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

by Ellyn, Court

Bells clanged, announcing the forenoon watch. The brig brought in her sails, and Rygg called across the billows for Athna.

  The boy reclined against a pile of pillows in Rehaan’s bunk. One of the pirate’s white linen shirts swallowed his bony frame. “I don’t want anymore water, you stupid old man. Or are you deaf? I want food! Get me food!” His voice, not quite to the cracking stage, was bruised from shouting for help on and off for days.

  The surgeon must’ve tried to convince the boy to drink for some time now, for he tossed up his hands in surrender and met Rehaan and Athna outside the cabin door.

  “Well, he rebounded quickly,” Athna remarked, astonished at the boy’s vehemence.

  “You know who he claims to be?” the surgeon asked. The captains returned dumb curiosity. “Goddess’ bosom, I’ll let him tell you while I start some broth. Prepare yourselves.”

  As soon as the captains ducked into the cabin, the boy demanded, “Who are you? Did you bring me breakfast? Mother-loving sods, I’m dying of hunger, and no one will feed me! Get out unless you have food.”

  Planting his fists on his hips, Rehaan in his brilliant red coat seemed to swell and fill the cabin. “Boy, I am the captain of the Aurion, and you’re sitting in my bed and wearing my clothes. Mind your mouth or I’ll have you flogged and tossed to the sharks.”

  The grinding of his teeth warned Athna he wasn’t bluffing.

  “Oh,” the boy said, supremely undaunted, and settled himself against the pillows. “Then you may stay. This is your cabin?” He examined the furniture, decked out in Fieran green velvet, and concluded, “It’s pathetic. I thought ships’ cabins were bigger.”

  “This is no a ship. It’s a brig.”

  “What’s the difference?” The boy’s question was rhetorical, for he plunged ahead: “And you?” His gaze was so direct and scathing that Athna felt the instinct to fold in on herself and protect her vitals.

  “My ship is the Bane. I’m Lady Athna.”

  “A lady captain? Hnh, how odd.”

  Rehaan seemed content to glare daggers at the foul-tempered child, so Athna sank into a chair to woo the boy with sweetness: “Such an ordeal you’ve suffered, young man. Mind telling us who you are?”

  The boy huffed as if introductions were a waste of time. “I suppose I must pardon you for not knowing your prince on sight. It’s not as if Father ever took me to see the ships or meet their captains. You’d think he would, wouldn’t you, since they’ll be mine one day.”

  Speechless, Athna looked up at Rehaan. He, too, wrestled with the information, eyebrows high, a half-formed invective frozen on his mouth.

  “That’s right,” the boy said. “You may bow. Then get me bread and lamb.”

  ~~~~

  “Do you believe him?” asked Athna outside the cabin door.

  Rehaan’s grin made her think of a shark who’s marked a young seal for a feast. “Every word.”

  Athna nudged the door ajar and watched the boy greedily slurping broth from a bowl as though it were a cup of ambrosia. Aromas of roasting fish and onions wafted from the galley. “He’s atrocious.”

  “Aye, as you’d expect a spoiled prince to be,” Rehaan said. “What’s the name?”

  “Nathryk. Crown Prince Nathryk. Unbelievable.”

  The cook’s mates approached with trays.

  “We’ll take them,” Rehaan said, and backed into his cabin with the food.

  Examining the contents of the tray set across his knees, Nathryk exclaimed, “This is not what I asked for.” The next moment, however, his voracious hunger overwhelmed his preference, and he shoveled down the boiled potatoes and flaky white fish filet.

  “Take your time, Highness,” Athna advised. “You’ll make yourself sick.”

  He tried to slow down, but soon he was stuffing the butter-soaked bread into his mouth.

  “Wine?” asked Rehaan, popping a cork. “Only the finest Fieran white, of course.”

  Nathryk looked at the bottle with a dull blink. Then a tentative grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “No one ever offered me wine before. Everyone treats me like a child. But I’m not. I’m the prince.”

  Rehaan filled a goblet, saying, “Boys grow up young at sea.”

  Accepting the goblet, Nathryk sniffed the contents, sipped, winced in disgust, but sipped again anyway.

  “Now,” Athna asked, “what was the White Falcon’s heir doing in a medical chest?”

  “I didn’t think they would lock it.”

  “Must’ve been terrifying.”

  “It was. I thought I was going to die in there.” Nathryk glanced up from his fish, as if he’d made some error. “Not that I’m usually afraid. I fear nothing.”

  “Oh, no, not you, Highness.”

  Pleased that she didn’t think him weak, he shoved more bread into his mouth and gulped the wine.

  “But why sneak onto a ship in the first place,” she persisted, “when surely any of your father’s vessels would be proud to have you aboard?”

  “Ha! My father’s subjects are conniving little worms. They don’t want to see me distinguish myself. I heard this ship was looking for Admiral Madon. I want him to take me on as cabin boy, so I can show everyone they’re wrong to keep me cooped up. You are bound for Admiral Madon, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t know he was surrounded by his enemies! Clearly, he’d never seen a Leanian uniform, for Athna’s dark blue coat and orange ribbons hadn’t alerted him. Nearly choking, she said, “Absolutely. Well, it’s difficult to find him, you know. It’s a big ocean.”

  “Good. In the meantime, if we encounter the Evaronnan blockade, you will let me fire a ballista.”

  “As you wish, my prince.”

  Happiness brought a flush into his pale cheeks. “I like being at sea. And to think, Grandmother wouldn’t let me near a port.”

  “You weren’t living at court?”

  “Don’t get much news out here, do you?” he accused. “No, Father sent me away for squire training, but I’d rather be drawn and quartered than go back to Éndaran.”

  “Ah,” said Rehaan, snatching hold of the word as though it were the ship chancing by and he the kraken. “Is Éndaran where you … er … climbed into the box?”

  “Yes, and I’m never going back. That place is the gate to the Abyss, and my Grandmother is the gatekeeper.”

  So, the fortress high on the cliff was somehow managing to supply Shadryk’s ships.

  “You won’t send me back, will you?”

  “Certainly not, Highness,” Athna cooed. “We might make a short stop at Graynor, however.”

  Rehaan cleared his throat, cast her a tiny shake of the head.

  The prince saw the exchange and asked, “Graynor? But that’s in Leania.”

  “You want to go where the war is, don’t you?” Athna asked.

  Nathryk relaxed. “Oh, yes, I see. Will I get to fire a ballista at fat ol’ King Bano’en?”

  With a cool chuckle, Athna said, “We’ll see about that.”

  With a slight nod of his head, Rehaan motioned her outside for a word. Shutting the cabin door, he grabbed her elbow. “Do you tell your men every thought in your head?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Even if we were taking him to Graynor, he doesn’t need to know that yet. He won’t tell us anything if he figures out—”

  “What do you mean ‘if we were’?”

  “We’re taking him to Windhaven.”

  “Wind … of all the ridiculous … I should’ve known. ‘Take him. The Aurion has no room.’ But now that he’s a prince, you claim him?”

  “I’ll split the ransom with you.”

  “No! He’s a prisoner of King Bano’en.”

  “He’s a prisoner of the duchess. And Rhoslyn granted me the right to do with prisoners as I see fit. So ransom him I will!”

  Athna reclaimed her arm and paced the ballista deck irritably. “Graynor is closer.”

  “Ah, no, I’ve taken prisoners to Graynor once bef
ore if you’ll recall.”

  “This is different! That’s the bloody Crown Prince, for the Mother’s sake.”

  Rehaan stroked his chin in a crafty manner. “How badly do you think Bano’en would want the lad?”

  “Why? You don’t mean to extort Bano’en, do you?”

  “Why not? I’ll get silver out of this from one king or another, lady.”

  “Bano’en could bargain for peace! Yet you value a bit of coin more? You’re despicable. Besides, why should Bano’en believe you had Shadryk’s heir unless you showed up with him, and in that case, Bano’en would just take him from you.” She tossed up her hands and made for the hatch. “You’ll do what you want. Rygg! Get me to my boat. I’m finished with this greedy bastard.”

  Rehaan caught her wrist when she was halfway up the stair. “That’s a dirty trick.”

  “What, my leaving you to your schemes? That’s no trick, mate.” She twisted free. “I wish you much wealth, Captain, a plague of wives, and a backstabbing crew. Farewell.”

  He swore bitterly and pursued her up the stair. On the main deck, a handful of his officers were watching, so Rehaan stopped and straightened his red coat with slaps and jerks. Athna was poised over the ladder to the jolly boat when he shouted, “It’s exasperating you are, woman!”

  “Why? Because I don’t share your greed?”

  Rehaan stomped forward and aft, fists on his hips, teeth grinding. Sailors and officers scurried out of reach. Rygg peered between the two of them from under furry black eyebrows. Angrev’s approach from the wheel exhibited the stealthy malice of a viper. If only he had the guts to cross his captain and bite, he’d deal with the meddlesome woman once and for all.

  “Fine!” Rehaan shouted at last. “To Graynor he goes, but aboard my brig.”

  “Ah, no, mate.” She gestured at the prize bobbing behind the Bane. “We both know for certain I’m bound for Graynor. Whereas you, well …” Sure he would stick by his plan to save face in front of his men, just like last time, Athna started down the ladder.

  “Wait,” Rehaan demanded, peering over the rail at her. “You’re as stubborn as they come. But if that’s the way it has to be …”

  She bit off a grin of triumph, never expecting his infatuation with her to override the jingle of a purse. “Good. Then I expect the boy to be sent along promptly.”

  ~~~~

  Rain kept Nathryk holed up in the Athna’s cabin for five long days, which the surgeon claimed was best for him, but it didn’t improved the prince’s behavior any. He cursed the food and the lack of things to do. Once the rain stopped, he cursed the tasks Athna set him to.

  Athna’s response got his attention: “Highness, do you think Admiral Madon would put up with this bellyaching? He’d have you flogged or tied to the shrouds to your shame. If you are so ungrateful, I can put you back in that box and leave you there. A month hence you’d be nothing but a messy bag of bones. Is that your preference? This is life at sea. If you cannot pull your weight like a man until we find Madon, you can swim back to Éndaran. Your choice.”

  Good to see the princeling roll up his sleeves and put his back into the scrub brush. The ballista deck soon gleamed, and as a reward, the weapons officer took pleasure in showing him the intricacies of the ballistae themselves.

  When his chores were completed, Athna permitted him on the quarterdeck, where the sailing master stood aside and let him hold the spokes of the great wheel. Later, when the ruins of Brathnach crept by the starboard rail, Nathryk examined the ruined port through Athna’s spyglass. With the wind in his black hair and the sun turning his nose and cheeks pink, he looked like a sweet boy, until he opened his mouth. “Poor sods. Lady Brathnach is a twit though.” As if her people deserved to lose everything for that.

  Hoping to keep the peace for as long as possible, Athna had ordered the Mastiff’s green flags hidden away and the Bane’s orange setting sun lowered. The officers had protested, even invited Athna to dine with them in the Wardroom to argue the matter with her, but she would not budge. “Along with the flags, I insist you defer to the prince in all matters but my orders. He’s insufferable, no doubt, but he believes he’s on a Fieran galleon and that makes him happy. We will keep it that way, hopefully, until we reach Graynor Harbor.”

  The hard, sea-scarred demeanor of the sailors and officers, however, convinced Nathryk to steer clear of most of them and measure his words when he had to speak to them, but in Athna’s presence, he was full of questions. “Why are you dragging that ship behind us? Wouldn’t we go faster without it? Where’s her crew?”

  “Oh, that’s a Leanian ship. We took her prisoner. Her crew is locked up below decks.”

  Nathryk’s mouth opened in amazement. “What will you do with them? You don’t mean to take them back to Graynor, do you?”

  “Yes, that’s precisely what we will do. Bano’en has Fieran prisoners, and we will trade Leanians for them.” Athna hoped he didn’t detect her stuttering through the lie.

  “I think you should hang them. That’s what Madon would do.” Satisfied with his reprimand, he raised the spyglass again and gasped. “A ship! There, there, do you see?” He pointed, lowered the spyglass, raised it again.

  Athna pried her spyglass from the prince’s fingers, found he was right, and swore softly. Flags flying, the Leanian galleon approached the Bane’s position.

  Wyllan leaned close. “We have to raise flag, Cap’n.”

  “Right, Highness, below decks with you.”

  “No! I want to see. You said I could fire a ballista.”

  After a moment’s thought, Athna hailed the sailing master. The woman, Madam Hennah, joined her promptly. “Move your things into my cabin. We’ll need yours shortly to secure our guest.”

  “Mine, Captain?”

  “You’re the only other female on board, and I can’t very well ask one of the men to bunk with me, can I?” When Madam Hennah hurried down the hatch, Athna ordered, “Lieutenant, raise the standard.”

  “Do you think they’ll attack first?” Nathryk went on.

  “No, Highness.”

  “Good. Can I fire the first garrot?”

  “Furl sails,” Athna called. No doubt the captain of the approaching ship would expect a gam.

  “Anchor?” asked the boatswain.

  “No. We can’t afford to chat long. Maintain course, let them come to us.”

  Nathryk watched the sailors keenly, the relaxed but brisk way they carried out their orders. “Shouldn’t they be arming?”

  “Highness, you really must go below. If there is action, I will fetch you.”

  “If? You mean sometimes you don’t fight?” His nose wrinkled with displeasure and he started down the quarterdeck stair, but stopped short. He watched the flag rise, that orange setting sun on the dark blue field. Looking back at Athna’s uniform and around at all the officers, he realized his predicament at last. He gulped and started backing down the stair. “No, I … don’t want to fight after all. I want to go home. You can take me home now.”

  With a smile that exuded sympathy, Athna followed him down the stair. He bolted for the hatch a moment too late. She caught him by the collar. He drove a heel into her shin and an elbow into her ribs, but she held on until a couple of Hellbenders relieved her. Holding the shrieking prince by the ankles and under the arms, they managed to carry him below decks. Athna directed them to the sailing master’s cabin.

  “Whore!” cried the prince, as the sailors tossed him onto the bunk. “I hope you rot at the bottom of the sea! I hope a shark tears you to a thousand pieces!”

  “I’m sorry, Highness,” Athna said, meaning it. “It’s just too important.”

  She held the door shut herself, while the carpenter applied the deadbolt.

  ~~~~

  As Athna expected, Nathryk tried his best to make everyone as miserable as he was. At odd hours of the night and during mealtimes, his curses and obscenities shook the planks. Wyllan offered to belt him, the cook offered to withhold meal
s, the sailors offered to strangle him, but Athna asked the surgeon for a clean strip of gauze, with which she gagged the prince, after binding his wrists with stout rope. He managed a few muffled mumbles, then dissolved into a child’s sobs.

  By the time the golden suns atop the harbor seawall gleamed on the skyline, everyone’s nerves were frayed, their patience paper-thin. “I’ll insist you receive a couple days leave,” Athna told her men.

  “Just being quit of the monster will be good enough for me,” said Wyllan.

  As agreed, the Aurion had waited a quarter of a league outside the seawall for the Bane to catch up. Rehaan refused to sail his brig into the harbor, so Rygg himself rowed the pirate-king across the slow billows to the Bane.

  “Rejoice that you gave the prince to me,” Athna said as he topped the ladder.

  “That pleasant, was he?”

  When the Bane was given clearance by the harbor patrol, her crew lowered the jollies and, ever so gradually, towed the galleon and her prize toward the pier. When the townsfolk on the docks saw the captive Fieran ship, they raised a cheer.

  “That’s for me, you know,” Rehaan said. “I fired the ballista while you were still catching up, lady.”

  Athna laughed. “I will remember, but will the history books?”

  The Admiralty expected Athna to account for the Fieran ship immediately, but she insisted that she had more urgent matters to attend to. “Lord Commodore, you don’t understand. I have an urgent matter for the king. I have a prisoner aboard my ship that may change everything. The prize can wait.”

  After some cajoling, the board released her, and she hailed a carriage to whisk Rehaan, herself, the prince and two Hellbenders up the hill to the palace. Inside the marble halls, courtiers, ministers, sentries, and household staff, stopped to stared as they passed, as if gagging a little boy was criminal. Athna feared she would be made to wait for hours, perhaps days, before the king had time for an audience, so she told the secretary in charge of scheduling appointments, “Describe to His Majesty what we’ve brought. Tell him, ‘Shadryk will want it back’.”

  After a brief conference in the inner offices, the secretary returned and reported, “The king will see you in one hour.”