Palawen was anxious. What am I doing? It was a question she struggled to answer. Agreeing to accompany Caleb was the exact opposite of what she wanted. She should've been finished with this business. She'd tracked the strange magic out of the Eastweald, located its source and seen it destroyed. The obvious course was to move on, to make her way back home and report what she'd found to her father. It could be that he’d know what that thing was. Yet, instead of following the obvious course, she found herself in the company of a crippled boy and a drunken mercenary—though she had to admit that Tanner seemed to have sobered considerably.
I’m just making sure they get away safely, she told herself.
Eventually, they came upon Caleb’s pony. It was skittish, but Tanner’s pet wolf kept its distance so the boy could get close enough take hold of its reins. He tried mounting, but the animal had injured itself during its flight and Caleb was forced to lead it. He scratched the pony’s ear, speaking to it in soothing tones as he limped along.
Palawen found herself watching him, wondering how he had ruined his leg. An accident? Or was he born that way? She shook the thoughts from her mind. It was his business, and none of her concern. She refused to be distracted by idle curiosity.
After a miserable quarter-hour, the road curved north toward an expansive field. Palawen was the last to see the shapes of several wind riders silhouetted against the night. By the time she could make out the vague smudges against the gloomy veil of the night, Caleb was already pointing out their target.
“There,” he said. “The big one off to the side. That’s Zephyr’s Song.”
“And you're sure this pirate will help us?” asked Tanner.
“It might be best if you don’t call him a pirate to his face. But yes, he’ll help. He’ll have set out a watch, so I’ll approach by myself.”
“You sure that’s safe?”
“Safe enough. Unless you’d rather be shot full of arrows. He is a pirate, after all."
Tanner grunted but nodded his agreement.
“There's a stable just over there. You should be able to tie up Pacer and get out of the rain while I track down Den and explain our situation.”
“Be careful.”
“I will,” Caleb replied.
To Palawen's eye, he didn't look particularly confident as he handed her the pony's reins and went limping across the wind yard. He quickly melted into the darkness, another smudge of a shadow slinking through the night.
“Well,” muttered Tanner. “No sense standing about.”
The stable turned out to be little more than an open-faced, wooden shelter. The lonely stone wall didn’t do much to break the winds, but its clay shingles provided some protection from the rain. Palawen tied Pacer to a simple hitch in front of a trough of clean water. She found a small candle lantern, which she was able to light with one of the firesticks she always carried with her. Only a handful remained. After everything we’ve been through tonight, we could use a bit of light. The lantern was constructed to control the amount of light it produced, so she set it to burn dimly and hung it from an iron hook in the wall.
By the time she was finished with the light, Tanner had formed a pair of makeshift beds in a pile of hay. He laid Tamara there and covered her with her own cloak. He placed Shem next to her. Freed of its burden, Winter padded off into the darkness. Palawen couldn't understand how the wolf was still alive.
Tanner pulled up a weathered wooden stool. He sat in silence, staring out into the night. There was a stony indifference to his face, but Palawen couldn't help noticing that he had positioned himself close to Shem.
“He really is dying, isn’t he?” she asked after a moment.
“Looks that way,” replied Tanner.
“I’m sorry. He seems… a good man.”
The mercenary grunted. “More often than not, he’s a selfish, self-absorbed jackass. The kind of fool who thinks his bloody Nine demand that he carry the weight of the world on his own shoulders.”
“I thought you were friends?”
“Friends? No one’s ever friends with a man like that. Tools, more like it. Comrades, if you’re lucky. But rarely friends.”
“If you think so little of him, why do you seem so willing to do whatever he asks?”
“Who says I think little of him? I’m just telling it as it is.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Never asked you to.” He spat on the dirt floor, as though to punctuate his statement. “Damn, but I could use a drink. This dampness is seeping into my bones.” He turned toward her. “So what’s your story, Red?”
“Why do you keep calling me that?”
“Never looked in a mirror? Seems it should be obvious.”
She frowned, running one hand through her coppery hair. “My name is Palawen.”
He shrugged. “Red’s shorter. And you’re evading the question.”
“You evaded mine.”
“No, I just chose not to answer. You’ve got the same right. You don’t want to talk about yourself? You’ll get no judgment from me. We all got our pasts. Hells, I—” He paused, eyes narrowing. “You hear that?” he asked, coming slowly to his feet and slipping the hammer from its holster. “Someone’s coming. Too big to be Caleb, I’d say.” His normally rough voice sounded even rougher. Quiet and dangerous.
“How can you—”
“Shhh!”
He turned on one heel just as the figure of a large man materialized from the darkness. Though not as tall as Tanner, the stranger was built like an ox through the neck and shoulders. His forehead sloped upward to a balding head, rimmed with coarse brown hair. His bushy beard dripped with rainwater. Squinting against the light, he approached the stable cautiously, armed with a long, double-edged sword. It was of a simple make, with rigid and practical lines, but it looked sharp and well maintained.
All weapons are well maintained in Barden. I swear it's their favourite bloody pastime.
“Hoff?” said the stranger. “What the hells are you doing here? Heard you tore up the Whale something fierce. What…” The man’s eyes fell on Shem, lying still and bloody in the hay. He looked from the body to Tanner and back again, taking one step backward. The sword turned slightly in his hand.
“It ain’t what it looks like, Arn Ail.” Tanner scowled.
“What is it, then? ’Cause it looks like bloody murder.”
“He’s still alive. Just had a bad evening.”
“Ashes and embers, Hoff! A headache from too much beer or a sore jaw from a brawl makes for a bad evening. This looks like he fought a pack of Kraulls all on his own.”
“Kraulls don’t run in packs.”
“That’s not the bloody point, and you know it.” The ox of a man glanced at Palawen. “Heard it was a girl that helped you tear up the Whale. This her?”
“Could be.”
“You got a name, girl?”
“Just call me Red,” said Palawen. She saw half a smile touch the hard line of Tanner’s mouth.
“Not much of a name.”
“It’s enough.”
The man eyed her for another long moment before turning his attention back to the haystack. “What’s under the cloak?”
“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” said Tanner.
Arn Ail stared hard at Tanner. Even beneath his thick beard, Palawen could see his jaw clench, could hear the grinding of his teeth.
His nostrils flared, and he levelled one finger at Tanner. "This here's Lord Laynne's own wind yard. His stable. And as sailmaster, that makes what happens here my business. So what's under the cloak?”
Tanner remained silent.
“Fine, I'll just have to look myself.”
He moved toward the bed of hay, but Tanner stepped into his path. All expression had drained from his face, and he held his hammer before him with familiar ease. The implication wasn't lost on Arn Ail. His own face darkened.
“You’re making a mistake, Hoff.”
“Take another step
,” said Tanner, “and we’ll see whose mistake it is.”
A harsh growl rattled through the night as Winter reappeared, stalking forward to sit at Tanner’s side. The wolf kept its lantern eyes fixed on Arn Ail’s throat.
“I’ll fetch the Black Capes.” He sounded less sure of himself.
“You do that. Run along to Stormholt and bring them all back.”
“And by then you’ll be gone.”
Tanner shrugged.
Arn Ail frowned and shook his head. “You want to play it this way? Fine. I still need to report it. You’ll not be welcome around here anymore.”
“Fine by me. We’re leaving, anyhow.”
“You and the girl?”
“And me.” Caleb limped into the stable.
There were two other men with him. One was short and broad, clad in functional leathers. He had the look of a fighting man, distinguished by an ugly scar around one milky eye. The other man was taller and clad in a garish assortment of brightly coloured garments. His hair was bound in silver locks, adorned with coral beads, in the style of the Jushyn. He wore the sort of easy smile that her father had always taught her to mistrust.
“Hai hai!” he cried. He bowed with a grand flourish, causing the voluminous sleeves of his shirt to balloon.
“Den? Caleb? What the bloody hells is going on here?”
“Taking on passengers,” said Den. “You’ve met my galewright, Belegmon?”
The large, leather-clad man nodded in grim greeting.
“I’m leaving,” Caleb explained. “On Zephyr’s Song.” He motioned toward Tanner and Palawen. “My friends are coming with me.”
"Leaving?" roared Arn Ail. "What do you mean, leaving? We need you on the yards, lad. You're the best damned rigger that's ever worked for me. You can't just leave me. Look, if this has anything to do with Kharl—"
“It has everything to do with Kharl,” Caleb interrupted.
“Then I’ll bust his ugly chops myself.”
“He killed my mother.”
The words could not have struck with more force if they’d been delivered on the head of Tanner’s hammer. Arn Ail stood slack-jawed and tongue-tied, staring at Caleb with wide eyes. He glanced once more at the cloak on the straw, suspicion melting away before terrible understanding. He pulled at his whiskers for long moments, as though gathering his thoughts.
“Well, that… that's hard bloody news. Kharl always did have a mean streak, but…” He took a deep breath. "Caleb, my boy. There ain't the words to express how sorry I am. She was a good woman, Tamara. You reported this to the Black Capes?”
“No.”
“You ought to. They’ll find Kharl—”
“They won’t. He’s gone.”
“He can’t have run far.”
“No,” murmured Caleb, casting his eyes to the ground and kicking at the dirt.
He seemed as though he wanted to say more, but held his tongue. It was the right decision. There was no sense in trying to explain what had happened. Palawen wasn’t even sure it could be explained.
“You can report it if you want, sir. But I have to go. I’m sorry for it, but I need to get the news to my sister. The other riggers know their business. They’ll do well enough.”
“I doubt it.” It was clear Arn Ail was dumbfounded, though it was difficult to tell what news troubled him the most—Tamara’s death or Caleb’s imminent departure. “Will you be coming back?”
“Maybe one day. But I’ll be staying with Anya for a while, I think.”
“And we'd best be off, my young friend,” said the brightly attired Jushyn. “It will take us some time to draw out the mainsail, but we'll want you and your friends secure and onboard.”
“Tell me you're not planning on taking that thing up in the dark?” said Arn Ail.
“Fortune waits for no man—good or ill. But unless I miss my guess, the skies will be opening soon enough. We'll have the kiss of the moon to guide us, clear as silver.”
“You’re a madman, Den.”
“Ha! I’ve been called worse, so I’ll not argue.”
The sailmaster turned to Caleb. His frown was dour and his brow creased like a knot. “You’re sure I can’t talk you out of this?”
He hesitated for only a moment. “I’m sure.”
“It's a damned shame.” Arn Ail shook his head. “I hate to lose you, lad.” He extended one meaty hand.
When Caleb grasped it, the sailmaster pulled him into a bearish embrace.
“You've always got a place here. I'll watch over the cottage as long as I'm able, keep the vultures away. In case you do decide to return.”
“Would you mind caring for Pacer, too? We can’t take her along.”
“She’ll be looked after, lad.”
“Thank you. For everything. I never thought I’d find work…”
“It was a pleasure, lad. Now get out of here, before I change my mind and put a chain around your ankle.”
Caleb nodded. Palawen could see the exhaustion in his bloodshot eyes, which blinked too long and too often. She could read it in the way he rubbed the bruising on his cheeks, and in the way he held his feet apart, as though trying to brace himself against a sudden collapse. It was hardly a surprise. Palawen recalled the death of her own mother. Even at eight years old, the sense of loss had been all-consuming. She remembered feeling alone and afraid. All the world had seemed a dark and desolate place.
When she caught Caleb's eye, she offered a smile that left her feeling like a fool. He responded with a simple nod.
Within minutes, they were on their way, leaving Arn Ail and the shelter of the stable behind. Den ordered his galewright to carry Tamara, still wrapped in Tanner's cloak, freeing the mercenary to bear the still-unconscious Shem. Caleb lagged behind. Palawen forced herself to keep pace with him so he wouldn't be alone. Den's prediction was already coming to pass. The rains had slowed to a gentle mist, and the faint glow of the moon illuminated the silvery veil of thinning cloud. As they walked along, Palawen heard Tanner's words echoing in her mind: What’s your story, Red?
She wished she knew.
Zephyr's Song
Zephyr’s Song prepared to take to the skies. Caleb watched from the cabin, where he was tethered securely to one of the half-dozen seats that lined the walls. Palawen and Tanner were there too, while Shem was laid out and strapped to a cot. Tamara's body had been taken below deck to be prepared for the pyre. Den's crew had let out the undersails and unfurled the great mainsail. Belegmon had taken up his position just beneath it. There was a woman with him, as slim and slight as he was broad and burly. She worked the furnace called the heart fire, stoking it with Flameborn magic that caused it to burn bright and hot, heating the air above it. Slowly, the mainsail started to swell, yards and yards of thick, oiled linen unfurling like a great balloon.
“Ready the undersails!” Den shouted.
More of the sail was released, pulled taught by two riggers. Caleb was impressed by their speed and efficiency. They tied off the lines with expert precision.
“Kappa, get us aloft!”
The fires flared hotter. Moments later, the ship started to rise.
When they were several feet above the ground, Den called out again. “Give her some breath!”
Belegmon nodded once, checking his tether before closing his eyes. A great gust descended upon them from behind. The Song lurched forward with a sudden jolt. Caleb had been expecting it, and it still caused his head to jerk backward and his restraints to pinch painfully against his flesh. He settled into his seat, but the wind continued to blow loud and hard, propelling the vessel forward.
“The winds scream,” muttered Palawen. Her face was pinched in disgust, and she seemed on the verge of being sick. “Might as well drive a nail with a war hammer.”
Before Caleb could respond, Den cried out another order. “Catch those winds!”
The riggers pivoted with practised synchrony, each pulling one wooden lever. The massive undersails angled downward, an
d Zephyr’s Song lurched skyward. Caleb’s stomach seemed to fall into his guts, even as he felt bile rising in his gorge. Behind him, Tanner wretched.
“Stones of our Fathers,” the mercenary grumbled. “Is it always like this?”
“More or less,” Caleb replied. That was his experience, at any rate. Despite his work on the wind yard, he’d been up in a rider only a handful of times. He supposed the men who actually worked the vessels on a regular basis grew accustomed to the sensation.
“If man was meant to fly, the Graven One would've carved us with bloody wings.”
“You’d look good in feathers,” said Palawen.
“Shut it, Red.”
They were silent for several minutes after that. Caleb passed them with his eyes closed, focusing on the sensation of the Song climbing higher and higher. He could almost feel the ever-expanding distance between the vessel and the distant ground, could almost imagine the feeling of cutting through the air on Azental's snowy wings. It was easier to focus on the emptiness below them than on the void growing within himself.
Eventually, their ascent slowed and their flight levelled. Soon, Den entered the cabin with his familiar flair.
“We are well away, my friends! We’ll ride the winds at this altitude so long as the skies remain clear. I expect to touch down around noon, to allow the crew to rest.” His smile vanished. “We can build a pyre for your dear mother then, my boy.”
“Thank you,” Caleb replied. “I’m not sure what we would’ve done without you.”
“Hai hai! Think nothing of it. But I’m afraid I must enlist your help. One of my riggers seems to have come down with a touch of fever. Bit by a bloodfly, it seems. Storms bring the cursed things out.”
The First of Shadows Page 12