Storm Unbound

by Leo Hull

  This was sounding more and more like a one-way mission. He had to be sure the others understood the risks. Talek was laying down all his cards and Tristan wasn’t sure if he could handle it, even with Nessa and Lydia by his side. Tristan would have to make the attempt in daylight without time to prepare. Once out in the harbor, approaching Talek’s ship would leave him exposed.

  “I know we have bonds, but this is something beyond what any of us could have foreseen. So, I release you, or whatever.” Tristan waved his hand.

  “Don’t be an idiot,” Nessa snapped as she fastened her boots.

  “I have to go, I have a duty to Annik, but you all have helped enough. Following me is suicide.”

  “And we don’t have a duty?” Serana asked, packing away food into two baskets while managing to look fierce. “I didn’t enter this bond lightly. You saved me and Lydia, and as far as we’re concerned, that can never be repaid. Now, stop being an idiot and go. Maybe you can catch them, delay the launch. We will catch up.”

  Lydia struggled into her shirt, set on following despite a long night and day spying. His Bounds’ determination to help and devotion to his cause terrified him. He couldn’t protect them all, but they seemed to understand and even embrace this. Nessa’s eagerness sizzled along their bond so strong he felt her courage alone could propel him to victory.

  Nessa’s resolve wasn’t the only support he felt. As tired as Lydia was, her dogged insistence at contributing what little she had left shone like the last star of the night before the sunrise. Serana, despite her lack of any martial training, stubbornly prepared baskets of field rations and the immovability of her will anchored more heavily than even Nessa’s. Trying to change her mind would be like asking the tide to wait just a few more hours.

  The quiet confidence of the three women formed a jetty, breaking the waves of Tristan’s fears and doubts over the danger they faced. They understood the risks. Any words he offered would only delay action. There was no time for arguments, even if he still had the desire.

  “Thank you,” Tristan said simply, hoping they could feel all the things left unspoken. This might be the last time he saw any of them, and he wished he had both more time and the skill with words to vocalize his feelings, but he owed as much or more to Annik and wouldn’t delay any longer. He turned, and ran from the house, bowling over Merouda as she returned laden with her latest haul from the market. “Sorry!” Tristan yelled without stopping. He could apologize later, if he survived.

  His landlady wasn’t the only person he knocked aside. Angry shouts followed him, but Tristan didn’t have time to dodge through the crowds. His feet pounded the white cobblestone streets as Tristan pushed himself, relying on his Bolstered Gift and Serana’s meals to sustain him on a dead sprint across town.

  Citizens blurred past him, Nessa, Lydia, and Serana fading behind him. As he neared the docks, Tristan slowed as he noticed a distinct increase in the number of armed Saelians, both city guards and those that looked more like the sort Perran had hired. They milled about in small knots, eyeing one another but keeping their distance. He dropped to a brisk walk, the tension between the two groups palpable.

  Worried he was walking into the middle of a battle, Tristan scanned the crowd then stopped at a food cart next to what looked like a few Saelian officers. He stood in line, doing his best to look more interested in the skewers of meat and vegetables than what the guards had to say.

  “Still doesn’t sit right with me. All these years we’ve had to sit back and grin knowing that slime is behind half the crime in the city, and what do we do when he’s finally caught acting in the open? We grin some more as he packs up his stolen wealth and leaves! He must have every donkey and ox in town hauling for him.”

  “You’d rather fight him? The Fallen’s Guard barely held him last night and whether he leaves or we kill him, the end result will still be the same. I’d rather not risk my life just for some other crook to step in and take over right where he left off. Fallen, I bet Talek already picked his replacement! Probably auctioned off that stupid Son of Saeli name too.”

  “Did you know he’s not even from Saeli?”

  “Did I know? I’m the one that was on harbor duty the day he stepped off the Horizon.”

  “You and half the old-guard. Next you’ll be telling me you were the first on the scene last night when Talek’s men were found cooked to death.”

  “Not the first, no, but I was the one to recognize his man. What was his name? Ferran?”

  “Perran.”

  “Right, Perran. Now there was a dangerous man. Had this Spark with full silver hair. She’s the one that did the roasting. I’d bet my pension on it.”

  “Against her own Ground? I’ll take that bet, old man.”

  Tristan moved away, absently nibbling a kebab and considering the officer’s discussion. There might not be a battle right now, but all it would take was an errant ember to ignite one. The Saeli forces moving against Talek might not even be helpful. They’d certainly want to question Nessa about last night and he had no idea what the local leadership would think about two foreign soldiers sent to scout possible colonies.

  The Saeli guards hadn’t been lying about the number of teamsters moving cargo for Talek. The docks were clogged with them and angry harbor attendants yelled and tried to sort out the tangled mess. It was easy to follow the general direction they were headed, and Tristan soon frowned as he saw at least one reason for the congestion.

  Carts were being unloaded by crane and hand, the contents transferred to small boats and barges that were nearly as tightly packed in the water as the carts were on land. Already a few were fighting their way out towards a ship anchored in the middle of the harbor. It could only be the Horizon.

  For a man that took delight in displays of wealth and gratuity like Talek, the ship looked simple. It had only a single mast despite being one of the longer ships in the harbor. There were no adornments, other than the ship’s name painted along the bow. Tristan would never have thought it Talek’s ship if not for the fact that a crane, manned by a dozen men, hoisted a litter containing a bulky form that had to be Talek.

  The Horizon was away from the docks, Talek, and likely Annik, already aboard.

  His hastily formed plan to rush the ship and delay until Nessa arrived wouldn’t work now. Even finding another boat and striking out on his own seemed hopeless. Small boats manned with half a dozen men each patrolled the harbor, maintaining a perimeter and escorting even the barges once they broke free of the logjam.

  The number of guards meant a charge probably wouldn’t have worked even if Tristan had arrived in time, so rather than dwell on what could have been he focused on the future. The line of cargo stretched out of the docks, many with crates or barrels large enough for him to hide in. He didn’t relish the idea of sneaking in like pickled herring, but it seemed the only option open to him now.

  He just needed to find the right cart and opportunity.

  Tristan shook his head, trying to keep the motion subtle and casual but still obvious enough that Nessa would get the message to stay back. Her distinctive silver hair and his large size would draw far too much attention together. What he needed now was subtlety and stealth. She smiled with understanding and moved back down the street. Tristan could feel Lydia and Serana somewhere nearby as well, but they seemed to content to keep their distance as he ambled his way along the trail of carts connecting Talek’s compound to the harbor.

  The incoming load of cargo spread out like veins from the docks, but this was the thickest artery of shipments. The density meant finding an opportunity to make his move while unwatched would be trickier. However, this was balanced by greater possibilities. One such opening stood ahead in the form of a cart that lay tipped to the side, it’s heavy load spilled across an intersection and blocking traffic in all directions. The snarled roads held messes of bored looking teamsters that stood in the shade of buildings and chatted.

  A squat overseer with a short club
wearing Talek’s livery fumed and yelled at the cart’s bored looking reinsman. He eventually threw his hands up and moved past to the mass of waiting carts, waving a purse and offering coin to any that would help clear the blockage. The laborers, motivated by the promise of more pay, moved forward and Tristan saw his chance as the street emptied.

  Tristan walked forward, stopping to watch the spectacle with some of the crowd, but always managing to drift towards the clogged street as drivers streamed past to help clear the way. The number of carts seemed excessive, even for a man of Talek’s gargantuan appetites, but Tristan had never seen a ship prepare for a voyage before and supposed this could be necessary.

  The overseer was ahead, talking to a teamster that also wore Talek’s colors. The rest of the laborers appeared to have been hired for the day. Tristan moved past the overseer slowly, taking the opportunity to eavesdrop.

  “I don’t care about the delay,” the overseer said, his voice dripping violence. He clutched his truncheon so tightly his hand shook, and the hapless target of his fury swallowed and cringed away. “More importantly, Talek won’t care about the delay. You should have been at the docks hours ahead of this lot. So, explain to me, Jory, how you ended up ensnared in this mess when you should have had your shipment delivered to the Horizon well before it moved into the harbor.”

  Jory licked his lips, sweating as if he’d sprinted through the afternoon heat rather than driven his cart. “Well, see, there was a bit of mix-up with the directions. I thought I was supposed to go the Relegate, and it’s a good thing I did!” He turned and moved a sheet aside. “Casek gave me this, said Talek requested it specifically and I was to put it on the ship myself.”

  The overseer’s eyes bulged, his face turning purple as he cuffed Jory, knocking him down and splitting his brow.

  “Fuck! Tomas, what was that for?” Jory cried, cowering beneath an upraised arm.

  “Good thing you picked this up?!” Spit flew from Tomas’s lips and he brought the baton down again and again until Jory curled into a protective ball. “You fucking morons! What do you think you were doing, sending this without an armed guard? Talek doesn’t pay either of you to think. He pays you do to do what you’re fucking told!” Tomas beat Jory until blood flew through the air each time he raised his baton. “Stay here. I’m going to go find someone to help you. I hope you enjoy carrying that chest the rest of the way to the harbor.”

  Tristan glanced around. The area had emptied out quickly when the violence started, the other workers fleeing rather than potentially getting caught in the overseer’s fury. Tristan wasn’t going to get a better chance than this, so he ducked behind a cart then circled back behind the pair.

  “But Tomas,” Jory whimpered, “the thing must weigh a few hundred pounds! It was a struggle for two of us just to get it into the cart.”

  Tomas spat and kicked the prone laborer, then spun around and started to stalk off. He was lost in his anger and didn’t see Tristan until moments before Tristan slammed a fist straight into his neck. The overseer dropped, clutching at his ruined throat and writhing on the ground as Tristan strode past him.

  “Sorry about this,” Tristan said before kicking Jory square in his already battered face.

  Tristan quickly dragged the men into an alley, then stood and frowned as he took in their sizes. The overseer, while round enough for his clothes to fit Tristan, was too short. The laborer had the opposite problem, tall and skinny.

  Tristan ended up compromising, cutting the sleeves from Jory’s shirt so it would fit his shoulders and then hoping no one would comment on his breezy capris. He was midway through pulling his pants on when Lydia spoke next to him, her sudden appearance causing him to topple to the ground in surprise.

  “What’s the plan?”

  “Fuck, make some noise next time!” Tristan grumbled. “Sneak up on a man like that and you might get stabbed.”

  “Might not be so bad, depending on the sword.” Lydia licked her lips, her eyes locked to Tristan’s exposed manhood.

  “I’m going to bluff my way onto the ship,” Tristan replied, ignoring Lydia’s interest but wishing he didn’t have to. He gestured at the two unconscious men. “The cart has something that was supposed to be delivered hours ago, and thanks to a bit of subterfuge and Tomas, Jory, and Caleb’s incompetence, I’ve got all I need to get on board.”

  “Casek,” Lydia emphasized and grinned as Tristan grimaced at his error. She had a lot more practice at this sort of thing, but it was hard not to feel a bit shown up by the younger woman that was half his size, even if she had probably just saved his life. “That’s a good plan. What do you want us to do?”

  “Make sure these two don’t raise the alarm until I’m on board. I guess once I’m on the ship, chaos might be helpful. Anything that distracts Talek’s forces or keeps reinforcements from arriving from land.” Tristan finished pulling the stolen pants on, Lydia gathering his own clothes for later. “If you can find a way to get Nessa to the ship, that would be good. If you can’t, I overheard the Saeli city guards talking. I think if you start a fight here onshore, there is an element that will try to stop Talek from fleeing.”

  “We can do that,” Lydia promised, following Tristan over to the cart. They peeked under the tarp to find a small metal chest, no more than a foot or two long. There was a circular icon emblazoned on the top with a thin triangle pointed away from a horizontal line. “I’ve seen this before,” Lydia muttered, running her fingers along the symbol. “In the Baths, Talek has a small tattoo on the inside of his bicep.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “No clue, but I think you’re definitely on to something with this chest. Just remember the names.”

  Tristan grunted in agreement and grabbed the metal handles while repeating the names in his head. Despite the small size, Jory hadn’t been lying about the weight. Tristan strained to lift it free then tossed it across a shoulder. He made to leave, but Lydia stopped him and clambered on the edge of the cart to kiss him, motivation to return safely.

  As he strode with purpose along the train of Talek’s possessions, he couldn’t stop smiling to himself. There was still much that could go wrong, but he had a plan that didn’t just involve barging ahead blindly, one that even Lydia approved of. He could feel his three Bound shadowing him a street over, their presence a reminder that for the first time in years he wasn’t alone and had a reason to keep living.

  Chapter Thirty

  “You there! What do you think you’re doing?” a foreman shouted down at Tristan from the edge of the dock. “No one goes out except the rowers.”

  The boat, one of the emptier ones that had just arrived at the dock, rocked from Tristan jumping in with the heavy chest. He kept his arm wrapped firmly around what he hoped would be this ticket out to Talek’s ship and squinted up at the latest to challenge him. Tristan had easily passed the layers of Talek’s guards, the uniform and his purposeful stride enough to put off most questions. The sight of the emblazoned chest had deflected the more inquisitive guards, and Tristan prayed it would do the same again.

  “Sir, Tomas ordered me to put this on the Horizon’s deck myself, right after he finished beating Jory for listening to Casek and getting stuck in a mess of carts in the middle of town,” Tristan explained, trying to sound like a disgruntled employee caught in the middle of a spat between two managers. “With all due respect, I’m not going to end up like Jory. I got my orders, and I plan on seeing them through.” Tristan spat off the side of the small boat then stared down the foreman.

  The foreman’s eyes widened at the names, then narrowed as he took a closer look at Tristan.

  Tristan tried to act bored, but his heart pounded at the close scrutiny. The outfit was passable at a glance but ridiculous if someone took the time to note how cobbled together and ill-fitting it was. If the foreman pressed, Tristan wouldn’t be able to give any other names or details, so Tristan tried a different tack. He shifted his heavy load enough to make sure the emblem
caught the foreman’s attention.

  “You carried that yourself?” the foreman asked in shock, now completely focused on the chest rather than Tristan.

  “Like I said, Jory was caught up in traffic and Tomas said this was supposed to be on board hours ago. I had the unlucky pleasure of being the only bastard nearby strong enough to lift the thing myself, so here I am.” Tristan heaved the chest off his shoulder then took a seat on it as if his passage was a foregone conclusion. “Jory still has plenty that needs to get here, but Tomas said this one couldn’t wait.”

  Down the dock, one of the barges tipped dangerously, spilling men and a crate into the water. One man’s cry of surprise turned into a scream as his leg pinched between the barge and the dock. The foreman’s head jerked around, and he spat some incomprehensible string of curses before turning back to Tristan and the rowers.

  “Head to the Horizon now.”

  “Waste to head out light like this,” the head rower said. “We got plenty of space for—”

  “Now. Tomas was right to send this.” The foreman reached down and unhooked the line from the piling. “In fact, bully your way to the front of the queue if you have to, but get that chest onboard.” He pushed the nose of the boat away from the dock, his attention already turning to the chaos of the tipped barge.

  Tristan settled in, ignoring the curious glances of the rowers as he stared at the Horizon. There was one crane on the port side of the ship with a line of boats queued to unload. The crew on board seemed small and all wore Talek’s colors. Letting some of the rowers on board to help unload would speed things up, but Talek seemed to be taking every precaution.

  “Go around to the starboard side,” Tristan instructed. “We’ll never get through that mess.”

  “We’re only supposed to be to port. They were very clear about that.”