* * *
In the days that followed they met fewer and fewer abandoned becalmed ships until the outlook was again clear of all other vessels. The sea was improbably calm, as was the wind. No breeze ruffled the air, no ripple disturbed the iron-grey surface. To Jute it was as if they sailed a sheet of misty glass.
Yet they were not entirely alone. Now and then crew members shouted their surprise and dismay, pointing down at the astonishingly clear water. Rotting vessels lay beneath them, in various stages of decomposition. And all, it seemed to Jute, from differing epochs or periods of history. Older-style galleys lay stacked upon even more archaic open-hulled longboats, which in turn appeared to rest upon even cruder hulls, some perhaps nothing more than dugouts. It was as if the Sea of Dread were one great graveyard of vessels, all heaped upon one another, each slowly settling into, and adding to, the mud and mire of the sea floor.
So too would they have ended, he imagined, were it not for the guidance, and shielding, of the sorceress with them.
For the next few days a dense mist enshrouded them. It clung to the masts in scarves and tatters. Jute found it almost hard to breathe the stuff. The noises of their passage returned to them distorted, even unrecognizable. It was almost as if the sounds were from other vessels hidden in the miasma, calling to them.
Then, slowly, the light ahead began to brighten ever so slightly. Took on a pale sapphire glint. The vapours thinned and they emerged as if through parting veils to find themselves once more behind the Supplicant, only now approaching a forested rocky coast bearing the last patches of winter’s snow. Great jagged spires of ice floated in the waters between them and the coast.
The fog thinned even more, revealing that beyond the shore the land climbed to rocky jagged ridges. Behind these, distant and tall, reared the white gleaming peaks of mountains. Jute gazed, entranced. Could those be their destination? The near-mythical Salt range?
A breath caught behind him and he turned, surprised. There stood Ieleen, gripping the doorway, walking stick in hand. He went to her. ‘Lass! You’re up!’
‘Aye.’ She sounded deathly hoarse. He guided her to her stool and she sat heavily, sighing her gratitude. ‘Aye. At last.’ Her sightless clouded eyes darted about. ‘I dreamed … troubled dreams. Someone shielded me from their worst.’ Somehow, the eyes found him. ‘We know who, hey?’
He nodded, then remembered. ‘Ah, yes. So, what do you smell?’
‘The scent that has been tormenting me for days now,’ she growled, displeased. She closed both hands atop the walking stick and set her chin there. ‘The stink of ancient rotting ice.’
* * *
Two days after departing the Isle of Pillars, Master Ghelath came stomping up to K’azz and Shimmer. They stood at the bow of their new vessel, the Letherii-commissioned merchantman named the Venture. The captain was mopping his brow and scowling.
‘This vessel’s a useless tub,’ he announced.
‘Don’t pull your punches,’ K’azz answered, not looking away from the waters to the north.
The Falaran sailor threw his arms wide. ‘We’re hardly making any headway at all!’ He thrust a finger down to their feet and the raised archer’s castle they stood upon. ‘These platforms fore and aft make us top-heavy. We’re squat, too broad at the beam, wallowing, and slower than a Cawnese river-barge!’
‘Speak for yourself,’ K’azz murmured.
Shimmer compressed her lips to hide a smile. ‘And what do you suggest, captain?’
Ghelath waved his arms as if they could start anywhere. ‘Hack off these half-arsed platforms for a start,’ he finally spluttered.
K’azz frowned. ‘There are easier options, master mariner.’
The captain daubed at his flushed glistening forehead. ‘Such as?’
‘Light a smudge.’
The man gaped at K’azz. ‘A smudge?’
‘Yes, captain.’
‘That’ll attract every ship within leagues!’
‘Yes, captain.’
He squeezed the cloth in his hands, twisted it. ‘That’s yer orders, is it?’
‘Yes. I agree with you, captain – we do need to make better headway. See to it.’
Ghelath wiped his face with the rag. ‘Well … if you say so, sir.’ He went off shaking his head.
Shimmer regarded K’azz. ‘It could bring the Letherii.’
He turned away to lean against the railing once more. ‘I do not believe they are following.’
‘You underestimate the blind spitefulness of the self-righteous.’
That raised a faint smile. ‘Perhaps so, Shimmer. Such emotions feel distant now.’
She considered the statement. Indeed, she couldn’t remember the last time she felt an intense emotion. Such as rage. Or – and here her breath caught – even passion. And yet the pain I feel now burning in my chest is real. I feel. But I do not reach out. What is wrong with me? Am I still even capable …
She went to find Bars.
He was below talking with Blues, Sept, and Black the Elder. ‘A word, Bars. If you would,’ she said.
He nodded. She led him to the main cabin, which was quite sumptuously decorated – the Letherii merchant Luthal Canar seemed to have valued his creature comforts. The bed, she noted, was much wider and longer than the usual sailor’s bunk. Good. Blasted awkward to be banging your head when you’re trying to enjoy yourself.
She closed and latched the door behind them and stood before it.
He turned and peered down at her with a rather puzzled look. ‘Yes, Shimmer?’
This close she found she had to tilt her head back quite far. Damn, but he’s a big one. She’d quite forgotten. She drew a hard breath to steel herself, and said, ‘Kiss me.’
First his brows fell, then they rose higher and higher. The colour of his face actually deepened.
Oh, come on, you great ox! You’re not making this any easier. I can’t do all the work here. Without looking down she started undoing her belt. ‘Does a woman have to ask twice?’
Now he was shaking his head. ‘No, Shimmer. Don’t … not like this…’
Her weapon belt hit the floor and she started on his. ‘Come on, Bars. Don’t you feel anything? I want to. I want to feel.’
He snatched her hands in his. ‘No! Shimmer. No…’
She gazed up at him, saw hurt in his eyes. Hurt? Why that? Am I so—
She yanked her hands from him, flinched away. ‘I may not be some soft courtesan, Bars. My nose may be broken and I may have calluses on my hands … but I am a woman!’ She turned to the door. ‘And you are a fool.’
‘You are beautiful, Shimmer,’ he said, very quietly. Her hand lingered on the latch. ‘I’ve always thought you beautiful. You do not know how long I’ve wanted … longed … well.’ She heard him cross the cabin. Wood creaked as he sat on the framed edge of the bed. ‘I don’t want something so beautiful if it will just be taken away from me tomorrow. That would hurt too much, Shimmer.’
She slowly turned back to him. Oh, Bars … I didn’t know … How could I have known? You said nothing. Why didn’t you at least say something? She pulled her mail coat over her head. It dropped to the floor in a crash of jangling metal. She came to him. ‘How was I to know, you great oaf? You never said a thing!’
A wistful smile crossed his scarred face. He wiped something from his cheeks.
Tears? Oh, Bars … you great fool!
He cleared his throat. ‘There’s a saying where I come from, Shimmer. If you have to chase and corner the wild animal, then it’s not yours. But if you stand very still and let it come to you – then it is yours.’
She stood very close before him. ‘So I’m a wild animal, am I?’
A smile crooked his lips as he peered up at her. ‘The wildest. And the most frightening.’
‘Frightening? How so?’
‘Women are terrifying to men,’ he whispered, ‘because they can break them with the simplest word or briefest glance.’
Now she smile
d. ‘Not if they care for them.’ She took his head in her hands and gently pressed his cheek to her stomach. Even through the layers of padding and undershirts she could feel his heat. She closed her eyes at the pleasure that warmth gave her. ‘I think we have a lot of catching up to do,’ she said, and her voice was very faint, and husky.
He ran his hands up under her shirts along her thighs.
Her breath escaped her in a gasp.
* * *
The light streaming in through the opaque window glazing deepened to the gold of late afternoon and still they did not leave the cabin. Even shouts and the stamping of running feet across the deck did not rouse them. Only the thrumming release of crossbows and the muted sound of Ghelath shouting orders caused Shimmer to raise her head from his shoulder.
‘What is that?’ she murmured.
‘Blues can handle it,’ he answered, and pressed his mouth to hers. She clasped his head again and straddled him.
Later, a quiet knock on the planks of the door brought her head up. Groaning, she stood and dragged off the embroidered quilt to wrap around herself as she crossed the cabin. She yanked open the door. ‘What is it?’
Master Ghelath stood in the way. His grizzled brows shot up and his already ruddy cheeks darkened further. He swallowed and pressed his hands together. ‘Ah … we’ve another ship, ma’am. If you’re ready to move…’
She peered out past him. The masts of another vessel rose beyond the side of the relatively tall merchantman. A lower vessel – probably a far faster galley. She gave a curt nod. ‘Very good, captain. What does K’azz say?’
She pushed back her hair and the quilt fell partially open. Ghelath quickly glanced away. He blew out a long breath. ‘He awaits your pleas— Ah, that is … when you’re ready, ma’am.’
‘Very good. You may begin.’
He bobbed a bow. ‘Yes, ma’am. At once.’
She slammed shut the door, threw aside the quilt. ‘Get moving. K’azz has captured a better ship.’
Bars groaned and sat up. ‘It’s about time.’ He massaged a knee. ‘You’re killing me, standing there. I still can’t believe it’s you.’
She searched for her shorts and chamois. ‘I have no complaints either.’
‘Is that flattery?’
She pulled on her trousers and undershirts. ‘How about: now I know why they call you Iron Bars?’
‘Ouch!’ He drew on his trousers. ‘And what about you? Will I ever see you dance?’
She planted a kiss on his shoulder, tasted salt and sweat. ‘I hope we’ll have the chance.’
His smile turned sad once more. ‘I hope so too, Shimmer. I hope so.’
She nodded her answer and returned to the door. Outside, she watched the sailors handing stores over the side to the new vessel. In the middle of the deck, crowded together under guard, stood its former crew, a ragged band of would-be pirates hailing from the southernmost shores of this new continent, Assail. Bruises darkened the faces of many. They looked bewildered and thoroughly cowed.
‘We’ll be gone soon,’ Blues was explaining to them. He opened his arms wide. ‘Welcome to your new ship.’
She went to the side. The new ship was much smaller, two-masted, with low cabins fore and aft.
Have I just made a terrible mistake? she wondered. No. Reaching out for companionship – for a human touch – is not a mistake. Withholding such a thing is the mistake. She thought of all the years she had held herself apart and shook her head.
She had been the fool.
Blinking against the blur of tears, she glanced away. She caught Blues watching her, a teasing smile on his lips. ‘What’re you grinning at?’
‘Nothing, Shimmer. Nothing at all.’
‘Isn’t there any privacy around here?’ She stomped off to pull together her few possessions.
* * *
For nearly a week, the Reddin brothers and Old Bear beat against Orman’s spearwork. Even Bernal Heavyhand took a turn; the man’s blows rocked Svalthbrul and numbed Orman’s hands. On the fifth day they were out in the fields practising when a distant figure came jogging up the valley to the Greathall. The shaggy hounds howled their welcome and bounded out to meet him. Old Bear gestured for Orman and the Reddin brothers to return to the house.
They found the newcomer sprawled in one of the raised wooden chairs, petting a hound. Vala was bent down at his side, speaking to him. The man rose and waved them forward. ‘Welcome to Sayer Hall,’ he called.
‘Jaochim,’ Old Bear answered, bowing. He gestured to the Reddin brothers. ‘This is Keth and Kasson Reddin.’ He motioned to Orman. ‘Orman Bregin’s son.’
‘Greetings!’ the man called. ‘I am Jaochim. Brothers, you are welcome. Orman – I knew your father and I honour his name.’ Orman could see that the man was eyeing Svalthbrul. ‘My thanks for joining us. We have need for more spears.’
Old Bear cocked his brow. ‘Oh?’
‘The Eithjar have sent warning. A gang of some twenty raiders have entered the Holding. Take our new spears and drive them off, yes?’
Old Bear bowed again. ‘With pleasure, Jaochim.’ He slapped Orman on the back. ‘Our first sport, lad. Let us blood your spear!’
Jaochim stepped down from the platform and examined Svalthbrul. In turn, Orman examined the head of the Sayer clan. Very tall and wiry he was, like all the Icebloods. Long-jawed, with large canines and a deep brow. His long earth-brown hair hung in a dirty mass about his shoulders. His eyes were oddly shaped; oblong, they seemed, and glowed a deep amber. ‘So it is true,’ he said admiringly.
‘I am proud to carry it,’ Orman said.
Jaochim smiled. His canines made it a wolfish grin. ‘As you should be. Your father’s winning of it is a grand tale. The Eithjar speak of it still.’
Feet slammed the dirt of the floor and Jass came running in. ‘Jaochim!’ Uncle and nephew embraced. ‘I am so very glad to see you!’
‘And I you.’ Jaochim looked Jass up and down and nodded to himself. He gestured to Old Bear. ‘Take the lad with you, Bear. It’s time he blooded his spear as well.’
Orman couldn’t help himself: ‘No!’
Jaochim turned a frown upon him. ‘No, you say?’
Orman shot a look to Vala, but she stood motionless, her arms wrapped around herself, her lips drawn tight. Obviously she was fearful but would not interfere; perhaps she saw the need, or the obligation. He swallowed his sudden dread and cursed himself. ‘There are twenty…’
Jaochim nodded, patted Jass on the shoulder. ‘All the more need for another spear.’ He urged Jass out. ‘You will leave at once. The Eithjar will guide you.’
Old Bear bowed. ‘At once, Jaochim.’ He waved Orman off. ‘Get your gear.’
* * *
He waited before the Greathall. He had little gear to ready, just his father’s travelling leathers, his knives, a sleeping roll and a pouch of dried meat and hard cheese. And Svalthbrul, of course. Keth and Kasson emerged side by side wearing their heaviest armour of boiled leather hauberks with mailed sleeves and vambraces. Helmets were pushed back on their heads. They carried shields on their backs, longswords at their sides, and spears in hand.
Old Bear came out escorting Jass, who now wore a leather hauberk that was a touch on the large side for his gangly frame. The sword at his side also looked rather too big for him, and he carried his spear.
Orman went to Old Bear’s side. ‘Is this it, then?’ he whispered, low and fierce. ‘Just we five?’
‘Six,’ Bear answered, grinning – foolishly, Orman thought. ‘Gerrun is probably with them.’
‘With them? What do you mean, with them?’
The big man winked, and the gesture – as if this were all in good fun – infuriated Orman. ‘Don’t you remember the hunting party that came chasing you? Gerrun joined it. He’s with most parties that come up from the lowlands. Offers his services as a guide, he does.’
Old Bar headed off, jogging down the path that led to the trail out of the valley. Orman follo
wed. He thought now of Gerrun, offering to guide his uncle, or perhaps merely joining the party for coin. How many times had the man gone alone among enemies? He shook his head in admiration. And he’d thought him a coward!
Later, as evening darkened beneath the trees, their pace slowed. The uneven ground was treacherous, the path nearly non-existent. Orman had the rear and Old Bear had fallen back to join him, or rather, the party now kept the old man’s pace as he puffed and lumbered along. ‘I understand your reluctance regarding Jass, lad,’ Old Bear said as they descended a steep rocky stretch. Orman didn’t answer. ‘Don’t you worry now. We’ll all look out for him, won’t we? And you can bet the Eithjar will also.’
‘Can they stop a sword?’ Orman growled.
The old man hawked up a mouthful of phlegm and spat. ‘Well, no. But there’re other things they can do here on the lands of their Holding, you can be certain of that.’
Orman grunted, unimpressed. ‘Then they had better just stay out of my way.’
At an old campsite Keth called for a stop. They threw themselves down and rested until sunrise, then ate a quick cold meal and set off once more. Ghostly shapes wavered into view occasionally: the Eithjar directing them onward. Three days later a translucent womanly shape, all in ghostly furs, appeared before them and motioned to the ground. All fell to their stomachs and rolled to cover.
After a moment, Kasson edged forward on his elbows, then waved them onward. They all slid forward to what proved to be a shoulder of a wooded slope offering a view of the valley. Here a party climbed alongside a slim tumbling stream of meltwater. Orman counted fewer than twenty and decided they had scouts out.
Keth must have come to the same conclusion as he gestured them all into thicker cover. They grouped together under a rock ledge. Keth motioned to the top of the thick trees that rose about them. Orman nodded and handed Svalthbrul to Jass, then set to climbing.
He had to swing round the trunk and lean out to glimpse the party as it advanced. He spotted Gerrun with them, but this time the man probably wasn’t laughing inside. He was tied up and being led along. This group, it seemed, wasn’t nearly as trusting as prior parties.
The Malazan Empire Series: (Night of Knives, Return of the Crimson Guard, Stonewielder, Orb Sceptre Throne, Blood and Bone, Assail) (Novels of the Malazan Empire) Page 360