In the dim starlight she saw that the gridwork over the main hatch was open and heard voices from below. They grew louder until one of them yelled, “Captain! Found the fishbait sawing at a rudder line.”
“Bring him up,” Royan called. “Rig the spare line. And mount the bells in place.”
Bells? Dorrin hadn’t heard or seen any but the one ship’s bell that marked the watches. Now she saw shadowy figures pulling the strange pots from the center of the ship to the rails, where they clanked on something. Meanwhile, two sailors ran up the ladder from the hold, then hauled up the man they’d captured and bound. The captain came down to the main deck.
As Dorrin watched, the mate and two crewmen forced the man’s arms across the rail. “You would leave my ship rudderless in the ocean, helpless when your friends come,” Royan said. “I will leave you armless, helpless when the fish come.” The man screamed for mercy, but two quick strokes with the captain’s cutlass and his hands and forearms fell overboard as his blood spurted out. “May your blood call Barrandowea to my aid,” Royan said. Then to the mate, “Overboard with him.” They threw the man overboard. Dorrin heard only one splash and could see nothing of him.
Dorrin’s stomach turned, but she clenched her jaw and said nothing. The man had betrayed them to pirates and intended evil to everyone on board. They sailed on through the night, and the captain explained the use of the “bells,” the great bronze pots now fueled with sap from the forests of Kostandan.
Dorrin had become used to the ship’s noises—the flapping of sails, the creaking and groaning of the ship as it rolled, the slap and thud of bare feet on the deck, the wind whirring or whistling through the rigging, all the sounds water made against the hull. Now she heard something else—but before she could react to it, a hideous howling arose from all around the ship. Then a score or more of grapples trailing ropes flew up over both sides of the ship, smashing into the less cautious sailors who rushed to the rails at the noise. Some caught in the rigging, some scraped across the deck to lodge under the rail.
But Blessing’s crew had been through pirate attacks before. Lights appeared on the deck, set into the polished bronze bells Dorrin had puzzled over. Though dim, they made it possible to tell sailors from pirates. “Cut the ropes—the grapples—” the captain told her. Sailors were already doing that, cutlasses thudding into the rails, slashing lines hanging from grapples in the rigging. From high above, the first fire-tipped bolts flew down, aimed at the pirates’ sails. Dorrin slashed at lines she was sure weren’t the ship’s own rigging and at the arms of a pirate about to climb over the rail. Blood spurted; he fell backward with a cry. She ducked as another grapple sailed past her head, skidded on the deck, and snapped into place under the rail.
Shouts and screams forward—Dorrin chanced a glance that way and saw a confused mass of men, pirates pouring over the bow railing, pushing defending sailors back and off the foredeck. “Stay back,” the captain called. “Keep them off the port side, away from the ladder up here. Use the fire-rings!”
Dorrin picked up one of the pitch-soaked rope rings, lit it at the nearest bell, and hurled it at the pirate sail that had come alongside; flames wreathed it as it flew, and it hit, clinging. The sail caught; flames rose, giving more light to see two pirates just coming over the rail. Dorrin struck one with her cutlass and pushed a lit fire-ring onto the other. Screaming, he dropped his cutlass and jumped back over the rail, but instead of water, he landed on the pirate ship’s deck. Dorrin scooped up his cutlass but had no time to see what happened to him, as more pirates had come over the opposite side.
The fight raged over the deck, but gradually the crew prevailed, as their use of fire had set three of the pirate galleys aflame. Dorrin wondered at first that the pirates did not use fire against Blessing but then realized they wanted the ship and its cargo. The last few pirates on the main deck were backed against the starboard rail, fighting for their lives, when she heard a yell from the upper deck. She ran up the ladder to see a clump of pirates, the steersman lying in a pool of blood, and the captain fighting for his life.
Dorrin charged into the pirates, both cutlasses at work; she and the captain together took down those then the next who tried to climb over the stern rail. Finally, it was over … the ship sailing on, the dead pirates thrown overboard without ceremony, the dead crew—only four, Royan said, after he had committed each to the sea with a prayer to Barrandowea to give them a fair voyage to their next home. The steersman was alive but injured and in bed in the other passenger cabin. In the dawn light, the crew cleaned the decks of blood and other debris from the fight, cleaned out the great pots, and lowered them into the hold again.
“In the end, we sank ’em all,” Royan said at breakfast. They ate on the upper deck; the sailor steering now had less experience, and Royan watched him closely. “Better than most sea fights, and it’ll be a lesson to them. Other ships will have an easier time for the rest of the season, I expect.”
“How will those ashore know these lost?” Dorrin asked.
“The fires. Those flames would be seen ashore, and they know what that means.”
“So you don’t expect another attack?”
“No. Those ashore won’t see any gain in it.”
They sailed down the eastern coast of Aarenis, land just visible from the upper deck, with someone on the masthead watching for landmarks. Day after day of careful sailing; Royan had explained that shifting shoals reached well out to sea from this sandy coast. Finally, the lookout spotted the higher rocky point that marked the opening of the Immerhoft Sea. As the ship heeled, making the turn into that bright blue water, Dorrin felt a surge of joy from the crown. “Patience,” she murmured, looking south to see a similar rocky point that was her first view of Aare itself.
Ahead, islands showed against the blue. They would, she thought, be turning again to be well outside those guarding the entrance to the Immerhoft ports and Alured the Black’s pirate associates who watched every ship that passed into that vast bay.
But instead of turning away from the shore, the captain steered along it.
“We must go in for water,” he explained when she asked. “We lost days in the storm; we’re low, and what water we have is foul. I know the Sea-Prince told you we would not stop here, but do not worry, lady—we sail in and out of this port every year.”
“I was here during Siniava’s War,” Dorrin said. “My unit was allied with Alured’s … some people here may remember me. And … the unit I used to be with is now under hire to oppose him.”
“Politics.” He scowled for a moment. “You do not want to be seen as yourself, eh? You might be in trouble either way? But we will not go to Immerdzan, only to Ka-Immer. Were you there?”
Dorrin nodded. “Not for long, though. I would worry more about Immerdzan.”
“That delays too much when we sail all the way to the western ports. But even at Ka-Immer, it is true, officials come and look over the ship. You will be crew.”
“But I don’t know how—”
“You were soldier; you can use crossbow, yes?” At her nod, he smiled. “Yes. We have a day or more. You learned how to climb up—you will go up mast as high guard. Lucky you spent time on deck—tanned feet, tough on bottom. Lucky your hands are callused, too. I give you new name. Braid your hair like a sailor. Wear sailor clothes—we have. We clear out your cabin—no passenger aboard, just crew.”
“I’ll take my box down,” Dorrin said. He did not believe at first that no one else could move it, but when he couldn’t move it even a fingerwidth, he shrugged and showed her where to stow it.
By the time they came into Ka-Immer’s harbor, Dorrin had practiced that trip up and down the mast; she was able to do it as quickly as most sailors, even with a crossbow hung from her belt.
The port officers who came aboard at Ka-Immer glanced up at the guards above, but no more. Dorrin was in the mainmast’s basket, paired with another sailor. Her task was to watch the side of the ship away from the
dock, where thieves in small boats or even swimming might try to climb the anchor cable to come aboard. Once more the small boat on deck was being rowed up and down by two of Blessing’s sailors.
Facing the other way, her partner kept up a stream of chatter about what was going on dockside. Water barrels going out, water barrels coming aboard. Cargo—furs, northern woods, dried fish—unloaded and sold. Other cargo—loaded and stowed. All day the traffic came and went dockside while she warned off five or six small boats that came too close on the other, always when their own boat was changing crew or out of sight at one end or the other.
Late in the afternoon, her partner said, “There’s something—the pirate himself just arrived.”
Dorrin almost turned around to look; instead she said, “What? Where?”
“At his palace. His banner went up. He claims he’s a duke now, but he’s only a pirate really. Used to sail out of Whiteskull, and he’s still running that pirate fleet and another up at Slavers’ Bay. He doesn’t come here much. Lives somewhere upriver. Likely he won’t come down to the dock before we leave tomorrow. Banner goes up this late, he’s bound to have dinner tonight, and captain wants to leave at dawn.”
At dusk, trading closed on dockside. The last visitors to the ship left; sailors hauled in the gangplank. Those assigned as night guards climbed up the masts; Dorrin and her partner climbed down and went forward with the other sailors clustered near the foredeck. A different cook handed out fresh bread bought onshore and a bowl of fish soup. Two baskets of fresh fruit from the market were set out for anyone to take. Torches flared at intervals along the waterfront; the ship’s lanterns were lit. After a long day in the cramped top basket, Dorrin was glad to stretch out on the deck with the others.
Cortes Immer, Aarenis
The Duke of Immer lay on his bed in Cortes Immer sweating and cursing. Despite what his surgeons said about his wounds, he was sure they should have healed by now. He had lost too many troops in the unsuccessful attempt to conquer Fallo. How had so many Kostandanyan troops filtered in without any of his spies noticing? How had they made it so far west, coming out of nowhere, it seemed, to outflank and attack his own flanking force from Rotengre? He needed more troops, and he needed to be seen as a strong leader again, not a weak man lying around in bed. Men followed strong leaders, not … He looked down at himself, still heavily bandaged, still lame.
His advisor was silent. He himself was determined to go down the river to the Immer ports, where he had the largest population and could draw on the pirates based at Whiteskull. His advisor had disagreed, insisting that the most important prizes were all in the north and could be taken by stealth as well as by mass of arms. They had quarreled; his advisor had withdrawn into whatever part of himself the advisor alone could enter until, his advisor said, he showed sense.
He knew better. His spies had told him Mikeli of Tsaia had sent the regalia away, almost certainly with Duke Verrakai … and Duke Verrakai had next been seen on Bannerlíth dockside, accompanied by the Sea-Prince, taking passage on Blessing with Captain Royan in command. Immer spared a curse for the Sea-Prince, once an ally.
Immer’s own agent, arriving in Bannerlíth that day, had realized he could not hire a ship likely to arrive in the south before Blessing. Instead, he had put a disguised pirate aboard Blessing and followed his original plan, going on up the Honnorgat to enter Tsaia through Lyonya. Once in Tsaia, he had passed the word to another agent, who brought it across Aarenis.
Weather was brewing behind us, his letter said.
Royan is a good captain, and Blessing a sound ship, but he will veer far out to sea and lose time when the storm reaches him. Best of Simyits’s luck, the man aboard will bring down a pirate attack on the ship, though that depends on where the storm leaves them. If the pirates cannot find the ship, they will run short of provisions and have to stop at Immerdzan; if not, he will still be days later passing Whiteskull than planned. Interception should be possible.
Interception could be possible—but only if he himself could be in Immerdzan so the necklace could show him if indeed the Verrakai and the crown were on the ship. He needed to heal faster … and for that he needed the aid of his advisor, who had helped him heal quickly before … but his advisor refused to come forth. Only blood magery would give him the power to use another’s death to heal his own wounds, and he did not know how to do it. His advisor did.
He had sent word downriver to hold Blessing on some pretext until he arrived—but what if the ship stopped at one of the other Immer ports instead? Immerdzan was the obvious choice, the largest and the most sheltered harbor—Blessing had traded there before, but also had stopped in Ka-Immer.
Immer struggled to sit up. The broken ribs hurt with every breath and more with movement—damn that thief horse. He could neither ride nor walk far, but he could lie abed in a boat as easily as in his fortress. Days had passed, tens of days, since Dorrin Verrakai had stepped aboard the ship. Where was she now? And did she really have the crown with her? He must not take the chance—he must head south now. Once up, gasping with the pain, he hobbled to his jewel case, leaning on a chair. The necklace sparkled at him … light rippled around the room, as if from dancing water. He stood watching it … and slowly, very slowly, it began to move, edging toward the corner of the box facing southeast, the opposite corner to the one it had favored before he left for Fallo.
He put his hand on it, felt the smooth, cool stones slipping, ever so slowly, across the calluses of his hand. He didn’t need his advisor … He had his own magery, and this necklace would lead him to the crown. The crown and the throne. King of all.
He put the necklace on. It felt cool against his hot skin, and an old memory of the years he thought lost returned. When he was a boy, flushed after dancing for his master, his master had draped a chain of gold coins and another of rubies around his neck. The smooth chill of gold coins and rubies pulled from a carved box had made his skin prickle, and he had danced again, as he was bidden, enjoying the feel of them sliding on his body.
He hobbled back to the bed and rang the bell there, summoning servants and physicans alike. “Bathe me,” he said to the servants. As they scurried away to fetch water and build up a fire, he turned to the physicians. “Prepare a litter for me,” he said. “See that a boat is provisioned; I will go downriver that way. The business is urgent.”
Being on the river eased him. Though the stone walls of Cortes Immer kept out the summer heat, they also held in the smells and sounds of the fortress. Here on the river, as the current carried his boat down, fresher air blew through the cabin and the gurgle of water soothed his ears. He remembered being Alured and how he had loved to play in water, splashing in shallows, swimming in the pools of a river … he could not remember where. His leg, which had been swollen and hot for so long, so painful he could not put weight on it, now shrank a little day by day. His broken ribs eased a little, though any sudden jar sent a spike of pain through his side.
Though he reminded himself daily that he was Visli Vaskronin, Duke of Immer, and all on the boat called him by his title, the water gave him back Alured, one fragile memory at a time.
He was entirely Immer, however, when he thought ahead to the port cities, for there he had come to his title and his rule for the first time. As Immer, on the advice of the one who shared his body, he had defied Kieri Phelan and flogged and tortured those who had opposed him. He had learned to despise Phelan for his weakness, for his refusal to use torture against enemies. Phelan had finally left him alone, withdrawn his troops, and he, the new Duke of Immer, had had to finish his conquest by himself. And he had done it.
He knew more about Kieri Phelan than Phelan knew about him, thanks to his advisor. More about Phelan than other people knew. Phelan also had served his master but had not been worthy of the choice given to young Alured. He had run away, weakling that he was, and though others had saved him, brought him to power, that was his flaw. That weakness would bring him down in the end.
&n
bsp; All through one afternoon on the river, he thought about that. No one feared Kieri Phelan as they feared Immer. And because they feared him more, he could command more. When he came to power, when he ruled Tsaia and Fintha … he would confront Phelan and defeat him. Army to army, commander to commander, he would prove he was worthy to be king of all. To wear the crown, any crown he wanted, all the crowns at once, if he chose.
The sun went down, and the boat, now tied to trees by the river’s edge, tugged only lightly at its mooring. With the dark and the smell of the river and the little gurgle of the water moving by … he slid back into Alured, the Alured before … the Alured before hunger and thirst and exhaustion and pain. Slowly, the memories his advisor did not want him to have, memories that had frayed, been torn away one time or another … those memories touched at the edges, giving him back a whole sequence. Alured almost remembered parents … but the faces would not come clear. He slept and dreamed of towers and gold and trumpets blowing and his name shouted by crowds as he rode by.
Alured-Visli Vaskronin, Duke of Immer and future king of everything, arrived at Immerdzan in the evening. He was able to stand, though the steps up from the river dock to the street exhausted him even with the help of his physicians. He was glad to ride in a carriage the rest of the way to his palace and glad that—as the night thickened—no one seemed to recognize him. The harbormaster reported that his messenger had arrived, but Blessing had not sailed to Immerdzan. He felt the stones of the necklace shift across his chest. East … that would be Ka-Immer. His messenger had reached Immerdzan and undoubtedly Ka-Immer as well. If Blessing was there, the harbormaster would detain the ship. If it had not arrived yet, all the better. Tomorrow he would go to Ka-Immer. He would recognize Dorrin Verrakai if the harbormaster did not; he remembered the tall, narrow-faced woman who had treated him with cool and distant courtesy edged with contempt.
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