Ice in the Night (To Walk the Path 14)

by Paul Smith



  Ice in the Night (To Walk the Path 14)

  By Paul Smith.

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  Ice in the Night (To Walk the Path 14)

  Paul Smith

  Copyright 2014 Paul Smith

  This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to people, places or events is purely coincidental, and bears no malicious intent.

  ISBN: 9781311829504

  For more information on my work, and to keep up to date with new releases please follow me on Twitter @tattooloverboi or check out one of my galleries:

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  Blog: https://paulsmithauthor.wordpress.com/

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  'Bird of Honour'

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  Author's note:

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  Thank you.

  14: Ice in the Night.

  Mikael's tale held the room in rapt silence for it's duration, Clarissa and the Drake filling in the details he was missing.

  “So this leaves the Kuan where, exactly?” Rivan asked, glancing about at the assembled. “I know we believe we can manage without them, but their help would have been a useful boon. I think our people on Taiiruz are kinda counting on them to step in and do the right thing.”

  An odd look passed between Lair and Grifarne. The Nym apparently caught it too, as he raised a questioning eyebrow at Rivan. He shrugged. There was something more going on with the Circle that Galairel was keeping from him for reasons he could not fathom. Initially irked, he had resolved to keep his peace rather than push the matter. They were too far along to endanger things now with a temper tantrum.

  “I feel confident the Kuan will weigh in,” Galairel offered finally, glancing round at the others. His gaze came to rest on Rivan, softening. “You've met Jocan. Do you not agree?”

  Rivan forced himself to ignore the flush such direct interest in public still had a tendency to instil. Nodded his agreement. “Marcus is a good man. And with a seat on the Inner he has some clout now. If he sees our people in trouble I feel confident he'd push for action. That or take it himself.”

  “I agree.”

  They all turned to regard Mikael, various levels of surprise registering on the gathered faces. The Myson offered a tired smile. “Your faces...” he chuckled. “Look, I was tortured, but the guy was only doing what was necessary. This...” and he fingered one of the scabs on his arm, shrugging with nonchalance though his voice had gone thick “...occupational hazard.” He took a breath. You could practically see the war raging inside as he tried to master his emotions, shackling them to the cause he'd chosen. “Jocan is a good man at heart. Torture is a two way street, could tell...” he waved a hand, shaking his head slightly when Clarissa laid a hand on his shoulder “...s'fine.” He took another ragged breath. Made an almost theatrical effort to centre himself, grinning round. “The Kuan will step up.”

  Galairel nodded his thanks.

  “So we’re agreed then,” Lyse said, gazing round at everyone. “We're all aware of what's to happen?”

  “Gods woman, yes!” Ikari rolled his eyes, hiccuping. Standing, he gestured round the table. “This one...” Mikael bowed under the Nym's pointing finger, smiling “...will smuggle our esteemed diamond in the rough...” and he waved a hand at Rivan “...and his floozy into the capital for the Grand Opera.” Lair raised an eyebrow but remained silent. “Our spy master will accompany them...” and he bowed to Lyse, who nodded “...to make contact with the new Right Hand and her cronies.”

  Rivan grinned, thinking of Kelsaro. Through all of this he realised he was perhaps most looking forward to seeing her again.

  “Meanwhile!” Ikari glanced round, checking he still had everyone's attention “...our knights in shining armour...” Timo and Grifarne received a small fireworks display that sent the ship's cat into hysterics “...will rendezvous with the rest of the troops and prepare the assault.” He grinned around smugly, hiccuping again. “Did I miss anything?”

  “Yourself?” Timo prompted from the door; he'd risen to offer the cat a chance to escape. It had taken it without persuasion.

  “Well obviously I will be everywhere!” Ikari grinned about, hands on hips. “Though not at the same time...”

  “Taiiruz?” Clarissa prompted.

  “I'm reasonably sure Lifaen and Barran know what they're doing,” the Nym replied, sticking his tongue out. “And they're not here.”

  She shrugged, but nodded.

  Mikael stood, glancing at the others. “Shall we?”

  Galairel nodded, standing himself to offer Rivan his hand. “No time like the present.”

  They gathered on deck for a final round of good byes. The crews of both ships festooned the rigging as hand clasps and embraces were exchanged.

  “You be careful?” Timo asked, hugging Rivan tight.

  Rivan smiled, giving him a squeeze. “I'd say the same to you, but I know you won't.”

  Timo grinned, eyes shining. “Just…” he shook his head. “I want to see you on the other side.”

  “And you will.” Rivan pursed his lips, trying to keep his own tears in check. He glanced over the boys shoulder at a figure lurking at the edge of the crowd. Timo caught his look and smiled, disengaging. “Go on, I need to speak to Clarissa.”

  They parted and Edarn stepped forwards, eyes down. He met Rivan's gaze finally, raising the hand to offer him a wrapped bundle. “I wanted you to have this. Gather Lifaen's given you a few lessons.”

  Rivan unwrapped the bundle, took out the knife within. Realised he'd seen it countless times in Edarn's hands aboard the Run. “I...”

  “Take it.” Edarn closed his fingers about the sturdy handle, the leather bindings soft beneath Rivan's callouses. “In case...”

  Rivan nodded. “Thank you.” He smiled, hugged the other man fiercely. “You've been such a good friend.”

  “Figure you need a little bit of normality in your life.”

  Rivan laughed. Leant forward to kiss Edarn's cheek. “You take care too.”

  “Never fear.”

  With a last clasp of wrists they parted, Rivan raising his hand a final time to Ikari and Grifarne as Timo returned to their side. The Skuigr raised a hand, before placing the arm about Timo's shoulders.

  They’re almost of a height now, Rivan realised with a shock as he turned to the little gathering in the centre of the deck.

  Good luck.

  The Drake Pan was perched on Clarissa's raised palm, surveying the assembled.

  “You're not coming with us?” Rivan asked.

  “He'd set every alarm in the city blaring,” Mikael replied. “Going to be enough trouble sneaking this one in.”

  “Yes, how are we going to manage this?” Rivan indicated the Wraethi. “It was my understanding seferiks warp in your presence.”

  Galairel nodded. “They do. Which is why we will not be travelling seferikally.”

  Rivan raised an eyebrow. “Please don't tell me we've a swim ahead of us again?”

  “Not quite.” Galairel nodded to Mikael. “When she'd ready.”

  Mikael's eyes unfocused, his lips moving as he muttered under his breath. Speaking to someone, Rivan realised, fascinated as always to see the Daiku's art in action. “Okay, we're good to go. Join hands people.”

  Rivan stepped into the group, linking hands with Mikael on one side, Lyse on the other.

  “Okay, we're good to go...”

  His voice had taken on an odd quality. Rivan looked about at the others, eyes going suddenly wide as he felt something snatch him up. The increased pressure on his hand was, he belatedly realised, Lyse squeezing his palm in reassurance as they were flung across s
pace/time in a rush of streaking light, landing all of a sudden amidst the back alley stink of urine and garbage that could be found in any city across the world. The salty tang of the sea underlay the warring odours. As he glanced about he found they were indeed in an alley, littered with trash cans and strewn detritus, located between the looming rear façade of what smelt like a row of restaurants and a high brick wall. Sea mist crept by in the lamp light at the alley's end.

  “Welcome to Incarnate,” Mikael muttered, when he'd finished throwing up copiously. He waved off his sister's concerned look. “Not the first time… God I hate travelling like that.”

  Clarissa nodded uncertainly, and Mikael squeezed her hand reassuringly before turning to spit out a long string of sputum. As he raised his head his eyes came level with a snag in the stonework of the wall and he smiled grimly, fingering the imperfection. He remembered the evening he'd made it perfectly, remembered throwing up at precisely this spot. He'd been on a night out with the lads, foolishly agreed to shots after a plate of oysters.

  Big mistake.

  Next thing he knew the restaurant bouncers were dumping