The Story Raider

by Lindsay A. Franklin

  “Aeron is a trained soldier,” Mor pointed out. “And it’s battle we’re concerned with, not sailing.”

  “Battle?”

  Dylun frowned at me. “Tannie, don’t be obtuse.”

  And the way they all looked at me, it told me that’s exactly what they thought I was.

  My frustration burst from my hand in a silver strand. In another heartbeat, the strand hardened to steel. The blade clattered to the deck at my father’s feet. “I’m not useless!”

  He didn’t even blink. He bent down and picked up the sword. It was a little wonky—bowed slightly, not fine and straight like the guardsmen’s. But I’d only made it out of anger, and it’d taken me less time than a sneeze. So there was that.

  Father seemed to be considering my blade, and I didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. “I don’t think you’re useless,” he said at last.

  “Then may I stay?” I glanced at Mor, wondering if the word of the general would override the declaration of the ship’s captain. Probably not, strictly speaking, but I guessed in this case, Mor might relent.

  Father glanced at Mor and handed the blade to me. “Stay above, but stay close to me. You understand?”

  “Aye.”

  And I would obey. Truly, I would. But guilt pricked at me. Because I should have felt some of the tension crackling in the air. I should have been on my guard, readying for battle, preparing myself for a hostile foe on the shore. We were flying the banner of Tir, after all, and Meridione had no reason to love us.

  Or even trust us.

  But all I could see was the watercolor sky. The sun setting in pinks and purples and golds over the waves. All I noticed was the turquoise ocean and the way the sunset sparkled off the sea—like the glittering diamonds off the chilly waters of the Menfor back home. But here those sparkles flared seastone-blue and green and violet where the Menfor warmed itself along the Meridioni coast.

  And the sand milk-white with not a pebble to be seen.

  The only interruption of the natural beauty was the occasional dock jutting into the ocean. And Bordino was supposed to be the Meridioni capital? How could that be? Tir’s capital was a flurry of noise and trade and the relentless crush of many people. Bordino’s docks were deserted.

  Except that knot of armed men over there.

  And now I finally came round to what the others saw. What they had feared. For surely those men had seen our Tirian banners, and they crouched ready as our ship glided closer.

  Mor and half his crew fussed about the lines and ropes while my father, Warmil, Aeron, and the rest of them fussed about those armed men. Aeron pulled a bowstring taut, and she wasn’t alone.

  Part of me wondered if this was all necessary. If we only told them we didn’t mean harm. That Queen Braith had sent a message of liberation . . .

  But I supposed we needed to live long enough to deliver that message. Maybe I should have gone belowdecks.

  “Run up the flag of peace,” Mor called to one of the sailors.

  I had wondered what that plain white sheet was.

  “Approaching the bay!” another sailor shouted.

  I lost myself again for a moment. I even forgot my seasickness. I leaned over the rail and gazed straight down to the bottom of the ocean, so clear was the water. Fish glided in schools of hundreds. And not the silver and gray fish we saw back home. Those were here, too, of course, but also bright fish. Fish like flowers.

  And then there was something else that nearly made me tumble over the edge into the water.

  I stumbled back a step into something solid. The “something solid” was Dylun, for he hovered about, same as me, without a specific job to do just now. “Careful, Tanwen. You’ll fall overboard.”

  “Dylun. What is that?” I pointed to the creature. It circled beneath the ship, then popped up alongside us, then disappeared to the other side. Like it was playing tag.

  Dylun cracked another smile. “Trygoni. They like to keep boats company in the shallow water of the bay.”

  I caught another glimpse of the creature as it passed by our side of the ship. “It’s like it’s flying in the water.”

  “It is, in a way. Sailing is what it’s called. They’re friendly enough with ships, but if you’re ever out in the water, mind your toes. They’ll sting you.” He pointed to the long tail trailing the trygoni. “That’s barbed, and it smarts worse than you can imagine.”

  “Truly?”

  “Yes. Well, and the poison will kill you.”

  “You’re always so cheerful, Dylun.”

  He shrugged. “Facts cannot be cheerful or somber. They just . . . are.”

  “Well, thanks for the warning. I suppose I’ll mind my toes in these Meridioni waters.”

  “You should mind your toes in all waters.”

  “Is that a Meridioni proverb?”

  “No. Common sense.”

  I wanted to take a moment to laugh, but just then, the dock came within spitting distance of the ship, and a fierce shout split the air.

  “Chiva ala, smelti!”

  I stared blankly, for the words meant nothing to me.

  But I didn’t need to speak Meridioni to know the men on the dock weren’t happy. A moment later, Meridioni swords rang from scabbards and arrows nocked into bowstrings.

  It didn’t escape my notice that one of those arrows was pointed straight at my heart.

  “Tanwen, I said stay close!”

  I had never heard Father’s voice so loud. I slipped behind him without complaint. He had an arrow in one hand, his bow in the other.

  I’d seen him shoot once before, and I knew he could have that arrow nocked, aimed, and released before the Meridioni soldier even thought about loosing his arrow at me.

  Still.

  It didn’t settle my empty stomach to have a pointed missile aimed straight at me. Or my father.

  Dylun stepped forward. His words flowed so rapidly I couldn’t make out one from the next. Meridioni was a strange, rolling sort of language. But it sang nicely in my ear, even if Dylun was firing it off faster than the beating of a hover-bird’s wings.

  If those words were meant to have a softening effect on the men on the dock, it didn’t seem to be working. The men continued to scowl. Worse, the arrows stayed aimed, ready for loosing, and the swords remained drawn.

  I couldn’t help but stare at these men. I knew it showed my provincial roots, but I didn’t care. Dylun was the first Meridioni I’d ever seen. Those dark-haired Tirians like Mor usually had mixed heritage of some kind, if they could trace it back far enough, but even they were rare enough on the peninsula.

  I’d seen Cameria and plenty of palace servants of Meridioni blood since meeting Dylun, of course, but something about this cluster of warriors was striking.

  Their uniforms were black and blood-red, their crest a glittering, silver fish. I knew that fish. It appeared in the crowned story I’d once told about Meridione. But it seemed funny to me now, having seen their bright fish, painted in the many colors of the rainbow. Why choose the plain silver for their emblem?

  Another shout from the dock sent all thoughts of fish swimming from my mind. The fiercest-looking of the bunch was hollering something to Dylun. Dylun shouted back.

  Then he turned to my father. “General, they won’t accept our letter from Queen Braith until we prove we mean no harm.”

  Father nodded. “Aye, I heard.”

  I was bewildered for a moment. But then I realized of course he spoke Meridioni. He was former First General to the king, after all. He probably spoke half a dozen languages.

  Father turned to Mor. “Captain, with your permission, I would like to speak to them.”

  Mor nodded. “Of course. If you think you can help.”

  Father’s Meridioni sounded as good as Dylun’s, though his voice still rasped when he raised it. And I didn’t exactly know if the words were correct. It rolled off his tongue the same as Dylun’s. I could only make out one thing he said: Yestin Bo-Arthio.
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  It was those words that seemed to change things. The man at the front and center of the knot of Meridioni warriors held up a hand. “Yestin?” he said in thickly accented Tirian. “Can it be?”

  “It is I, Gerrio. You were captain once, but is it commander now?” Father nodded to symbols on the shoulder of the man’s uniform. “You have done well in these . . . fifteen years, is it?”

  “Fifteen, yes. But you have aged thirty, my friend.” The commander lowered his weapon, and his fellows followed. “I thought you were dead.”

  “I nearly was. Often.”

  My heart squeezed at his words.

  Commander Gerrio hesitated, and who could blame him? Seeing my father must have been like seeing a ghost.

  “I bring you glad news, my friend,” Father said. “From Queen Braith.”

  “Queen, is it?”

  “Aye.” Father produced a folded piece of parchment with the queen’s signet pressed into the wax seal. She’d had her own crest drawn up, and it looked nothing like her father’s.

  Wise move, that. And besides, the velvet-petal symbol she had chosen fit her perfectly. Much better than Gareth’s family crest of a frightening serpent.

  Gerrio nodded, and one of his men saw to accepting our ramp as the crewmen lowered it to the dock. I noticed Wylie and Jule at work, and I prayed everything would stay calm. My friends were awfully close to those Meridioni swords just now.

  I was fairly useless with the lines and the process of securing the ship. It was the first time we’d made port, after all, and it’s not like I was handy with those things in the best of circumstances. But it didn’t take long with our crew and the soldiers on the dock working together. Once we were tethered and the ramp secured, Father stepped forward to deliver Braith’s letter into the hands of the commander.

  Gerrio broke the seal and unfolded the letter. He skimmed it, peered closer, then read it again. Slowly this time.

  He glanced up at Father, a hint of shock edging his features. “Is this . . . ?”

  “Authentic? Yes.”

  “But is it . . . I mean, is it true? Gareth has fallen?”

  “Aye.”

  “And his daughter reigns?”

  “Aye.”

  “And she wishes to give us our freedom?”

  “Yes. Queen Braith wants you to be Tir’s free neighbors again. No longer her subjects.”

  “I shall . . .” He shook his head, as if that might clear the unbelievable news from it. “I shall have to take this to the Senate. They’ve had little enough to keep them busy these past thirteen years. But if we are truly free again, Meridioni rule falls into their hands once more.”

  “Yes.” Father nodded once. “Gerrio, our business is not purely political.”

  “No?”

  “We have a sick girl aboard ship. Our Meridioni lad here thinks he knows someone who might help. Do you know a Master Insegno?”

  “I have heard his name. A scholar at the atenne, is he not?”

  Dylun nodded. “That sounds right. And he’s alive still?”

  “True as I know.”

  I glanced at Father. “Atenne?”

  “University.”

  Gerrio whistled sharply, and the next thing I knew, Meridioni warriors were climbing aboard our ship.

  But not in hostility. They were helping us carry boxes and bags and trunks, barrels to refill with fresh water, and anything else we needed help with.

  Including a barely conscious Gryfelle on her mat.

  Commander Gerrio continued to stare at Father. “I can hardly believe it. But here you stand. And with this letter.”

  “The world has turned sideways, has it not?”

  “Se, my old friend.” Then he turned to me. “Welcome to Port Bordino, ragizzi.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  TANWEN

  I practically tripped over myself all the way into Bordino. Who could keep her eyes on her own feet when there was so much to see all around?

  Commander Gerrio led us up the white-sand beach, and my feet fairly sank with each step. If I’d thought the sand in Physgot was fine, I’d been dead wrong. This sand melted around my shoes. I resisted the urge to crouch down and feel it between my fingers. Maybe I’d get the chance later. Didn’t want to remind everyone just how poorly traveled I was.

  Gerrio walked beside Father. They spoke quietly, but per Father’s command, I was nearby. Gerrio’s brow knitted. “This news of the Tirian queen . . .”

  “Hard to comprehend, I know.”

  “How did Gareth fall? And what is this treason Queen Braith’s letter spoke of?” He leaned closer to Father. “It has been confirmed?”

  “I was a direct witness to Gareth’s confession. He murdered Caradoc and claimed the throne for himself.”

  Gerrio shook his head, as if in shock. “Gareth has been no friend to Meridione, to say the least. But I did not suspect . . . this.”

  “Few did.”

  “Yestin, my friend. Your name is enough to gain access here in Port Bordino because I am here. I do not think you should expect a warm reception elsewhere. Gareth conquered his empire some years ago. Unrest has been growing. His name is reviled the world round, and your banner is Tirian. I would expect hostility.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  He nodded to me. “You would bring your daughter on such a journey?”

  Father frowned and glanced at me. “It’s complicated. I did not bring her, exactly.”

  My face burned.

  Subject change, please. I cleared my throat loudly. “What’s that up ahead?”

  Red-rock cliffs rose ahead of us, beyond the beach. Atop the ledges and peaks, I could make out some white structures.

  “Meridioni villas.” Gerrio pointed out the architecture. “See those columns? That’s how you know it was built by a Meridioni. And the arches there. You’ll see the designs when we are closer.”

  He led us to the base of a wide staircase of the same white material as the villas—not marble, as was all over Urian, but like stone covered in thin white plaster.

  “Follow me.” Gerrio led us up the steps.

  Hundreds of them, it seemed. The stairs cut into the red-rock mountainside and up, up, deep into the cliffs.

  I glanced over my shoulder at the men and the weavers, everyone loaded with packs and boxes, or else helping carry Gryfelle. At least poor Gryfelle was sleeping through it. I could only imagine being dragged up this cliff on a wobbly litter by a bunch of tired sailors.

  “Where shall we stay tonight, Gerrio?” Father asked. “We have coin. It’s imperial coin, of course, but it is gold. It could be reminted into Meridioni solidis.”

  “Se.” Gerrio nodded. “Your gold will be welcome, even if the stamp on it is not.” He paused and seemed to be collecting his breath. We were nearly at the top of the cliffs. “There is an inn near my villa. I can arrange rooms for you there.”

  “Many thanks.” Father nodded back toward Gryfelle. “The girl is very unwell. We will need to find Master Insegno as soon as possible.”

  “Morning,” Gerrio said simply, then continued his trek.

  I just about collapsed when we reached the last stair. I didn’t have a bag like the others, but I did have a bundle—a blanket, the clothes borrowed from Aeron, and my own traveling dress all rolled up so that I might carry them.

  I dropped the bundle on the ground and plunked on top of it. The world swayed before me. I closed my eyes and tried to lean away from the edge of the cliff.

  “Tannie?”

  I cracked one eye open and found Wylie’s concerned face in front of me. “You all right?”

  “I thought the seasickness would wane after we got off the ship. In fact . . . my body seems to think we’re still on the ship.”

  He chuckled. “Give it a bit. Takes time to adjust to solid land again.”

  “Scaling cliffs right after disembarking doesn’t help matters.”

  “Not especially.”

  I averted my gaze
as Mor walked by—purposeful, discussing matters with the men. With my father and Commander Gerrio and Jule and Warmil. Seeing him there made me feel . . . small. Young. Insignificant. Though I couldn’t say why. Probably wouldn’t have bothered me if things were settled between me and him.

  “I usually try to mind my own onions,” Wylie said. “But if you ever wanted to talk . . .” He glanced at Mor, then turned back to me.

  “Aye.” I smiled. “Thanks for that.”

  He returned my smile. “Come on,” he said as he pulled me to my feet. “A little food in your stomach will help.”

  I grabbed my bundle and followed after him and the others. “As long as it’s not fish.”

  Wylie was right. Food helped, and bless the stars, it was not fish that night. Instead, we ate thick pieces of oven-baked maize-meal flatbread piled with sweet tomatoes, shaved pink onions, herbs I’d never tasted, and ribbons of salty cheese and cured meat. It was impossible to eat that and not feel better.

  Sleep helped too. So did the feel of the solid earth beneath my feet for a few hours.

  An extra couple hours of sleep might have been nice, but I woke with the rising of the sun, as had become my custom on the ship. Used to be my custom in Pembrone. I was raised on a farm, after all. But I’d grown used to slower mornings and breakfast magically appearing at the queen’s table in Urian.

  I’d become downright citified.

  But this morning, I allowed the pink-gold sunshine to rouse me from my dreams. Karlith had knitted me a new shawl on board the Cethorelle, for knitting time was still something she had aplenty and I’d left my other shawl back at the inn in Physgot. I wrapped the new one around my shoulders, then slipped into my leather shoes and tiptoed out the curtain-covered doorway of the room where I’d slept.

  They weren’t so keen on proper doors in Meridione. Instead, their open doorways were covered in long sheets of fabric or leather.

  Strange. But they also slept on mats on the floor and cooked in small clay ovens. Things were just different in other parts of the world.