Seamaster

by C. E. Murphy

  Feeling as though someone else controlled his actions, Rasim shrugged as casually as he could. "He wasn't a friend."

  It was true. He'd barely spoken to Elex. That was the only thing keeping him from collapsing, from becoming as useless as water against the sticky fire. Had it been Carley at the edge of the soldier's blade, he would never have managed the mild disinterest he'd put in his voice. "I took their ship because it was more likely to come to your lands."

  Donnin, still held by Roscord's men, made a furious sound deep in her throat. Rasim glanced at her and shrugged again. "I'm not a soldier. I didn't want to raid a village. Not when it's been made clear to me someone with real power might have use for my talents, and maybe even be willing to pay me for them."

  "Someone with real power," Roscord echoed. "Someone like me."

  Rasim nodded. Roscord gave his startling smile again. "You either think on your feet very quickly, Rasim al Ilialio, or you're telling the truth. But I've been given to understand that the Ilyaran guild members have...little interest in worldly advancement."

  "Almost nobody leaves the guilds," Rasim agreed. "Almost nobody gets the chance. We're hardly ever out in the world alone. We're never told or shown how far we could advance, if we broke away."

  "It's kept your magic strong," Roscord argued, but Rasim shrugged again.

  "Has it? Or has it just helped weaken everybody else's? I'm tired," he said bitterly, because it was true. "I'm tired of being small for my age and less adept at witchery than some of the others. I'm tired of being afraid of what other people might choose to do with me, or of what they might decide my fate should be. In the guilds, all I'm ever going to be is a minor witch. In the islands I might be a—"

  A king, he'd been going to say, but a flash of warning in Roscord's eyes held the word in his throat. "A free man," Rasim said instead. "Able to choose my masters and name my price. Especially if I had a patron. Someone who would protect me in exchange for my skills."

  He could almost feel the fury boiling off Donnin's crew. Their rage was as palpable as magic, and he knew if Carley's witchery was any more advanced he might be struck down by her anger. But he didn't dare look back at them, for fear Roscord might think he cared. If he cared, they were all doomed. And this was the only way he could think that he might at least get near Roscord's lands, and perhaps find Donnin's daughter. It was a terrible risk, but it was the only choice he could see.

  Roscord's beautiful smile twitched his lips. "A patron like myself."

  Rasim made himself smile, too. Made himself try to sound teasing, light-hearted, like he was confident enough Roscord would take him on that he could dare taunt him a little: "Unless you have a better idea?"

  The warlord's eyebrows shot up. "You'd have to travel a long way yet to find a prince as strong as I am in the islands."

  A prince. That was a word Rasim knew, unlike earl or baron. It was a much higher rank, and it said a lot about Roscord's opinion of himself, if nothing else. But there was something else in what it said, too: something that gave Rasim a way to flatter the man's ego. It was simple enough. Everybody knew to kneel before royalty, after all.

  Swallowing bile, Rasim knelt, placed one arm across his knee, and looked up at Roscord with all the integrity he could muster. "Then I'll be your man, if you'll have me, my prince."

  "And I'll have your head if you're lying to me. You're mine, Al Ilialio. Get up and do something about this fog."

  Rasim's heart stuck in his throat, then hiccuped a relieved thump and settled again. Moving fog was much more like keeping water from slopping out of a bucket than raising fog was. He got to his feet, pressing droplets of water away with his magic. The air thickened, weight of witchery finding resistance, but then the mist swirled and billowed away from the roadway. Not from all of it, but certainly a broad enough stretch that Roscord could walk unhindered.

  Or ride, Rasim realized. One of the soldiers led a tall grey horse out of the fog. Roscord mounted it and set off at a good clip. Rasim, half afraid and half amused, watched him ride directly into the fog bank, far ahead of where Rasim could affect the water hanging in the air.

  It took fewer than twenty heartbeats for him to return, snarling, "I thought you could witch the fog away."

  "I can," Rasim said mildly, "but not very far ahead." He'd confessed to the pirates and even the Northmen that he wasn't much of a witch, but there was no reason to tell Roscord that.

  The warlord glowered down at him. "I thought you water witches were powerful!"

  Rasim, still mildly, asked, "Can you press the fog away so you can ride on a clear path?"

  Roscord, lip curled, picked Rasim up and deposited him on the horse. Rasim lowered his eyes a moment, which was as much giving in to humor as he dared, then turned his attention to clearing the road. He could hear Donnin's crew being herded behind them, and refused to look back no matter how much he wanted to. They would hate him, but if he could find a way to get any of them out alive, their hatred would be worth it. In the meantime he had a guess, one that would tell him so much, if he could get Roscord to admit to it. Carefully, quietly, he asked, "Who is your Northern man, my lord?"

  "Why would I tell a stripling water witch that?"

  Confidence swirled through Rasim. Even if Roscord wouldn't tell him who, he'd just all but admitted he had at least one Northern spy, probably someone sailing on Jorgenssen's ship. Trying to hide his delight at confirming a spy existed, Rasim let his shoulders rise and fall, and let slip a little more information himself, hoping he might learn something else. "I thought he'd be at your estate, and that I'd meet him. But I guess he'd be more use to you sailing south to Ilyara and remaining your hidden spy. I shouldn't have asked."

  Stiffness came into Roscord's smooth voice. "An Ilyaran spy would be of use, yes."

  Rasim bit his cheek, fighting down triumph. He would bet Roscord's sourness was born of not knowing the Northerners planned to sail south next. His spy, whoever it was, had withheld information Roscord would consider important. If Rasim could drive a wedge between them, it might give him that much more chance to create an opportunity for Donnin's people to escape. He owed Elex that much, even if he'd barely known the man.

  And he owed the Northern spy at least that much and more, for betraying them. Rasim wanted it to be Captain Jorgensson simply because he hadn't liked him. But it would be important not to be closed-minded, if Rasim wanted to discover who it was in truth. Inga and Lorens would no doubt be grateful to be told of a spy in their midst, and Rasim felt increasingly as if he could use whatever allies he found.

  To his surprise, the fog didn't lift as they traveled inland. It weighed the air down, still resisting Rasim's work to thin it. Where wind captured it and swept some away, he caught glimpses of homes and farms unlike any in Ilyara: thick roofs of woven reeds over grey or white stone, not like the golden stone at home. Farms showed tilled earth that looked lush and black even with winter coming on. In Ilyara only the river banks were that rich, and private gardens were scrabbled from sandy soil. Then the fog closed again, making coiling demons with torchlight as their eyes. Rasim held off a shiver, not wanting to appear weak before Roscord, and looked hard at the road ahead.

  A little while later they passed through iron gates on a tall stone wall. The road there was smooth and even, well-maintained. In almost no time, Roscord's manor rose from the mist. Rasim couldn't stop his quick inhalation: the house looked the size of the Seamasters' Guild house, and all for one man. Roscord said, "Well?" expectantly.

  "Only a prince would have lands like these," Rasim said honestly. No individual in Ilyara could boast anything like Roscord's estate: the land was too harsh at home, and the people too interdependent. Even the royal palace barely outshone the dark building outlined by fog, and that was meant to hold hundreds. Equally honestly, he added, "I'm surprised anyone dares to try standing against you."

  Roscord chuffed pleased agreement, though his words were a threat: "They don't last."

  Nor
would Rasim, was the unspoken end of that comment. Nor would Rasim, if he did anything foolish. Grim, frightened, and trying not to show it, Rasim entered the home of his new master, hoping he would be able to leave.

  Chapter 22

  A guard was set on him. Not outside his room, but in it, showing just how far Roscord trusted him. Rasim couldn't blame him, but resented it anyway: it would be much harder to escape if he had to get through a guard first, and he couldn't go out the window if the guard was in the room. Which was, of course, the point, but knowing that didn't make it any less frustrating. Hoping he seemed calm, he ate and drank the small meal of bread, cheese and wine that he'd been left, then retreated into a bed so over-stuffed he slid toward the floor if he moved so much as an inch off its center.

  Its height, though, allowed him to surreptitiously watch the guard. The man had a cold, snuffling dramatically every several seconds and wiping his nose repeatedly.

  Nose drippings, Rasim thought, were mostly water.

  Eyes half closed so he could just barely see his victim, Rasim concentrated on the idea of water in the man's head. A stuffy nose wasn't much different from a bucket of over-full water. It took concentration to keep either water or nose drippings inside, but a touch of magic could help it either way: in or out.

  Within minutes, the guard's sniffling became a constant noise, until he let go a sound of dismay, looked at where Rasim was apparently sleeping quietly, and ran to find something to blow his nose with.

  Rasim slipped out of bed as quickly and quietly as he could, shoving extra pillows into the space he'd been. There was no time to make certain he'd done a convincing job. He sprang for the window, searching for a lock or fissure that would let him open it, and found nothing. Nothing at all: the window didn't open. For a boy from a desert city where windows were covered in cloth if at all, the idea was incomprehensible. He searched again, and again found nothing.

  Stomach twisting with panic, he ran for the door. There was no chance of escape that way, he was sure of it. The guard would be only a few feet beyond, or another guard would be outside. Still, he had to try, even if he could think of no excuse at all to offer Roscord should he be caught. Some hero he was: betraying Donnin's crew only to betray himself as one of them a handful of hours later. Maybe he could claim a nightmare, or bad bowels, though there was a chamber pot in his room.

  The guard wasn't outside his door. Rasim froze with astonishment for the space of a breath, then closed the door behind him quietly before bolting to his left. To the left, because he'd been brought to the room from the right-hand hall, and knew that way led back to the common rooms and more people. Donnin's people might be somewhere back there, but he would do them no good if he got caught trying to learn where they were.

  Voices sounded ahead of him. Rasim pressed against shadows, wondering if a sun witch might be able to deepen them and hide better. Not that he had a sun witch handy, but questions like that were forever popping into his head. There were doors along the hall, but he had no way of knowing what lay on their other side. In a house this size, possibly nothing—but he would be lost for good if he was wrong.

  A sharp turn in the hall and a window that let him glimpse into a contained courtyard made him realize the house wasn't even a house, exactly. It was an enormous square surrounding a common area large enough to train three hundred men in. All of Roscord's people were probably housed here, differently from how the Ilyaran palace staff was kept, but similar enough that Rasim recognized the idea. He moved away from the window and squished himself against the wall, willing his heartbeat to slow as he tried to think.

  Roscord clearly expected some resistance from his people, or from surrounding lords. Otherwise he wouldn't need his own home to be an army barracks. That meant Roscord himself probably slept in the safest place in his palace, and probably kept prized possessions—like Donnin's daughter, maybe—nearby.

  Rasim risked glancing out the window again. The huge square below was largely empty, only a few sentries standing guard in faded mist. Yellow firelight splashed into the courtyard, brightest along the front-facing wall of the house, the one Rasim had just turned a corner from. Those were the common rooms, and if this was a stronghold, they were probably rooms mostly for soldiers. All around the square there were other single spots of torchlight marking entrances and exits. Soldiers would be on the ground floor, Rasim reasoned. Roscord would be up higher, safer. Not even on the first floor like Rasim currently was on, but one higher, even: Rasim could see the tapering roof of a second floor that didn't reach all the way around the building. Private quarters for a rich man, maybe. It seemed likely.

  It was as good a bet as any. Rasim ran down the hall again, searching for a stairway. He finally had to risk peeking through doors, mostly finding dark, empty rooms on the other side. Roscord's army, impressive as it was, was obviously not at full strength yet, not if he had so many rooms waiting to be filled. The man seemed to have a terrifyingly large ambition, whatever it was.

  One door finally opened on a stairway broad enough for seven men to come down it at once. Rasim darted up, pausing to peek around a corner where it turned, and ran lightly to the door at the top. He opened that as cautiously as the ones below, peeking through a sliver-wide crack at first.

  A guard stood six feet away, across the hall and facing the door. Rasim didn't even dare let it close again, only stood there breathlessly trying to decide what to do. The runny nose had worked well with the other guard, but his nose had been dripping to begin with. This man's breathing was steady and deep, no hint of sickness in it.

  Very steady and deep, Rasim realized after standing like a terrified rabbit for over a minute. Rasim had spent his entire life sharing space with others, and knew what breathing while asleep sounded like. The guard was upright, at attention, and totally asleep. Rasim would bet his life on it.

  He was betting his life on it. He inched the door open, hoping it wouldn't squeak, and slipped through the moment there was room enough. He leaned on it to make it close slowly, afraid that even the breeze from displaced air would be enough to waken the guard even if the door didn't thump. The door eased back into place. Rasim scurried down the hall to squish himself into the depression of another door, giddy with relief.

  The door behind him swung open silently and he fell inside with a muffled cry.

  #

  His first thought, after he'd hit the floor, was that the room was warm and faintly lit. Embers glowed in the fireplace, a promise that someone actually slept in this room.

  That was a disaster.

  Rasim rolled to his feet, trying to catch the door before it closed all the way. He missed, fingertips brushing the heavy wood as it slipped past. The door made a muffled thud as it closed. Rasim curled his fingers like they could capture the curse he wanted to speak aloud. He glanced over his shoulder, breath held, hoping that whoever slept in the room hadn't awakened with his arrival.

  A light-haired girl who looked very like Captain Donnin sat in the middle of another overstuffed bed. She was about Rasim's age, stiff-spined, clutching a pillow in one hand and a knife in the other. A combination of triumph and alarm twisted Rasim's belly. He raised his hands slowly, carefully, showing himself to be unarmed, and turned toward the girl incrementally. Only when he was fully facing her and she hadn't yet moved did he whisper, "Adele?" tentatively.

  She was pale already, but went paler still. Her fingers tightened around knife and pillow alike, as if she intended to use one as a weapon and the other as a shield. Her voice was a low hiss, but she spoke the common tongue: "How does an Ilyaran know my name?"

  Rasim's shoulders collapsed in relief, though he didn't lower his hands. "I'm here with your mother. We're trying to rescue you."

  Hope lit Adele's gaze, which snapped to the door, then back to Rasim. By the time she looked at him again, the hope had been driven out of her face, leaving dryness in its place. "Really. How's that working for you?"

  She looked and sounded so much
like her mother that Rasim grinned despite the litany of things that had gone wrong. "Not very well, honestly. Your mother's crew got captured and I've been lying through my teeth to keep on Roscord's good side, but at least I found out how we got caught. There's a spy with the Northerners who are supposed to be helping us. Do you know how to get out of here?"

  Adele turned white. "He's captured my mother?" She got out of bed as she asked, bare feet slapping the floor. She went to a wardrobe, pulling clothes out, and gave Rasim a sharp look that expected an answer.

  "A few hours ago. We'd meant to sneak in, but someone from our decoy betrayed us. Roscord seems like the kind of man who would make an example of people who stood up to him, so she's probably safe until morning." Not so the rest of the crew, but it was best not to mention that.

  "He's the kind of man who would make an example of her for weeks." Adele found pants, a shirt, warm boots, and a heavier over-shirt, not quite a coat, that she dragged on with quick efficiency. A minute later she was dressed and pulling her hair into a twisty knot at her nape. Then she faced Rasim, her expression set. "We'll probably get killed if we get caught."

  "Then we shouldn't get caught."

  "Good plan." She sounded older than she looked, though she'd been captive for months, at least. That would make a lot of people grow up faster. "What's your name, Ilyaran?"

  "Rasim."

  "When we get out of here, Rasim, you'll have to tell me how an Ilyaran ended up in my bedchamber, a thousand miles away from his home. Come on."

  She stepped into the wardrobe and disappeared.

  Chapter 23

  Rasim gaped before scrambling into the wardrobe himself. A small door—small enough that Rasim, who wasn't tall, had to duck to pass through it—was fitted tightly into its back. Astonished, he peered up at Adele through the gloom of a narrow passageway. "How'd you know this was here?"