and an oil lamp hanging from a peg. Apparently, Captain stowed the edible supplies elsewhere. As Subikahn closed the hatch, Imorelda slipped through the receding crack to join them.
Without bothering to undress, Tae flopped onto the nearest pallet, intending to fall asleep en route. To his surprise, he found the blankets bulky, oddly shaped, and they seemed to jerk. A startled scream emerged from beneath him. Instantly awake, Tae rolled off the pallet, only to find himself confronting a larger human being he had lain on in his haste.
Splayed out awkwardly on the floor, Tae studied the figure in front of him, now sitting up on the pallet, expression as shocked as his own. No longer numbed by sleep, his mind awakened in an instant, and he recognized the person who had, apparently, been sleeping until he had casually tossed himself on top of her. “Matrinka?”
“Tae?” Matrinka folded her arms across her ample chest. “You’re like a brother to me, but I still think it’s frowned upon to share a bed with a man who is not one’s husband.”
Imorelda rushed to Matrinka, rubbing herself all over the queen and purring loudly.
Although fully dressed, Tae attempted to cover himself up with his arms as well. “Matrinka.” Her presence refused to register. He shook his head, trying to understand where dream ended and reality began. Am I still in Béarn Castle? How did I get to Matrinka’s room? He had no history of sleepwalking, and the vividness of preparing Captain’s ship for launching seemed unshakeable. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, I was sleeping, if you must know. Then a man hurled his sweaty body on top of me, waking me . . . rather abruptly.”
“Sorry.” Tae could think of nothing else to say. “I . . . didn’t know anyone . . . I thought only me, Captain, and Subikahn . . .”
*And Imorelda,* the cat reminded insistently. *You keep forgetting me.*
Tae could not take his gaze off Matrinka. Her thick, dark hair was wild with sleep, and sheets that covered the pallet straw had left impressions on her cheek. “Subikahn?” Matrinka’s attention shifted until it fell on the young Renshai who studied another pallet before sitting on it. She smiled. “I hope instead of . . .”
“Instead of,” Tae confirmed, without bothering to name Rantire. “But what are you doing here?” He realized abruptly the significance of Matrinka’s presence. She did not have the skills or training for a spying mission, and she was far too important to risk. “We have to take you back.”
Imorelda butted Matrinka’s hand, demanding more attention.
Matrinka obliged by increasing the petting, using both hands to stroke the cat. “You can’t. You need me.”
Tae did not understand. “What?”
Matrinka curled her legs under her substantial body. She was a large and handsome woman, full-fi
gured and well-endowed. Though she wore heavy woolens, they did little to disguise her womanly curves, and Tae felt like a voyeur. He could still feel her softness pressed against him, from when he had accidentally lain down on her. He could not help wondering how he had missed her, realizing how exhausted he must have become to allow himself to do such a reckless thing. Usually, his instincts kicked in sooner, his natural wariness protected him from foolish mistakes that could, in other circumstances, kill him.
“You need me,” Matrinka repeated, emphasizing each word as if she believed he had misheard her rather than questioned her decision. “Remember why we went to Tem’aree’ay? You were searching for someone with whom you could communicate by mind. Someone to whom you could send information, in case you didn’t survive this mission.”
At the moment, Tae could barely remember his own name. The shot of excitement that had infused him at Matrinka’s scream was rapidly waning as his mind and body realized he did not face true danger. “Well, yes, but . . . not . . . you.”
“Oh, so now I’m not good enough for the great King Tae Kahn.”
*She’s good enough for me. Tell her that.*
Irritated by the situation, Tae balled his fists. *You tell her that. You’re the reason we can communicate by mind.*
*Fine. I’ll go to her level. She pets better anyway, and she’s always glad to hear from me.*
Tae appreciated the cat would interrupt Matrinka instead of him for a while. He did not rise to the bait. “Matrinka, I distinctly told you not to come. This is an extremely dangerous mission.”
“Of course it’s extremely dangerous,” Matrinka shot back, clearly not hampered by Imorelda. “You’re involved in it.”
Tae knew it was pointless to mention her status. His was equally royal. “You’re not trained for danger, and you don’t . . . exactly . . . thrive on it.”
“I’m not helpless.”
“I didn’t say ‘helpless,’” Tae pointed out. He had deliberately avoided such disparaging terms. At the least, they were not true. Matrinka was a highly competent healer, a clear thinker, and no one could match her empathy and compassion. “You’re a beautiful woman with some tremendous skills, but not one of them is spying. Or combat.”
Fields of Wrath Page 27