And then she spoke, and it was a music that Farran had never known existed. “This early in the morning, my horse and I don’t normally have to fight for a place on the shore.”
“It’s a shame,” said Farran playfully. “How could anyone be asleep in their beds when they could watch the dawning light paint the shoreline?”
“Perhaps they are all fools,” suggested the woman, with a smile on her lips and in her voice.
“That must be it,” said Farran. “Everyone in the world, except you and me.”
The woman smiled coyly, and looked as though she were about to respond. But the thud of trotting horse hooves and a heavy panting announced the arrival of her plump escort, and she kept silent.
The man was wiping sweat from his brow and neck, dabbing anxiously with a green handkerchief. “You promised your father!” the man said fussily, pulling his horse to a less-than-graceful stop beside hers.
“No, you promised my father,” said the woman airily. “I can only imagine his disappointment if he found out how you let me run amok all across the shoreline,” she teased. “I mean, after all of your promises that you’d keep an eye on me, to let me go again? Whatever will he say, Antos?”
The man, Antos, didn’t seem to be aware of Farran sprawled out just inches from their mounts’ hooves. He straightened his collar petulantly and muttered, “I should have had that wretched animal of yours hobbled years ago. Then, perhaps, you’d start acting like a lady.” But even as he said it, Farran could tell there wasn’t a malicious bone in this man’s body. And even the woman smiled.
“Alright Antos, you’ll have your way. Let’s get back before your poor nerves give out.” She pulled her hood back over her hair, and glanced down at Farran one last time. They exchanged the quietest of smiles before she wheeled her horse around and set off at an even trot.
As he straightened his own reins with a sigh, Antos finally noticed Farran. He took note of the ill-concealed laughter written on Farran’s face, and snorted. “You think you could do better with her? Be my guest. It would take the very gods to tame that woman, and I daresay even they would have their work cut out.” And with that, he turned his own mount and followed her, grunting with every jostling step.
Farran watched her until she was nothing but a dark smudge against the sand, and even then he could swear he still heard her laugh ringing through the air. It was only when she had disappeared completely that Farran became aware that he was soaked to the skin. The tide was up to his chest, churning angrily and humming with jealousy.
“Hush,” said Farran, brushing the water and driftwood away with a gesture of his hand. As the tide retreated moodily back to its proper place, Farran stood, dusting sand and stray scraps of seaweed from his clothes. It wasn’t until he began to make his way back to the early-morning bustle of the city that he realized: he hadn’t heard the ocean while the beautiful woman was there. Or, rather, he had heard it from afar. Like listening to the sound of waves crashing in a seashell, instead of from the deck of a sailing ship. It was the first time in all his years that someone’s voice had drowned out the sea.
✽ ✽ ✽
The plundered goods were all sold. The indentured men were given new positions and tattooed with the mark of their new ship home, and many of the pirates had emptied their pockets of almost every scrap of prize money. Repairs were finished, and fresh supplies tucked neatly aboard both the Merry Doll and the Laila. Departure was set for three days hence, and a whisper about a new threat on the Gossamer Sea began to trickle through town.
A new pirate ship. It sailed in the shadows and bore a siren as its figurehead. Farran heard rumors on the air like an incomplete song, with everyone telling a slightly different tale. Some made them seem deadly and ruthless, others made them out to be heroes, fighting in the darkness against an evil king and his navy. Still others said it was a powerful magic that sailed with them. The magic that nightmares were made of.
Eyes began to turn to the new men in town. Those claiming to be merchants, who had sailed in just weeks ago. Farran could see the suspicions following his men in and out of taverns and harlot houses. Stories came out of the black market. Accounts of the goods Edwin and Farran had sold, and the sudden inquiries as to where they had come from.
Of course, the traders had known when they’d bought them. Only a fool wouldn’t realize it. But now that piracy was the talk of the town, everyone was eager to add their bit to the tales. And as for the pirates themselves, they walked with a certain added spring in their steps. Their legend was just beginning, and they could all feel it. Just as their captains had promised, they would be loved and feared and admired and sung about.
But first, according to the notices that appeared overnight just before their departure, they would be hanged.
✽ ✽ ✽
Farran read the scroll once before ripping it from the door where it was tacked. Then he whistled for his nearest men, and two of them came hurrying to his side.
“Get everyone out,” Farran said, low and urgent. “We meet at the ships, now. Leave tabs unpaid, don’t kiss your women goodbye, don’t even lace your boots.” He brandished the scroll at them, letting the men read it for themselves. And then, without wasting another moment, the two were off. Farran watched them go, silently urging them to go carefully, before he swept off toward the docks. He could feel the townsfolk watching him go, and he knew they’d all read the notices. He knew they were waiting for the arrests.
All who were accused of piracy were to be tried at the mercy of the chancellor. Those found guilty were to be hanged at dawn the following morning. A hanging meant nothing to Farran — he’d been hanged in the name of piracy enough to retire even the busiest of hangmen. But there wasn’t enough power in the entire ocean to save his men’s lives once they walked the gallows. Their souls would belong to the High Executioner. A god who wouldn’t be bargained with. A god to whom Farran had lost more than enough men already.
Farran slipped through the dawning shadows to the wharf, a pounding urgency playing an unbalanced duet in his heart with the ocean’s call. To save himself, or save his men. To flee as a god, or escape as a mortal. Even as he quickened his pace, anxious to reach his ship, he knew his mind was already made up. It had been made up long ago, the moment he’d begun to consider Edwin as a friend. In fact, from the very moment he’d set foot on board the Laila. He would sail her to world’s end, and her crew was his family. The ocean would never stop calling him, but a lone pirate was nothing. And a god without his disciples was even less.
But Farran stopped, listening to the ocean’s song more closely now. Something wasn’t right. Something outside of the ordinary, the usual luring temptations and soothing coral croonings. The sea was warning him.
In an instant, Farran dropped to his knees, concealing himself behind a pallet of crates stacked on a long and winding pier. He could just see the Laila, nestled at the far end of the harbor. Not far away was the Merry Doll. Many of the fishing boats seemed to have left for the day already, leaving the waterfront relatively clear. Still, most men wouldn’t have noticed anything strange. But Farran did. He saw the colors on the decks of the pirate ships, and knew they weren’t his. He could see clearer than any mortal man that both vessels were under guard, captured by men wearing military silks and bearing the chancellor’s crest.
He could hear a handful of his own men approaching, and waved them quickly over, gesturing to stay low. There were eight of them altogether, and the rat-like kitchen boy Jethhat was the first to speak up.
“They took ’em, sir!” he said with ill-concealed panic. “Everyone except us, what managed to escape!”
“Where are they?” asked Farran at once. “What have they done with my men?”
“Taken right to trial,” said Jethhat. “I heard everyone talking about it. Seems this chancellor of theirs is cursed set on seeing them all hang as soon as possible.”
“East,” said one of the other men, a rather beefy medic called V
at. “They’ve taken them to the chancellor’s own estate.”
“We’ve got bigger problems,” said Farran. “I’ll handle the men, and the chancellor. But I’ve got important chores for you.”
✽ ✽ ✽
It was a simple enough matter to gain access to the chancellor’s land. Farran had been impersonating a merchant for quite some time, and it was easier to disguise one pirate as a wellbred tradesman than it was to explain away a whole fleet of them at a local tavern. In fact, it was even simpler than it should have been. It seemed the chancellor was eager to showcase this particular trial. He’d invited the whole city to come and watch, and people were flocking in from every gate. Farran let himself be herded to the long, open courtyard at the heart of the estate. In any other circumstance, Farran might have let himself admire the beautiful stonework and the blossoming cherry trees. As it was, he found himself mentally calculating how much such a grandiose estate would cost, measuring each flawless pillar and pagoda in chests of gold and sacks of precious gems.
But then his eyes fell on the line of prisoners facing the crowd, and all thoughts of the chancellor’s estate were driven from his mind.
His men were shackled in a long line on a raised veranda, along with a handful of other men who Farran didn’t recognize. Some looked disheveled and tousled, as though they’d been dragged straight out of their beds without being allowed to finish dressing. Others had clearly put up a fight, and bore signs of struggling against their captors. Here and there Farran spotted a bloody lip or a black eye, although no one looked worse than Edwin. He was bleeding freely from a long cut across his forehead, and one of his arms was roughly bandaged. One eye was swollen almost completely shut, and his jaw was starting to swell in a way that suggested he might have lost a couple of teeth.
But everyone seemed to be accounted for, which was a relief to Farran. In fact, the only men he was unsure of were the indentured sailors aboard the Laila and the Merry Doll, and those few of his own men who had been left to watch over them. Were they now among the Chancellor’s men, those guarding the decks? Or had they been killed or taken prisoner?
There was no time to worry about them now, or to think back on the ships floating in the harbor. Farran stood, concealed by the crowd but able to see his men perfectly. He waited as the buzzing tension in the crowd grew, and finally broke like a wave crashing into the side of a stone cliff. And then, as the people around him squawked at each other like chickens fighting over feed, the sound of a struck gong echoed through the courtyard and silence fell.
To the left and several stories up, a man stepped out onto a balcony and addressed the crowd. “Presenting the Voice of the Emperor for the seaside city of Aseos, Chancellor DeMorrow! And with him, his daughter and heir, the Lady Adella DeMorrow!”
All heads bowed low, and when they looked up again, a man and woman had joined the crier on the balcony. They were both draped in regal silks, and the man sported a long braid like a tail draped over his shoulder. He was otherwise clean-shaven and bore an expression of unrelenting stoicism. His whole demeanor said that this wasn’t a trial: this was a sentencing. His mind was already made up.
But it was the woman who caught and held Farran’s eye. Her black hair was piled on her head in a series of complex knots, instead of falling wildly about her face and shoulders. And she’d traded in her rough black riding robes for silks of the purest green and finest gold. But it was her. And Farran felt his very soul sink. The most beautiful woman in the world was going to stand by while his men were sentenced to death.
The chancellor began to speak, but Farran hardly listened. He stared up at Adella DeMorrow, trying to make sense of the confusing emotion that swept over him like a rising tide. For though he’d only met her for the briefest of moments, Farran felt betrayed. And he couldn’t understand why. And when the chancellor’s daughter looked down from her post on the balcony and met his gaze, a flicker of recognition shone on her face, accompanied by the slightest of smiles.
Farran turned away, all attention on her father now. “To keep our waters safe!” the chancellor was saying. “And to keep our people protected! This scourge should be burned from our oceans!”
A cheer rose from the gathered crowd, but with a simple gesture of his hand, the chancellor silenced them again. And then, he pointed a single accusatory finger at the shackled pirates. “These men shall hang at dawn. And let their deaths be a lesson to any pirate that crosses our borders: Aseos is the gateway to the Emperor’s own kingdom! And we will not let it be tainted with the evils of piracy, and the dark magic they bring with them! Though the pirate god himself may sail through our waters, we will not be overcome!”
More cheers, and Farran raised an eyebrow incredulously. Ordinary men did not threaten the gods so lightly. And while other gods might have better things to do than seek revenge on inconsequential mortals, Farran couldn’t think of a better way to spend his time. He extricated himself from the crowd as the final moments of the so-called “trial” commenced. And as he did, he felt Adella DeMorrow watching him. He turned, just before he disappeared from her sight, and bowed grandly. Then, on a sudden whim, he blew her a rakish kiss. Such a beauty belonged on the figurehead of a ship, or immortalized in statues and paintings in the grand halls of the most magnificent palaces. But she was the enemy now, standing peacefully by the side of the man who would have Farran’s crew executed.
A heavy fog began to roll in from the sea, and a sudden breeze brought with it the promise of rain. What had been a bright and clear morning was rapidly greying as thick clouds began to roll across the sun. As the pirates were officially sentenced to hang at dawn, a low rumble of thunder in the distance shook the trees, shedding soft pink petals like snow. The crowd began to disperse, many glancing up nervously at the sky and wondering aloud at the unexpected shift in the weather. All except Farran, who stood in the farthest corner of the courtyard, watching as his men were marched off to spend their final hours in the estate’s prison keep.
And like a shadow in the fog, Farran followed.
✽ ✽ ✽
Even with the gloom that had fallen over Aseos, Farran waited until it was properly evening to break into the prison. A change of the guard granted him ample opportunity to slip through a side gate and tuck himself away in a neglected storeroom. There, he sat crouched behind a wall of powder kegs, listening to every footfall and taking in every man’s scent. He could tell which of them had been drinking by the rice wine on their breath or the slight hitch in their steps. And he knew exactly where his prisoners were being held. All he had to do was wait for the perfect moment. For the right guard to take too long on his rounds, or for a game of dice to break out and distract the guards from their duties. Every prison was the same in the end, and Farran had been in enough of them to feel almost at home here.
But he hadn’t been waiting long when something else happened. The door to his storeroom creaked open ever so softly, and someone else came in, accompanied by the soft glow of a lantern. Farran stayed quiet, drawing one of his hidden knives silently and expertly. The door clicked shut once more, and Farran could hear soft and hurried breathing. Ever so carefully, Farran eased himself into a hunting crouch, waiting concealed behind his wall of kegs. The newcomer was slowly creeping deeper into the room. In an instant, Farran pounced, his arm wrapped around the intruder’s neck and mouth, his knife tip pressed against their back. “You picked the wrong night for a casual stroll in the dungeons,” he hissed in the shadow’s ear.
Then he whipped the trespasser around to face him, and dropped his knife. Even in the flickering, shadowed light of the lantern she held, he knew her face. Adella DeMorrow glared up at him, and it was in that moment that Farran realized that she, too, was armed with a knife. A long, wickedly curved blade that was pointing directly at his throat.
The two stood for a moment, Farran still holding tightly to her, and the chancellor’s daughter apparently fighting to reconcile her determination and her shock. And then,
they both relaxed. Farran released her, and Adella sheathed her knife with shaking hands.
“I suppose it would be presumptuous of me to ask what in Dream’s reach you’re doing here?” asked Farran in a heated whisper.
“It’s my father’s land!” she hissed back, hooking her lantern onto a low-hanging chain. “I have the right to be wherever I wish!”
Farran smirked. “Then why are you whispering?”
Footsteps outside made them both fall silent. A passing guard. It was only when the footsteps faded away that Adella spoke once more. “You’re with the pirates, then?”
Farran bowed low, scooping his knife off the floor in the process. “Guilty as charged,” he said. It wasn’t quite a whisper, but low enough that his voice wouldn’t carry past their door. “Why, planning on stringing me up with my men?”
“Not for piracy,” said Adella cheekily. “For ruining my morning ride, absolutely.”
Farran chuckled, and swept his arm out in an over-exaggerated mockery of offering one a seat. But Adella took one anyway, swinging herself up onto a rough wooden crate. Farran in turn leaned up against the wall, arms crossed as he scrutinized her.
This woman was much more like the creature he’d met on the beach. Wild and untamed, with a hint of unquenchable fire in her eyes. She was not the painted, pampered young heiress in silk who he’d seen mere hours before. She was once again in simple robes, though they still seemed the most royal attire in the world, simply because they were wrapped around her. In fact, Farran found his imagination wandering to what she’d look like with even less wrapped around her.
Something of his thoughts must have shown on his face, because Adella raised one perfect, dark eyebrow and crossed her arms. Farran cleared his throat and smiled somewhat apologetically, running his fingers nervously through his hair. Why was he acting like a teenaged mortal farmboy? He cleared his throat again and focused instead on the situation at hand.
Windswept (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 1) Page 35