Limme blushed hearing this, then looked at Levin sideways. He was smiling and nodding at the girls, but Limme could see red spots on his cheeks as well.
If Levin was involved with this Yset girl, then what was Limme to him? Was she just a king’s eye? Was she merely the daughter of his enemy? Or did he see her perhaps as a little sister? The question irked her, and the fact that it had occurred to her irked her even more. It wasn’t as if she liked him.
Then the food came, her stomach growled, and she forgot everything else.
Jarlben walked the streets of Hrulthan’s steading with his thumbs tucked into the wide leather girdle he had just bought. Occasionally he stopped at some kiosk or another, or wandered into a shop. Behind him walked Mulgraff the Spear and Jender son of Jender, two of his picked warriors. They were strolling the streets of Hrulthan’s Steading as if they owned it, stopping here and there in the various shops and crafter’s huts that predominated in this trading village. Mulgraff was waiting for a steelsmith to make him a second spear, and Jender was looking for a new helmet, for the rim of his had been cracked by a Brizaki sword. Many people stopped Jarlben to give him greetings, for he was well-known here.
He had allowed himself to be slightly swindled on the price of the belt. It was finely crafted and had a nice loop for his axe, but that was not the reason he overpaid. He knew the leatherworker who had crafted it, and it was important to maintain goodwill here. One day he might have to come to Hrulthan’s Steading with an empty hold, and it was men who remembered him well who would be most likely to help him in such circumstances. He was the chieftain because he thought of such things.
It was also because he was chieftain that he did not simply walk away when he saw three richly accoutered Borni Auligs approaching him in front of the weaver’s shed. He looked around and was reassured by the presence of a pair of Hrulthan’s patrollers, wearing half plate and carrying broadswords. The patrollers maintained the peace here, and it was very unlikely that any problems would occur in front of them.
“You are Jarlben?” Their leader asked while his two lieutenants sized up Mulgraff and Jender. All three of the Borni were similar in appearance, tall, clean-shaven Auligs with blue eyes, thick muscles and night black hair hanging loose to their shoulders. The leader sported a fine Mortentian long sword like the Ghoulslayer had, scabbarded at his waist. The other two wore common iron broad swords. All three wore the embroidered tan woolens the Borni most preferred, clothing that could be quite expensive, and these clothes all looked new and clean.
“I am Jarlben son of Jarlben. I broke the neck of a Thimenian bull when I was fifteen.” Jarlben replied. “Are you looking for me, Borni?”
“I am Walks Tall.” The Borni leader replied. “I am captain of the Whitebear’s Wrath. I am looking for you indeed.” His Tolrissan was passable.
“And what can I do for you, Walks Tall?” Mulgraff and Jender stood reassuringly at Jarlben’s elbows. “What does a Borni want from a Wolf Clan chieftain?”
The Borni nodded, as if some point had been made. “It is the thrall. The golden haired child we took in Mortentia. I must have her back.”
“She is not mine to give you.” Jarlben replied. “She was taken fairly by the Ghoulslayer in lawful contest. You should be speaking to the Ghoulslayer. We are Thimenians, and the chieftain does not take from his men.”
“I understand this.” Walks Tall replied, nodding again as if it were a habit. “And I am not asking that you take her from him. We wish to purchase her. I come to you because you are Thimenian, and although we often fight each other, I know Thimenians do not lie. I cannot approach the Mortentian you call the Ghoulslayer, for his people and mine are at war, and Mortentians are not to be trusted.”
“I trust the Ghoulslayer.” Jarlben replied. “But if you have an offer to make, I will take it to him.”
“We offer two talents of silver.” Walks Tall answered reluctantly. “And understand, this is our firmest offer at the moment.” ‘At the moment’ was his way of saying that the offer could be much higher of course. It was a princely sum to pay for a thrall, even if she was a virgin, and especially for one as young as the girl Jarlben had seen in the mead hall. Of course, Levin had taken her to his room, so most likely she was a virgin no more. The girl was the kind that most Thimenians called rabbitkin, the tiny kind that could bounce and hop wonderfully in bed.
“Why so much?” Jarlben asked, genuinely curious. “I saw the girl, and she was hardly worth more than ten silver valgers.”
The Borni winced. “It was that fool He-Who-Kills-With-Knives. This girl was one of the kind who flies on the Mortentian eagles. We were told not to allow these ones to escape us, and the fool should never have entered into the wager with your Ghoulslayer. Now it is on my head to retrieve her if it can be done.”
“Well, your man has paid with his life.” Jarlben answered. “He was far too confident.”
“I was not there, else I would have prevented the contest.” Walks Tall said. “Now I must answer to my Ghaill, and he will not be pleased.”
“I have said I will speak to the Ghoulslayer. I can do no more.”
“You have my thanks, Jarlben son of Jarlben.”
Jarlben and his two companions nodded courteously at the Borni, then continued with their shopping and loitering. Jarlben would convey the offer to Levin when he saw him, of course, but he had no idea the Mortentian would take it, nor did he want him to.
“Did you hear him say that they had two talents of silver on their ship to pay for one little slip of a girl, Mulgraff?”
“I did.” The big spearman replied with a grin. “Two talents and likely more. And I heard that Borni bastard bragging last night that they’ve been reaving up and down the Mortentian coast all summer. He should have perhaps been more silent before the Ghoulslayer silenced him forever.”
Jarlben walked on, thinking of Mortentian gold and the kind of poorly crafted defenseless galleys the Auligs used for reaving. Usually Aulig ships weren’t worth the bother of taking, for they didn’t keep them clean, and the holds were full of half-rotten meat and shabby stinking furs that even Hrulthan’s people would refuse to purchase. Once he’d walked down to the long pier and had a look at the Whitebear’s Wrath he was positively grinning with anticipation. She was a typical Aulig tub.
Two talents of silver could purchase a half share in a longboat, and was nearly enough to establish his own steading. He said a brief prayer of thanks to the Sky Father for sending him so many gifts. He would get Brito to take a good sniff of the Borni’s ship.
Brito was bored, but happy. With his share from the Brizaki plunder he had purchased new boots, lots of good clothing, several nice daggers and last night, two whores at one time. It was an extravagance, to be sure, but he’d barely even scratched the surface of his new wealth. He sat at the table across from the Ghoulslayer and Kuljin, and they were interrogating the little blond thrall in Mortentian. He looked at Ohtar the Orange, and they reached a silent and unspoken agreement.
“We leave you now.” Ohtar said to Kuljin. “We will go and find some women and drink.”
Kuljin nodded at Ohtar and wished him luck, then he turned back to the girl. He’d been surprised to find her so well informed about the war in Mortentia, and he was curious about it. “So, you were scouting for the Duke of this Northcraven place. What is the war like now?” For some reason the little thrall seemed much more inclined to talk to him than to Levin, even though it was Levin who had gotten her away from the Borni.
“It is very bad.” She replied. “Worse than any of us thought it could be. We had a war with the Auligs before, and in that war we won, but this one ….”
“You think we are losing?” Levin demanded.
“I don’t know if we are winning or losing.” The girl replied. “But I flew all along the northern coast, from the Deep to Tarnanvolle, and if there is a village there that hasn’t been burnt out, I didn’t see it. The Auligs are landing ships at will wherever they
want to, and there are so many that the King’s navy cannot prevent them. I didn’t see any ships fighting, and I think the Auligs run from our warships, but as soon as a patrol passes more of them come, and they land more raiders.”
“Why land raiders there when the Cthochi can simply cross the Redwater?” Levin asked.
“They control it, surely.”
“Because it isn’t just the Cthochi landing. The ships are coming from all across the sea.” She explained. “When the war started, they said all the bands were in it, but I didn’t really understand what that meant. All the bands means, literally, all of the bands. Auligs are coming from Whitefoot Island, Faith Island, Whitecap Bay and there were many ships coming from the east. The Borni sent the men who captured me, and I’d never even heard of Borni before. I think they mean to conquer northern Mortentia. The whole northern coast was full of their camps. That’s how I got caught, because I thought the eagle’s landing between the Deep and Tarnanvolle was too far inland to be affected. Levin, it lies twenty leagues from the sea, and it was still taken by the Auligs. They had at least ten arrows in poor Wraith before I could even try to order him to fly away.”
“The king must know, surely.”
“I don’t know that he does. The duke sent me, and he didn’t know. If the Duke of Northcraven doesn’t know what’s happening across his own duchy, I don’t see how the king can know.”
“Lio’s flame.” Levin exclaimed. “Aren’t you king’s eyes supposed to tell him?”
“There are so few of us left, it was only me scouting there.”
“Few left? There are twenty king’s eyes. How many have been captured?”
“There was an … an incident in Mortentia.” She said, then she went silent.
“An incident?”
“I’m sorry, I cannot talk about what happened. I probably shouldn’t have told you as much as I did.”
“If you want to get back home, I’m the way it is going to happen, Limme. Tell me what you know. I haven’t forgotten my duty to Mortentia, no matter what circumstances you find me in.”
She looked at the table for a moment, as if deciding whether to trust him. Kuljin interjected. “I know that the Ghoulslayer is an honorable man, Limme. You should tell him.”
“Well, after Lanae Brookhouse was killed, we sent eagles looking …” She stopped then, seeing the odd expression on Levin’s face. “What?” She demanded.
“Lanae Brookhouse wasn’t killed.” He replied. “She was alive and well less than a month ago, and on her way to Nevermind Town, riding Sentinel.”
“What? How can you know this? Lanae was my friend.”
“We found her in the hold of the same ship where I found your robe, Limme. Sentinel was caged there, and we released them both.”
“He means that he released them.” Kuljin interrupted. “It was hardly a decision the rest of us took. Jumped into the hold with an axe and busted them both loose. Got in a little trouble for it.”
She stared at Levin, wanting to believe it, and then, seeing the look on Kuljin’s face, she did. “You rescued my friend.” Her voice was small and wondering.
“Well, it’s not like I knew she was your friend.” Levin replied uncomfortably. “She was just a girl who needed help.”
Kuljin laughed. “My friend Levin wants you to think he is a terrible man, Limme. He is such a failure at being a villain, it’s embarrassing.”
Chapter 57: The Sally’s High Touch, North Sea
“I’m taking the price of the sword from your share, Parry.” Captain Berrol’s face was not angry, but he hadn’t been happy to learn that his first mate had thrown away a fine piece of Mortentian steel on that D’root boy.
“Aye, Cap’n.” Meade replied calmly. He’d known there would be some penalty involved when he did it, and this was less bad than he’d imagined.
“I don’t know what you were thinking, Meade. You knew the sword would do him no good there.”
“Aye, Captain, but even a thief deserves the chance to go down fighting.”
“T’would have been easier and quicker for him the other way.”
“There’s nothing easy about Damrek Island, Captain. It would have been a mercy to hang him instead.”
“You question my judgment?” Berrol’s tone was sharp.
“No. It was the right thing to do. It’s not for us to lay hands on the gentry. I want no part of no Black Duke’s curse, neither.”
“Did you think we might avoid the curse by giving him a sword?”
Parry considered the question, then he shook his head. “Never entered my head, Captain. The truth is what I said. Every man should have a chance to die with a blade in his hand.”
It was the third day of Merryis, and Berrol watched the long green eastern shore of Northcraven Sound passing by in the distance. He saw the usual smokes, rising in grim columns both close by the water and scattered into the inland distance as far as he could see. Each column of smoke was another farmstead, house or barn. The larger ones might even have been towns. He kept a wary eye out for Aulig ships, too, although he could easily outrun them in this fair wind.
The Auligs had come to the long neck of Northcraven, what some called the Long Flat and others called the Emerald Peninsula, and they had come with a vengeance. All along that coast, on both the Northcraven Sound side and the side that faced the North Sea, Berrol had seen the Auligs reaving. The last town he’d seen that hadn’t fallen to the Auligs was a besieged walled village north of Tarnanvolle, and he’d seen the smokes of several campfires surrounding it.
No less than six times the Auligs had tried to intercept the Sally’s High Touch, but she sailed a good mile off the coastline, and even fighting the cursed west wind that slowed them so, the Aulig ships were little better than garbage scows on any kind of sea. He had only had to out the ballista one time, when he’d been becalmed in a fog.
After sailing by a dozen burned out villages, even Coril Jemms had cheered at the sight of the Aulig ship burning. It had been one ship and perhaps seventy or eighty Auligs sunk with her. It had felt like a victory, but Berrol knew it meant next to nothing, really. From what he had seen the Auligs had a couple hundred of such ships, scows or not, and for every one of those they likely had half a hundred large kayaks, umiaks, war canoes and rowed whalers, and every one as busy as ants, carrying warriors across the North Sea to Northcraven.
In all of his years sailing he’d never seen the like. The one time he’d dropped anchor to refill the water barrels at a creek he’d had to call the ship’s boat back without it, for he’d no sooner furled the mainsail when he saw no less than twenty war canoes swarming like garishly painted beetles from the shore. They’d been on half-rations of water ever since, and catching what little rainwater the warm summer gave them. Every drop of fresh water was precious, and there’d been none for bathing. The men were starting to take on the sea dog smell that Berrol so detested.
Yesterday at an hour after noon they’d sighted the twin-masted King’s Town Flier, and after an exchange of coded signals, they’d rafted up, riding the anchor of the heavier Flier. She was coming back from the entrance to Northcraven Sound, and still riding deep in the water.
After the usual exchange of pleasantries in the Flier’s sumptuously decorated cabin, Berrol had asked their captain, a florid and nerve-wracked man called Junrick O’Kancro, why he hadn’t unloaded his cargo in Northcraven Town.
“They’ve blockaded the harbor.” Junrick explained. “The Auligs have captured a fast frigate and they’ve three or four of their galleys there as well. We could not pass.”
Meade had responded. “But you’re a high sided merchantman planked in oak. How could they stop you with just a frigate and their lake scows?”
“Well, they’ve flaming arrows, and if they’d set my sails alight they would have crippled us. I’d no mind to be boarded.” Then, perhaps seeing the disapproval on Berrol’s face, he’d offered an additional excuse. “Also the harbor chain was up, and they wou
ldn’t lower it when we gave the signal.”
“Did you not take the king’s gold to see your cargo into the duke’s hand at Northcraven Deep?”
“I did.” Junrick’s tone was defensive and a bit angry. “And deliver it I will. I will deliver it to Tarnanvolle. It is still in the Duchy, and still within the terms of my contract.”
Berrol had not replied, for he saw no profit in further interrogating the man for his lack of courage. They were able to replenish some of their supply of fresh water from the Flier’s more ample stores, although it cost him two silver pennies.
“He’s lost his nerve.” Parry said after they untied from the larger vessel.
“Aye.” Berrol had replied. “And not much there to begin with, I think. He had a keen eye to turning a profit, though. Two silver pennies for three barrels’ worth of rainwater indeed.”
“Little wonder they call her the Flier.” Meade had replied. “Two buckets of brine on the sails and they needn’t fear any flaming arrows. Can you imagine running from a frigate crewed by Auligs? They’re the worst sailors on any sea. The man is a straight coward.”
“I don’t doubt it, although that business with the harbor chain concerns me. Do you think he truly got close enough to signal them, or was he just making excuses?”
“He got close enough.” Parry had replied. “I saw the truth of it in his face.”
“And what do you make of it?”
“I’d say the keeps are starving and the city is starving and the harbor is starving too, and they’re not all in the same hands. I’ll bet you a gilder to a copper penny the harbor master will be demanding a payment in goods to lower the chain.”
“I’ll not take that bet, Meade. Not even for a copper. I wonder if every man is a fool when it comes to gold.”
“An empty belly can make a fool of any man, I reckon. Still, the Flier was aptly named, wasn’t she? Flew from the first sign of trouble and now she’s flying back to Tarnanvolle.”
War of the Misread Augury: Book One of the Black Griffin Rising Trilogy Page 66