As Iron Falls (The Wings of War Book 4)

by Bryce O'Connor

  “You’ll have to calm the horses,” Lysa said hurriedly, pulling open the door to the last compartment, where the animals were kept. “The hatch is beneath them.”

  “Beneath them?” Raz repeated in surprise, but Lysa didn’t reply. Instead, she stepped into the space, motioning that they follow her at once.

  The place stank of horse, as it had for the better part of the journey. The floor was cleared daily of manure and loose feed, and the straw had been changed every week or so, but there is only so much one can do when confining a pair of animals the size of Gale and Nymara into a space they could barely pace around. They’d settled into the journey well enough at first—better than either Raz or Syrah, in fact—but ever since the storm they’d grown increasingly restless. Now the hull was dented in a dozen places with hoofprint-shaped depressions, and the wood around the door was starting to splinter from being gnawed at. The horses themselves settled when Raz and Syrah stepped into the compartment, but they still hoofed and snuffled nervously, sidestepping and bobbing with the motion of the ocean.

  “Shh, boy,” Raz said gently, moving over to Gale quickly as Syrah did the same with Nymara. “Hush now. We’re almost there. Another few days. I need you to be quiet now, though. Quiet.”

  The stallion calmed further at Raz touch, bowing his black head to allow his muzzle to be stroked.

  “Move them out of the way,” Lysa said after she’d allowed a few seconds for the animals to understand that they were safe. “As far to the sides as possible.”

  It took some time and maneuvering, but they managed it. When Gale and Nymara stood on either side of the hull, Lysa got to one knee and started shuffling around in the thick straw, ignoring the droppings that hadn't been cleaned out yet. After a minute or so of searching, she appeared to find what she was looking for, and with a grunt of victory she pulled upward with both hands.

  With a creak of hidden hinges, two doors, each about a third the width of the room, opened toward the ceiling. Gale and Nymara snorted and stomped again as the secret hatch was revealed, but Raz and Syrah kept them quiet. Then, together, they stepped away from the horses to peer down through the opening.

  It was a smuggler’s compartment, that much was obvious. It seemed silly, thinking about it now, that Raz hadn't considered the fact that the Sylgid likely had any number of similar hiding places, given the nature of the ship’s purpose. He wondered, abruptly, how many concealed nooks and hideaways he had walked past or over, never glancing at them twice. He doubted any of them were half as large as the one before them now, though, or as cluttered. At a glance he made out dozens of different items, all carefully tucked against each other. Several large timber chests, wooden crates of all sizes, and a pair of massive clay jars sealed with paper and marked with the word “pork” in Northern script had been shoved under the floor beneath their feet, making it clear the hatch extended further than just the expanse directly below the opening. A number of heavy carpets of fine-looking craftsmanship were rolled up lengthwise in the center of the space, penned in by a multitude of smaller items. A couple of statues, a bundle of plain steel weapons, canvas bags that looked like they might have been filled with books. It felt, to Raz, like seeing a treasure cave opened up before him, enticing him to enter. The hatch had an old, musty scent to it that added to this illusion, like some ancient tomb, though the faintest trace of vinegar and brine wafted from the sealed pots.

  “Get in,” Lysa told them, looking over her shoulder nervously, as though she expected someone to be lurking through the ship behind them. “Hurry.”

  Raz and Syrah glanced at each other, and the Priestess shrugged. With a final comforting pat to Nymara’s neck, she stepped around the door and into the pit, putting a foot atop what looked like a small, gold-gilded table before easing herself onto the rolled carpets. Resting her staff lengthwise beside her, she laid down over the woven cloth like a bed.

  With a grimace, Raz followed her lead.

  When they were both side-by-side, Lysa eased the doors closed over them again. Raz felt a wrench in his gut as the hatch shut with a thud over them, shaking loose pieces of straw and splinters across their faces. Through some slim gaps in the boards, he made out the first mate bending down again.

  “Stay quiet, and stay still,” she said. “I’ll come get you when our business is done.”

  “What if you need us?” Raz asked her, his own voice loud against his ears in the tight confines. By the Sun, he hated cramped spaces.

  Lysa laughed dryly. “If you hear screaming, then I guess you’d both better come running.”

  Then, with several sweeps of her hands, she covered the boards in straw again, walked out of the storeroom, and shut the door behind her, leaving the pair of them in near-total darkness.

  CHAPTER 26

  Neither Raz nor Syrah knew how long they stayed like that, tucked beneath the boards of the storeroom as Gale and Nymara clomped about above them, sniffing curiously at the floor. Of course, neither of them managed to stay quiet long, and soon they were whispering about what the worst-case scenarios of their situation might be. Syrah was worried the approaching Percian knew they were on board. Raz feared the same thing, but didn’t say so, filling her in instead on what the captain had told him about local pirates demanding fees in exchange for safe passage.

  “Pirates?” Syrah had hissed in shock at this.

  In the end, though, they agreed there was nothing to be done about it, and so they waited in the dark. At one point, the crueler part of Raz’s mind got the better of him, and—as soon as the horses had cleared the doors—he’d reached with both hands to press up on the floor ever so slightly. It gave under his push, causing the animals to snort in annoyance near the back of the room. Syrah had snatched his hands away, giving him a glare through the gloom, but the fact that she didn’t berate him made Raz think that, if only for a moment, she’d had the same fear. The doors, though, weren’t locked.

  The crew of the Sylgid did not seem intent on betraying them.

  It must have been twenty minutes or so before Raz made out a new sound over the constant churning of the sea against the hull around them. It became rapidly more distinct, the swishing, churning gurgle of a ship—a different ship—cutting through water. As he thought this, he heard the distant voice of Garht Argoan shouting for the sails to be raised, and almost at once the Sylgid began to slow.

  “They’re near,” he said into the darkness, feeling Syrah tense at his words. Instinctively he reached up, making sure the gladius was still slung across his back as he continued to listen.

  Before long he could make out the groan of the approaching boat, feeling the presence growing closer. Eventually, the sound of it was right beside them, and the Sylgid stopped in truth, the wash of the sea stilling somewhat around them. There was a heavy clunk that sent a shudder through the entire ship, and Raz made out the faint strikes of booted feet on wood.

  “Gangplank,” he said, recalling the word Argoan had taught him as he reiterated what he heard for Syrah. “Men boarding the Sylgid.”

  Beside him, the Priestess lay in silence, listening intently.

  “Voices,” Raz said. “Can’t make them out exactly. They’re talking about… about fees? Yes. A fee. Argoan is asking them what the cost is this time.” He frowned, not catching the sum. “He says he’ll pay it. Lysa’s not happy about it. Apparently it’s too much.”

  He thought he saw Syrah’s mouth twitch in the dark.

  “She’s arguing about passage fees when we’re stuck in the hold?” she asked in amused exasperation.

  “Probably trying to make things seem normal,” Raz told her quickly. “I doubt there’s a smuggler in the world who wouldn’t try to bargain for a better deal. Now hush, they’re talking again.”

  He listened hard, his brow furrowing.

  “What is it?” Syrah asked, apparently unable to help herself.

  “They want to search the ship,” Raz answered with a frown. “I think… No, they won’t sa
y why. Lysa isn’t happy again. She’s telling them where they can search instead.”

  Syrah had to stifle a laugh, and Raz would have cracked a smile too, except that right then there was a faint storm of boots on wood.

  “Some of the other crew have crossed over. A lot. I don’t know how many. Lysa is livid, but it sounds like Argoan is telling her to let them look.”

  The boots moved across the deck, some hovering overhead, others moving down the ship. Nothing else seemed to happen for several minutes. Raz shut his eyes, trying to make out anything he could. There were shouts as men with Percian accents called out that they’d found nothing of interest. For a while, Raz hoped they’d gotten away without issue.

  Then he heard footsteps coming down the stairs near the stern.

  “They’re coming,” he hissed, his eyes snapping open and his hand moving to the grip of his gladius again. “Be ready.”

  Almost at once the air warmed around him. Syrah hadn't summoned her flames for obvious reasons, but Raz could feel her drawing strength into her body. The heat mixed with the dust and ever-lingering smell of vinegar in an unpleasant way.

  The booted feet approached steadily, first taking their time along what he thought was the rowing galley, likely checking under every seat, then into the crew quarters, where they took even longer. It was at this point that Raz realized it wasn’t a single set of steps he was hearing, but rather several. Three at least, maybe more. He started making out the voices more clearly, too, hearing them speak to one another in quiet tones they clearly thought no one could overhear.

  “They’re arguing about whether or not they should pilfer the crew quarters,” Raz whispered to Syrah. “Apparently it’s bad luck to steal from another sailor.”

  Syrah didn’t answer, all her concentration apparently on her magic. Raz kept listening, picturing the men moving down the long cabin, then into the storage compartments. When they were right outside the door of Gale and Nymara’s storeroom, he clicked the gladius loose ever so slightly, letting Syrah know. He felt her stiffen beside him, and the air rose another degree.

  The door opened with a creak. Though he couldn’t make out the details of their features through the layered straw, here and there he caught a glimpse of dark-skinned faces, and the glint of steel and iron.

  “Horses?” one man asked aloud in the strange accent of his people, obviously surprised. “Why would they bother shipping horses?”

  “Someone who thinks Percian breeds aren’t good enough?” another offered, taking a step into the room. “Look at this beast.” He moved toward where Raz was fairly sure Gale was standing. “A fine animal. Northern, without a doubt. What I wouldn’t do for a—AYE!”

  There was a snap and a huff, and the man leapt back, landing with a heavy thud directly over Syrah’s head. It seemed the pirate had gotten too close to Gale, or offered his hand, and the stallion had attempted to take a bite out of him.

  Good man, Raz thought, his eyes following the shadows through the straw above them.

  “Bastard!” the man in question was cursing. “Nearly took my finger off!”

  There was a guffaw of laughter from the other two.

  “There’s nothing here,” one of them said through his chuckles. “Come, Ykero. Before the beast decides you look anything more like his midday meal.”

  There were further curses from the man who’d approached Gale—Ykero—as well as even more laughter from his companions, but a moment or two later they left. Raz heard them go, walking through the crew quarters and rowing galley much faster now, but it wasn’t until he made out their footsteps on the stairs that he realized he’d been holding his breath.

  He exhaled in a deep sigh of relief.

  “Laor’s mercy,” Syrah muttered beside him, and Raz felt the temperature of the hatch start to cool as she let the spells go. “That was closer than I would have liked.”

  Raz nodded, but said nothing else. Above, voices were starting up again, but they were too garbled for him to make out. He heard what he thought had to be the clinking of gold being handed over, and a minute later there was a grind as the gangplank was lifted. Soon after he heard Argoan shout for the sails to be brought to full again, and then the Sylgid lurched and began moving once more. At the same time, Raz felt the presence of the other ship fade away, splitting west and south again, in the direction it had come.

  “They’re gone,” he said finally, speaking in a normal voice. “The Percian ship is leaving.”

  Syrah was about to say something, but a hurry of footsteps cut her off. A few seconds later the door of the compartment opened above them, and Lysa’s familiar voice called out.

  “They’ve gone,” she confirmed, shooing Nymara out of the way before bending down and brushing aside the straw once more. “Damn dogs wanted twice what they asked for last winter.”

  There was grind and a creak, and the doors lifted open over them.

  Raz blinked as his eyes adjusted, sitting up. “No trouble, though?”

  “Not that I could tell.” The first mate shook her head, reaching out to offer Syrah a hand getting to her feet. “They wanted to search the ship, though. That seemed odd.”

  “A few of them came down here,” Syrah said as she allowed herself to be hauled up onto the floor proper, her staff in one hand. “Gale chased them away.” She reached out and gave the stallion an affectionate pet.

  “They didn’t say why they wanted to look, though?” Raz asked, heaving himself out of the hatch before turning and helping Lysa to close it behind them. “They didn’t give you a reason?”

  “None.” With a thud, the hidden doors disappeared once again. Lysa spent a couple seconds kicking straw around to hide the handle thoroughly. “That had me worried, but if they found anything worth mentioning, they didn’t say so in front of us. Still… It’s bad for business, if they’re insisting on searching every vessel they’re demanding a fee from. Gonna make captains worry about carrying precious cargo.”

  “You think that’s what they were after?” Syrah asked as she and Raz gave their horses one last pat before following the first mate out the door. “Precious cargo? Not us?”

  Lyra didn’t seem too sure. “I don’t know…” She frowned as they passed through the crew quarters and into the rowing galley. “What are the chances we are the only ship being searched? They’d have to know you were aboard, and it certainly doesn’t seem like they looked very hard.”

  “Maybe they found what they needed,” Raz snorted. “Check to make sure all the diamonds and chests of gold you keep in plain sight are accounted for.”

  Lysa gave a dry laugh, but didn’t say anything more as they started up the steps.

  When they stepped back out onto the deck, the first thing Raz noted was that none of the tension had left the ship. Many of the crew were no longer lined along the portside, but no one had taken their eyes off the sea to the west. The ratlines and mast ropes were crawling with sailors, most of them shading their eyes to peer across the water. Weapons—swords and daggers and bows—hadn't been stowed away either. Frowning, Raz joined them in gazing out over the Dramion, making out the stern of a narrow two-masted vessel pulling away from them quickly.

  All-in-all, it felt like no one was convinced the danger was over.

  Argoan didn’t turn to look at them as Lysa led the way over to stand beside him. His spyglass was collapsed in one hand, the other resting on the head of the hammer in his belt, and he was watching the pirate ship go with a distinctly unsettled expression.

  “Problem?” Raz asked, and the captain finally glanced around at him.

  “Don’t know,” he said truthfully, looking back over the sea at the withdrawing boat. “I don’t like it, though. That search felt… targeted. They can’t be asking that of every ship. Captains would stop sailing through their waters within the year.”

  “So you think they knew about us?” Syrah asked in a worried tone.

  Argoan chewed on his lip, the bald pate of his monk’s ring o
f long hair shining with perspiration. “I don’t know what else would have given them cause. We’re not hauling anything else of particular value. But how would they know?”

  “Someone could have informed the Mahsadën,” Raz said darkly. “A bird to the right place would be all it took.”

  On his other, Lysa bristled. “No one aboard this ship would do such a thing,” she snapped defensively. “No one would go against the captain’s wishes, much less his orders.”

  “I don’t think Raz means anyone of the Sylgid,” Syrah told her placatingly, reaching out to put a calming hand on the first mate’s forearm. “There were a hundred other men in the Highest Mast. Two full crews who saw us arrive and leave with you.”