Chapter 14
LIGHT FROM A SMUGGLER
“The black market was
a way of getting around
government controls.
It was a way of enabling
the free market to work.
It was a way of opening up,
enabling people.”
Jon set out from Valemidas with his horse and a bag of gold. He did not plan to buy anything from the smuggler, but one never knew.
It was a brisk fall morning without a cloud in the sky. The wind blew hard from the Aerith Sea to the east, rippling the grasses that stretched as far as Jon could see to the north and west. Cliffs dropped to his right. Jagged rocks arose from the crashing waves far below.
Jon loved this ride. It washed away the stress and emotions of the past months. He had done all that Andor had asked—moving into the palace, staying by his side, and training soldiers for battle. He had done all that Yates had asked—taking Mailyn into his quarters, keeping her secret, and relaying his message to Andor. As a result of all his obedience, Jon was tired and his heart was in knots.
Now he had a day off duty. He did not have to listen to people beg Andor for things. He did not have to teach men how to hold a sword. He did not have to pretend he had not fallen for the pregnant woman who lived with him. He just got to ride hard and breathe deep the salty air.
By the time he reached the hidden cove, the sun was high and his head was mostly clear. Among the dozens of coves he had ridden past, this was the only one with the small marker post he and Wren had left here long ago.
It had been almost ten years since the smuggler had first told them of the cove. It was a perfect smuggling port. Only a master sailor could guide his vessel into the cove, and only at high tide. Because of the steep cliffs on all sides, jutting out at various angles, a boat in the cove was invisible to the rare person passing by above. Most importantly, there was a razor-thin trail that crosscut its way down from the top of the cliffs to the water.
Jon tied his horse to the post and gave her a bag of oats. She nuzzled his arm. The red mare would need the rest and food to make it back to Valemidas by nightfall.
He then began to make his way down. The footing was treacherous and a fall meant death. He focused on each step, avoiding any loose rocks, and hugging the cliff wall. At least going up was easier than down, he thought as he finally reached the bottom.
A boat was there, but it was unlike anything Jon had ever seen. The ebony wood and dark blue sail would make it difficult to detect in the open sea. The strangest thing was that, where every other vessel had a single hull, this one had two. They were long and streamlined, with a tight canvas floor pulled taut between them. In the center, under the mast, a structure was suspended above the water. It looked like a barrel on its side, with windows.
“Hello?” Jon’s voice echoed in the chasm as he approached the boat. He kept his hand on the hilt of his sword.
A few moments passed before a door opened in the sideways barrel. The sound of laughter flooded into the cove. The smuggler stepped out with two women behind him. They were each shoeless and sparsely clad.
“Jon!” The man shouted, holding out his arms in welcome. He glanced back to the women. “Ladies,” he pointed at Jon, “the man who stands before us is the finest knight in this land. He could fight a dozen of Sunan’s best and live to tell about it. Come with me, have a look.”
The smuggler took off running toward Jon, along the canvas floor of the boat. The women followed at his heels.
“Cid, I’m not sure—” Jon began, but the smuggler and the women had already dived into the water. It was crystal clear. They swam like fish across the short distance to the shore. Jon was puzzling over why the man would risk having these women with him when they walked up to him, soaked and laughing.
“Look at the height of him,” Cid said through deep breaths. “Feel his muscles.” He flexed his own arm. “This man makes his enemies cower in fear.”
The women eyed him. They both had long dark hair and bronzed skin hardly covered by wet cloth. Tattoos of the moon and stars were on their temples. One of them reached out as if to put her arm around Jon’s bicep.
Jon stepped back. “I am here, Cid. You told me to show up again the day after the second full moon. I expected it was for something important.”
“Oh it is,” the smuggler shrugged. “But surely you have learned my passions in this life? I much prefer company for my voyages.” He smiled at the girls. “Rum does not taste the same alone. You have earned my trust, Jon, so I thought I would introduce you to my friends.”
He gestured to the women, who now held their arms across their chests, shivering. “This is Dalia and Nila.” The women bowed gracefully. “They asked me to steal them away from a Sunan temple and smuggle them across the ocean,” Cid said. “Who was I to say no?”
“Well met,” Jon said to the women. “You are freezing.” He looked to Cid. “What is your intent here?”
“My intent is to make you smile, before I deliver what I have to deliver.” The smuggler pulled back a wet lock of hair that had fallen over his eyes. Jon noticed for the first time that the tattoos at his temples included pyramids, identical to Sebastian’s, though with different markings around them, too detailed to make out.
The smuggler looked over Jon’s shoulder. “Come, I have wood ready for a fire.”
Jon and the women followed him to the base of the opposite cliff wall. A small stack of driftwood was there. The smuggler kneeled down beside it and pulled out a dagger and a flint. He brought the fire to life and then held his hands out over it. The women huddled close.
“Sit.” The smuggler pointed to the sand beside the fire. Jon was growing skeptical, but he had already come this far. He sat.
“Rum.” The smuggler pulled out a flask from his still-wet pants and held it out to Jon.
“You first,” Jon insisted.
“I hoped you’d say that.” Cid smiled wide and took a long pull. “Just what I needed to warm my body.” He passed the flask to the women, who each sipped at it. “We rarely travel this far north this late in the year,” Cid explained. “It’s too cold.”
The woman to Jon’s right gave him the flask. He drank and passed it back. He breathed out heavily and leaned back, his hands on the sand behind him. The warmth of the fire and the rum were nice.
“See,” the smuggler said, “you just needed some rum. Aha, there’s the smile! Okay, now we can talk business, good knight.”
“To business,” Jon agreed. He would have to leave soon to arrive in Valemidas before night.
“I have a note from your brother.” Cid leaned forward. His tanned face and salt-and-pepper hair looked orange in the firelight.
“I am relieved to hear that.” Jon tried to keep his cool. He was ecstatic, but better not to reveal too much to this man. “Tell me you saw him. How is he?”
“I did not see him,” Cid said. “He is being held captive in a comfortable place, forced to serve a royal Sunan merchant.”
“Captive?” Jon asked. He was frustrated by how little he knew of Wren’s purposes on this trip. “What did he do to deserve that? What of Ravien?”
“They are Valemidans visiting Sunan in a time of war, in a time when such voyages are prohibited. Rumors say the princess stripped down before a thousand men, refused to bow to His Excellency, and then marched straight up to him and dumped the head of Ramzi on his lap. Now, apparently, she is His Excellency’s consort. Some woman, I’d say.”
“What! That cannot be true.” Jon failed to hide the passion in his voice.
“Now there’s the Jon I remembered. You have fire in your eyes, energy in your core. Before I give you Wren’s note, you’ll answer a couple questions.” Cid poked at the fire. “What has you down, friend? The prince in a foul mood? Woman troubles?”
“I am not in the mood to talk about that,” Jon replied.
“So it is woman troubles. I knew it!” Cid looked up and held out his
flask again. “More rum?”
Jon shook his head. “Show me the note and maybe I’ll tell you about her.” He wanted to be sure the paper existed.
The smuggler pulled a note from his pocket and held it out, too close to the flames for Jon’s comfort. Cid’s other hand still had the flask.
“A woman moved into my quarters,” Jon said. The smuggler pulled the note back further away from the fire, his face gleaming like a devious boy.
“It is not what you think,” Jon continued. “She is beautiful. Her blond hair takes on the most amazing shine in the sunlight.” Jon took the flask and a sip of rum. “She carries a baby, and she has no idea how I feel about her.”
“You dog!” Cid laughed. “I know that problem, my friend, all too well. The secret will be up soon enough. Just tell her you love her. It’s plain enough to my eyes and ears.”
“No, well…” Jon was not going to mention Tryst, her name, or any of the rest of it.
“Look, Jon, I will tell it to you straight.” The smuggler sounded serious for once. Then, as if catching himself, he stopped before saying more. He glanced to the silent women at his sides. They might as well have been statues for how quiet they were.
“You ladies should head back to the ship now,” Cid said. “We’ll be there soon to look at the goods we brought. Could you lay them out?”
The women said something in the Sunan tongue. They rose and sauntered over to the water. After a brief hesitation, they waded in and swam to the boat, this time more like wet cats than fish.
“As I was saying,” Cid’s words pulled Jon’s attention back. “You sound like a man who has met a true love. You may not believe it seeing me now, but long ago, I was in your position. She was unlike anything I had ever seen, and I’ve never seen her like since.” Sadness filtered through Cid’s steady voice. “I regret not a single moment I spent with her. I regret not a single word of love, of passion, of devotion I whispered in her ear. Do not hold back, man. You cannot know how long you will have with her. Life can be a fickle, short thing.”
“I did not know,” Jon said, at a loss.
“Every man has his secrets. The past is behind me now, but it always creeps back. I try to obscure it with adventure and pleasures.” He nodded toward the boat behind him. “Still, deep in here,” he tapped his chest, “my love burns, more real than anything that’s come in my life since.”
He sat quietly for a moment, then took a long drink of rum and his eyes came back to life.
“Enough of that!” He clapped his hands loudly. “Tell me about your prince, Andor. How is he?”
The man’s advice had taken Jon aback. “Andor,” Jon said, “yes, he is doing well, but he worries about this threat of war. He would rather have peace.”
“Peace…” The smuggler let the word hang in the air. “What your prince wants hardly matters at this point. The Sunans are prepared for war. His Excellency will soon reach the age of command, and then nothing will hold him back. Expect them on your shores in a few months. Here.” Cid held out the note.
Jon took it and read it. He sighed upon seeing Wren’s unique script. He longed for his brother to be here. He would know what to say to the smuggler. Jon was not supposed to be the one running deals like this.
The words corroborated what Cid had said, and more. War was coming. Wren was a captive. Ravien had a voice in the Sunan leader’s ear. Good could come from that. He memorized the cryptic message for Andor and then tossed the note into the fire.
“I like your determination, Jon,” the smuggler said. “I have a few other items you might be interested in. Sample Sunan weapons for your prince to study, a note destined for Sebastian, and a spectacular ivory bracelet for your love. That’s just the start. How much gold do you have?”
“Enough.” Jon had to be careful not to show his hand. His bag of gold would have bought another fancy boat like Cid’s.
“Enough means different things for different men. I need more than enough. I am building a fortune. I want a distant tropical island to call my own, and an army to protect it. I need gold and lots of it.”
“No place will be safe if this war breaks out.”
“When it breaks out,” the smuggler replied, “I am keeping my distance.”
“I doubt that,” Jon said. “I see a man who cannot stay away from trouble.”
A wide grin spread over the smuggler’s face. “I need a good man like you to keep me out of it. One man’s trouble is another man’s gain.”
Jon smiled. He was going to be late to Valemidas, but it would be worth it. “I think we can reach a deal.”
Chapter 15
THE END OF A MAN
“Alone, idle, and always near danger,
savage man must like to sleep and
be a light sleeper like animals
which do little thinking and,
as it were, sleep the entire time
they are not thinking.
Since his self-preservation was
practically his sole concern,
his best trained faculties
ought to be those that
have attack and defense
as their principal object,
either to subjugate his prey or
to prevent his becoming the prey
of another animal.”
The Icarian was going to kill Tryst. He used his knife to slice his last meal into thin pieces. It was a sausage the size of his thumb. A feast. The meat was delicious in his mouth. He savored each bite and the energy it fed into him.
His story had started in the mountains of Icaria. He had grown strong there, tucked away amidst almost impassable ridges. He had taken the oaths of a ranger, and he had been one of the best. The Icarian leader, the Summit himself, had given him the brass peaks to wear on his chest. There was no greater honor among the rangers.
He had married the love of his life. He could still see her freckled face. She had the most marvelous green eyes. Nothing had pleased the Icarian more than to see those eyes in his children. His oldest son was going to be a ranger like his father. His daughter was as beautiful as her mother. Their third child kicked vigorously in the womb.
He would never see them again. The Summit had sent him and another ranger in pursuit of a foreigner through the mountains, to stop him from reaching the lowlands. That was what rangers did, but the Icarian had failed. They had found the man they followed, but only after he found them. The Icarian had been sleeping, his partner on watch, when he was knocked out. He remembered waking with his wrists and ankles tied, draped over the back of a horse.
It was worse than a disgrace. When the man he now knew as Sebastian hauled him out of the mountains, it had severed his connection to home. An Icarian ripped out of Icaria was like a heart ripped out of a body.
By the time Sebastian had thrown him into the Valemidas dungeons, the Icarian had become a dangerous shell of himself. He knew better than to resist questioners when they came. Resistance would only prolong the torture. He had told the bald man with the beard and the funny stars by his eyes everything he knew about Icaria. Then the bald man had come back with the prince, Tryst. The Icarian told him the secrets of their explosive powder. He regretted it all now. He feared how the Valemidans might have used that knowledge.
After the Icarian had given up everything, the bald man had cast him down into this city. His honor was lost, but he survived as rangers always did. Survival became his only purpose. He had found this home and lost count of the men he had killed to protect it.
There was no hideaway like it down here. After much time scouting, the Icarian knew the city like he knew the Icarian mountains. This was the only place where a building touched the wall. It arched ten feet above the ground, like a bridge to the wall’s dead end of stone. The only way into the arch was through a hidden door. Everyone who found that door died by his knife.
This enclosed bridge was a safe place to sleep, but its true value was that it had enabled the Icarian to try digging through t
he wall. Using his fingers, bones, or any metal but his knife, he had chipped away at the hard stone. The hole had grown as deep as his arm when he had struck water. With water and his skills for finding food, he had managed to stay alive for who knows how long.
The only measure of time for him was his beard. He cut his hair with his knife, but never his beard. The beard was the only thing he had left from Icaria. When he had fallen into this city, it had gone down to his chest. Now it reached his waist.
In the time his beard had grown, he had survived and seen a man escape. The man had charged through the central square of the city like a maniac. The Icarian had kept his distance while watching the man leap up, climb up, to the hanging box. No one had done it since. Others had tried, and died. The Icarian preferred digging his hole in the wall, even if it went nowhere.
He had also seen men try to lead. He had seen Tryst fall like any other man and then declare himself god with such force that others believed him. Then Tryst had disappeared, and a man named Cain had tried to take over. The Icarian had been there when Tryst killed Cain.
The men down here would follow power, and so they followed Tryst again. More and more men were swearing their faith in him. Food was becoming more plentiful. The men thought Tryst was the cause of it. The Icarian knew that was a lie. He knew Tryst was a man. He was the man who had listened to everything the Icarian said about his former home. He was the man who said he would burn down that home and kill every man, woman, and child who did not obey him.
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