“Canoviu.”
“On the Aerona, on the Granniu-Mumhan border.”
The harpist nodded. “And Sulis, in Nagnata.”
An outlier, that. I didn’t see its strategic significance. But I knew I didn’t yet see the Bard’s strategy and objectives—assuming he had such things at all.
“And what places are under threat?” I asked.
“Well… Nemetona,” the young harpist said tentatively.
“The one on the Aerona.”
“Yes.”
I nodded: if the Bard really were trying to control the Aerona, it was a sensible target. And it spurred a horrifying insight.
“And Ballarona,” I said, trying to maintain an even tone.
The young harpist nodded, looking worried. “They say the Bard will be there any day.”
“And you’re sailing to Ballarona?” I narrowly avoided allowing my voice to crack.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve been trying to get this gig?” he answered, then evidently remembered after the fact who he addressed.
I laughed. “I see. If you live past Bealtan, I predict you’ll thrive. Where else?”
“Slieve Mish.”
The Nagnata capital. Sulis was no outlier: after Mumhan fell, Nagnata would be next, and then Fhergail Conwy of Deceang would face the hopeless task of defending his nation when he had no useful borders: a particular challenge with the sea-port of Priaochan, less than a mile into his coastal waters, already studiously neutral. Kharr control of the Deceang capital at Dias Diorwig, coupled with possession of Priaochan, would make a blockade of the Ruillin practical. It would be only a matter of time for Ilnemedon after that.
I nodded. “What is your name?”
“Marten, Lord. Marten Whitebeam.”
I nodded again and stood. “Thank you, Marten.”
The young man’s color rose a little; he smiled as I turned to leave. “Lord—”
I turned back, meeting his pale eyes.
“Is the Lady of Finias on this ship?”
I managed a laugh. “Marten, no matter how I answered that question, you would be a fool to believe me. Best of luck to you.”
I strode out to the deck, looking for Amien. It is the nature of a Ruillin ferry that practically every person on board had heard the rumor of the Lady of Finias on this ship by now, and that tale would accompany us into the city: moving, in the miraculous way of gossip, even faster than a man on horseback might. We couldn’t just meander through the streets to the inn at which we were expected: a wholly new plan was needed—now.
But I could find no one I knew. Even Loeg and the mummers seemed to have disappeared into the dazzling orange-and-green light of sunset. And Ballarona’s once-familiar satellite towns were slipping past on the western shore. I walked the stairs to the lower deck and paced through the corridors, peering into the salons. In the floating tavern I found Mattiaci, Tuiri, Ogma and Fiacha dancing with a collection of brilliant-tressed night butterflies while a couple of harpists bashed out a tune on a cittern and a drum. I spotted most of the mummers at a table at the back of the room: still in costume and makeup, drinking ale. Loeg wasn’t with them. Neither was Sainrith.
The lower deck of any Ruillin ferry boasts a number of small storage areas and other cubbyholes into which passengers eager for a bit of privacy can disappear and enjoy one another’s company. After ten years of living on the Ruillin, I knew where to find them all; and I suspected I might find Easca if not other people I knew among those little mystery-places if I tried. I wasn’t worried enough to ruin anyone’s ferry ride, however. Not yet.
After a circuit of the lower deck I went back upstairs. The high places of Ballarona peered over the horizon to the west: we’d dock in a matter of minutes. Now, finally, I found Amien, Iminor, Nuad and Tru: leaning against the rail, apparently watching the city approach. But every few seconds one of them glanced around as if seeking the rest of the party. I crossed the deck to stand among them.
“We have a problem,” I said without preamble.
“You think?” Iminor snapped. I had thought they were simply unable to see Letitia at the moment; now I suspected they were wholly unable to find her.
“Where’s Letitia?” I asked.
Amien gave vent to an explosive sigh. “Good damn question. We’ve been all over this deck and the lower—”
“I have, too—”
Amien nodded, dark eyes on mine. “And obviously she’s not up on the sailing deck or in the rigging.”
“Has anybody started knocking on the hidey-holes on the lower deck?” I asked.
“The what?” Amien said.
A smile commandeered my mouth. “There are a number of places on the lower deck that are quiet, dark, and just the right size for a man and his friend.”
Iminor rolled his eyes. “Of course you’d know.”
I ignored him. “Fortunately, they’ll ring the docking bell in a few minutes, and that’s generally the signal for everybody to come out. The time to check those places is probably a few minutes after.”
“Just as we’re docking,” Iminor growled.
“Unless you take pleasure in interrupting trysts,” I said. The Tan glared at me; I just raised an eyebrow and looked at the others again. “Most of the knights are down in the tavern—”
The docking bell rang; my heart thudded.
“Well, then,” I said, more calmly than I felt. “One of you take the top of the stairs; one of you the horse corral; the others the gangway entrance. I’ll go downstairs and send the knights around and start checking the hidey-holes. Once the gangway’s down, let’s have people on either side of it, just to be sure. And once we’ve got enough bodies up here, somebody find the damn captain.” I cast a swift glance among them, seeing agreement, and hurried down the stairs again.
In the tavern, the dance had ended, but the knights were still busy flirting with the night butterflies.
“Excuse me,” I said in the Tanaan language, loudly enough to command their attention. All four glanced guiltily at me; I beckoned, and they gathered in a little knot around me as people began making their ways upstairs.
“No one can find the mora at the moment—calm faces, please,” I said quietly. “Ogma and Fiacha, I want you checking this deck, the others upstairs to help with covering the upper deck and the dock. Check in with Nuad,” I added, glancing at Mattiaci and Tuiri. “All of you, whoever finds Easca, relay the order. And keep an eye out for the captain. Nobody steps off this ship without one of us seeing who it is.”
They all nodded.
“Go,” I said, and strode out to start checking hidey-holes. About half of them were still occupied; I checked the open ones for clues that Letitia might have occupied them and possibly left something behind. But I knew that if Letitia had decided to grant the captain the fulfillment of his dreams, he had a much better space at the top of the ship. Before long I would have to check there, despite the absolute prohibition against passengers invading the sailing deck of a ferry. Unless I managed to soothe the sensibilities of the crew, that would mark the last time I was welcomed onto such a ship. Particularly since Loeg knew my name.
The ship drifted to a halt and bumped delicately against the dock. Gradually the lower deck emptied, except for the entertainers and vendors and whatever staffs they maintained. After a few minutes the last disheveled couples stumbled blinking out of their warrens. I sent Ogma and Fiacha on a final circuit and climbed up to the main deck.
The bright skies under which we sailed had dissolved into lowering grey clouds shot through with orange and green and a prickle of approaching lightning; almost all the remaining light blasted horizontally from the gap between the mountains, half blinding me after the softer light of the lower deck. The tide crashed so powerfully southward it seemed as if the river might empty, but the air hung profoundly still. Passengers were still filing down the gangway, but more crew than passengers now occupied the deck. The crew seemed engaged with the same things sailing cr
ews are always about at the end of a day’s journey: pulling down the sails, clearing away the detritus of dozens of passengers, wiping down the decks and rails. Sailors are supposed to be weather-attuned, but none of them seemed to feel the sudden urgency in the air. None of them even looked at the darkening sky. I couldn’t see the dock at the base of the gangway from here, typical for low tide; but the ship seemed to be riding even lower than usual for the Ballarona dock—which is river-bottom-scraping low on a normal day, by the time the ferries empty. This
twelvenight was the spring tide, I remembered; I had a vague sense that spring tides spelled higher high tides and lower lows, but I didn’t know whether that could account for the way the water seemed to drain away from the land.
I spotted Nuad looking fierce but not overtly threatening at the top of the gangway; the only other member of the party within eyesight was Easca, on watch at the top of the stair. She still had a bit of mummer’s makeup smudged across her neck, but her braid hung reasonably straight. The only sensible thing to do was to treat her like any male knight: she’d been off duty, and by the time her presence was necessary she turned up. No doubt she’d get plenty of correction from Nuad, anyway.
“Any word?” I said.
Relief flickered in her face, but it was relief at not being called to task—again, I surmised.
“Haven’t found the mora yet, Lord.”
I nodded.
“Ra Nuad’s on the gangway, Lord Iminor’s with Tuiri and Matti down on the dock.”
I nodded again. “And Amien?”
She frowned a little. “Has the corral, I think.”
“Understood. Send Ogma—” Black energies swept up my spine, igniting desire I couldn’t allow myself to satisfy. Far to the south, lightning flared out on the water. A contingent of Básghilae came pelting down the ramp to the dock and tangled in the crowd climbing up from the ferry, who met them with screams and panic and tried to flee back across the gangway again. I meant to brace myself against the black energies that would splatter across my awareness as the Básghilae fed, but instead I discovered myself suddenly, fully open. Sparks of several lives shot straight into me, setting me alight.
“Amien!” I shouted. The name echoed from the bluffs above the Ballarona dock, reverberated against the wall of the enclosure in which entertainers play. The wizard was already running across the deck, casting bolt after bolt of brilliant green against the ghouls. Thunder rolled across the water, as if in answer. The deck began to fill with panicked people; Iminor, Tuiri and Mattiaci formed up to hold the gangway against the Básghilae; sailors came running from the lower deck, carrying weapons that ranged from short swords to long knives. Out of nowhere the captain was there; Nuad barred him from the gangway; the sailors and the rest of the Tanaan converged on that altercation while the Básghilae forced the knights on the dock back onto the gangway, step by backwards step. Suddenly all I cared about was Letitia.
*Letitia!* I broadcast. *Letitia!*
*…Ellion?* Her mental voice was incredulous.
*Annu, where are you?* I sent, for her mind alone.
After a barely-perceptible hesitation, her targeted thought came to me, carrying mingled relief and terror. *In Rob—In the captain’s cabin. He’s locked me in!*
I nodded, irrelevantly. *Did—* I couldn’t form the question I wanted to ask, couldn’t even allow myself to think it lest she hear. *Are you hurt?*
*Just stupid.*
I glanced around. Amien stood atop the rail, casting at Básghilae on the shore. Iminor had managed to turn his horse almost entirely sideways on the too-narrow gangway, and battled the ghoul at the front of the pack while Mattiaci bolstered him from the rear. Nuad, Ogma, Fiacha, Easca and Tru had formed a standing half-crown at the gangway entrance with Tuiri and his horse blocking the gangway at their backs, pinning almost a dozen wailing passengers between the fights and felling sailors by the handful.
*It’s all right,* I sent. *I’ll have you out in a few minutes.*
*What’s happening?*
I sent her the mental equivalent of a shrug. *Fighting. Give us a bit.*
*Take your time,* she sent, in a composed tone completely belied by the wave of anxiety beneath.
*Hold fast,* I answered, and turned my focus on the battle. There was nothing I could do about the Básghilae until the battle on the deck had been won, and I needed the captain’s keys: I slipped around the side of the entertainers’ enclosure, swung myself up to the rail, drew my knife and ran along the rail the way one might tiptoe across the top of a wall, until I could jump down to the deck behind the captain. I grabbed him by the hair and laid the knife across his throat, letting it bite just a little.
“Your head is already in my belt,” I growled into his ear. His sword clattered to the deck.
From the rail on the other side of the gangway, Amien gave vent to one of the ear-splitting whistles that had been the terror of Aballo apprentices for centuries. Everyone on deck paused. And saw.
“I have the captain,” I said, as if everyone wasn’t already aware. “Lay down your arms.”
Predictably, some fool lunged at Easca. She cut him down; I let the knife bite more deeply.
“Do it!” the captain yelped.
Finally, they did. I pulled him backwards, across the deck, to the stairs leading up to the sailing deck, and stumble-pulled him up the flight without releasing my grip on his hair or the knife from his throat. Everyone on deck watched. It all felt stranger than a dream of playing in a tavern naked. But after a moment we stood outside the door to the little room.
“Open it,” I said quietly, and let him move just enough to pull a key from his pocket. He fit the key to the lock and turned it; I drew the knife across his throat, let him slip to the deck, and stepped across his body to open the door. I heard the roar as the fighting on the deck started up again, but all my focus was on Letitia.
She raced towards me. Without thinking I pulled her close, buried my face in her hair, drew back to kiss her brow.
“Art thou all right?” I said softly, lips still tracing her hairline.
In the half-second required for her to digest the unfamiliar words, I realized what I had done. Holy fouzhir hell.
I stepped back. Evidently she had been taught the forms of the Ilesian language’s intimate address, but she’d never used them: puzzlement shifted to understanding and then to something I couldn’t name.
“Yes,” she breathed. Her eyes shone. I couldn’t decide whether to kiss her or run and hide. “Thank you.”
“You are the person who deserves thanks,” I said. A tremor swept up my spine. All at once the sounds of the battle below us crashed into my awareness again.
“Wait a minute?” I said, pleased that I sounded almost reasonable. “We’re not done.”
I stepped out to the sailing deck again—and encountered the windcaller. I’d seen him, earlier, while he sat in the high seat calling the winds for our voyage; I was certain he hadn’t noticed me until now. He looked up from the captain’s body and the blood pooling on the deck; our eyes met.
Like every man of the arcane orders, I knew, he was sworn to serve Aballo and the true gods. And I knew he recognized me for what I was. But he was also a member of the crew my companions were dismantling—and I saw, with sudden horrifying insight, that he had understood what the captain was about today. And he supported it. I didn’t want to imagine why, didn’t want to believe a wizard, even one of a lesser order, could conscience such a thing.
The windcaller reached for his sword; I drove the knife into his trachea and sliced, then stepped back to allow him room to fall. Below me, on the main deck, the last few sailors laid down their weapons and backed away from the knights, hands spread before them; on the other side of the gangway, the remaining Básghilae were retreating beyond the top of the ramp. The passengers on the deck and those trapped on the gangway surged towards the exit; Amien gave vent to another horrific whistle, and people looked at him, but the running feet
trampled on.
“Don’t touch them!” he shouted, loudly enough to be heard at the far end of the deck. “If you touch a—an Avenger, you will die. Step carefully!”
He jumped down from the rail; the knights cleared out of the gangway and drew aside to let the panicked surge of passengers pass. I moved back to the cabin doorway.
“Letitia!” I hissed. “We’ve got to run!”
She nodded and scurried out to the deck, gave voice to a strangled noise and raced down the stairs behind me. By the time we reached the corral, Amien and the rest of the knights were already there.
“I’m all right!” she said impatiently, in response to a dozen questions, and turned her attention on Amien. “My things?” Strangely, she looked as if that question were of vital importance.
“With Iminor?” the wizard said, fingers flying over the tasks of preparing his horse.
She nodded; we all mounted as quickly as possible and raced across the deserted deck and gangway.
“Im!” Letitia shouted as we crossed. “My things?”
“Got ’em!” he shouted in response; we pelted up the ramp. Halfway to the street I realized we had never discussed a change of plans. There was only one place in this city I could think to hide.
“Follow me!” I called and raced to the front of the pack, and we galloped through darkening streets towards the Orchid, a tea-house of the sort notably lacking from the northern Ruillin. If Marla didn’t still own the place, we were sunk.
The sky lowered, charcoal and purple; wind whipped up from the river, smelling of energies far blacker than lightning and rain. An illicit thrill tingled up my back; I urged the horse faster, and he willingly complied. But after a moment I realized we were pulling away from the group and slowed him again.
Somewhere not too distant, barely audible above the noise of the horses’ hooves, I heard the roaring sound of a festival-day crowd. I glanced down the streets we passed; as we crossed Spring Street, I looked down to the Spring Square—and saw: it was a festival-day crowd, but they celebrated no festival I wanted to see. The unmistakable energies of a crowd’s devotions to a god hung upon the air—but the Presence they invoked was one I had never before encountered. My throat tightened; I fought down the temptation to cast a tendril of awareness towards the delight hovering in that square.
The Shadow of the Sun (The Way of the Gods) Page 41