Covenants (v2.2)

by Lorna Freeman

  On the other hand, for the first time in three years I didn’t have the threat of Slevoic hanging over me, I wasn’t seasick (like Ryson—there was a God), and the sun felt good across the back of my shoulders, the wind brisk in my face. My lips pulled into a reluctant smile. Life, at least at this moment, was tolerable. . .

  “Misbegotten spawn of a pig-swiving cur! Haunt my galley, will you?” Jeff and I turned around just in time to see something flash by. It made a turn and headed back towards us—Basel’s shade. He overshot his mark and almost ended out in the sea, then quickly moved behind me. We stared at him, then shifted as we heard pounding steps coming our way. The ship’s cook ran into view, wearing a stained apron and carrying a huge meat cleaver. I took a step back and nearly went over the rail myself as I realized the cook’s apron and cleaver were full of drying blood.

  It’d become clear within a short while of us setting sail that the Dauntless’ crew was unhappy with us replacing their marines, with an army captain being foisted on them, with the magical, with women on board, with the cargo, with our destination. And they were extremely unhappy with Basel. A Freston lady once told me that soldiers were wholly given over to talismans, mascots, and rituals. (So I always put my armor on in a certain order; I’m still alive.) But we were piddlers compared to seamen, who had superstitions about everything—as one trooper discovered when he started to whistle. Ghosts, especially those of murdered men, topped the unlucky list. They must have been told that Basel was part of our complement because there were no shrieks, screams or other displays of alarm when he arrived on board with us. There was, however, a lot of spitting and other signs to ward off evil. At first it was sort of upsetting, but then I figured that if they wanted to hawk all over the deck, it was fine by me—I didn’t have to clean it up.

  I faced the ship’s cook as he hefted his cleaver and glared through me at Basel. “You keep that whoreson out of my galley, or I’ll send him to hell where he belongs!”

  There was an army rule that the cook was never to be upset (especially around mealtimes), but I’d be pox rotted if I’d allow the salt dog to threaten me. Besides, as I eyed his gory cleaver and apron, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to eat anything he was preparing. “Are you waving that cleaver at me, sailor?” I asked.

  There was a sudden stillness as both sailors and soldiers stopped to watch, and First Lieutenant Falkin emerged from the crowd to stand next to the cook.

  If King Jusson looked like a dark elf from the coastal city-states, Falkin was from the northern elfin clans. Tall and slender, with dark gray eyes set above high cheekbones, his fair skin showed none of the weathering of one who’d been since childhood at sea. He wore his pale blond hair long enough to completely cover his ears, and I wondered if the sailors considered pointed ones unlucky.

  “Is there a problem, Das?” Falkin asked.

  “The haunt was in my galley again, sir, and I told the lieutenant here to keep the damn thing away from me.”

  “That’s a reasonable request,” Falkin said, facing me.

  I smiled. “I have no problem with reasonable requests, sir. I do, however, have a big problem with people brandishing weapons at me.” I looked at the cleaver. “Especially bloody ones.”

  “That is also reasonable, Das,” the first officer said.

  The cook lowered the cleaver. “Aye aye, sir.”

  Falkin returned my smile. “I tell you what, Lieutenant. You keep the ghost out of the galley, and I keep Das from, uh, brandishing his weapon at you.”

  I ignored the snickers that went through the sailors. “I’ll try, sir. But as Trooper Basel is now a shade, he doesn’t quite have the imperative to obey an order that he once did.”

  “I see,” First Lieutenant Falkin said. “Would you like me to try?”

  “I say, Falkin, Rabbit,” Captain Javes said as he walked up. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, sir!” we both said at the same time as we snapped attention.

  “ ‘Cause it would bother Captain Suiden awfully that his first officer and his lieutenant were having difficulties, what?”

  “Sir, yes, sir!” I said.

  “Aye aye, sir!” Falkin said at the same time.

  “And we really don’t want to do that, do we?” Javes asked, peering at us through his quiz glass.

  “No, sir!” Lieutenant Falkin said.

  “Sir, no, sir!” I said.

  “Jolly good.” Javes aimed his glass at the sailors and troopers, and they all realized that they had urgent duties elsewhere. The captain waited for the deck to clear, then did his bugger me silly smile. “Oh, my word. I almost forgot—Captain Suiden would like to have you both gather the crew and troops so he can address them. Now.”

  I watched the first lieutenant’s face as Javes strolled away. “Uh, sir?” Falkin turned to me with one brow raised.

  “Captain Javes is of the king’s Court.”

  “He is?” Falkin’s other brow flew up at my nod. “And you? Are you also someone special?”

  “Hell, no, sir. I’m just a farm boy.”

  “That’s not what I’ve heard, Lieutenant Lord Rabbit ibn Chause e Flavan, sixty-four degrees to the throne.”

  “Oh, that. I didn’t grow up with it, sir.” I grinned, shrugging. “I’ve kicked my share of manure while behind a plow.” I saluted. “I’ll go get the troops.”

  But apparently that wasn’t necessary. At Falkin’s gesture, I followed him up to the bridge where he had the bosun pipe assembly.

  “Thank you, sir,” I said, as I stood at attention next to him.

  “Don’t mention it.” Falkin watched the men gather below us. “But please keep the ghost out of the galley. In the navy we try not to upset our cook, especially around mealtimes.”

  Below us the crew and passengers gathered, the sailors on one side and the troopers on the other just as if a line had been drawn down the middle. And separate from everyone else stood Chancellor Berle, Chaplain Obruesk, Laurel Faena and Lord Esclaur. As the last man appeared, Captain Suiden came out of his quarters, followed by Javes, Groskin, and the ship’s second and third lieutenants.

  “We have been charged by King Jusson IV to escort the first ambassador from Iversterre to the Borderlands,” Suiden said as he stood braced against the moving ship, his hands behind him as he gazed down on the crew and troopers. “To this end, Vice Admiral Chause’s fleet will form a convoy to accompany us—”

  Just then the ship swerved and while the crew and ship’s officers shifted easily with the change in direction, all of the troopers went reeling with shouts, curses and cries, some just catching themselves before they went over the railing. Groskin stumbled, desperately trying to keep his footing, as Javes and I latched onto the banister in front of us to keep from falling down to the deck below, with Jeff crashing into us. Captain Suiden, though, rode the change in direction as effortlessly as the seamen, casually shooting out a hand to catch Groskin before he fell. At the same time, Suiden turned his head to the helmsman and the muffled laughter that had started below on the main deck died out.

  “Was that yaw necessary, Seaman Mattus?” Suiden released Groskin and walked over to the sailor at the wheel.

  I could see Mattus’ throat work as he swallowed. “Uh, aye—yes—sir. A course correction.”

  “I see.” The captain reached over and took the wheel, moving Mattus aside. “You are then relieved of your duties until you can properly set a course.” He glanced over at First Lieutenant Falkin. “You will supervise Mattus’ training, Lieutenant. I want daily reports.”

  “Aye aye, Captain.”

  Captain Suiden watched the sea for a moment, his hands resting lightly on the wheel’s spokes. He then sighed. “Sro Falkin, assign another helmsman, please.”

  At a gesture from the first lieutenant, another sailor came up from the deck to take the helm over from Suiden, who stood at his shoulder for a couple of moments. “Very good.” Suiden turned, rejoined his officers, and looked down at the crew and
troops. “I received two commands from our king. The first was to see to the success of the mission—not only the safe delivery of Chancellor Berle to her embassy, but to do everything in my power to help ensure the success of her mission. The second was to weld this ship’s different complements into one.” There was nothing but the sounds of sails and ship as the windrider cut through the water.

  “His Majesty was very insistent that the second was necessary for the first to happen.” Suiden placed his hands on the railing and leaned over it, his eyes sweeping both sailors and troopers. “I agree and will do everything possible to achieve it. Do you understand?”

  “Sir, yes, sir!” the troopers shouted.

  “Aye aye, sir!” the sailors shouted at the same time.

  “Very, very good,” Captain Suiden said as he smiled, his teeth gleaming white in his dark face. It reminded me of Dragoness Moraina at her worst (or best) and I edged a step away while a ripple went through the men below. Suiden looked over at First Lieutenant Falkin and I could see his body stiffen as he fought not to bolt. “Dismiss the men, Lieutenant.” The captain then went into his cabin, Javes bravely following him.

  At Falkin’s dismissal, the crew and troopers scattered, clearing the deck fast. The first lieutenant then looked at me, his eyes wild. “A shark. The captain’s a bloody shark.”

  “No, sir, a dragon. One that can hear through walls and see around corners.” I followed the first lieutenant down from the bridge, anxious to put distance between me and Suiden.

  “And you serve under him?” Falkin stopped, but I urged him to keep going. He took in Jeff and Basel in a panic behind me, Basel’s eyes popping out of his ghostly head. He started walking again, picking up the pace.

  “He’s a fair captain, a good captain, and he takes good care of his men,” I said, stepping right behind him. “Just don’t make him mad with stupid stuff.” Jeff made a strangled sound of assent. “I’d keep Mattus out of sight for a while.”

  “It was only a joke—” Falkin began.

  “No, it was done deliberately to make the captain look incompetent in front of the vice admiral.” Falkin said nothing. We had run out of room to, well, run, having reached the prow.

  “The crew knew it was going to happen, didn’t they? Some signal was given so they could brace themselves.”

  “Uh—”

  “You know, sir, I’d have everyone play least in sight until this blows over.”

  “Too right,” Groskin muttered behind us. We spun around and stared at him, and he shrugged at us. “Did you think I was going to stay up there? I figured the lieutenant here knew where the good hiding places were.” He looked at Falkin. “Let me give you some advice: Never, ever encourage dissension.” My stare turned incredulous and he shrugged again, then grunted, his mouth twisting. “Let me be a lesson to you.” He turned to me. “Not to hurry you, Rabbit, but you might want to start getting dressed. You sometimes take a bloody long time and I don’t want the captain coming down on me because you’re not ready to go.”

  “Go where?” I asked.

  Groskin stared at me, then turned to First Lieutenant Falkin. “You didn’t tell him?” Groskin shook his head, not waiting for Falkin’s response. “Not a good idea for orders to go astray, Lieutenant. Definitely not a good idea.”

  “Tell me what?” My voice rose.

  Groskin folded his arms and nodded at Falkin. “You were given the order, you tell him.”

  Color bloomed along the first lieutenant’s cheekbones. “You’re accompanying the captain when he goes over to the vice admiral’s ship.”

  “Blasted poxy hell!” I pushed past Falkin and ran for the ladder to down below.

  I’d just finished putting on my Habbs in the army lieutenant’s berth, which (irony of ironies) I shared with Lieutenant Groskin, when the shout came that we had reached the vice admiral’s fleet. After shoving clean handkerchiefs in my pocket and making sure my braid and uniform hung straight, I climbed up the ladder. In short order I found myself being rowed to my uncle’s ship, the Pearl Fisher, along with Captain Suiden, Laurel Faena, Chancellor Berle, and, of course, Trooper Basel. I looked back at the Dauntless and saw the thin figure of Obruesk watching us. Even from that distance I could feel his rage at not being included, which he would’ve been if he had been acting as the arch-doyen. I wondered if allowing the patriarch to foist him on us was wise.

  “Keep it down, Lieutenant,” Suiden said.

  I turned around in my seat. “Yes, sir.” Facing forward, my gaze collided with the frown on Chancellor Berle’s face.

  The captains from the Valiant, the Adamantine and the fleet captains also converged on the Pearl Fisher, and we were hoisted up to the main deck by the bosun’s chair one by one, to be greeted by drummers, pipes, and an honor guard. But instead of waiting for us with pomp and dignity at the end of the facing rows of marines presenting arms, Vice Admiral Havram ibn Chause stood at the gangway, greeting each of us as we came on board. When I came on last (very junior in both age and rank), my uncle grabbed my hand and shook it, preventing my salute, and clapped his other hand to my shoulder to prevent my bow.

  “I don’t need an introduction to know who you are!” His eyes twinkled at me. “Nay, lad, no need for the observances.” He clapped my shoulder once more and allowed his hand to drop. “I tell you what, salute twice when you leave the ship, eh?” I found myself grinning back. He was as tall as I was, and whereas everyone else in the family had brown eyes, his were blue as the sky. He had the same lean build, had more gray in his dark brown hair than his eldest brother, and his skin was weathered by the exposure to sun and sea. His face, though, fell readily into laughter—or at least a smile. He was smiling now as he looked at me, lines fanning out from his eyes.

  “Thirty years since I’ve seen your papa. Are he and your mama well?”

  “Yes, sir. At least, last I saw them five years ago they were.”

  He shook his head, his smile dimming. “I told Maceal not to let them be forced to leave, but he had just come into the title and was still trying to find his way. That idiot Flavan and his son, Nersil, God rest his soul—”

  I was distracted from the thought that my parents had been forced out of Iversterre by the unfamiliar name.

  “Nersil was your mother’s brother,” Havram said, seeing my confusion. “Teram’s papa. Have you met your cousin Teram?”

  I nodded and left it at that.

  “A bigger clutch of nodcocks I’ve never seen, for all their degrees to the throne,” Havram said. “I don’t know how your mama turned out so well—” He broke off, recollecting that we were surrounded by interested listeners, even over the pipes and drums. “Well, that’s for another time.” He smiled again, and started herding everyone towards the Pearl Fisher’s great cabin. “We must dine together before our journey’s end so that you can listen to me reminisce.”

  “With pleasure, sir.”

  “And tell you how much you look like your grandpapa.”

  “So I’ve heard, sir.”

  A marine standing by the cabin door flung it open and the vice admiral entered first, followed by the rest of the party. I came in last so I was able to hear the marine’s gasp over the still playing pipes and drums as Basel’s shade crossed the threshold.

  Vice Admiral Havram turned around. “Oh, aye. The ghost.” He shot Captain Suiden a look out of suddenly un-twinkling eyes as the other captains decided that they wanted to be on the other side of the cabin. “There was a lot of signaling going on earlier regarding it.”

  “Yes, sir,” Suiden said.

  “Who was he?”

  “Trooper Basel, sir. He was murdered by Lieutenant Slevoic ibn Dru.”

  Uncle Havram ignored the shocker of Basel’s murder and went to the heart of the matter. “Why is he following my nephew about, then, instead of Slevoic?”

  “As near as I can tell, it’s something to do with what the Borderlands call the ‘moon season,’ when those murdered attach themselves to th
ose who can avenge them. Trooper Basel seems to have chosen Lieutenant Rabbit.” Suiden gestured at Laurel. “The ambassador can explain it better than I, sir.”

  “Hmmph.” The vice admiral ignored the Faena also. “I know that the church has very strong views on phantoms. What does the patriarch say about this?”

  “He was present at Trooper Basel’s funeral, sir,” Suiden replied.

  “So?”

  “Trooper Basel was also present at his funeral.”

  There was silence as Havram digested that. “I see.” The vice admiral became aware of the large carry pouch I held. “Just put the dispatches on the table, lad, and”—he looked around—”everyone have a seat.” He pulled out a chair at the head of the table.

  “Sir, you have one from the Lord Admiral, the Lord Commander, and from King Jusson,” Suiden said as I put the pouch down on the table and sat next to him.

  “Pass it here, please.” Havram placed the pouch down in front of him, then looked at Suiden. “Now, Your Highness, you will tell me how a Turalian prince became captain of one of His Majesty’s windriders, and why this same prince is bringing me orders to leave a patrol of Iversterre waters that the Turalians have decided to claim for their own.” More than the news of Trooper Basel was signaled. I then caught Suiden’s eye, and concentrated on the sounds of a ship at anchored rest in the sea.

  Chapter Forty-nine

  Uncle Havram took the news of Teram’s failed attempt to seize the throne and subsequent death sentence with equanimity, only muttering “Nodcock” a couple of times during the narrative. He was much less sanguine about Lord Gherat. “You mean to tell me that Dru was smuggling Border goods to fund this rebellion?”