Some while later, stomach full of spicy Byarran vegetables and delicate bits of seafood, Sanych entered the library again, the dusky-skinned Cheriya at her side in her usual silvery dress. Four other Silver Hands were waiting for them in the rotunda, also clad in silver; they descended on the pair immediately, all talking at once.
“Shashei, the Archivist has a visitor; she called herself the Unbroken, of all things—”
“Archivist! Archivist!”
“—and may the moon witness, Shashei—”
“—walked right in, just now! I didn’t know she was real—”
Shashei Cheriya tried to calm the excited women and begin to sort out what they were jabbering about. Sanych frowned. Her mind began piecing bits together from the Hyndi histories she’d been perusing. The Unbroken…a Hyndi heroine from two generations ago…a woman fell from the top of the Night Beacon, taking with her an assassin. Though the other woman was crushed, the Unbroken survived, alive and whole. Oh, Wisdom… Sanych bit her lip and grinned, feeling a radiant lightness spread through her body.
One of the Hands pointed in the direction of Sanych’s map room. Sanych turned and ran down the marble corridor, sliding on her silk slippers when she tried to stop at the doorway. Flinging the door open, she jogged inside and was soon crowded from behind by all the other women. Her eyes scanned the stacks of books, the tables piled with scrolls and small maps.
The room appeared empty, save for them.
Her eyes found one detail out of place, however. Sanych strode to her wall map and stood before it while the women at the doorway waited. She reached out a tentative finger and caressed a tiny paper streamer on a pin jammed into the dot that represented Salience.
It read Shanallar.
“Meena,” she breathed, her heart thudding.
“Sanych.” The Shanallar’s laconic tone hadn’t altered during her many weeks of absence. But after four hundred years, Sanych doubted anything could change the stubborn, cynical heroine anymore—not even being eaten alive by two sea monsters in the same evening.
The Hands murmured excitedly as Meena stepped forward from a shadowed alcove and uncrossed her arms. Sanych hesitated a moment, eyes closed, then opened them and turned around.
The Shanallar looked unchanged, except that her hair was entirely covered by a green headscarf. She wore a burnished breastplate that gleamed in the lamplight, and the knurled pommel of her short Clan sword winked with silvery gleams. Her clothing spoke of battle-readiness, and she smelled of the open sea. Her eyes held a warm welcome.
Sanych breathed deeply, excitement and relief vying for control of her features. When she spoke, her voice trembled. “I knew I’d find you.”
Meena tilted her head toward the map. “Bet you didn’t think it would be this easy.”
“It wouldn’t have mattered.”
“I know.” Meena quirked a corner of her mouth. “Are you ready to go?”
Sanych didn’t look away, didn’t even blink. “Yes.”
“Good. Let’s get your things. The harbor militia are none too pleased with our entrance, and the sooner we’re away, the better.”
“‘Our’? Who did you arrive with?”
Meena grinned, putting a hand on Sanych’s shoulder and propelling her past the murmuring Hands. “Just some old friends.”
Chapter Two
“Does it look like I’m attacking Salience Harbor to you?” Rhona m’Kora demanded, hands on her hips below the edge of her brass breastplate. She glared down at the furious harbormaster from her place at her ship’s rail. The harbormaster, grimy-turbaned and average in height, was backed by three dozen armed soldiers, and three boats containing more soldiers floated nearby, but her stare pinned him as if he were a sloppy seaman who had spilled his grog on her boots.
The man stroked his full mustache doubtfully. “You’re the first pirate to get into Salience in three hundred and fifty years, girl. I should kill you simply on principle.”
Rhona brushed that argument aside with an irritable wave of her hand. Her curly dark red hair and the coppery cordage braids at her temples blazed in the yellow glow of the harbor ceiling fungus. “Don’t you see the sigil on my prow? Clearly, it’s an agonbloom jellyfish.” She waited for the Hyndi men to recognize and fear the symbol of her power, but their faces remained irritatingly blank. “Of Clan Agonbloom, First Clan of the Southern Sea Clans? Gods above and below…never mind.” She sighed and tipped her head in condescension. “It means I’m not even from around here, and therefore have no interest in stealing from you. I wouldn’t know where to fence the goods, and I certainly don’t want to annoy the local Clans. I’m just here for—”
“Rhona!” Geret called, jogging down the unfinished dock with a slender, black-braided man she recognized as Salvor Thelios, Geret’s noble rival, and another with shaggy brown hair whom she didn’t know. They each carried a large pack.
“For him,” finished Rhona, a happy grin widening across her face. She gazed down at Geret and his companions as they pushed through the mass of militiamen and stopped next to the harbormaster.
“We’re ready,” Geret told her.
“Ah, shiny. Ladder!” she ordered, turning her head. A heavily knotted rope came flying toward Geret. He dropped his pack and caught it awkwardly, then looked up toward the ship.
Two other Clansfolk were holding the other end, waiting to haul Geret aboard. Geret waved a greeting to the one with the brown wavy hair.
Ruel Menihuna, Rhona’s cousin, jauntily returned his salute and called out, “Jump, Geret!”
Salvor said, “I should go over first,” but Geret had already picked up his pack and slung it over his shoulder.
“Best hurry then,” Geret said, gripping the rope and leaping off the dock. The Clansmen pulled hard, running across the deck, and Geret flew through the air, landing against the hull with his toes. The pirates pulled him up to the deck, and he paused at the rail. “Permission to come aboard?” he asked, grinning down at Rhona.
“Granted, good prince,” she responded, and he leaped down to the deck beside her.
“If they don’t throw that rope back for me right now,” she heard Salvor growl.
“They surely won’t leave without your friend Meena,” the brown-haired man said.
“By the hearth, you men are mad,” the harbormaster interjected. “Sailing off with Sea Pirates of your own free will! I’ve never seen such an eager death wish in all my days. And you will be sailing off with them,” the man added, glaring.
“We understand, Harbormaster,” the man replied, noting the man’s concern. “We’ll not darken your shores again.”
The man grunted. “One way or the other,” he said ominously.
Ruel tossed the rope back to Salvor, and then to the third man. Once they were aboard and another sailor had seen to their packs, Salvor asked, “Now we wait?”
“Hopefully not for long,” Rhona grumped, glaring over her shoulder at the harbormaster, who had taken to loudly insulting the Clans. “That man will burst a vein and they’ll find a way to blame us, as usual. The other ships can only keep the sentries busy for so long.” She turned to the unfamiliar man with an air of distraction. “Who’re you, then?”
Geret answered her. “We call him Gryme. His real name could get him killed here in Salience.”
“Good thing we’re leaving it, then,” she replied, giving Gryme a saucy smile. His return smile was brief and distracted.
Geret frowned and stepped closer to Rhona, so he could lower his voice and still be heard over the harbormaster’s insults. “How many ships did you bring with you, Rhona?”
“Seven.”
“You’ve challenged your mother already?” he asked, blinking in surprise.
The young captain threw back her head and laughed, her coppery braids dancing against her cheeks. “No, my mother is still the Prime of Clan Agonbloom, free and fair. I just couldn’t help but feel that I hadn’t completed my Age Quest properly, even though you release
d Ruel and I from trailing after you on those deeps-damned horses.”
“But we were in the middle of a riot—” Geret began.
“Aye, I remember. But we’re supposed to help finish the tasks of those we encounter ashore, and your task wasn’t yet complete when you reached Yaren Fel.”
“Shanal’s pretty far away, and you’re already out of home waters,” Geret said. “You sure you’re up for this?”
“Sweet prince,” Rhona said, “my hometown is several dozen horizons in all directions. When I shop, it can take weeks to get to market. When I take vacation, I have to learn a new language so I can properly threaten the locals. Shanal may seem far to you, but for us, it’s just a bit more exercise than usual, with slightly different scenery.”
“So how did you get these ships, then?” Salvor asked.
“I didn’t challenge my mother. Just her best captains.” The young pirate’s cheek dimpled as she grinned. “Those I bested in single combat became mine to command.”
Gryme’s eyes widened. “You bested seven pirate captains, all by yourself?” He looked at her slim arms and short stature.
She gave the Jualan a cocky grin. “Just six, and it took me two weeks of Spring Trading just to find all the ships I wanted. This beauty,” she patted the rail, “was my reward for success in my quest.”
“That quest you haven’t quite finished yet?” Salvor asked with a half-smile.
Rhona slitted her eyes at him. “You, Vinten, should tread lightly with a Clan captain when you’re standing on her planks. We hold power of life and death over all crew and passengers.”
Salvor sketched a courtly bow. “I will endeavor to do so, my lady.”
“Bah, too flowery,” Rhona said, giving him a gentle shove. “Geret, now, he’s more earthy. That makes him pretty shiny—considering how I usually feel about dirt.” She turned and planted a kiss on Geret’s cheek.
Gryme’s eyebrows shot up, and Salvor rolled his eyes, while Geret merely grinned and shuffled his feet. A few of the crew whistled and hooted, and Rhona chuckled.
“A care, Geret,” Ruel murmured from behind. “Jualans aren’t the only ones who desire claims.”
Geret turned to ask what that meant, but a voice from below the rail drew his attention.
“A-hail the Princeling!” Meena’s voice resounded. The Hyndi insults halted; the harbor workers watched with interest and trepidation as a woman who wore the same breastplate as the pirate girl, yet spoke with an entirely different accent, made her way to the caravel. Ruel tossed the rope down for her and Sanych, who each carried a pack.
“Princeling?” Geret queried. “Does she mean me?”
“Didn’t I mention?” Rhona said. “I christened my ship Princeling, as a sign of my determination to find you.” Her mischievous dimple reappeared.
Behind them, Ruel helped Sanych over the rail and took her pack for her, then turned and commented, “Among other notions she’s had about you.”
The crew laughed, and Rhona pursed her lips and squinted at Ruel. “That’s enough out of you, Slave. You can go below. And take some of your friends with you,” she added, gesturing to the laughing crew.
Ruel exhaled through his nose, then gestured for several of the Clansfolk to come below with him; they all disappeared below deck.
“Raise anchor!” Rhona hollered, as she strode to the short ladder that led up to the ship’s aft castle. Once on the higher deck, she commandeered her ship’s wheel in strong hands.
“What’s this?” the harbormaster bellowed. “You can’t leave without our help; that’s how Salience works. The wind only blows in, not out. And I’m afraid there’s a hefty fee for the aid of our rowing tugs. Or did you plan on flying over the water like a lightning-haired storm sprite?” The sailors behind him laughed derisively.
Rhona was unperturbed, however. Her sailors scurried about, making the Princeling ready for the open sea.
Long, slender wooden oars sprouted from low on the Princeling’s sides. They dipped down into the harbor water and swept back, finding their rhythm and carrying the caravel away from the unfinished dock.
Rhona turned her head and called back to the harbormaster. “I don’t know what sort of sorry excuse for Clan you have out here, but where I come from, our raiding parties don’t stop at the rivers’ mouths!”
The Princeling rowed out of Salience Harbor, leaving behind the angry curses of dozens of harbormen and militia. Just as the ship was angling into the narrow channel, Rhona called one last order.
A moment later, everyone in the two-mile-wide harbor cavern flinched as the Princeling fired a cannonball into the yellow dimness of the cavern on his port side. Its explosion scarred the glowing fungus on the curve of the wall, leaving a rough blackness in the shape of a starburst.
Rhona’s laughter rolled back to the men on the dock. “Don’t forget me, now!”
~~~
Snow blanketed the ground outside the rough shutters that blocked the windows. Bailik pried one of them open a sliver and eyed the whitened fields, waiting for warm weather and seed. As happy as he was to be above ground, the monochromatic landscape wasn’t very cheering. He couldn’t recall such heavy snowfall in his lifetime; it felt like spring would never come. Between that and the persistently blue moon that shone down when the snow clouds let it, he felt like he was trapped in one of the morality tales his grandmother had told him as a child. Except I’m not the evil lord, he reasoned. I just work for him.
For now.
Bailik’s eyes flicked to the concealed slot in one corner of his floor; he itched to retrieve and use its contents. Being so close to one of Shanal’s many concentrated pockets of magic lent this area extra attributes; among other things, those outside had difficulty piercing its influence with seeking spells, and those inside had an easier time detecting such spells. Those two conditions had made it a little easier to rebel against the Hand of Power. Without the farmhouse’s natural shielding, Bailik knew he’d already have been discovered and killed.
The Hand of Power did not tolerate deception, unless it was his own. Holding a vial of magic-laden blood that hadn’t been shared with Oolat was one of Dzur i’Oth’s greatest crimes.
The vial had lain there, in stasis, for many months, while Bailik bided his time. But he’d become increasingly impatient for his chance to use its magical properties and take control of the cult. This was his third trip from the Dragon Temple to this room in as many weeks.
It struck him as ironic that, during Bailik’s raid that fateful night, the spellcaster he’d killed to retrieve this blood had been considered somewhat useless by his allies. Although, Bailik had to admit, the man had been easy to capture, despite feeling the full effect of his magic. Still, the key was in the timing of its use, not in its strength or weakness.
Bailik’s smile faded, and he turned from the window, stalking toward the corner of the room. Between his faltering patience and his growing paranoia that Onix Oolat was somehow aware of the vial’s existence, he knew he dared not leave the vial here any longer.
Releasing the spell that masked the hiding spot, he lifted the stone and retrieved the dusty vial. Its contents sloshed brightly. Biting the cork, he wrenched it free and downed the contents in a few gulps, grimacing at the iron taste. With a black zag of lightning, he destroyed the vial and sent its powder out through the shutters and into the snow.
Minutes later, a faint awareness of his new ability manifested in his consciousness. Now the only person who could give away his secret was himself.
Chapter Three
The Princeling slipped out to sea. The wind filled her sails with a series of deep canvas snaps. Ruel and the others below shipped the oars and returned to the upper deck.
Meena stood in the aft castle, raised above the main deck, and looked back through a spyglass. Suddenly she turned and called for Kemsil. He bolted up the steep wooden stairs to her side, and she handed the instrument to him, pointing to the top of the thousand-foot cliff.
Kemsil fumbled with the spyglass for a few moments before getting it aimed at the Night Beacon’s viewing platform. His breath caught as he saw Anjoya standing at the rail with her long dark curls flying in the sheeting wind, silently holding a hand over her heart, then extending it toward the Princeling.
He watched her perform the Hyndi gesture of farewell a few more times, then handed the spyglass back to Meena. With his forehead creased as if in pain, he murmured, “She still cares for me. I should have gone to see her one last time.”
“With your condition, a passionate farewell might have gotten her killed,” Meena replied, making Kemsil even more glum.
“We’ll rendezvous with our other ships once the sentries return to their posts,” Rhona called, as Salience harbor and its cliff receded behind them. “Make yourselves comfortable, everyone, and welcome back to the quest!” She grinned into the wind, eyes sparkling.
“Come, my lord,” Meena said, taking Kemsil’s arm and descending the ladder to the main deck. “I’ve something to distract you from your heartache.”
~~~
Sanych, Geret and Salvor preceded Kemsil and Meena into the captain’s cabin below deck. An oblong table took up most of the first half of the room. Shelving loaded with precious items made the room feel even smaller than it was. The further half of the chamber was Rhona’s personal space, half-hidden behind a pair of turquoise silk curtains.
Once they were all inside the low-ceilinged cabin, Meena closed and bolted the door behind them, her face tight. “We must speak quickly about the rest of our journey,” she said.
Sanych leaned against a bookcase, as far as she could get from Salvor, and refused to look in his direction. Being in such close quarters with him once more brought back painful memories, which culminated with his casual confession in Salience of deliberately manipulating her emotions ever since the expedition left Highnave. She’d broken off their relationship immediately, but her mind was still filled with confusion, betrayal and hurt.
Oathen Page 2