North Star Guide Me Home

by Jo Spurrier

  While Ardamon gave the Tomoan very little, Bayard was happy to share what he knew of the Akharians and their plans. The Mesentreian settlements fell one after another, with the inhabitants rounded up as slaves; the spring and summer fevers had hit the foreigners hard, and now, he said, there seemed to be some problem with the supply lines back in Akhara.

  The situation might have remained as it was, with Ardamon learning all he could but offering only scraps in return, if the Wolf Clan hadn’t succeeded in turning one of Mira’s inner circle. Weeks away from giving birth, she’d been forced to seek another shelter. With winter drawing near, food in short supply, and both their enemies closing in, things were growing desperate. Just how Captain Bayard learnt of this was never clear, but it seemed the Akharians knew of the Wolf Clan’s discovery, too. The captain guessed at what was going on and offered his assistance.

  It was a huge risk. They had no way of knowing if Bayard meant to turn them in for a reward, but they had little choice. If they stayed, it would be down to the flip of a coin whether Wolf men or Akharians found them first.

  She’d gone into labour less than a week after stepping on board.

  Somewhere, the babe began to cry, and Mira was instantly awake. She sat up, fumbling with bedclothes, as Rhia slipped inside with the wailing baby. ‘He’s just woken up, my lady.’

  ‘Thank you, Rhia. Ah, hush hush, little one. If you didn’t fall asleep so quickly, you’d eat enough to stay full longer …’ As Rhia propped cushions behind her, Mira opened her shirt and began the unwieldy procedure of attaching the disconsolate baby to her breast. ‘Bright Sun, I swear, I’ve never seen any beast struggle so to get their babes to suck.’

  Rhia watched with her lips pursed. ‘I wish I could be of more help, my lady, but my master was a surgeon and a pharmacist, never a midwife. That said, you’re not truly having trouble, I think. It’s just that you and the lad are still learning how it works.’

  It took several tries, but after a few minutes Mira leant back against the cushions to smile down at her son. ‘There we are, hungry little beast.’

  The baby wore a little tunic that had been cut down from a man’s yaka-cloth shirt. Around his neck on a red cord hung a bright gold amulet that was said to frighten off evil spirits. Captain Bayard had bestowed it on the baby, just as he’d given her the feather bed and the cushions stacked behind her. Bayard was ecstatic that a prince had been born upon his ship, and at least once a day he found some small luxury to send to his guest. He had daughters her age, he told her, and it seemed he looked upon her with a paternal pride. It felt very strange to Mira, for her relationship with her own father was formal and distant, as he belonged to another clan and had no formal ties with her mother. Her nearest male relation was Dremman, and though she’d doted on him — and he on her — as a child, she knew he’d never gaze on her with such unabashed delight again, not after she’d turned her back on her clan.

  With a tap at the door, Amaya slipped inside, bearing a steaming beaker and a dish of pastries. ‘Lord Ardamon wishes to speak to you, my lady,’ she said, ‘and I brought these in case you were hungry.’

  She was always ravenous these days. Mira bit into one of the pastries, tasting sweetened goat’s milk cheese and sending a dusting of crumbs over the baby’s head. The little lad was oblivious. Mira held the pastry in her teeth while she hastily brushed the crumbs away, just as Ardamon ducked through the low door. ‘How are you, Mira?’

  ‘Mm … still weary, but getting better. Is there news?’

  ‘We saw sails in the west before the clouds moved in. Bayard thinks it might be the ship coming to meet us.’

  Mira frowned at him over her half-eaten pastry. ‘Have you managed to find out how they contacted the other ships?’

  Ardamon shook his head. ‘Alameda says it’s mage-craft. She says there are enchantments all over the ship, but she’s been particularly curious about a particular contraption, up high on the mast. The first mate asked Floren to keep her off the main deck, saying she’s distracting the men.’

  ‘Smooth,’ Mira said. It was plausible too. Alameda was as sweet and lovely as a spring flower. ‘Has the whole crew been trained in diplomacy, do you think?’

  She meant it as a joke, but Ardamon seemed to take the question seriously. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if the officers were, at least. I’ve not spoken to one of them that made me think he couldn’t be a spy.’

  ‘Well, they tracked us down neatly enough, didn’t they?’ Mira said, adjusting the baby in her arms. ‘Do you still trust them, Ardo?’

  ‘For now,’ he said, ‘but keep your wits about you. If this ship is the one they’ve been waiting for, I have the feeling things are going to start moving, very soon.’

  Mira pursed her lips, nodding, and called for Amaya.

  The girl peeked in from the cramped chamber outside. ‘Fetch me some hot water for bathing, please, and ask Anoa to come help me dress and fix my hair.’ As the girl withdrew, Mira eyed Ardamon. ‘Go and put on your best shirt and wash your face. Make sure the men are presentable, too.’

  He raised one eyebrow, but didn’t bother to argue. ‘As you wish, your grace,’ he said with a sardonic tone, and left, leaving Mira frowning after him.

  ‘Well, really,’ she said to the babe at her breast. ‘There’s no need to be like that.’

  Some time passed before the little lad had finished nursing and Mira was clean and dressed with her hair bound up in elegant braids, but as she emerged from her cabin, Ardamon was waiting to help her to the upper deck. She’d been offered the captain’s rooms, but had demurred, preferring to keep her people together. Instead, they had been granted the officers’ quarters, below the rearward deck. To emerge, one had to climb a steep ladder. Mira hadn’t faced it since she’d last made an undignified descent with her vastly pregnant belly in the way. Now, still aching from the labour and wearing the babe strapped to her chest with a wide band of cloth, she felt only slightly less ungainly, but she kissed the lad on the top of his head and began to climb with Ardamon right behind her.

  Above, a fitful breeze carried the scent of snow. The sky was grey, and to the west the horizon was lost in fog.

  Captain Bayard was pacing back and forth by the ship’s wheel with the stately meander of a man who prefers to think on his feet. He wore a jacket of dark blue wool, a finer garment than the well-used grey coat he usually wore. As Mira approached, he hurried forwards to offer his arm. ‘Good afternoon, my lady. I trust you are well? And the little prince too?’

  ‘Very well, thank you, captain. Ah … is it afternoon already?’

  ‘My dear lady, please don’t concern yourself with such trifling matters. New babes keep their own clocks, and make a mockery of any efforts to teach them time by the sun and stars.’

  Mira painted a smile with her lips, but she made a mental note to have Rhia or Anoa come and wake her at a reasonable hour. But for what? she asked herself. We’ve been driven out of Ricalan, and the Akharians and the cursed clan likely know where we found shelter. We’ve run out of options, and our friends are thousands of miles away, with a whole cursed army between us. She had been worrying the matter over while she had hauled her ungainly bulk around the ship, alternately dreading and praying for the first pangs of labour. She needed a plan, some way to keep the lad safe and to find his father. What came after that, was even more of a mystery …

  ‘Captain Bayard, I understand we’re expecting visitors,’ Mira said.

  ‘I hope so, my lady. I confess I’d be glad of reinforcements. As it is we have only my ship’s mage and your young lass on hand should the wretched imperials try to snatch you from us.’

  ‘And are you sure the ship that was sighted is Tomoan? Do the Akharians ever impersonate your vessels?’

  ‘It’s been known, my lady, but we have good reason to trust this vessel — it is simply a matter of when they arrive, and whether the cursed fog sends them off course.’

  ‘I see,’ Mira said. The hilt of a kni
fe pressed against her ribs beneath her breast-band. Their situation could change in a heartbeat, but what could she do if the Akharians attacked, or if their new allies pulled the little lad from her arms?

  As they waited, Mira took the opportunity to show the new babe off to the men. An air of relief hung over them as they gazed down on the sleeping lad — if Mira or the babe had died in birth, it would have laid them all to waste.

  It was past mid-afternoon and Mira was contemplating returning to her cabin and her bed when a sailor perched high in the rigging gave a low shout and waved a signal to the men below, pointing to the southwest.

  ‘Lights!’ Floren said, squinting into the haze. ‘There are lights out there. Can you see them?’

  Mira frowned into the featureless mist, but it took her long moments to pick them out: a faint, distant gleaming like fireflies in a field. Then, straightaway, she spotted sails with vertical red and white stripes. The ship was surging forward at an angle to them, but as the sight of it became clearer, the vessel altered its course, speeding straight towards them. It was, Mira realised, simply covered with lights, and not the paltry gleam of oil-lamps or flickering candles, but the steady, solid glow of mage-lights in a warm, yellow hue.

  As the ship surged towards them, with no sign of slowing, Ardamon settled a hand on Mira’s shoulder and drew her back to a cluster of his men, with one smaller figure among them. Alameda had bundled her hair up under a knitted cap, and wore an over-large jacket to hide her girlish shape. ‘Mira, stay here until we know what’s happening,’ Ardamon said, glancing back at the charging ship. The men were tense, but none of the ship’s crew seemed concerned. They were alert, even excited, but there was no fear mixed in with their anticipation.

  One of the officers, a lanky, stretched-out fellow, came towards Mira with a bow. ‘Do not be concerned, my lady,’ he said in heavily accented Mesentreian. He was the ship’s mage, the only other mage on board aside from Alameda, or so they had been led to believe. ‘Do you see the flag at the stern? The one bearing a sword and crown? It shows there is royalty on board, and princes do not have the patience for wind and tide. They will not strike us, do not fear.’

  As the ship grew near, Mira saw men and women arrayed along the rail, clinging to it against the force of the ship’s surge. She watched with her heart thudding in her throat as the oncoming ship turned on the spot and abruptly slowed, coming to rest beside them. The people arrayed along the deck — mages, Mira belatedly realised, perhaps two dozen of them or more — staggered at the sudden shock. The ship’s abrupt halt sent waves rippling through the water around them, setting their own vessel rocking so sharply that Mira grabbed for the men around her to steady herself. She’d been on her feet too long, she realised, and her legs were trembling with strain. Well, it was too late to do anything about that now. She kept her expression in a smooth and neutral smile as she watched the sailors throw ropes between the vessels.

  As men hauled on the lines, drawing the ships together, Mira picked out a figure standing amidships on the other craft. He started forward before the ships came to rest, leaping up the stairs to the rear deck. ‘Hello there!’ he called in unaccented Mesentreian. He was very dark-skinned even for a Tomoan, with close-cropped curly black hair, and wore a green jacket trimmed with gold, and a creamy-white shirt. ‘Do I have the honour of addressing Mirasada of the Wolf, mother of the heir to the north?’

  Mira drew herself up and stepped out from the circle of guards and started towards the rail. ‘You do,’ she called in reply. ‘Might I have your name, sir?’

  The fellow returned her greeting with a broad grin. ‘Certainly! I am Makaio Jemacar Trestrail of Tomoa, and my uncle the king has asked me to make your acquaintance.’ The sailors and mages continued to pull the ships together as they spoke, and by this point there was barely a dozen feet between them. ‘In deference to your condition, my lady, I believe it would be simplest if I were to attend upon you, but first I must beg your indulgence as I debrief Captain Bayard. If it suits you, your grace, shall we convene in an hour?’

  Your grace. There it was again. Ardamon had used the title to tease her, but Mira had always known that if the babe lived, it would be bestowed upon her sooner or later. She still wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about it, but she was careful to keep the uncertainty from showing on her face. ‘It would be my pleasure, your grace,’ she said with a bow of her head.

  In precisely one hour, Captain Bayard escorted the Tomoan prince to the great cabin.

  Mira was already there, sitting in the captain’s chair with the baby nestled in the sling across her chest. Amaya lounged cross-legged in the corner, ready to take the lad if he started to fuss, and Alameda sat beside her, gnawing on a thumbnail. The girl seemed nervous.

  Ardamon was there as well, of course, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair, while two of his best men stood silent and impassive behind them. Out of respect for the prince’s rank and their status as guests, they appeared to be unarmed, but Mira had no doubt they had some small weapons concealed within their clothing. But if these folk do mean us harm, I doubt it would help even if our men were fully armed and armoured, Mira thought. Two dozen mages! By all the Gods …

  As she heard a heavy step approach the door, Mira shrugged the thought aside and straightened in her chair.

  There came a knock, and then Captain Bayard entered with a bow. ‘My Lady Mirasada, may I present his excellency, Prince Makaio Trestrail of Tomoa, special envoy of King Trekano.’

  Ardamon stood as the prince followed the captain inside, with the girls scrambling up as well. Makaio was accompanied by a lady in a fine velvet dress, and a handful of guards wearing leather armour stamped with a pattern of huge scales, though what manner of beast grew a hide like that, Mira was afraid to guess. She started to rise, but Makaio waved her back. ‘Please, my dear lady, don’t trouble yourself,’ he said in Mesentreian as he settled into the chair that had been set out for him. ‘Lady Mirasada, Lord Ardamon — please forgive me for skipping the customary introductions, but Captain Bayard has told me of your situation, and our time is too short to waste in the usual song and dance.’

  ‘In all honesty, your highness, I’d count it a favour,’ Mira said, wrapping one arm around the sleeping baby. ‘I find myself tiring easily these days. I am most grateful for this hospitality, but I confess I don’t understand why your king would choose to involve himself in our affairs.’

  ‘It’s quite simple,’ Makaio said. ‘My king wants what I suspect you want — Ricalan in Ricalani hands, not under imperial control.’

  Mira felt the urge to laugh, but she suppressed it and gave the prince a smile instead. ‘You’re correct, sir, I’d like that very much, but it seems little more than a pipe dream.’

  ‘I understand, my lady, and I must concede our chances of success seem very small, but that’s no reason not to try. Let me explain. Your nation and mine share a common neighbour. To my way of thinking, the nations of the world make up a kind of village. Of course, some households are richer and some poorer, and some are troublesome sorts who will steal chickens from the yard; but there are also those who mind their own business rather than shoving their nose into everyone else’s concerns.’ Makaio smiled and spread his hands. ‘And then there are neighbours like Akhara. They are a large and prosperous household with many boisterous sons, seeking always to expand their borders.

  ‘Every man wishes to see his neighbours prosper … just not at the expense of one’s own interests, or as much as one’s own household. When a good neighbour’s business falters, one may offer aid and advice, as some misfortunes pay no heed to fences. But when a neighbour like Akhara falters, after all their belligerence, one cannot help but take a certain amount of pleasure in the sight.

  ‘When a neighbour’s house catches fire, however, a wise man sends his own sons to help throw water on the flames before they engulf the whole village.’

  ‘Speaking of neighbours and villages is all well and good,’ Ar
damon said, ‘but don’t expect us to believe that’s the heart of the matter. Tomoa lies far to the south — what does this matter to you?’

  Mira propped her elbow on the arm of the chair. ‘I think I understand, your excellency. The Akharians are not strong seafarers and, if I know anything of them, I know the lack must rankle. Sailing requires ships and ships require forests. We have them in abundance, but I understand the Akharians have cut down most of theirs.’

  ‘That’s part of it,’ Makaio said with a nod. ‘There’s also the matter of mines. Many of the empire’s mines are played out, and those that remain have low yields, due to the scarcity of slaves and the price of fuel. In recent years, Tomoa’s mines have met the empire’s hunger for metal. I understand Akharian surveyors have spent the summer searching Ricalan for wealth under the earth and found significant reserves, largely untouched.’

  Ardamon pursed his lips and nodded. ‘So. You wish to protect your own trade. Fair enough. Your king has no desire to possess the north himself?’

  Mira shot him a dark glance. It wasn’t only that Ardamon had no talent for diplomacy; it was that, if anything, his contributions had a detrimental effect. In that moment, she would have given her eyeteeth to have Isidro sitting at her side instead, but Makaio merely chuckled.

  ‘A good joke, my lord, but no. When the empire tested our borders, we sent them away with a whipping, but I doubt we would fare as happily in the snowy north — just as your men would not readily adapt to the heat of the south. No, I’m afraid my uncle can offer no armies in your support, merely information, a few ships and whatever assistance I am able to provide. And, should the matter turn out to be a hopeless case, my uncle has offered refuge in Tomoa to you and your household, my lady.’