Covenants (v2.2)

by Lorna Freeman

  “Ah, the welcoming party,” Javes said, looking through his quiz glass at the approaching boat.

  “Aye,” Uncle Havram said as he, Suiden, and Falkin looked through their spyglasses. “I suppose we ought to meet them at the gangway.” He and Suiden collapsed their glasses and handed them to the first lieutenant.

  “Do we need pipes and drums, Ambassador?” Havram asked as we all clattered down to the main deck. “Have the troops present arms?”

  “No, honored vice admiral,” Laurel said, following him. “They look to be just harbor officials. We should be enough. According to protocol, the first one on board will be the harbormaster.” Uncle Havram nodded. Reaching the main deck, he looked at Javes. “Where is the embassy party?”

  “Down in their cabins, probably wondering what the hell they’ve gotten themselves into, sir,” Javes said.

  Laurel gave a short chuff, an ear twitching back. “Too late for that, honored folk.” He tugged at his coat while I gave a shake to my cape. I glanced down to make sure that my Habbs hadn’t acquired any scuffs and my trousers were draped properly.

  “Peacock,” Jeff murmured.

  “Yes, he is, honored Jeff,” Laurel said as we arrived at the gangway. “But here, first impressions count. A lot.” Laurel turned me to him for one last inspection, straightening my braid, checking the ties, and adjusting the covenant feather. He then fussed with his own beads and head feathers, tugged once more on his coat, while holding his staff in the crook of his arm. I stared at it, watching its strips of cloth and feathers flutter in the harbor breeze.

  “Tell me, Laurel, what happened to the staff that Honor used?”

  Laurel’s head shot up and he stared back at me with narrowed eyes, his ears lying back against his head. He let out a rumbling breath. “That is a question, no?”

  “Worry about it later, Sro Cat,” Suiden said. “They are here.”

  Laurel looked down at his claws, already gleaming in the sun, and buffed them against his fur. He looked up again and sighed. “And so it begins, honored sirs.” I caught a flicker, turned and looked. Basel stood next to Jeff in his stag persona with Honor Ash next to him. I glanced around further. The deck was crowded with haunts, massed so thickly that they were opaque.

  “It’s a little different than marines presenting arms,” Falkin said softly, following my gaze.

  I was distracted from replying by the arrival of the bosun’s chair, and it was suddenly slammed home how different it was. Then I smiled at the diminutive faerie standing on the deck, pressing my palms together as I bowed.

  “Grace to you, Harbormaster,” Uncle Havram said, also bowing, but in the style of the kingdom, his hand over his heart. “Welcome aboard the Dauntless.”

  “My goodness,” the faerie said as she stared about her, her hair and wings ruffling in the breeze. She brought her gaze to Laurel. “Honored Faena, what has happened here?”

  “It is a homecoming, honored harbormaster,” Laurel said.

  “A homecoming,” the faerie repeated as she stared about once more, pausing for a moment at Lieutenant Falkin’s northern elf blondness. Her gaze then lit on Basel and Honor Ash, and her feathery brows climbed nearly into her hair. “A white stag and a sprite Faena?”

  “Among others,” Laurel said as the unicorn pulled away from the rest of the haunts and made her way to us. Others began to follow her, pressing close.

  “By the blessed Lady,” the harbormaster said, her piping voice rising to a squeak as she took a step back. “Is it a proper sending off for them, then? Or are you chosen to bring justice, honored Faena?”

  “Both,” Laurel replied. “But it’s not me that they’ve chosen.” He bowed, pressing his paws together. “I am Laurel Faena, of the Black Hills clan. May I present to you Vice Admiral Lord Havram ibn Chause, Captain Prince Suiden, Captain Javes, First Lieutenant Falkin, Lieutenant Groskin, and Lieutenant Lord Rabbit, honored son of Lark and Two Trees. They have come on a mission of peace.”

  The unicorn reached my side, the leopard right behind her. Honor Ash drifted over to my other side, followed by Basel. In a moment I was surrounded by haunts, all facing the harbormaster. She took another step back, the breeze blowing past me to catch her wings, and she hovered while she stared at me. As she took in the feather, bright red against the dark of my hair, her violet eyes narrowed.

  “I see,” she said as she alit once more on the deck. She hesitated a moment, then bowed. “Welcome to Elanwryfindyll, Laurel Faena, Prince Suiden, honored folk. I am Harbormaster Lin.”

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  It was a relatively small party that went ashore: Foreign Chancellor Berle, Lord Esclaur, Vice Admiral Havram, Captains Suiden and Javes, Lieutenant Falkin, Doyen Allwyn, Laurel, Jeffen, and me—and the haunts Basel and Honor Ash (the rest seeming content to wait until their various body parts were off-loaded). Harbormaster Lin was understandably reluctant to let the soldiers and embassy staff off the ships until the powers that be gave the go-ahead, so Groskin was left on board to take charge of the rest of the troops and to oversee the transfer of the cargo to a warehouse allotted to us by the dockmaster. He was also charged to keep Chaplain Obruesk under control.

  “I do not want the chaplain raining down anathemas on the city’s citizens, Lieutenant,” Suiden said. “Even from out here.”

  “Yes, sir,” Groskin replied. He took a deep breath. “You can count on me.”

  Our landing party was met on the quay by a small detachment of foot soldiers led by a mounted elf wearing burnished silver armor, a cape of deep blue hanging from his shoulders, and a feathered blue cap. With his narrow face, pointed ears, winged brows and black eyes, he could’ve been a distant cousin of King Jusson. But then there were those who claimed that all dark elves looked alike.

  “Laurel Faena?” the elf asked, his voice light and lilting as he looked down on us from horseback.

  Laurel bowed.

  “I am Eorl Pellan, Lord Commander for His Grace, Loran, the Fyrst of Elanwryfindyll.” He looked us over once more, this time settling on me, his face going still as he focused on the feather, and then his eyes widened as he took in Basel and Honor. He shot a glance at Laurel, who looked blandly back at him.

  “Grace to you, Lord Pellan,” Chancellor Berle began as she pushed forward, only to falter as both Laurel and Commander Pellan turned to look at her, the elf’s stare coming down his nose.

  “Honored Berle is an emissary of King Jusson of Iversterre, and is sent as a gesture of goodwill and a hope of peace,” Laurel said, turning away from the chancellor with a flick of his ear, and her face burned dull red.

  “Well, I’m to bring you to His Grace, honored Faena,” Commander Pellan said, also turning away. He gestured and the detachment parted to allow two carriages through, pulled by muscular horses. “It’ll be a tight fit, but I think we can get everyone in.”

  “If I may, honored commander, I will walk with you,” Laurel said, with another bow.

  Under the confusion of loading the carriages, I moved over to Chancellor Berle. “You do not speak unless addressed first, Chancellor,” I said, my voice soft. “Didn’t Laurel Faena talk with you about protocol?”

  “Yes, but—” Chancellor Berle broke off, her face remaining flushed as she glared at me.

  “It’s going to happen again, Chancellor,” I said. “You will be spoken around as if you aren’t there. Elves do not like humans for very good reasons. I wouldn’t be surprised if both Commander Pellan and the Fyrst fought in the War. In fact, they may very well have once lived in Iversterre—and had kin killed in our efforts to drive them out. Remember that and step as lightly as you can.” I looked at First Lieutenant Falkin. “You should be careful too, sir. The dark elves aren’t all that fond of the northern elfin clans.”

  “Lad,” Havram said, and I pulled away from Falkin’s stare to join the vice admiral, Suiden and Javes in our carriage.

  We made a curious procession to the castle, a sort of reverse of the parade not so lo
ng ago where a mountain cat walked through a city whose acceptance of the magical stopped at street drama or children’s tales. Laurel now strode alongside Commander Pellan’s horse, a lone elf walking before them carrying the Fyrst’s device: three stars opposite a crescent moon on a midnight blue field. Behind the elf and the Faena came the first carriage with Chancellor Berle, Lord Esclaur, Doyen Allwyn, Lieutenant Falkin, and Jeff. Second was my carriage with Captains Javes and Suiden, and Vice Admiral Havram, Basel pacing on one side, Honor striding on the other, and the elf detachment bringing up the rear.

  We wound up the streets to the castle, going higher and higher, the powerful horses making light work of the steep inclines. The city was just as bright up close as it was from the ship. Colorful mosaics of the sea and its denizens were inserted into white walls and pavements. Flowers were coaxed to grow on just about every available surface, from narrow window ledges to full gardens. Trees lined the streets and towered over walls, and more than one of them watched us go by.

  “Now, lad,” Uncle Havram said, starting back from the carriage window after he made eye contact with a spruce. “They’re not going to attack us, are they?”

  I swallowed a laugh and shook my head. “No, sir. They won’t.”

  I turned my head again to the scene outside the carriage and went back to staring at the shops and markets—at both the goods and the people buying them. I picked out sprites, faeries, shamans, brownies, pixies, dwarves, someone in mages’ robes (my heart contracted for a moment, then I realized he was dark-haired and young), a sprinkle of humans, and, of course, elves. And they picked us out, at first curiously glancing at the eorl and the Faena, then starting to turn away until they caught sight of Honor and Basel. But instead of the eye-popping, mouth-falling, full-screech terror that would have happened in Iversterre, they bowed their heads, pulling hats off as we went by.

  Shops, markets, more shops and markets, steeper streets with more exclusive shops and markets terraced into the cliff’s side, and we turned the corner onto a new street with (I sighed) shops and markets.

  “I take it that the main thrust of this city is commerce,” Javes murmured, also looking out the window.

  “No, just the streets we’re being allowed to see,” Suiden said. “I traced the most direct route while on the Dauntless, and this isn’t it.”

  “What do they think we’ll do? Draw maps for the invasion?” Javes asked. He raised his quiz glass at a sprite wearing the traditional minimal clothing, but an elf saw him and moved to block Javes’ view, lifting his hand in an apparently universal rude gesture.

  “Remember what Rabbit has said, Javes,” Suiden said as Javes dropped his quiz glass, red blooming across his cheekbones. “The elves already do not like us.” Suiden did Javes’ silly ass smile. “So try not to give them any more reasons, there’s a good fellow.” Javes lowered his brows, keeping his attention out the window, while I did not look at the vice admiral, who started to softly hum a sea ditty. Especially when I remembered the words to the song, about a sailor who’d been at sea for a long, long time. Javes’ face turned redder.

  The procession turned one more corner and the horses set their back legs to tackle the incline. I noted that the exclusive shops had finally given way to exclusive homes, their windows sparkling in the early afternoon sun.

  “Well, now,” Uncle Havram said, “it seems that we’re getting close to the seat of power. Or at least of the powerful.” We turned a couple of more times through streets just as imposing, and then the houses fell away and the sharp sound of the horses’ hooves on cobblestone became muffled. I glanced down. Sand. Hard packed, but still sand. The bright early afternoon suddenly darkened to twilight, Basel and Honor glowing in the dimness, and I stared at the huge pines forming a canopy over us, pine needles a thick carpeting on the ground. The wind moved through their boughs, a sighing, rustling sound that reminded me of the forest around my home, and I smiled.

  “More trees,” Uncle Havram said, twitching a little on the carriage seat squabs.

  “As long as you don’t carry an axe about your person, sir, I should imagine we’ll be all right,” Suiden said, his voice just short of dry. “We’re in the castle’s park and the final approach to the castle itself.”

  The vice admiral gave him a cold stare. “Thank you, Captain Suiden. You have so greatly relieved my mind.”

  I immediately wiped the smile off my face—only to see it appear on Captain Javes’ (briefly) as he miraculously recovered his good humor. He turned from the window, ready to associate once more with his brother officers and, as he looked back into the carriage interior, his eyes collided with mine. I quickly looked aside, but apparently not fast enough.

  “I say, Lieutenant.” I held in a sigh and looked back at Javes to see him slightly frowning at me.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “It just occurred to me. We’re in the Border. Why haven’t we translated?”

  “Translated?” Uncle Havram asked, a frown now on his face.

  “That wasn’t in the dispatches, sir?” Javes asked. “About what happened at the Border embassy?”

  “Oh, aye.” The frown disappeared. “Aye, it was. The king himself wrote how you all turned into beasts.”

  “I was a wolf,” Javes said. He waved his hand at Suiden. “He was a dragon.”

  “Was he!” The vice admiral’s mouth twitched as he looked at me. “No wonder you jumped, lad, when I called His Highness a sea dragon.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said again, my voice faint. I gave my uncle a betrayed look as I wondered why he wanted to drag me into the fray. He winked back at me.

  “So why haven’t we translated, Rabbit?” Javes asked again, reclaiming my attention.

  I looked at the captain, and, swallowing, glanced over at Suiden—but they were both as they had been in Freston, with the exception of Suiden’s green dragon and Javes’ yellow wolf eyes. Those were gleaming in the dusk. “I don’t know, sir.” My hand started to burn and I looked down at the rune.

  “Apparently, you do know,” Suiden said, his voice rumbling. I looked up and saw flames licking in the middle of each eye. Not only was he annoyed at the sea dragon crack, he did not like being lied to.

  But I wasn’t lying. I didn’t know why no one had translated.

  “Do you think that perhaps it was because the Faena was with us when we came ashore?” Havram asked, the frown back on his face. “The king did write that the cat seemed to be able to control it.”

  That was plausible. “Maybe, sir,” I said, but the rune didn’t stop burning. I held it up to the window, trying to catch some light—and met Honor Ash’s gaze as she stared at me.

  “Bloody damn it all to hell!” I yelled, almost throwing myself across Javes’ lap as I jerked away. “I wish she wouldn’t do that!”

  “Yes,” Suiden said, his skin stretched tight across the bones of his face. He took a deep breath. “But if I recall correctly, the last time she did that was to answer a question that no one had an answer to. Or at least you didn’t.” Faena didn’t answer questions. They inflicted them through illumined questioning that drove folk to find the answers in desperate self-defense. But then, death did change one’s perspective. I slid cautiously closer to the window, hesitated, then opened it.

  “Lad—” Havram broke off as Honor reached a ghostly hand in the carriage and almost touched my queue. Then she was gone, and glancing out the window, I saw her once more striding beside the carriage, easily keeping up with the horses.

  “You did it,” Javes said, quiz glass forgotten. “You caused us to translate.”

  “How did you get that, Javes?” my uncle asked, Suiden joining him in a frown.

  Javes looked at Suiden. “When did Rabbit’s hair start to grow?”

  “According to Sro Cat, when he came into his power—” Suiden also broke off, turning his frown on me.

  I opened my mouth to deny it and the burning in my hand increased. Then the memory popped up of the metallic taste whenever t
he talent was worked, and how it filled my mouth that morning in the embassy. But I had also tasted it when Slevoic came into his powers, so I could’ve been responding to someone else’s working. Except Laurel swore by his rune that he hadn’t done it, and Slevoic sure as hell didn’t. Which left only me. “I don’t know what I did,” I admitted out loud, and gasped at the abrupt easing of the burning pain. I sat there with my chest heaving as I dragged air into my lungs. “Or why it happened just then,” I added, massaging my hand.

  Uncle Havram’s brows knit. “According to the king’s dispatch, it was just when Slevoic thought it safe to challenge you, Captain Suiden, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Suiden said, looking thoughtful. “It was.”

  “So it probably stopped him from taking control of your troopers and bringing everything down around Rabbit’s ears,” Havram said.

  “Ha, ha, sir,” I muttered. My uncle gave me an innocent look.

  “Yes, that’s true,” Javes said, a thoughtful expression on his face too. “It also flushed the traitors out. Teram, Commander Lunkhead—”

  The vice admiral snorted a laugh.

  “—and Gherat were all forced to act, most likely before they were ready.”

  “Yes,” Suiden said again, “which led to the defeat of the rebellion along with the complete exposure of the smuggling ring.”

  “But,” I said, massaging my hand, “if it weren’t for the translations, Basel would still be alive.”

  “No, that’s not true, Lieutenant,” Suiden said. “You heard Ryson. I suspect Basel was marked once he came upon Slevoic and Ryson gathering the Pale Deaths—”

  “What?” The vice admiral sat up on the seat squabs. “Pale Deaths?”