He sat up quickly as the door opened and Tristan came into the room, his face drawn and tired. “You are to go and see him now.” His deep voice held none of the camaraderie of yesterday or the gently mocking humour of that morning. Klöss sighed and made his way through the doorway.
Frostbeard was only in the school once in a blue moon. He was simply too busy to pay much attention to his newest recruits, so the day to day running of the school was left to the Training Masters. It was just Klöss's bad luck that he happened to be in the school at the moment. Had he known, he would never have attempted going near the reavers.
He forced himself through the cold stone corridors and stopped outside a solid mahogany door, intricately carved and varnished to a deep rich shine. In a nation with little or no woodlands, which was dependent on raiding for anything that could not be gleaned from the sea, the door spoke volumes as to the wealth of its owner. Klöss steeled himself and knocked. He might look older, but he was still only fourteen, and right now he was keenly aware of just how young he was.
“Come,” came a firm, gravelly voice.
Klöss entered boldly. He was not going to be the timid mouse here. He had crept out of the school, but he was the one who had been wronged, after all.
His uncle sat in a large chair, behind a cluttered but beautiful desk. His eyes looked tired as he surveyed the young man in the doorway and he sighed visibly as he motioned Klöss into the room and pointed at a straight-backed chair opposite him at the desk.
“Sit,” he muttered. He had piercing blue eyes that looked out from under heavy, steel grey eyebrows. His mouth was a tight line buried in a thick beard. There had been a time when his beard had been black as coal and his name earned from his taming of the Vorstelv. Now his beard was more a deep grey with fleck of white in it, and a person could have been forgiven for thinking this was the reason.
“Explain yourself,” he said flatly and glared over the desk at him.
“My oar had been tampered with before the training race yesterday, sir,” Klöss began. “Someone had worked a ridge into the wood, so it would grind against my hand and make it impossible to row properly.”
Frostbeard grunted and motioned for him to continue.
“I wanted to show someone and ask their advice before I brought it to a Master's attention,” Klöss admitted. “I wasn't sure if I should just let it go.”
“So you convinced Tristan to sneak out of the training compound in the middle of the night and visit the reaver,” Frostbeard finished for him. “And did you find your damaged oar?”
Klöss shook his head mutely.
“No, neither did Tristan,” Frostbeard said quickly, holding up a hand against Klöss's startled outburst. “I have heard the reports of your injury and I have no doubt that the oar was tampered with. Whoever did it had no doubt switched the oar with one from stores by this time.”
“It was Dallan, I am sure of it,” Klöss blurted, his anger mixed with relief.
“Perhaps or perhaps not,” his uncle continued. “I suppose you think he should be brought in and questions asked?”
He slammed his hand down onto the desk, scattering papers and spilling ink that poured unheeded across the polished surface. “You think you are the victim here? Let me ask you, boy, did you check your weapon and shield before you boarded that boat?” He continued, without waiting for an answer. “You think your oar is not just as important? You should have checked it the second you sat down. There was space on that boat to have moved you or you could simply have swapped oars but no, you didn't even think to look until it was too late, did you?”
Klöss was scrambling to keep up. He had come into the room full of righteous indignation and this had caught him as unprepared as one of Verig's strikes.
“Damn it all, boy. I already have half the Masters thinking I let you in here just because you're my nephew. That you're too young, too soft. Then you go and pull this stupid stunt, sneaking out of the school, like a girl climbing from her bedroom window to meet a lover.”
Klöss took a deep breath. “You are right, Seamaster,” he began respectfully. “I should have checked the oar and brought it to the oarsmaster's attention before we sailed. But the oar itself should have been fine. I neglected my duty to check, but this does not alter the fact that it was tampered with.”
“And was your reaver not guarded?” Frostbeard said, with deceptive mildness.
Klöss swallowed carefully. They hadn't even discussed guarding the reaver when they'd been informed it would be at dock for them the night before.
“Of course it wasn't,” the old man said scathingly. “Go on, boy. Get out and find your Masters. Perhaps they can teach you something.”
Klöss turned to the door, his hands clenched tight and shaking. He left quickly, before his mouth betrayed him, but the colour of his cheeks already told the tale of his anger.
Chapter Six
Klöss slammed the gate hard behind himself and swore. The afternoon was warm and it was too nice a day to waste, but he was furious. It had been a full three months since he entered training and he had finally been allowed a day off, to visit his father. After the incident with the oar and the reaver, he'd been expecting to be denied it again, but things seemed to have blown over. He hadn't expected his father to welcome him with open arms, but it had been three months. He should have calmed down by now.
He turned down the cobbled streets, letting his feet guide him whilst his head was elsewhere. The man had barely let him into the house before he'd started on him about shirking his responsibilities, leaving him to scramble whilst he went off to play with boats. When he'd started about how disappointed his mother would have been, Klöss could take no more and had stormed out.
He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to force himself to calm down. The day was sunny and bright, he had money in his purse, it was too good to waste worrying about the old goat. He muttered to himself darkly as he wandered towards the market and tried to shake off his mood. The city was alive with a thousand scents and colours. Klöss knew this was only because he'd been locked away from it for a time, but he revelled in the sights and sounds. He stopped at a street vendor and bought some hot pork in flatbread. He'd been living on porridge and fish stew for so long, it felt good to have some real meat between his teeth.
A cart trundled down the street laden with sacks of grain, he stepped aside easily, and wandered aimlessly for a time.
“For these are the New Days!” a deep voice cried, from a set of stone steps. “Cast off your old pagan ways, for they are the shackles of the past. The Lord of New Days will show you a better way!”
Klöss glanced at the priest, clad in his dark robes with bell in hand. The church steps were half full with a small crowd of onlookers. The religion was growing with leaps and bounds. He wondered for a brief moment where they were getting the money for the churches. A young woman stepping past the priest caught his eye and his breath caught in his throat. In three quick steps, he was behind her as she hurried down a side street.
“Ylsriss?” he called out. She stopped and glanced back, catching his eye and raising an eyebrow with a smile.
“Well, hello rich boy,” she smiled, as he caught up. “I didn't think I'd be seeing you again. Aren't you supposed to be on a reaver somewhere, stealing some poor farmer's crops?”
“Aren't you supposed to be robbing a young man in a dark alley?” he grinned back.
She pointed to a narrow passageway behind them. “Well, I was in a hurry, but I suppose I could fit you in if you have the time.” They both laughed.
“What are you doing here? I thought they locked you all away while you were in training?” she said.
“They do,” Klöss replied, nodding. “They let us out once every five weeks or so for family visits, if we earn it.”
“So why aren't you with Daddy dearest then?” She brushed her long hair away from her face and then caught the expression that flickered across his features. “Never mind,�
� and then, “Oh! Is that pork?” He offered the bread across to her and she reached in to take a chunk quickly, popping it into her mouth. He studied her while she ate. She hadn't changed. She was wearing a pale green dress today, that was little more than rags. On her though, it seemed to flow and she looked like she'd just stepped out of a meadow.
He shook himself. “So, New Dayers? You don't strike me as the religious type.”
“Still my innocent rich boy,” she said. “Everyone with a hungry belly is religious. At least, until they stop handing out bread to the poor.”
“Faithful until the kitchen runs empty then?” He scratched at one bearded cheek.
“Yes,” she said, serious in the face of his joke. “It's more or less that way with everything, isn't it?” Klöss didn't know what to say to that and so they walked in silence for a minute or two.
“Are you busy?” he asked finally. “You said you were in a rush.”
“No, not really. The children will be fine for a while.” She licked the grease from her fingers and then dusted her hands together.
“Well, I have until sundown until I need to be back so...” he said, drawing out the last word and raising an eyebrow.
“Are you asking me on a date, rich boy?” she laughed, mocking him gently, and then laughed again as his face reddened, a genuine and delighted sound. “I have nowhere I really need to be. It would be nice to spend some time away from the cellar for an afternoon.”
He couldn't help grinning, and she reached in and linked arms with him in one smooth motion.
Ylsriss walked Klöss around the city and he felt like a young child stepping out into a strange place. He'd lived his whole life in Hesk, but she showed him things he'd managed to never quite see. They walked to the fishing docks, a place he was more than familiar with, having visited with his father many times to buy fish for the shop. He pointed out the vessels he knew and she pointed out the beggars he'd never noticed. Her education was harsh and brutal, but it was tempered by her company. She was a cool breeze on a hot day. She was the first taste of summer's mead. She was the thief who had held a blade to his throat and he realised he was smitten.
As they walked, he found his gaze drifting more and more often to the smooth skin of her neck. She had an unconscious grace that one so often sees with dancers and acrobats that carried across as she walked. Each step deliberate and careful yet with no more attention than one takes to blink or to take a breath. She was dressed in little more than rags, her clothing patched and scuffed to the point of ruin. On her however it didn't seem to matter. She took no notice of her clothing and her grace eclipsed it anyway. She had a ready smile and a gently mocking humour that she shared freely with him, herself, and anything else that fell under her gaze. She was never cruel however. Her humour was a gentle dig but never too harsh and never intended to hurt.
He bought a bottle of honey mead and they sat on steps by the docks, idly watching the labourers unloading the massive haulers, as they passed the bottle back and forth.
She drew her feet up under her, smoothing her dress down over herself. “Did you know that the New Dayers are saying we should stop the reaving?”
He shook his head. “They'll never stop the reaving. There are just too many of us on these islands now for us all to live on fish.”
“That's not what they're saying,” she protested. “They say it would be better for us to trade or something.”
“Trade what, Ylsriss?” he laughed. “We have nothing anyone wants. We stand alone, we always have.”
“I'm just repeating what I heard,” she said. “I'm not saying I agree with it.”
He shook his head. “No, I can't see it happening,” he said slowly, chewing over the idea. “It's probably not a very clever thing for them to be saying either. It's not going to make them very popular.”
“Do you think they care?” She nodded up towards the palace in the distance. It was an imposing building, built high upon the hillside, gloating greedily over the city as it glared out to sea.
“The Lords or the Thane?” he asked, and then answered his own question. “I don't suppose it matters. The Sea Lord and the First of Merchants wouldn't be too happy. They've always been allies of a sort. The merchants would have to function in a completely different way if we managed to find a way to trade with other nations.”
“I had no idea you were so political,” she teased with a lopsided smile. “What about the Thane?”
“I don't think he really has all that much power anymore. He's more of a figurehead than anything else.” He reached over and took the bottle back, taking a sip. “I don't expect he wants anything upsetting the way of things though.”
“So when do they set you loose on the seas, then?” she said, stealing a sideways glance at him.
“I'm not sure,” he admitted. “I doubt it will be too much longer. We've learned just about all we can without actually taking part in a raid.”
“Are you really sure this is what you want to do, Klöss?” Ylsriss asked, with serious eyes. “It won't be much of a life, you know? It's not all like the tales, I'm sure. The last fleet that came back had lost two-thirds of its oarsmen.”
He started at that and looked at her sharply. “I hadn't heard that.”
“No, I didn't imagine you would have. They wouldn't want you to know, would they?” She reached out and took his hand in both of hers. “These are not simple, unprotected farmers anymore. I suspect they haven't been in some time.”
Dropping his hand, she hopped down from the steps. “Come on. I want to feel the grass under my feet for a change, instead of this lifeless stone. Take me to the park.” She took his arm again and tugged, until he relented and climbed down.
Hesk was divided by a river running through its centre which parted to flow around a sizeable island in the middle of the city. Bridges arched over the river at four points leading onto the island which was the only green area of any size. An island in the river, and an island of green in a sea of grey stone. Klöss had been there many times as a child but since his mother had died, some years ago, he could count the number of times he'd entered the place on the fingers of one hand. Even then, it had simply been as a means to cut through.
He followed Ylsriss gladly, his calloused hand held in her tiny grip as she pulled him, laughing, through the city. They paused on the bridge while he showed her the tiny carvings of men on each of the white stones that made up the sides. In turn, she pointed out the family, huddled in rags, living under it.
They wandered easily around the garden for a time, pausing only so she could remove her shoes. “I like the feel of grass in between my toes,” she said, with an embarrassed smile. Eventually, they came to the old standing stones and sat in the grass, leaning back against them. The stones had been fashioned at some point so long lost in history that nobody could say who built them or for what purpose. Fashioned from two massive standing stones with another lying flat across the lintel, they seemed to create a doorway of sorts. It was a popular spot for picnics and lovers, and Ylsriss raised an eyebrow as he pulled her down to sit on the grass beside him.
“And is this where you bring all your conquests?” she asked, archly.
“Only those who hold a knife to my throat in a back alley,” he grinned.
“How long are you going to hold that against me?”
“Funny, that's more or less what I was thinking at the time.” He laughed and batted her hands away as she made to swat at him.
They passed the remains of the mead back and forth and Klöss could feel his cheeks become slightly numb as the potent wine took effect.
“How long have you been there?” he asked, watching the swifts swoop and dive after insects as the sun began to sink behind the tallest buildings.
“Where?” She drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them. “With the children?”
He grunted his agreement.
“Two years or so. I don't really keep track.”
He sat up fro
m where he was lying in the grass. “Will you always stay with them?”
“Why are we talking about this now?” She twisted towards him and fixed him with her eyes. “Why are we talking at all?” He froze like a startled deer and his heart started to pound. Her arms snaked around his neck and she kissed him lightly. Her lips tasted of honey mead, as she pulled him down into the grass.
***
Rhaven sipped at his whiskey and stared into the fire, watching the glow of the embers. He slumped in his deep armchair, his leg propped up on a beaten stool to allow the heat to soak into his knee. The sun was long gone and rain lashed at the windows, but he couldn't bring himself to care enough to close the shutters.
He took a deep drink of the whiskey and sighed as it warmed his throat, the burn running down inside his chest. The bang at the door made him jump and his leg dropped from the stool, slamming down onto the hard stone floor.
“Gods damn it!” he roared in pain, as he fumbled for his crutch and hauled himself across the room. He tore back the steel bolt and ripped the door open. “What!” he snapped out, into the night.
The old man standing on the doorstep recoiled a little and then grinned. “You've still got that temper, Rhaven,” he said mildly.
Rhaven glared at the man. “What do you want, Aiden? Isn't it enough that you've taken my son?”
“I thought you might like to know how he's doing,” Frostbeard replied, as he leaned in to escape the drips from the roof.
“Hmm, you might as well come in then,” he muttered, as he turned awkwardly and walked inside to sink gratefully into the chair again. He bent to lift his leg onto the stool and picked up his glass. “Close the door, you're letting all heat out,” he barked. “You can fill this too,” he said, waving his empty glass in the air.
Aiden took the glass and went to the tall cabinet against one wall, busying himself with bottle and glasses. He found a seat and handed a glass to Rhaven.
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