War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy

by D. S. Halyard

  He thought of avoiding Torth altogether, turning the Sally's High Touch south and taking his chances in some foreign port, but such thought was a will-o'-wisp fancy that danced as easily out of his mind as in. He was a Mortentian to the bone, and he would never abandon his land or his king.

  He just hoped that enough of his crew saw things his way.

  Beneath the sun-soaked deck in the crew cabin Levin Askelyne and Coril Jemms lay facing each other, the foot-post of their two hammocks forming the apex of a triangle, the base of which was the hammock of Elo O'Zoric, slung deep to accommodate his bulk. Elo reclined in deceptive relaxation, drinking a skin of warm water and listening to the two 'lads' as he called them, holding a debate. Several others of the crew reclined similarly, pretending to ignore the conversation, although it concerned them deeply.

  Even though it was late morning and a time to be working the ship, the two had worked the night watch and earned a few hours off. They used the time to elaborate on a half-secret debate they'd been having for the past week since the awful events involving the burning of the pirate ship.

  "I'm not saying I'm for calling in the godsknights, Levin." Coril said uncomfortably. "You've talked me out of that, honestly you have."

  "I hope I have, Coril." Levin answered. "You know that Meade would find you and string you up if you so much as thought of it again." Elo grunted his agreement from where he lay.

  "All I'm saying is this. It's bloody bad luck to sail on a ship with a warlock. And you can't tell me that's not what this ship is."

  "And what I've been telling you is that it wasn't witchery. I've seen something like it before. When I was fifteen we had a fair, and the Entreddi came over and did a show. Aside from the juicy parts, the half-dressed dancing women and the fire-eater, they had a man and a boy working there that they called sparkers or smokers or something like that. Anyway, they had a burning powder that they poured in a line from small pouch, then they put the powder into a … a cone thing made of wood or paper. When they put fire into the powder it burned, just as bright and smoky as Captain Berrol's fire, and when the fire hit the cone thing it shot up into the air and made a sound, a sound like a million blacksmiths pounding on a sheet of steel. There was this huge flash of light, the cone-thing was totally destroyed, and it was all caused by this burning powder."

  "But there wasn't any fire put into the powder the captain used." Coril replied. "It just burned up as soon as it hit the other boat's rigging. I saw that. Plus, I saw men burning with fire even after they'd gone under the water. There ain't no fire that water won't put out. Its witchery."

  "Water won't put out a grease fire." Elo interrupted. "You can ask Eldrian about that. He keeps a bag of powder by the stove on account of if ever he has a grease fire, you’re supposed to put it out with that. You can't say a grease fire is magic."

  "It wasn't any grease fire killed those pirates." Coril's sarcasm was biting. "It was fire that sprang out of nothing but air. Light, Elo, you seen it! Every man on this crew seen it! And you are all walking around and pretending nothing didn't happen!"

  "I'm not saying nothing happened." Levin's voice was almost a whisper, a reminder for Coril to keep his voice down. Of one thing both young men were certain. Parry Meade's loyalty to Captain Berrol was as solid as a mountain, and if he overheard Coril calling the man a warlock, Coril might not make it to Torth at all. "What I'm saying is that Captain Berrol's no warlock. Maybe a warlock put that powder together, although frankly I doubt it. I think it’s more likely something concocted in a smithy or an apothecary's shop. Regardless, Captain Berrol's using it doesn't make him a warlock. If he was one, why didn't he just conjure up a wind to blow us out of the raider's range? You saw what a fat-bellied sow their ship was. If we'd had the slightest decent wind we'd have left them trying to see us in a far glass."

  "And maybe he didn't want to just get away, Levin. Did you think of that? Maybe he figured to let them catch us so he could send them to the bottom of the sea."

  "That's sheepshit, Coril. We spent all morning trying to outrun that raider, in case you forgot. I suppose you forgot what those bastards were saying they'd do to us once they caught us, too. I can tell you I haven't. The fact of it is Captain Berrol saved all of our skins and the ship, too. I don't believe for a second that he's a witch, but even if he was, I wouldn't give a damn."

  "Me, too." Elo added. Coril merely looked at the two of them as if they were insane before adroitly putting an end to the subject.

  "Well, I know it's his ship anyway, and he's always been good to us crew. I suppose he might've just bought the powder off of some apothecary, like you said. Either way, though, once we get to Torth I'm getting shut of the Touch. I'll find me another boat."

  "I'll miss you, Coril." Elo said unexpectedly. The big warlike man, covered in skintintings, looked almost on the verge of tears as he spoke in his incongruously high-pitched voice. "You've been a good friend to everybody."

  "You should stay with us on the Touch." Levin agreed. "She's a good ship, no matter what you think of Berrol."

  "You still don't understand what a ship is, Levin." Coril replied knowingly. "It's the private kingdom of the captain, just the same as a duchy belongs to the duke or a barony to a baron. Hell, the Touch makes Captain Berrol -or whoever owns the ship if he doesn't- makes them just as much money as a small county makes for the king, probably more. He's got the same authority they do, too. Life or death. That's why it’s a hanging offense to mutiny. Knowing Captain Berrol might be…well, whatever he is, makes a big difference to me. Captain Berrol is the ship, in a way."

  "I still think…"

  Suddenly Parry Meade's loud voice interrupted the conversation from above. "First watch is done, boys! Sling your beds and get back to work!"

  Coril caught Levin's eye as they quickly rolled up their hammocks and secured them. It was understood that the conversation was to remain private from the mate and the captain.

  The sun grew in strength each day, or at least it seemed to, as the Sally's High Touch flew across the waves eastward. Their course took them through the most heavily sailed waters near Mortentia, the course from Mortentia City to Torth Island, and they passed at least a dozen ships each day. Not a single other ship went with the speed of the Touch, however, and not one strove to overtake them. This fact more than any other convinced Levin that the pirate ship had indeed been propelled by some form of the Art.

  After four weeks the wind grew stronger, so much so that the Captain ordered the broad Spinnaker furled so as not to damage the sail or the rigging. It fell to Levin and Coril to patch the sail, for although it had not been severely damaged in the strong wind, several seams had been split and two of its three brass eyelets had to be re-stitched to prevent tearing. The job was tedious, and involved sitting on the aft deck with portions of the huge sail draped across Levin's knees as he laboriously pulled and then restitched seams measuring some ten to twenty ells in length.

  "It would be nice if they could weave this all of one piece." He complained to Coril as he sucked on one of the fifteen or sixteen holes he'd put in his thumb with the large needle in the last hour.

  "Aye, but it would take the largest loom in the world to put one of these together that way. Then you'd probably have to put in stitching to keep the weave from splitting anyway." Coril had also put a couple of needle holes in his hand, despite the fact that he wore heavy gloves. Levin envied him the dexterity that allowed him to sew wearing the protective leather gear on his hands. When Levin had tried to use the gloves he kept dropping the needle and losing the stitching. "The Brizaki are said to have sails much larger than this one, all loomed at once out of silver thread. I'd like to see that."

  "You've never seen a Brizaki ship?"

  Coril suppressed a smile at his friend's ignorance. "The Brizaks aren't allowed to dock in any of our ports, Levin. If you see one on the open water, you run for it, although it won't do you any good. They've got spook pushers that can stop your wind cold. Be
sides, the Brizakis stay away over in the East of the Tolrissan Sea, so we're not likely to see them so far west. The Tolrissans sometimes fight them, although I never heard of a Tolrissan ship winning in such a contest. They've got things worse than just the Brizaki fire we used against the pirates, or at least so it's said. Full-blooded sorcerers on board, to say the least. I've heard that they think the whole Tolrissan Sea belongs to them, and they'll sink any foreign vessel they come across. Take the crews as galley slaves, too."

  "Then how do you know about the sails?"

  "Something I heard once in East Torth."

  "You mean Torth City?"

  "East Torth City. Torth sits on a river, see, and there's East Torth and West Torth. Mortentian ships dock on the western bank and any other ships dock on the eastern side. They off load their cargo east of the river and we off load to the west, then the wagoneers ship the goods from one side to the other."

  "Why don't they just dock on the same side as the … Damn, that hurts. Why don't they just dock on the same side as the ships the goods are going back to Mortentia on? Seems a waste of money to have to pay the wagoneers just to move cargo through the city."

  "Customs houses. The church has five or ten big customs houses in the middle of the city, sitting at the ends of the bridges. Any trade goods from outside Mortentia have to go across the bridges and through the customs houses. That way the church and the king get their taxes, and the church gets to keep an eye on what comes into Mortentia from foreign lands. They have to make sure no religious statues or books from the pagan outside gets into the hands of the Mortentians on the western bank, or, Lio forbid, winds up back in Mortentia proper."

  "Wait a second. You just said you found out about the Brizaki sails in East Torth. How did you…"

  Coril laughed secretively. "I know. Mortentian sailors aren't allowed on the east side of the river. That don't keep us from crossing, now and again. Eldrian goes across every time we dock there -to learn more skintintings- and I've been with him twice. Let me tell you, Levin. You've been dockside in Mortentia City, and I guess you thought the King's Town waterfront was pretty wild. The west side of Torth City is much the same, and it’s fairly wild stuff for a country lad, but it's not a blister on east Torth. Every sin you can imagine you can commit there for a few coins, and some you never even thought of. Even though it’s a Mortentian city, it’s way beyond the bay line, or whatever they call it there, and if you go over with me we'll see real magic. I'm not talking about jam'oshanter's parlor tricks or fortune telling like you get with the Entreddi. I'm talking real magic like an old man who can melt bricks into any shape you like or make a wall out of nothing but air."

  "I'll make a wager with you, Coril." Levin replied, his friend's enthusiasm giving him an idea. "If you agree to stay with the Touch instead of looking for another boat, I'll go with you to the east side of Torth and I'll see the real magic with you. We'll talk to some real sorcerers about what happened to the raider, if they'll allow it, and if I can't convince you that Captain Berrol's no such thing as a witch, I'll take ship with whomever else you find willing to take on two men."

  Coril looked doubtfully at his friend, then nodded, smiling. "All right, Levin. You've a deal. Let me make another deal, though. If you approach some sorcerer and he won't talk to you or you get too scared to talk to him, you lose the wager."

  Levin nodded, then grimaced with sudden pain. "And if I win, next time we have to patch a damn sail, you get to do all the stitching."

  Although he did not approve of the swearing, Captain Berrol smiled at the remainder of the conversation he'd deliberately overheard from the half-empty hold below. Meade had told him that these two lads were talking more than the rest of the crew combined, and although the mate was sure Levin was loyal, he'd asked permission to 'see to' Coril Jemms. Endam Berrol didn't like to waste the lives of his crewmen, and he was particularly well-disposed to young Jemms, who'd always given good service.

  He hoped Levin's wager would work out, but even if it didn't, he felt certain that Coril Jemms wouldn't turn him over to the inquisitors now. He would tell Meade to let the boys be.

  Chapter 27: In the East Forest

  Jahaksi, a Brizaki Lord of very high standing, with his curved, rune-engraved blade slung across his back and his finely polished armor hidden beneath a mottled cloak woven so as to mimic the colors of the forest, ran a hand through his long black hair and turned his icy, catlike eyes on the face of Lanae. She was quite lovely. Like Da'all Khor had said, she reminded him strongly of his daughters. Not that she looked like them, but she had that fine, unconscious carriage of a person strong within herself. Good breeding shows, Jahaksi thought, but sometimes amidst a patch of wildflowers one will find a blossom as lovely as any raised in a herbimage's mystic hothouse. Lanae was a girl-child like that, Jahaksi thought, one whose parents might have been mean rustics, but one whose blood was as clean and fine as a princess.

  A princess who was forcing him to take steps.

  Lord Jahaksi had been with the Brizaki army nearly since its beginning. For nearly a hundred and fifty years he had served faithfully, obediently, with only a single lapse. In that lapse he had discovered an amazing thing about the Empire of Brizak, and an amazing thing about the Emperor. Most importantly, he had discovered something about himself.

  He looked at Lanae thoughtfully. Yes, she reminded him of his daughters, his two daughters who were dutiful parts of the vast machine that was the Empire. More strongly, however, she reminded him of his third daughter, now long dead and the reason he'd never ventured to have a fourth.

  It happened, quite frequently in fact, that from a union of two Brizaki parents a child would be born who was not Brizaki at all, but a tossback to the Brizaki's grandparents or great grandparents. His third daughter had been Endellia, born with round eyes in an all-too-human face that carried more of his mother's blood than his own, it seemed.

  Her eyes had been brown and her hair shone like rippling glass.

  The law was plain. A human child was a human child, regardless of the child's parentage, just as the occasional Sesseri child was a Sesseri child. A human child was turned over to a sponsored family and raised to serve her Brizaki masters, while a Sesseri child was set in the forest for the Sesseri to come and take.

  A human child in a Brizaki city was a slave to any Brizaki who claimed her, and Brizaki were not allowed by the law to take their tossback offspring into their own estates.

  But Endellia had shone like a diamond, no matter that she'd been human, and Jahaksi had been unable to tear her from Deshal's breast or to see her made a slave. Instead he had sought the advice of a trusted friend, a friend whose life he had saved, a sword-brother.

  Lord Jhevarr told him that his feelings were not unique, and that there were a great number of Brizaki who felt as he did. Jhevarr told him of a network of friends, Brizaki who defied the law secretly to send their children out of the Empire, into the lands of Tolrissa or Hulmin, where they might be raised free. With enough gold, such a child would be raised lovingly and with tender care, and there were those in place to assure that such a child was never mistreated, never harmed.

  Jahaksi had paid the gold and put himself in debt to Jhevarr's kindness. For seventy years he'd been given news of her life, of her marriage to a noble Tolrissan, of the fine sons and grandsons she'd had. When she finally died, she had been mildly rich, and a matroness in her city, respected and well-loved by all who knew her, knowing nothing of her secret Brizaki parents.

  During the war of the five powers he had even contrived to visit her grave once, as his army fought a bitter delaying action across the eastern marches of Tolrissa.

  He had never regretted the lapse, and he did not regret it now, despite the fact that it seemed Endellia's memory was leading him to another, much less forgivable lapse.

  Da'all Khor sought to follow the law, saw little beyond it, and knew nothing of his commander's weakness. In his mind the mission was clear. Capture one of t
he Mortentian eagles, smuggle it across eastern Mortentia to a waiting ship, and take it back to Selden Kharn Chihizak, for the mages to study. He did not know why they sought to study it, nor why they risked war with Mortentia to do so. He did not care.

  The mission's parameters had been explained to him in detail by his commanding officer, and he had been assured that the parameters had been set by wise Brizaki with the authority to do so. The parameters came from above his commander's head, and they included quite simply that no Mortentian was to be permitted to live who knew of their mission. There was to be no risk of betrayal.

  He did not know why Lord Jahaksi had disregarded those commands in letting the girl live, and he doubted the assurances he had heard. The girl was not needed in the Empire, unless Jahaksi sought to enhance his own reputation by capturing her. He could not permit Jahaksi's ambition to compromise the mission. Da'all Khor knew that the girl must die, and die before the twenty-eight Brizaki that remained of their company returned to the sea with their prize.

  Had he known that he was completely transparent in both his intention and in his nature, he would not have cared. He knew his duty, absolute service to the Emperor, and he intended to fulfill it.

  He was the second in command of this strike team, and his duty included the removal and killing of his commander should the mission demand it. That he had hesitated over doing so seemed to him more grievous than the fact that it must be done. He spoke to Ekhan Dhaur, one of his most reliable subordinates, on the subject.

  "Ekhan, I am telling you that I know the mission parameters, and each day that the human child lives those parameters are violated."