The Larion Senators

by Rob Scott; Jay Gordon

  Markus winced. ‘Ah, ma’am, if we—’

  ‘Just a moment, Markus,’ Gita interrupted, ‘Sharr was going to show us something. What is it, Sharr? I know you wouldn’t have had me haul my broken-down old body up here for nothing.’

  Sharr grinned. Capehill lay sprawled at their feet, glittering firelight casting a shadowy glow on otherwise silent homes and businesses. From the hilltop, the city looked a natural target.

  The harbour was different, however: something about it looked fundamentally wrong, though Gita wasn’t sure what had changed. There was a veritable fleet of boats moored in the shallows and lashed to the docks, and even from this distance she could hear the faint chime of a hundred or more bridges as bells rang out the aven changes. It had grown dark and there was no colour; the boats all looked like hulks, floating shadows. Gita shook her head, trying to figure out what was different. ‘What is it, Sharr? Where are they?’ she asked.

  The erstwhile fisherman pointed towards the horizon, darker in the east. ‘You see that group of stars out there, just off the water?’

  Gita sighted along Sharr’s outstretched arm. Her vision wasn’t what it had been two hundred Twinmoons earlier, but finally she focused on the low-lying constellation. ‘What is that?’ she asked, adding, ‘I’ve never seen those before.’

  ‘Demonpiss,’ Markus whispered to himself.

  ‘What? What is it? Someone tell me.’ Gita was irritated now, feeling as if she’d been left out of a secret everyone else knew. Behind her, the two sentries stood a bit straighter.

  ‘It’s a squadron of ships, ma’am,’ Sharr explained. ‘They left with the tide about two avens ago. They’re naval ships. There’s a bark, two brig-sloops, square-rigged, and a frigate, a big fat bastard, that one.’

  ‘And who in the names of the gods is on them?’ Gita was still confused, and angry at her own ignorance. ‘What do I care if—?’ She cut herself short. ‘That’s it. This harbour,’ she said. ‘I knew there was something awry, but I couldn’t figure it out. That’s it; that’s what’s different.’

  ‘Ma’am?’ Now Sharr looked confused.

  ‘The boats, Sharr. Markus, look at the boats. What do you see?’ Gita didn’t wait for them to reply. ‘There’re only fishing boats, no big merchant vessels, and no naval ships, only the trawlers and net-boats. See?’ She waved an open hand at the wharf as if the answer was obvious. ‘There’s no accommodation at Capehill Harbour for big merchant ships because passage through the North Sea is essentially impossible – unless there’s a northern Twinmoon and high tides in the archipelago – and anyway, very few merchant ships make the passage around the Ronan peninsula—’

  ‘Because the Malakasian navy has it blockaded,’ Markus finished up for her.

  ‘No one knows why,’ Gita went on, ‘it’s something to do with Estrad Village and the Forbidden Forest, but there haven’t been big merchant ships around Ronan point in generations, so, in turn, Capehill rarely plays host to those size vessels.’

  Markus scanned the small fishing boats, owned and operated by independent fishermen like Sharr. He said, ‘So the only large vessels moored in this harbour would be—’

  ‘The Malakasian navy,’ Sharr interrupted, ‘and there they go, ma’am. That little group of stars fading on the horizon are the watch-lights on every Malakasian ship in these waters. They loaded stores, took on water, and then boarded all the Malakasian soldiers in Capehill, except for a handful securing the wharf, and I’m guessing the next ship to round the point, perhaps one of those policing the Estrad Inlet, will be coming north to pick them up.’

  ‘That’s the group of nervous-looking men you mentioned earlier?’ Gita asked, dazed.

  ‘Right,’ Sharr nodded. ‘They’re acting as if things are normal, they’re still in command of the city, but there are maybe fifteen of them on the wharf, and they must know already that they’re on tomorrow’s lunch menu.’

  ‘Why would they leave a squad behind like that?’ Markus asked.

  ‘Who knows?’ Gita said. ‘No room on the ships? Orders? Who’s to say why these horsecocks do what they do, but Sharr’s right; we’ll carve those whoring bastards up and grill them for dinner – that’ll be easy. What I don’t understand is why did they leave? And where are they going?’

  ‘North,’ Sharr said.

  Gita laughed. North? Is there some kind of armed insurrection going on in Gorsk that we don’t know about? That’s even more confusing – and it’s gods-rutting reckless; they’ll lose half their ships just trying to navigate the archipelago. If they’re loaded to bursting and they actually didn’t have room to take on fifteen extra men, they’ll be scraping their hulls inside the next Moon.’ She cocked an eyebrow at Sharr. ‘How much draft do they need to make it through those islands?’

  Sharr pulled his cloak closed against the evening chill. ‘A lot less than they’ve got, unless they plan to go far to the north, out beyond anything we have on the charts.’

  ‘Why?’ Markus asked. ‘Why did they leave?’

  Gita looked at him. ‘I honestly don’t know, Markus.’

  ‘Shall I give the order, ma’am?’

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘Sharr, take a squad into the city. I want to be absolutely certain there’s no one left, other than the lot at the harbour. Spread out, check everywhere, and be back here ready to report at dawn. If it’s clear, we’ll move at sunrise.’

  Sharr nodded and hurried down the slope as Gita continued, ‘Markus, get word to the officers to stand down until dawn.’

  ‘Very well, ma’am.’ He too rushed off into the night, leaving Gita standing with the sentries, looking down on the fires sparking into life here and there in the darkness below.

  Brexan rolled over, shaking the wine-cobwebs from her head, wondering what aven it was and why she’d awakened—

  Someone was knocking.

  She squeezed open her eyes and yawned, then rasped, ‘Come in.’ She cleared her throat, which was horribly dry and uncomfortable. ‘Come in,’ she said again, more clearly this time.

  ‘The door’s latched, Brexan,’ a muffled voice whispered from the corridor.

  She pushed back the coverlet, pulled a tunic over her head and padded across the floor. She let the door swing open while she used her bedside candle to light several more. Doren Ford emerged from the shadows.

  ‘Captain Ford,’ she said, obviously surprised. ‘Uh, what are you—? Is everything all right?’ She tried to smooth down her night-snarled hair, hoping to tame her curls before he noticed what an uncooperative nightmare they were. She self-consciously shoved as much hair behind her ears as she could.

  ‘I’m fine.’ Ford moved to the foot of her bed. ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Uh, no, no, please, have a seat,’ she stammered then, finding nothing useful to do standing up, sat down herself, keeping as much of the bed between them as possible without tumbling off. ‘What can I do for you?’ Her heart was thudding with anticipation; while she found the older man handsome, she certainly wasn’t ready for suggestions like, Strip naked and climb into bed with me!

  ‘I’m concerned about your friends,’ Ford said. ‘And I know I promised safe passage to Averil with no questions asked, but I feel as though—’

  ‘You can ask me,’ she completed his sentence.

  ‘Yes, I feel as though I can ask you.’ He smiled. ‘We don’t know each other very well, but I have the sense that I can trust you – and I am not one who trusts many people, Brexan. I have the feeling that you’ll tell me the truth if I ask.’

  I won’t – I can’t, she thought wildly, hoping nothing showed on her face. Please don’t ask me, please!

  ‘I need to know who they are.’

  ‘They’re friends of mine from the city,’ Brexan began, ‘and they need to get to—’

  ‘Stop that, please,’ Captain Ford cut her off. ‘They may be friends of yours, but I don’t believe any of that story about picking up a cargo three days’ north of here. Do you know what lies three day
s’ north of here?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Cliffs, lots of them, and deep water.’ He pulled a pipe from his tunic, remembered where he was and put it back. ‘I’ve picked up cargoes from other ships before; everyone has – it’s standard when dealing with the Malakasian navy. So we sail north, tie up to an outlaw ship and load whatever it is your friend Garec doesn’t want to tell me about. And a run to Averil wasn’t what I had in mind; I was hoping for something that would get me back to Southport. But with the merchant fleet reduced to splinters and the docks here filling with unshipped cargoes, I can get to Averil and back and still load up for Southport before the southern Twinmoon. As word of what happened spreads, sailors are going to flock here from all over Eldarn. I’ve come to some agreements with a few wholesalers in the last couple of days. However …’

  ‘However?’ Brexan caught him glancing at her bare legs in the dim light. When he looked away she quietly drew the coverlet over them.

  However, Garec and Kellin have a great deal of silver, more money than I would make even in a long-term contract with an Orindale distributor. I know I can put them off for a Moon, if necessary, but I need to feel confident that nothing untoward is going to happen to my ship or my crew on this daisy-run Garec claims we’ll have to Averil. So—’

  So?’ Brexan bit her lip. Stop doing that to him.

  ‘What’s the cargo?’

  She watched the bedside candle flicker in the draft from the hallway. She wanted to tell him the truth. She wasn’t quite sure why; maybe it had something to do with Nedra and the Topgallant Inn. Since Versen and Sallax had died, Brexan had been toying with the idea of a new life, an honest life, in which she always told the truth, and was rewarded through hard, honest work. Sitting here in the half-light, colluding with Captain Doren Ford: this was her old life again, and though she wasn’t slicing him open or crushing his skull, still this felt underhanded to her; dirty, even.

  She decided to start with the truth and see how long she could maintain it. ‘The cargo is people, two men who couldn’t come into Orindale.’

  ‘Outlaws?’ He hadn’t been expecting this; transporting people was relatively easy, even if he was boarded and searched. People were easy to hide or disguise. Once, during the warm season, he had dropped a political outlaw in the Ravenian Sea when Sera Moslip spotted a Malakasian naval cruiser bearing down on them. After the search he’d ordered the Morning Star about and they had picked up their waterlogged guest, none the worse for an aven in the refreshingly warm water, and continued on to the Estrad River. ‘Well, why didn’t Garec say so? People aren’t a problem; we’ve done that before. Who are these fellows? Criminals? Political idealists? Partisans?’

  ‘They are—’ Brexan searched for the right words. ‘They are powerful men.’

  ‘Really? With the Resistance?’ He didn’t care for politics, but for what Garec and Kellin were willing to pay, he would make the run – the daisy-run – to Averil, drop these idealists in the shallows and be back to ship as much as he possibly could to Southport with the southern Twinmoon. With no loading or unloading to worry about, he might even make the run in record time, saving five or six days.

  He felt better about the whole thing now. ‘Brexan, I do apologise for waking you. I’m embarrassed that you—’ He glanced where her naked legs had been.

  ‘Don’t worry about it, Captain Ford,’ she said, ignoring the little voice that was nagging her to tell him he was really going to Pellia, and there was a chance he might not survive the trip.

  The soft light of her candles illuminated the lines in his weather-beaten face. He reached out for one. ‘Do you mind if I take this? I need to see my way back to my room. I didn’t use one coming down here; I didn’t want anyone to think—’

  ‘That’s fine,’ Brexan said quickly. ‘Good night, Captain.’

  ‘Good night, and thank you again.’ He started to pull the door closed, then Brexan hissed at him to wait.

  ‘One last thing,’ she murmured, taking a deep breath and steeling herself. ‘Please be careful with these people. I know Garec doesn’t look it, but he can be a dangerous young man.’

  ‘Him? Nonsense,’ Captain Ford smiled. ‘I’ve been around a long time. I’ll be fine.’

  ‘Trust me, Captain. If things should take an unexpected turn, remember what I’m telling you. These are nice people, but they’re also partisans, and very tough. They’ve been through a lot.’

  ‘Garec’s a boy; he could be my son,’ he said. ‘Good night, Brexan.’

  As the door swung shut, Brexan whispered, ‘His friends call him Bringer of Death.’

  Ford hesitated. ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  ‘Then thank you,’ he said, his smile fading. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

  Brexan felt her insides clench. She was sitting astride a dangerous fence, and she didn’t know on which side she might fall. Tell him to flee, she thought. Come up with some excuse and get him out of this. He’s a nice man, and you’re going to get him killed. She pulled the covers up to her chin and asked, ‘When can we leave?’

  ‘On the turning tide tomorrow, if you’re ready.’

  ‘We’ll be ready.’ She blew out the remaining candles and said, ‘Good night, Captain Ford.’

  In the front room, Garec and Kellin relaxed in great padded chairs by the fire, a mostly empty flagon of wine between them. The landlady had finished clearing up for the evening and had gone to bed an aven earlier. Garec stretched his legs towards the flames and said drowsily, ‘Why are we still awake?’

  Kellin swallowed. Her mouth was dry and tasted like stale wine. ‘Because it’s our first night together in a real boarding house.’

  ‘So what do you call all those nights since the wave washed us almost all the way to the Northern Forest? Weren’t those nights together in a boarding house?’

  ‘Those nights of you shivering with fever and me nearly comatose from the effects of querlis, not knowing where we were, if we’d live through the night, or what we’d do if we did survive to see the sun rise?’ Kellin asked. ‘No, they don’t count!’

  ‘Good point.’ Garec yawned, then blinked to clear his vision. ‘What aven is it?’

  ‘Middlenight, at the earliest.’

  He stared into the fire. ‘You don’t think we’re still awake because we don’t know if Steven and Gilmour are alive, or if we’ve found a captain and crew to get us to Pellia, or if we have the resources, military or mystical, we’ll need to exorcise whatever is holding Mark Jenkins hostage, to free him and send Steven, Hannah – wherever she is – and Mark home to Colorado while simultaneously liberating Eldarn for all time?’

  Kellin smiled. She slid her chair close enough to reach him and slipped a hand under his tunic. Caressing the taut flesh beneath, she whispered, ‘No, I don’t think it’s any of… whatever it was you said just then.’

  Garec, distracted now, took a swallow of wine to moisten his own throat and said huskily, ‘So why are we still down here?’

  She fumbled with leather ties; Garec made no move to stop her. Loosening the knots, she said, ‘How’s your head?’

  ‘The wine and querlis help. How’s your shoulder?’

  ‘The same, I suppose.’ Kellin ran her hand lower, feeling him begin to tremble. ‘Have you ever … in public?’ she murmured softly.

  ‘In a tavern?’ Garec’s eyes widened. ‘No!’

  ‘But you could be convinced?’

  He closed his eyes and slid low in the chair. He wasn’t sure he would make it all the way up to the room without embarrassing himself. He groaned softly and said, ‘At this moment, I’m confident you could convince me of almost anything.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Kellin said, releasing him long enough to use her one good arm to unfasten her own leggings. ‘We’ll head upstairs to continue our conversation, but I think we need to see to something else first.’ She fumbled with her ties and cursed.

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Garec interrupted. ‘
You busy yourself with something constructive, will you?’

  Kellin laughed as he slid her leggings to the floor and ran his hands up her smooth thighs. ‘Hm, no underclothes,’ he said appreciatively, stroking her flanks.

  She moaned in anticipation, pushed him back in his chair and pulled herself onto him. The chair creaked under their combined weight, but the lovers ignored it as they explored each other’s bodies by the wavering firelight.

  ‘I took them off when I went upstairs earlier,’ she whispered provocatively. Her legs were too thin; she needed a Twinmoon resting and eating, but in Garec’s eyes she was beautiful.

  ‘Upstairs? But that was two avens ago,’ Garec said, sounding shocked. ‘You knew?’

  ‘Of course I knew, you cracked-headed Ronan,’ she cooed as she did something with her internal muscles that left him gasping.

  He held his breath, hoping to hold off the inevitable, but it was no use. As Kellin moved her hips in a lithe, unexpected motion, Garec cupped her soft buttocks.

  ‘Unlace my tunic,’ Kellin breathed in his ear.

  ‘I can’t—’ he gasped, but Kellin was inexorable.

  ‘I want to feel you against my body,’ she panted. ‘I can’t get the laces—’

  Garec closed his eyes tight and sucked in a deep breath; he held it as long as he could before crying out, his body spasming with the power of his orgasm. He held her tightly to him as he came, and they stayed entwined together for several long moments.

  Finally he croaked, ‘Upstairs,’ his voice hoarse with effort, ‘upstairs, please.’

  Kellin rested her forehead on his shoulder. ‘Yes, upstairs, now. I want to feel you, all of you – and there’s not enough space here to do everything I want you to do to me.’ She licked his ear and he twitched again. She grinned devilishly, climbed off him and snatched up her leggings.

  ‘Bring the wine,’ she ordered, and made a dash – naked from the waist down – for the staircase at the back of the room.

  Garec struggled out of the chair, looked around for his own leggings, which had somehow ended up tangled under her chair, and rescued them. Staggering slightly, he collected the flagon and followed Kellin up the stairs.