Beyond the Gate (The Golden Queen) (Volume 2)

by David Farland

  Whoever had tried his door last night knew Gallen was a Lord Protector. And if he knew that, he would almost certainly know Ceravanne’s identity, and Maggie’s. Gallen could not ignore that threat, and it was so horrific that he wished he could hide it from his companions. At this moment, he wanted nothing more than to get off this ship. “I do,” Gallen admitted. “I feel threatened clear down to my boots.”

  The captain frowned. “Then there is only one thing to do. I deal with many kinds of people, some who feel threatened by things that are real, others who feel threatened by things that are imaginary.…”

  “Och, here now,” Orick grumbled, “Gallen’s not one to go about imagining devils and banshees—”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to imply.…” the captain said, studying Gallen’s eyes, “I just mean that—it is … it is my policy to make all of my customers feel safe aboard my ship. Welcome and secure. Which is why I hire the Caldurian.

  “Would you feel safer if I assigned Tallea to watch your rooms at night?”

  Gallen studied the warrior. She had short dark hair with streaks of gray, and deep brown eyes that were very intense. She moved with a grace and power that he only someday hoped to match, and Ceravanne had said that the woman could not be Inhuman.

  “Yes,” Gallen said. “I would feel safer.”

  “Good,” Aherly smiled. “She will be outside your doors from dusk to dawn.” He began to fumble with a drawer of his desk, as if he would open it. “Uh, look,” he grumbled. “I assure you that I want to catch these intruders as much as you do. I try to run a clean ship. I pay my crew well, but it may be that one or two of my men—or even some of the other passengers—were intent on pilfering. If that’s the case, it’s bad for my reputation, you see?”

  Gallen nodded, for he could ask no more of the man, but as he turned away, he muttered under his breath, “That’s not the case.”

  He went back to his cabin, and called a meeting. When Ceravanne heard his tale, she was terrified.

  “Are you sure that the intruder called you ‘Lord Protector’?” Maggie asked Gallen.

  “Certain,” Gallen answered. “I was wearing my mantle. I’ve played back the recording a dozen times.”

  “Then the Inhuman’s agents are on the ship, and they know who we are,” she said.

  Maggie and the bear looked at the porthole, then at the door, as if the Inhumans would come piling in at any moment. “What can we do?”

  Gallen had been sitting cross-legged, but he pulled his legs up, wrapped his arms around his knees. “I see only one thing that we can do. I have to find the servants of the Inhuman, and eliminate the threat.”

  Ceravanne said, “Perhaps you’re wrong in imagining that it is the Inhuman. Perhaps these intruders know only that you are a Lord Protector. We were gone from our room for a time last night. Perhaps someone entered the room and went through your pack, found your mantle and incendiary rifle.”

  “Perhaps,” Gallen admitted. “But I think you are only hoping for the best. If they were thieves, why didn’t they just take my things, then?”

  Ceravanne could come up with no answer.

  “There are lifeboats aboard,” Maggie said. “We could sneak off the ship some night, try to make it to shore.”

  “The night crew can all see in the dark,” Gallen countered. “To them, you glow like a firefly. You’ll not get off this ship unnoticed.”

  “Then we’ll have to be patient, and courageous, and wait,” Ceravanne said.

  “For what?” Orick demanded.

  “For them to come to us,” Gallen said.

  * * *

  Chapter 16

  They sailed that week without further incident, and after a couple of days, the group began to rest easier. During the days they walked the decks of the ship, but in the evenings none of them journeyed abroad.

  Orick in particular soon began to wonder. After five more days without a sign of trouble, he began to wonder if Gallen had not dreamed of the danger.

  So Orick took to scrambling across the decks longer and longer during the days, watching over the railing as porpoises leapt in the waves and salmon swam in lazy circles, tantalizingly close to the surface of the water.

  Each day, the sun came up clear and bright, and the wind filled the sails. Orick spoke to some of the sailors—the red-skinned men of Penasurra were boisterous and always had a joke handy, while the strong Annatkim giants seemed more wistful, always dreaming and talking of their homes in the White Isles far to the south and east.

  But it was the warrior Tallea who sat night after night guarding their rooms who most captured Orick’s interest, and so one night, he went to speak to her.

  He opened the door to his room, found her in her accustomed position outside, standing in the light of a small oil lamp. Orick just stood for a moment, looking at the woman, embarrassed.

  She watched Orick’s face. “You want from me?” Tallea said.

  “I’m curious,” Orick said freely. “You’re a Caldurian, but you devote your life to following the teachings of Roamers—so that means that when you die, you hope to be born again in a Roamer’s body?”

  “If I worthy of honor, yes, my memories put into body of Roamer.”

  “I knew that some folks could be reborn into young bodies made from the old,” Orick said, licking his lips, “but I never imagined that they could give you a different body. Could I be reborn—as a human?”

  “Perhaps …” Tallea said doubtfully. “Body is shell. What lives inside, is important, judges say. But rebirth not granted to many. Immortals in City of Life, they judge. Sometimes strangely.”

  “What do you mean? How do they judge strangely?”

  “They read memories, thoughts. Sometimes, person not given rebirth, even when all other peoples think person should be. Judges make hard for person who is not human to get rebirth.”

  “Maybe it’s not just the actions they base their judgment on—but also thoughts and desires,” Orick said, “so that everyone who knows the person thinks well of him, but the judges at the city don’t. That’s how I’d handle it, at least.” And that’s how God does it, Orick thought.

  “Sometimes,” Tallea admitted, shaking her head as if to say he was wrong, “I think humans judge human ways, not peoples’ ways.”

  “What do you mean?” Orick asked, licking his nose. He could smell something annoying in the air—lye soap.

  “I abhor violence, but excel at it,” Tallea said. “Among Caldurians, those who fight best are honored. They would be reborn. But among humans, those who serve best reborn. We do not value same.”

  “Then you feel cheated by the humans?”

  “They gave life,” Tallea said. “How I feel cheated?”

  “Because your people die young?”

  “You forget, I am devotee of Roamers. They own nothing. No land, no clothing, no honor. Not even lives. This is wise, to know you cannot own life. It passes.”

  He left then, but Orick could not help but wonder at the Caldurian.

  After a week, Ceravanne began to worry. “We’ve been at sea too long, with such strong winds,” she said. “It’s but a five-day journey to Babel under such winds. We must be off course.”

  Yet when she spoke her fears to the captain in his office, he only scratched his bald head and muttered, “Aye, we’re not making good time. We’re heavily laden, and that slows us. And we’ve faced some strong head winds two nights in a row. Give it a day. We’ll find land tomorrow.”

  But it was two days before they sighted land, just after dawn, a line of blue hills barely discernible where the water met the sky. But the scouts knew those hills. The ship was still two days from port.

  It rained that afternoon, and everyone was forced to remain inside for most of the day, so it wasn’t until evening that the weather cleared. Gallen seemed tense, his muscles tight, and he stared into the darkness.

  Maggie knew he was thinking about Moree, wishing that the ship was already there. To ease his te
nsion Maggie convinced Gallen to walk with her under the moonlight.

  So it was that they left their room in the evening, well after dinner. The Caldurian, Tallea, stood outside their door, a solid presence. And as they went topside, Tallea touched Maggie’s hand and whispered, “Take care. Tekkar are out.”

  Gallen was wearing his black-hooded robe, with his mantle concealed beneath. He had his knives and his fighting boots, though he wore no gloves. Maggie felt safe in his presence, so she merely nodded at the Caldurian.

  They walked under the moonlight, talking softly, and Maggie held Gallen’s hand. As always, his touch was electric. They hadn’t made love yet that day, and under the cold stars, she welcomed his touch. They went to the bow of the ship, and stood looking off to sea. To the south she could see the lights of a city sprinkled over a distant hill.

  The boat rocked gently, and for a while they stood and kissed, long and passionately. So many times during the day, while Gallen worked out with his swords in their room until the air was filled with the humid scent of him, Maggie found that her lips hungered for his. But now she hesitated to give herself to him too completely, to satisfy her cravings, for she felt the weight of other eyes upon her. Yet she trembled under his touch, and for a while, it was good.

  She leaned into him, and her breasts crushed against the strong muscles of his chest. She drew back his hood so that the links of his mantle gleamed in the moonlight, and the memory crystals in it shone with the reflected light of stars. He wore the metal netting over his blond hair, and she considered taking it off so that she could run her fingers through his hair, but decided against it and only bit his ear. “I’d give you more of a honeymoon tonight,” she whispered, “right here, if no one were watching.” She whispered the words only to tease him, for she knew Gallen to be a gentleman with more self control than she sometimes wanted him to have.

  But she felt him tense, look around, as if to find some handy corner where they could be alone. Suddenly he drew back from her and asked, “‘Why are the sails at quarter mast?”

  Maggie looked up. The evening breeze was cool and steady, without a sign of clouds in the sky. There was no threat of storm, no reason for the sails to be lowered.

  “Look at this,” Gallen said, gazing over the bow. “We’re nearly dead in the water!”

  Suddenly a feeling of dread came over Maggie. They’d been aching to reach port for days, and the trip had taken them at least three days longer than expected, though the winds had seemed good the whole time. And even though the captain had complained of head winds at night, she’d never been aware of them.

  Gallen looked up over the deck to the helmsman and asked, “‘Why aren’t we at full sail?”

  “The captain orders them lowered after dark,” the fellow answered, a giant of a man.

  “And why would that be?” Gallen asked.

  The giant shrugged.

  “Has he always lowered his sails at night?”

  “Just this trip,” the giant answered.

  “Gallen,” Maggie whispered. “Something smells. Do you think the captain has cost us time on purpose?” But she couldn’t imagine how that could be. They’d never spoken of their need to make haste in public. Could the man read minds?

  “Aye, the captain,” Gallen whispered. “I think I’ll have a talk with him.”

  He took Maggie’s hand and began leading her along the weather deck. Aft of the forecastle were two stairs on each side of the ship, leading down to the main deck. The moons were low on the horizon, and shadows from the sails kept the main deck as black as it could get. On a ship back home, the sailors would have rigged a lantern for light, but there was none here. Maggie dreaded having to feel her way down the steps in the darkness, but Gallen stopped, squeezed her hand.

  Barely, she saw something black moving in the shadows—a cloaked form.

  “Get out of our way,” Gallen said evenly.

  The shadowed figure barely moved, and Maggie saw light glint from a steel blade. “Get out of our way, Lord Protector,” a mocking voice replied. It had a hissing grate to it, and Maggie was sure that nothing human spoke with a voice like that. The ship listed as it wallowed in a trough, so that for a brief moment she saw figures in the moonlight—two black-robed Tekkar, sitting on the opposite stairs.

  Gallen pushed Maggie back with one hand, drew his sword and a dagger.

  “Oh, a wicked man, a wicked human,” one of the Tekkar laughed.

  “With a big sword!” the other mocked.

  Maggie glanced behind her. There were four crewmen walking along the weather deck toward them, clubs in hand. She stiffened.

  “I know—they’re coming,” Gallen whispered.

  “Let, let us through!” Maggie cried.

  “We’re not stopping you,” one of the Tekkar said. “We have no business with you—for now. Go and talk with the captain, if you wish.…” Gallen crept forward cautiously, and Maggie followed so close behind she could feel the warmth of his body.

  Just as they reached the doorway to the cabins, Zell’a Cree opened the doors, stood for a moment backlit from a lamp in the hallway. He yawned, then seemed to realize that something was amiss.

  “What’s going on?” Zell’a Cree asked, looking to the Tekkar. “I thought you two were confined to quarters?”

  Maggie realized that Zell’a Cree had known something she did not. She hadn’t known that the Tekkar were confined to quarters. Maggie thought it odd that the captain hadn’t told the others this comforting bit of information.

  One of the Tekkar leaned a bit closer so that light from the hallway fell upon him—a menacing figure all draped in black. Maggie could see just a bit of the man’s face, eyes gleaming like wet stones, a white spider tattooed into his forehead. “Even weasels must come out to hunt,” the Tekkar said. And then Maggie knew that these men had heard them talking through the walls. The Tekkar pointed. “This human—thinks we are a problem, so he wants the captain to tell us to go away. But we know the captain does not like to be disturbed after dark. We thought we’d stop him from squawking.”

  “You like the hunt, don’t you?” Gallen said to the Tekkar. “It’s not enough to just kill. You like to bully your prey first. Like cats, batting around dazed mice. Och,” Gallen laughed low and dangerous, “I’ve known plenty like you. Well, come and get me.” Gallen thrust his sword forward, letting the tip move in slow circles. The Tekkar was ten feet away.

  “Meow.” The Tekkar smiled. Then he lurched forward and spun back so fast it baffled the eyes. One second he seemed to be attacking, the next he was over behind the rigging.

  “Watch out,” Gallen breathed to Zell’a Cree. “We’re coming past.”

  Gallen began to inch past the heavy man, and Zell’ a Cree turned his back to the Tekkar and reached up and put his hands on Gallen’s and Maggie’s shoulders. “Here, here,” he said, “let’s all be reasonable. Surely there’s no cause to draw weapons!”

  Gallen slipped past him, drew Maggie into the corridor. Zell’a Cree seemed taken aback by his quick retreat, and he leapt into the hallway with them as if afraid to be on the main deck in company with the Tekkar.

  Gallen slammed the outer door, throwing home the bolt. Zell’a Cree stood beside the door dumbly, as if pondering what to do next. The guard Tallea stood at the far end of the hall, a small oil lamp at her feet casting a comforting glow.

  Gallen went to the captain’s cabin and knocked at the door until it opened.

  “What’s the matter?” the captain asked groggily through a cracked door.

  “Have your lads hoist sails,” Gallen said. “I want no more delays from you.”

  “What do you mean?” Aherly cried.

  “I mean, you’ve ordered the ship to sail at quarter mast every night. I want the sails hoisted.”

  “What?” Aherly cried, indignant. “I gave no such orders! Wait a moment. Let me get my clothes.”

  Maggie wondered if this were all a mistake, if some crewman had sabotaged t
he journey by giving false orders in Aherly’s name. He closed his door and bolted it tight. For two minutes Gallen and Maggie waited, until Gallen rapped on the door again with his knife handle. There was no answer from the captain. And Maggie was left to wonder if he was merely frightened of Gallen, or if he was indeed in league with the Inhuman.

  The door was made with thick planks, and it hinged on the inside. Maggie doubted that they could break it easily.

  “Go,” Gallen growled to Maggie. “Warn the others. We’re getting off this ship now!”

  “Careful,” Tallea said at Gallen’s back, and she drew her own sword, stepped between Maggie and Zell’a Cree. “He’s of them! I in captain’s office when he came aboard. He said you would seek passage on ship.”

  “How did he know we’d choose this ship?” Gallen asked, eyeing the heavy man.

  “He knew you traveling, so he bought every berth on every ship. He set trap for you!”

  Zell’a Cree stood down the hall, his hands behind his back. Before Maggie knew what was happening, he opened the door to his own room and leapt inside, slammed his door shut, and held it tight as Gallen threw himself against it, trying to knock it open before Zell’a Cree could lock it.

  Zell’a Cree threw the bolt home, and Gallen cursed and kicked the door.

  Tallea stepped forward and watched the doors, said to Gallen, “Go to cabin and pack. I guard.”

  Gallen pulled up his hood, glared at the door that Zell’a Cree had fled behind. He stood for just a moment, frustrated, then cried out as if in pain. He threw back his hood, rubbed the back of his neck.

  His hand came away bloody, and he looked at Maggie, stricken. For one moment he wobbled, and cried “What’s happening?” then Gallen crumpled to his knees.

  Maggie rushed to his side. He was looking around, dazed, and Maggie pulled his long hair away, studied the back of his neck. There was a sickly purplish welt under his skin, with blood dribbling from it, as if some pus-filled boil had popped. She couldn’t imagine that thing having been on his neck without him noticing it, and then suddenly the whole welt heaved, as something moved under his flesh.