Blood of the Falcon, Volume 2 (The Falcons Saga)

by Ellyn, Court

  “Yes, I … I dreamt of my men. They were swimming up to take their vengeance on me. All of them dead on my order. My decision to fight.”

  “Burden of a captain,” Rehaan said, as if accepting her burden would help her sleep better. “Risk of a sailor. They didn’t have to join the navy, did they?”

  Before she could argue the point, he added, “Saw the ships break apart in my spyglass. Quite a sight. Was it worth it?”

  “I don’t know. How many of our ships were we able to save? Not enough, I suspect.”

  “Sure I don’t envy you the choice or the experience, lady, I warrant you that.”

  “Captain. It’s ‘captain’.”

  He grinned. “Course it is.” Glancing over her head at his boatswain, he asked, “Did I tell you about the time I lost a boat, Rygg?”

  “Don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of that one, Cap’n.”

  “No pleasure in it. It were in the Islands. I’d only had the brig less than a year when we were washed onto the rocks in a squall. We sank only a few feet. Embarrassing.”

  “Only one ship lost?” asked Athna. “And not even to the patrol chasing you? Either you tell a good tale or you’ve uncanny luck.”

  “A lie it’s not, nor luck.”

  “That certain of your skill, are you?”

  “It’s the Old Blood.”

  Athna’s eyebrows darted up.

  “I swear it. It tells me where the obstacles are, the reefs and rocks, and when storms will build.”

  “But not that night.”

  He shrugged, and it may have been the lantern light, but he looked a bit sheepish. “I wasn’t on deck at the time. I was … drunk, and I wasn’t alone. My mate at the time, who I’d left in command, was a big fat eejit. Didn’t wake me till it was too late.”

  “Not alone, eh? Perhaps you should’ve remembered that women on board are bad luck.”

  Rehaan tossed his head back and laughed at the moon. “Neither you nor me ascribe to that superstition, it seems. And you, Rygg?”

  The boatswain’s eyes, under thick black eyebrows, darted over Athna and away. “I’m not sure, myself.”

  “And does my having the Old Blood increase your loathing of me?” Rehaan asked his guest.

  “Should it?” Athna replied. “That’s nothing. I have an avedra for a cousin. My father told me he’s at Windhaven receiving some sort of training, whatever that means.”

  She was pleased to be able to give him a bit of a shock. “Kieryn of Ilswythe is your cousin?”

  “You know him?”

  “Aye, strange lad. Fierce and timid all at once. We talked of elves, I believe, and kings. And it became very clear that your cousin is in love with my cousin. We could soon be family, you and me.”

  “Mm, yes. Sooner than you may think. I received an invitation to Kieryn’s wedding to Her Grace. It’s to be in the spring. I can’t say I approve—”

  Rygg grunted. Something seemed to jar inside Rehaan as well. “Her Grace?”

  “Ah, yes, you wouldn’t know anymore than Admiral Beryr.”

  Rehaan seized her arm in a bruising grip. “Harac is dead?”

  “Suddenly,” she said, astonished by his flash-fire brutality. “Crazy rumors of dark—”

  He released her and retreated down the hatch, cloak awhirl like storm clouds. Athna looked to Rygg for an explanation. He stared at the hatchway, whipped off his red cap and twisted it in his big hands. “They were close, Cap’n and the duke.”

  “I never would’ve guessed.”

  “He were a hard man to dislike, Harac was. Come, lady. Best go below.” He kept watching the hatch as if he were more willing to follow a serpent into the deeps than pursue that man in his grief. Settling herself in the boatswain’s cabin, Athna heard muffled thumps and a gruff voice coming from the captain’s quarters. Was Rehaan the type to punish the messenger? She was grateful for Rygg’s presence outside the door and for Wyllan, swinging against the wall, twitching in his dreams. She slept fitfully, stirring at every chime of the bell and thump of a sailor’s foot on the gangway. At dawn, exhaustion got the better of her and she slept deeper than she meant to. A shadow chased her across the sea. Black sails dissipated as though stitched from clouds, yet the vessel sailed as fast as if a serpent’s tail propelled it through the water. She couldn’t outrun it. She stood high over the waves, waiting for the jaws to open.

  The touch of a hand woke her. Wyllan’s faded red hair was disheveled. “Captain, it don’t sound good up there.” A flick of his eyes indicated the deck overhead. The tromp of many feet and a melee of heated voices shuddered through the planks. Bright white sunlight filled the cabin. Athna sat up in a hurry.

  “What hour is it?”

  “We’ve reached Brathnach Harbor, but we’ve dropped anchor. We may’ve been bobbing here for hours.”

  “Our uniforms dry?”

  “Almost. I fetched them from the galley.”

  The heavy blue wool of her coat was still damp in the seams and under the orange braiding, but buttoned in her own garments again, Athna felt less at the mercy of strangers. She and Wyllan stood at the base of the stairs below the hatch, listening.

  “Will the girl honor the agreement?” shouted a sailor out of sight. The few faces Athna could see beyond the hatch glared toward the helm.

  “Her signature is on the pardons alongside the duke’s,” said Rygg in his rumbling bass. His scuffed boots shuffled past the hatch. “She’s bound—”

  “Only as long as she sees fit.”

  “Aye, as long as we’re useful to her.”

  Where was Captain Rehaan? Shifting about the steps and craning her neck, Athna glimpsed him sitting on a barrel near the wheel. Long of face, he appeared to stare at the planks, inattentive and disengaged. Oh, why hadn’t she kept her mouth shut? Her mother always said she had inherited her father’s rash tongue. But how could she have known that this pirate may have actually loved his highborn uncle?

  Angrev appealed to his captain. “I say we bear for the Pearl Islands and leave this war to the highborns.”

  “And what of your tavern, mate?” asked Rygg. “That dream sails the last dark lane, if you catch my meaning.”

  “Bygones! I’d rather be a hunted man of my own choosing than betrayed and hanged for my trouble.”

  The men filled the wind with a chorus of affirmation.

  Encouraged, Angrev called to them, “What’s loyalty to this little girl worth? Not enough, says I. We could make a fortune selling arms to both sides, like we did during the Tempest Debacle.”

  An enthusiastic supporter added, “And we have hostages, highborns who will fetch a silver or two.”

  Athna’s hand dropped to the hilt of her saber, and she exchanged a cool glance with Wyllan. They would make men bleed for their coin.

  Rygg interrupted the excited cheers. “No!” He turned to the helm. “Cap’n, what’s the honor of a man worth if he tosses it aside when he chooses? You made this agreement. You must honor it.”

  “You’ve no say here, duke’s lackey,” declared a skinny man in a ragged canvas coat.

  “Spy and snitch, that’s what he is,” said another.

  “We ought to hang you, Rygg,” said Angrev, “lest you run back to the girl and she hangs us all.”

  “No say?” Rygg echoed, turning slowly, appealing to the men dispersed about the deck and perched in the rigging like hungry vultures. “I’ve fought and bled alongside ya, not only because Her Grace ordered me to, but it pleased me to do it. And now you would shit on the things that matter most for a bit of coin, because you’re too bloody gutless to live as honorable men.”

  The skinny sailor bared a short splicing knife and lunged, aiming for Rygg’s belly, but the former ferry master grabbed the man’s arm and twisted. The crack of bone sounded like splintering wood. The sailor shrieked and dropped to his knees. Rygg balled his fists, ready for the next. Athna prepared to dash up the ladder to aid him.

  “Enough,” Rehaan said
, rising from the barrel. Fists on hips, he looked as ill-tempered as flame in his red coat. When the men grew still, he said, “Rygg, you’re my man now.”

  “Cap’n—”

  Rehaan’s raised hand silenced Rygg’s plea. “We sail for the Islands. Angrev, see it done.”

  His first mate grinned. “Aye, sir.”

  Athna’s hopes sank. “Traitors and bastards, the lot of them,” she muttered.

  Wyllan clenched her wrist, demanding she heed him. “Not one word, Captain. Not one word. Back to the cabin. We’ll figure a way outta this.”

  Above, men dispersed, and chain clattered as the anchor rose. A man with a weasel’s face and missing front teeth replaced Rygg at the door. “You best be still now,” he said, grinning at his prisoners. “I’ll take them weapons off ya.”

  Their weapons consisted of Athna’s saber alone, but they could bluff. “Come in and get them, handsome.”

  The sailor snorted and leered at Athna, but he stayed where he was. “The moment you sleep, precious, you’re mine.”

  “Not bloody likely,” said Wyllan, shoving the sailor from the cabin. Because the door had no lock, the sailor had to knot a rope about the latch and tie it to the trunk of the mainmast.

  That evening, while the Aurion cut a path northwest across Brynlea Bay, Rehaan sent for his hostages. The weasel-faced sailor prodded them at the point of his cutlass. Through the door of the captain’s quarters, they heard voices. The bass belonged to Rygg. “Rhoslyn will not betray you, Cap’n.” Still trying to change the tide, Goddess bless him.

  “She is young and unproven and has advisers who will sway her against us.” Rehaan’s reply was as taut as a yard ready to snap.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “No, Rygg!”

  “Was this always the plan? If the duke died, you turn tail and run?”

  “I have flogged men for less,” Rehaan declared. “The matter is closed.”

  “This is an evil thing you’re doing.”

  Athna had to admire his persistence.

  “Go about your business, boatswain,” the captain ordered.

  “Aye, sir.” The cabin door opened and Rygg emerged, defeated. He shook his head regretfully and squeezed past. The weasel-faced sailor bared a gap-toothed grin and sniggered.

  Rehaan stared out the stern windows at the darkening sea. Hearing his hostages enter, he turned, face still taut with anger. “You may dine here,” he snapped, “as long as you do not speak of what’s happened.”

  Wyllan huffed, but Athna forced a smile she didn’t feel. “In that case, we’ll make ourselves at home. Won’t we, Lieutenant?” She unbuttoned her coat and slung it over the back of a chair, discreetly tugging loose the laces of her blouse as she did so. Perhaps she should’ve prepared Wyllan for the game she meant to play. He took his seat at the table, stiff, formal and silent. The fare was simpler, reflecting Rehaan’s shift in mood: a tureen of fish stew and another of boiled potatoes and onions drowning in butter. With the grace of her lady mother, Athna assumed the role of hostess and dished out the first helping. Receiving his bowl, Rehaan eyed her suspiciously.

  “Are the Islands cold this time of year?” she asked.

  “Tolerable,” he replied, setting aside the bowl and reaching for the wine instead.

  “It’s good to know what to expect.” Athna dished for Wyllan, then for herself. “I’m not fond of the cold, myself. Will the ports be iced in long? Would be a shame to be stuck there even though the ransom’s been paid.”

  Rehaan wasn’t convinced. “It’s not ice you need to worry about.”

  Athna affected a laugh. “No, indeed. Irascible sailors, now that’s the real problem. That charming gentleman you have at our door, for instance.”

  “Keel?”

  “Is that his name? Lovely.”

  “After the fight that cost him his teeth, he claims to have tied the man up and plucked every tooth from his head. Over the course of several hours. ‘Tis eager he was to board my ship, you can imagine. The local magistrates wouldn’t have been gentle either.”

  “Did Keel say what the fight was about?”

  “A whore. What else? Or maybe it was dice.”

  “Her Grace is generous to secure a pardon for such a man.”

  Rehaan swallowed his wine as though it has turned to powder in his throat. “ ‘Tis forfeit now. We’ll not speak of it.”

  Athna rolled her goblet between her fingers and sipped. “You’ve no use for life on land anyway, so it’s no great loss. Right?”

  They dined in silence. Wyllan went back for two more helpings, as though he expected the fish stew to be his last meal. Rehaan picked at the food and finally shoved the bowl away. Athna offered a sad smile, as if in profound understanding of the burden weighing upon him, and refilled his goblet. As she leant toward him, his eyes flicked toward her bosom. She slapped down the decanter to hastily tighten the laces, feigning utter embarrassment. Wyllan took no note of it until it was done, for which Athna was grateful.

  Rehaan was no warmer than before. He leant back in his throne-like chair, a finger tracing the rim of his goblet and his jaw askew, as though she had dealt him an insult. Maybe she was no good at the charms game, or maybe this brigand was too familiar with it for it to affect his judgment. Athna decided to give it up.

  “You realize your decision is foolish.”

  “I will not discuss it with you.”

  Coward. “Go where you want, who am I to try and convince you otherwise? But keeping us hostage will not make you a copper richer. It will get you killed. Bano’en does not bargain with pirates.”

  Wyllan had set aside his fork and looked ill at his stomach.

  “Doesn’t he now?” Rehaan said. “Of that I’m not so sure. His arms dealers asked no questions eight years ago when Shadryk pissed him off.”

  “Yes, but you weren’t holding his niece prisoner either.”

  For a long while Rehaan gazed out the diamond-paned windows. When he spoke, his voice was full of despair. “ ‘Tisn’t a course I like. But you’re our guarantee.”

  “A flimsy one.”

  “I don’t have a choice.”

  “You mean, you can’t change the plan now, even if you want to?”

  Rehaan shook his head, unwilling to look at her. “The men would mutiny, and if that happens, you’d best use that saber on yourself before they get to you.”

  “Replace the men. Wouldn’t your cousin see that you had plenty of able seamen?”

  “You’re assuming that I want to change the plan.”

  Athna wasn’t fooled. “What strange things we do in our grief.”

  “I said I wouldn’t discuss it.” Shoving his chair back, he stood, so tall his head nearly struck the planks. “You may go. Take your food and drink with you.”

  Athna left the food where it lay. “You’re as much a prisoner here as we are,” she declared. “Pride and fear are your chains.”

  Wyllan grabbed her by the arm and hauled her for the door. Rehaan followed fast, and Athna feared she would soon be drinking the sea. Teeth bared in a fury, the pirate-king slammed the boatswain’s door and tied it shut. “Keel!” he called. “Watch the door. But remember, if you touch a hair on their heads, I’ll fill your skull full of nails.”

  ~~~~

  Rygg brought them breakfast. Hardtack and a ration of grog. “Captain is giving you an hour after you eat to walk the deck. I’ll take you to the forec’s’le to make your water.”

  “Haven’t we the joy of Keel’s company this morning?” Athna asked on her way to the heads, or the loo.

  “He musta jumped ship in the night, lady.” Rygg snatched a potato from the chopping block as they passed the galley and stuffed it into Athna’s pocket. “Truth is, no one will say where Keel betook hisself. Captain asked me to watch Keel while Keel was watching you, and I didn’t like the way he was looking at the door and fingering his knife.

  Athna placed a hand on Rygg’s forearm, heart warm for the firs
t time in days. “Thank you.”

  “Goddess knows how this’ll break, lady, but Cap’n won’t let nothing happen to you.”

  “You either.”

  The great bear blushed and wrung his cap. “No, ma’am.”

  Returning to the cabin, they met Angrev hurrying down the gangway. He brushed past them and knocked on the captain’s door. “Sir? Wreckage sighted. Men in the water.”

  Athna raced up the steps with Rygg close behind. The lighthouse on Queen’s Head, a regal tower of silver stone, crowned the cliffs two points off the Aurion’s prow, no more than four leagues away. So close. She was tempted to jump ship once they rounded the cliffs.

  “Them rocks are treacherous, lady,” said Rygg, guessing her mind.

  Strung out between the brig and those treacherous cliffs, broken planks, twisted ropes, and empty barrels of a once mighty ship bobbed on the current. Half a dozen jolly boats were filled with men waving green coats.

  “Fierans,” Athna muttered. Admiral Warris’s efforts to protect Graynor Harbor hadn’t been in vain then. At least one more of the White Falcon’s ships had limped away from the razing only to founder in enemy waters. How far had these men been rowing? Lucky they hadn’t raised a serpent’s attention.

  “Let’s have a bit of target practice, Cap’n,” shouted a sailor as Rehaan mounted the quarterdeck. The men on duty approved the proposal. So did the first mate.

  “It’s a lot of mouths to feed, that is,” Angrev said, “and too many bodies to keep in check.”

  Enemies or not, Athna couldn’t stand aside and watch these pirates prove themselves the most despicable men under the blessed moons by murdering helpless sailors. How to save them? She turned to the quarterdeck. “Captain, if I may?”

  “You may not,” Rehaan replied.

  She grit her teeth and pressed on. “Don’t tell me you mean to give up a reward.” She said it loud enough that deckhands as far as the bowsprit might here. “It’s a little known fact outside our fleet, but Bano’en pays well for prisoners of war.” It was a bold-faced lie, of course. Neither Bano’en nor his admirals traded a copper for enemies captured at sea. Ships and contraband were another matter. “The king would be most grateful.”