'There's no end of people looking for passage north.' The shipmaster gestured around the shallow curve of the bay now vanishing into a soft dusk. 'None are falling sick, so whatever they're fleeing, it's not disease. Whatever it is, it's bad enough to risk travelling through the rains to get away from it. There's more than one of us heard rumour that it's magic'
'Warfare or magic' Dev nodded slowly, still holding the shipmaster's gaze. He'd be cursed if he was going to look away first. 'Either way though, that's news worth something to lighten your cares.'
The shipmaster grinned and snapped his fingers at a crewman with a bucket of wooden bowls. 'Give our friend something to line his belly.'
'Thanks.' Dev accepted a steaming bowl pungent with herbs and full of chunks of fish. The rowers crowded round to collect their share and Dev grabbed a torn slab of flatbread to soak up the broth well thickened with crab-meat. Tossing the empty bowl back into the bucket, he grinned at the shipmaster. 'That's the best meal I've eaten in a while. I'll go and see what I might have to liven up your evening by way of return.'
'Jailan, go and give him a hand.' The shipmaster jerked his head at the oarsman.
Back by the water, Dev climbed briskly aboard the Amigal. Once down in the cramped stern cabin where his few possessions were stowed in his hammock or shut away in the battered chest bolted to the floor, Dev fished beneath his tunic for keys hung on a chain around his waist. Kicking aside a couple of discarded scarves and an empty pot of face paint that one of the girls had left, he unlocked the door to the little ship's main hold and went in.
Dev closed the door, shutting himself into pitch-blackness. A moment later, a small white flame appeared, dancing on his palm, illuminating his grinning face. Taer Badul could issue his petulant edicts against magic, just like every other petty Aldabreshin tyrant. They wouldn't catch him. He didn't even need his magic to evade them, superior intelligence more than sufficed.
The flame brightened to throw light on all the various necessities for keeping the Amigal seaworthy and Dev fed that were stowed in chests and casks secured along one side of a hold barely tall enough for Dev to stand in, even with his less than common height. He turned to the row of barrels opposite. Beyond stood baskets well stuffed with tandra fluff, a motley collection of bottles poking out of the white fibres like bulbous green seeds. Dev made a quick accounting and scowled. This was the problem with coming so far south. Plenty of people wanted his wares but there were no opportunities to replenish his stocks.
Still, he would be the last one to go short. Dev pulled a horn cup from a half-empty basket and a dark bottle with a crusted wax seal declaring its distant barbarian origins. Tossing his cold little flame into the air where it hung, fluttering like a guttering candle, he levered the bottle's cork out with his Barbak dagger. He took a sip and rolled it thoughtfully around his mouth. The shining surface of the white brandy reflected the dancing flame and Dev's creased brow.
Should he bespeak Planir? Could he bespeak the Archmage at such a distance? Of course he could, working with the fire he'd been born to command. The Archmage would certainly be interested to learn these new rumours running with the tides and winds of the Archipelago. Would Planir have anything to tell him? Could there be northern wizards causing trouble in the far south? Surely not. No one from Hadrumal could have made such a voyage without Dev hearing about it.
Dev's smile turned contemptuous. No one from Hadrumal would have the stones to do something so bold, not once they learned any mage caught in the Archipelago would be skinned alive for his pains. In any case, why would they want to? Apprentices soon learned all their elders' prejudices against the world beyond northern wizardry's hidden island. The masters in the manipulation of air, earth, fire and water passed on their conviction that all wizardly knowledge was secure in their libraries and lofty halls. In their way, the great mages of Hadrumal were as spineless and ignorant as the dullards of the midden of a village where he'd been raised.
Not for the first time, Dev promised himself that one of these days, in his own good time, he'd go back to that sprawl of hovels, let those bastards know he was the trusted confidant of the Archmage of Hadrumal, acknowledged equal with all the princes and powers of the mainland.
Though Planir wasn't going to be any too impressed if Dev couldn't pin down the truth behind these rumours of magic in the Archipelago. There had to be something behind it, especially now the news had slipped through the grasp of the warlords and their ciphered messages to become common currency along the trading beaches.
Dev scowled as he drank the fiery brandy. If it wasn't northern magic, what could be happening in the south? The magelight hanging in the air by his head brightened to an unnatural reddish tint. Where could magic come from to ravage the southernmost islands? Could there actually be some unknown land beyond those final domains, beyond the endless expanse of the southern ocean? There were wizards in Hadrumal who insisted there must be, citing their tedious study of oceans' currents and the swirling storms bearing rain to the Archipelago. Dev's eyes narrowed. What manner of unknown magic might unknown wizards bring with them? What elemental insights might he learn from them, to take back to Hadrumal and toss into the complacent circle of the Council, or better yet, to use to his own advantage around the busy ports of the mainland?
Dev drained his cup with sudden decision. He wasn't going to find out anything unless he sailed south and he wasn't about to do that without all the information he could possibly gather. Time to see if the man he was hunting was looking for his usual pickings among the human jetsam washed up on this shore. He hefted a little cask from the rack and set it on the deck. Master Uten's rowers could have that; nothing special but these Aldabreshi never tasted enough wine to know the difference between piss-poor and some more valuable vintage. Unlocking the door to the cramped space in the very prow of the Amigal he snapped his fingers to summon the mage-light and examined the small store of coffers and close-tied bags stowed safely within. Dev tucked a wash-leather pouch inside the breast of his sleeveless tunic.
Securing the little forehold, he swung the wine cask up on to his shoulder and passed rapidly back through the ship to the stern ladder, climbing it carefully with the awkward weight of the little barrel. Up on deck, he walked the cask to the Amigal's rail and whistled to Jailan and one of the Spotted Loal's other rowers who'd drifted over.
'Take this to Master Uten, with Dev's compliments.' Bracing a foot against the side of the boat, he lowered the barrel down to the oarsmen's eager hands, jumping down to join them a moment later.
'Are you joining us?' Jailan invited.
Dev shook his head. 'I want to take a turn along the sand before it gets too late.'
'Bring your quilts to share our fire, if you've a mind to sleep ashore,' Jailan suggested.
'Oh I'm looking for something softer than a quilt and I don't reckon to do too much sleeping.'
As the two men laughed, Dev walked away down the beach. Barely beyond the spill of light from the galley's fire, a man emerged from the shadows of the tree line.
'I see you've your own boat, master.' His smile was both desperate and ingratiating. 'But working it single-handed, I see. That must be wearying.'
If he wasn't the one who'd appealed to the galley shipmaster earlier, he was similar enough to make no difference. Dev shrugged. 'I'm used to it.'
'I can offer a strong back and willing arms to ease your labours,' the man persisted. 'If you're well rested when you make landfall, you'll be all the more ready to make the best trades.'
Dev allowed himself an appreciative grin. 'You've got a glib enough tongue to be trading yourself.'
'No, I'm a fisherman.' The man brushed unkempt hair out of his eyes. 'So I know boats and ropes. You need have no worries about that.' He had been wearing his beard in the jawline style of the Tule domain, Dev noted, but patchy stubble darkened his cheeks now.
Dev tilted his head on one side. 'Fishermen generally come with families.'
The man'
s air of confidence wilted a little. 'I have a wife and two children.' He summoned up a new smile. 'My wife can sew for you and cook, help with mending nets.'
'When she isn't running around to stop your brats falling over the side.' Dev pursed his lips with disfavour.
'They can be kept below,' the man pleaded.
Dev nodded, contemplative, waiting just long enough for hope to dawn in the fisherman's eyes. 'Good enough. I'll be sailing in the morning.'
Relief almost choked the man. 'You won't regret it.'
'We'll be aiming for Tule Reth's domain,' Dev began cheerfully.
The fisherman actually took a pace backwards. 'You're heading south?'
'Is that a problem?' Dev looked puzzled.
'It is for me and mine.' The fisherman's anxious politeness had vanished. 'Magical fires are burning everything in the south to black ash.'
'There are always fires this late in the dry season,' scoffed Dev. 'I don't pay heed to heat-addled foolishness about magic'
'I'll believe what I've heard,' retorted the fisherman. 'You can sail south and find out for yourself.' He turned abruptly and vanished into the gloom.
Chuckling, Dev continued his slow meander along the shore. There was certainly something warranting investigation in the southern reaches. Dev wondered idly what it would have taken to put the fisherman off, if he had been willing to sail south. Telling the wife to lift her skirts for him and anyone else he offered her to; that would have probably sufficed. He wandered along, glancing at the fires and the people gathered around them in the deepening dusk, searching for any familiar faces. Men and women looked up as he passed, looking down again when they realised he was no one they knew.
Then a thin-faced man took a second look and scrambled to his feet. 'Dev, you cheating lizard! What are you doing here?'
'Warning honest folk against the likes of you, you thieving shark.' Dev stopped and grinned broadly. 'I heard you were sailing these islands.'
The skinny man took a stick to stir the flames of his fire; perfume leaves smouldering to keep off the evening bloodsuckers. 'Unless you're on your way to take your pleasure with Taer Badul's wives, you can spare a moment to say hello.' Beyond him, a gaggle of boys with the unmistakable stamp of his siring sweated over packing away an awning, and bundling up a miscellany of bags, netted fruit and freshly killed fowl. The remains of one such bird swung lazily on a spit above the embers. 'Help yourself.'
'I must have crossed your wake ten times between here and Mahaf waters.' Dev dropped to the sand beside him. 'What are you trading that's keeping you so busy?'
'Talismans, and I can recommend it as good business.' Majun leaned forward to pick a few shreds of succulent meat from the bird's carcass.
'Powerful ones?' asked Dev with a hint of amusement.
'Most potent,' Majun assured him solemnly. 'Links from bracelets that the most successful warlords of record wore into battle against the northern barbarians.'
'And presumably returned, victorious, untouched by enchantment?' asked Dev innocently.
'I also have rings that protected shipmasters on countless voyages into the profane waters of the unbroken lands.' Majun grinned. 'Rustlenuts? They're coated in honey and tarit seeds.'
'I've been hearing these rumours of magic to the south all the way through the Nor waters and plaguing Yava landings besides.' Dev shook his head. 'What's going on, Majun?'
'People are running so scared of enchantments on the breezes, they'd believe me if I said rubbing themselves with birdshit would avert it.' A sudden grin split Majun's face with a gleam of white teeth.
'I know that.' Dev sucked off the honeyed sweetness and the sharpness of the tarit seed before crunching the pungent rustlenut. 'What I want to know is why. Where's this rumour started from?'
Majun checked none of his sons were in earshot. 'What might you be trading for that information, that might ease a man's gripes?' His eyes shone meaningfully in the firelight.
Dev leaned forward to pull a length of crisp skin from the spitted fowl, deftly reaching into his tunic as he did so. Sitting back, he tucked something into Majun's hand.
Majun cast a cautious eye around the beach before fumbling a dark leathery leaf into his mouth. 'You don't want to be trading too much further south, my friend. There's trouble brewing and no warlord will stand for his people trilling with liquor when enemies might be landing any day.'
'But what kind of trouble?' Dev clicked his tongue with apparent exasperation. 'All I'm hearing is vague rumours of magic. It has to be nonsense. One duck mistakes a fallen branch for a lurking jungle cat and the whole flock joins in the panic'
'That's what I thought till I got the measure of it.' Majun shuffled closer to Dev, eyes bright in the firelight, pupils paradoxically wide and dark. 'I can tell you something worth a goodly supply of leaf, my friend.'
'News that'll win me proper gratitude in the north, that'll interest the barbarians who keep me in leaf for the likes of you?' Dev queried sceptically.
'I had Jacan Taer's head maidservant down here yesterday.' Majun licked his lips with a stained tongue. 'She was looking for talismans for the children, specifically against treachery and deception as well as magic. She stayed for a goodly while.'
'You've given her a fair deal over the years, haven't you?' Dev let slip a suggestion of envy in his crude laugh.
'There's always a woman with a taste for some foreign seasoning to her meat,' chuckled Majun. 'And not only maidservants. Did I tell you about the time Siella Nor came looking for something to brighten up her day?'
'You certainly did,' said Dev with a lascivious smile. 'But what did this Taer maid have to say for herself?'
Majun frowned until he recovered the thread of his thoughts. 'Taer Badul's been getting special dispatches from Tule Lek. They're full of news from the Ulla domain.'
In double cipher and sealed with a special ring and brittle wax, thought Dev with well-concealed amusement. Strapped to messenger birds trained from the chick to avoid predators or any deliberate hawk flown at them. None of which was proof against Jacan Taer's incessant chattering and her maidservant's inexplicable taste for Majun's rough-hewn charms. 'What news?'
'Mostly, that Ulla Safar is planning on taking everything between Derasulla and the southern ocean for himself.' Majun shrugged, lazily savouring his leaf.
'So that explains the smoke coming up on the winds.' Dev scowled. This had a nasty ring of plausibility about it. 'Ulla Safar's just burning everything before him.'
'And starting rumours of magic to keep anyone else from interfering.' Majun paused to chew some more. 'But Tule Lek is saying—'
Commotion further along the beach interrupted him. All along the shore, people rose to their feet, a ripple of voices raised in question.
'What's going on?' Dev called to one of Majun's sons who was down by the water's edge with an unobstructed view.
'Taer Badul's swordsmen.' The lad's bewilderment was tempered by relief someone else was in trouble.
'Doing what?' demanded Majun with as much exasperation as the chewing leaf allowed.
'Breaking up a fire circle.' The boy dragged reluctant eyes from the spectacle to jerk his head at Dev. 'Smashing up a barrel by the looks of it.'
Dev sprang to his feet and hurried to stand by the boy. Yes, curse it; that was the Spotted Loal's crew being rousted from their relaxation. The crack of splintering wood echoed along the beach, snapping through the confused protests of the men. Brutal rebuke answered them, firelight gleaming on chainmail and the flats of menacing swords.
'This is a bit much.' Majun joined them, stumbling slightly in the soft sand. 'Even for Taer Badul. That's not one of his ships. What's it to him if they addle themselves with liquor or smoke? A galley with no allegiance, they've no call on his triremes, not if they sink in a storm or wreck themselves on a reef.'
'That's looking ugly.' Dev scowled. 'Time for me to leave.'
'We can hide you in our hold,' offered Majun. 'If you want to make your
self scarce for the night.'
'I'm not leaving the Amigal unguarded.' Dev shook his head, still watching the commotion along the shore. 'This could all just be a ploy by Taer Badul, out to seize my cargo for himself. I never trust a man who protests quite so long and loud that he's never so much as sniffed distilled liquor.' As he watched, he saw the first punch thrown. 'I'll catch up with you some time soon.'
Not waiting to hear Majun's protests, Dev ran lightly along the sand, feet splashing through the slowly sliding waves. More chance of being seen down here at the water's edge, but he'd move a cursed sight faster than he could among the shadows of the trees, tripping over bemused traders and miserable beggars. Just as long as the fight was raging hot enough to hold everyone's attention, he could slip past and get back to the Amigal unnoticed. Yes, there'd be just enough water to carry him over the coral-choked channel. Could he get clear of the outer islets before a fast trireme could be signalled? He laced a little darkness around himself as he drew near to the heart of the upheaval, drawing his magic tight into himself to quell any hint of magelight.
'We'll have no drunkenness within our domain.' A tall man, commander of the swordsmen to judge by the brass sheen of his helm, was laying down the warlord's edict to Master Uten. Two armoured men held the mariner fast between them and the commander punctuated his declaration with backhanded slaps. 'No trade, no agreement, no bargain is valid here, unless all parties are sober. This is the Taer decree!'
Taer Badul's men had arrived in overwhelming strength, trampling the remnants of the cask along with food bowls, bread and fruit into a sodden mess around the wine-quenched fire pit. Even the cook pot had been stamped flat and split. Those oarsmen who'd protested had already been pounded into bloodied submission. Clustered around five deep, onlookers gaped.
Dev wrapped shadows still thicker around himself as he slipped past and dragged the Amigal's anchor out of the sand. The boat swayed, just a little water beneath her stern. Dev climbed aboard as quietly as he could and hauled up the awkward weight of the anchor hand over hand, throwing a dense blanket of air over it to muffle any sound. He looked back to the shore. Taer swordsmen were challenging any men in the crowd whose expressions they hadn't liked. Gaps were appearing as other men hastened away, doubtless to dump whatever illicit pleasures they might be enjoying.
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