by Holly Lisle
That was the only sound any of them made, but it was enough for Ry.
Always a light sleeper, now near Shift and sensitive to changes in sound and smell, he was on his feet and had his sword in hand before either Yanth or Jaim could wake. He kicked their beds and snarled, “Up, quick, or we’re all dead,” and lunged forward, hearing them scrambling for weapons behind him.
When the attackers burst through the door, expecting to find three sleeping men, the first found a ready blade and death; the next, a madman who fought in the narrow space like a fiend possessed.
And by the time the weight of the attackers had pushed Ry into the room, both Yanth and Jaim stood with him.
They fought without words, the only sounds the scuffle of boots and bare feet on the plank floors, the clangs of sword on dagger and sword on sword, the thuds of flesh, the cries of pain.
And then one of the attackers won through Jaim’s guard, his blade spearing between ribs and into heart and lung and out again with a hiss, and Jaim screamed once and folded double and dropped to the floor while his killer ripped the blade from him and turned and snarled, “For Captain Draclas!”
“For Captain Draclas!” the other attackers yelled.
“Ian Draclas is my brother!” Ry bellowed. “Truce! Truce! We fight on the same side!”
Yanth shouted, “They’ve killed Jaim—no truce!”
But the attackers had backed off, and Ry caught Yanth’s wrist in his hand. They stood sweating and panting in the small room, with Jaim and two attackers dead on the floor in pools of their own blood, strangers staring at each other with expressions of bewilderment on their faces.
Below, someone started screaming, and the attackers said, “Run! Out the back, before the guards are called.”
Yanth pulled his wrist free with a snarl and said, “I want them dead.”
Ry was swinging his pack over his shoulder and wiping the blood from his blade onto the mattress where he had so recently lain. “Run with them, or we’ll be charged with these deaths. We have no friends here and no one to speak for us; we’ll be hanged.”
Yanth’s face went hard and cold. “What of Jaim?”
Ry knelt and quickly felt for any sign of life in Jaim’s body. The pulse was gone, the eyes—half-open—stared sightless and unblinking, the flesh had bleached a bloodless, ghostly white. He clenched a fist and fought back tears. “His body will stay with these others. His spirit will forgive us, I hope.”
Yanth swore, then grabbed his own pack and fled down the hall with Ry, following the attackers. Through blurry eyes, Ry saw faces peering at them through the cracks of almost-closed doors.
They pounded down the stairs three steps at a time, leaped from the middle step on the last course to thud into the hallways, found Kelje and the kitchen wench crouched over the body of Boscott Shrubber, which they appeared to have dragged out of the fireplace—and then Ry and Yanth were out the door and running through the mud that sucked at their bare feet and pulled at their breeches.
Ry regretted the loss of his boots, but not as much as he would have the loss of his freedom. He and Yanth overtook the slower Keshi Scarred first, then caught up with and overtook the running humans. All of them reached the Peregrine’s trollop-painted longboat together, and jumped in, and cast it off. Ry and Yanth took oars with the others and began pulling toward the ship with all their strength.
As they rowed, one of the attackers picked up where Ry had left off. “You’re Ian Draclas’s brother?”
“Half-brother.”
“Then why in the hells-all have you consigned your soul to Rrru-eeth?”
“I serve Ian’s interests.”
“You serve that traitorous bitch,” the speaker said. “With my own ears, I heard you swear your loyalty to her. We all did.”
“I swore my loyalty to the true captain of the Peregrine. The true captain is my brother.”
“Who is dead because of her.”
“He isn’t dead. I rescued him from the Ancients’ city in Novtierra not long after Rrru-eeth abandoned him there. He’s in Calimekka now, and I intend to get his ship back to him—with Rrru-eeth aboard it. He can decide what to do with her once she’s in his hands.”
“He did swear loyalty to the true captain,” one of the other men said. “Those were his very words: ‘I swear loyalty to the true captain.’ I thought it was funny at the time, because I knew she wasn’t really the captain, but I thought he thought she was.”
One of the Keshi said, “And he knowed the ship was Peregrine, not that damned Jerrpu name bitch-captain give it.” The lizard-eyes blinked at Ry slowly, and the lizard tongue flicked in and out, in and out, sampling the air. “He don’t taste like he lying.”
Ry thought of Jaim, dead without cause, and he wanted blood in payment for his death. But if he sought his payment from the blood of those who could become his allies, when he needed allies more than anything else, he would be twice a fool. The one who needed to pay for Jaim’s death was Rrru-eeth. He wanted her blood—for what she’d done to Kait, and now in repayment for Jaim.
He leaned into his oar. Bitterly, he said, “If you were loyal to Ian, why did you let Rrru-eeth leave him and Kait and Hasmal and your own people behind? Why didn’t you fight with the others?”
“Rrru-eeth caught us by surprise,” the man who’d done most of the speaking said. “She sent those she knew were loyal to Ian into the city, supposedly to gather the last few treasures before Ian and Kait and that wizard came back with whatever they’d gone after. A few of her people went with them, and when Ian’s men were well away from the ship, Rrru-eeth’s ran back, thinking to take the longboats and simply abandon everyone who wouldn’t support Rrru-eeth. But Ian’s men weren’t asleep on their feet. They ran back to the beach, fought for the longboats . . . and lost.” He hung his head. “We’d never made much fuss about our loyalties, and I guess we bitched as much as any about having a skinshifter and a wizard aboard our ship, so she assumed we were hers. We slept through the mutiny—we’d been in the city all day, hauling and digging; we were tired. . . .”
The Keshi who’d spoken before said, “We woke to find we were to sea, with that bitch calling herself captain of the ship, and those of us what supported Captain Draclas outnumbered. So we kept quiet. We waited—we-all’re good at waiting. We stayed with her to make sure she paid for what she done. Gods say they get revenge for men who don’t—but we didn’t want to trust to no gods. We want to see her hang with our own eyes.”
“Then why isn’t she dead already?”
“She careful,” the Keshi said. “She trust nobody, and she got better ears and a better nose than anyone—she know when trouble coming long time before it reach her.”
Ry swept his oar forward and dug it into the roughening surface of the water. “I’ll see her dead. I swore to that for my own sake, and for Kait and Ian. I wanted to kill her myself for what she did, but she harmed Ian and Kait more than she did me. They deserve to declare her fate—Ian most of all, I suppose. When she sails back to Calimekka, I’ll see to it she won’t leave again.”
“Then we’re with you. You have some plan to see her dead?”
“I have.”
“Then lead.” The man at the oar beside his said, “I’ll follow you—and they follow me. So I speak for all of us.”
The others nodded.
Ry looked at Yanth.
“They killed Jaim,” he said. “They tried to kill you and me.”
“They’re our allies,” Ry told him.
“Then they’re our allies.” Yanth’s face remained cold. “But they aren’t our friends, and if someday once Rrru-eeth is dead I have the chance to sink my blade into the heart of that bastard”—he nodded toward the man whose blade had killed Jaim—“his blood will feed my sword before he knows to draw breath.”
The man Yanth had pointed out shrugged. “Name your time and your place, and I’ll be there. I did not kill your friend out of any malice; if I had known you planned to put a
n end to Rrru-eeth, I would never have fought you at all. And I apologize for my mistake. But if that isn’t enough for you and you want to test your metal against mine, I won’t argue.”
“It’s not enough,” Yanth said. “When this first matter is settled, you and I will settle our own score.”
Chapter 40
The K’hbeth Rhu’ute, once the Peregrine, sailed out of harbor amid a flurry of accusations, demands for crew extradition to shore, and threats against both ship and crew should it ever sail into Heymar’s harbor again. Rrru-eeth Y’tallin stood by her people, declaring that she, as a ship’s captain both registered and sworn, claimed sovereignty over them and the disposition of justice. She said she would try those accused of murder when they were at sea, and would see that they received the fates they deserved. In the meantime, she wanted the bodies of her three crewmen back so they could have proper burial at sea.
It was testament to her ferocity that Jaim’s body and those of the other two dead arrived at the dock promptly and were rowed out by townsfolk. Rrru-eeth found out that the woman standing on the dock watching the bodies being brought out was Kelje Shrubber, wife of the man her people were charged with murdering. She bade the burly dockworkers who’d rowed the bodies out wait, and went into her stores and came back with two small leather bags. “See that she gets both of these,” Rrru-eeth said. “They are compensation for the loss of her husband and helpmeet, and though I know they are no comfort at a time like this, still they will keep the tax collectors and the estate dividers from her door.” She smiled broadly enough that both men could clearly see the points of her teeth and added, “I’ll just stand here and watch you, to be sure she gets it all.”
“What did you give her?” Ry asked.
“Gold,” Rrru-eeth said. Her voice held neither anger nor compassion. “It covers a multitude of sins.”
When the dockworkers had handed the bags to Kelje, Rrru-eeth turned away from the shore and gave the order to sail. Ry stayed by her side.
“I want to know what happened,” she said. “Why did my men come after you, why did they kill that innkeeper, why did you fight with them, then run with them? In your bare feet, no less.”
Ry watched the sailors clambering through the rigging, freeing the great silk sails to drop and catch the wind so that they snapped in the breeze and bellied out. He felt the thrum of life surge in the ship beneath him as it started to move. Ships were made things, inanimate constructions of wood and metal and cloth and bone—but when the wind stirred the sails to life, those same inanimate creations began to breathe. He did not wonder that people named them, spoke of them as male or female, revered them and loved them—they were, he thought, in some ways as worthy of love as people. Certainly—and he glanced at Rrru-eeth—more worthy of love than some.
“Your men . . . questioned our loyalties. The trouble between us was a misunderstanding, and a bad one. We fought for our lives, and I am lucky to stand here right now.”
“I would say so—they outnumbered you four to one. I would think you would have had no hope of surviving.”
“Had we continued to fight, Yanth and I would have died with Jaim. But we did not. We convinced them instead that we were not traitors. Then, sadly, those below us woke and found the innkeeper dead—and that is as much a tragedy as any of the rest of this, for he was a good man, and deserving of a better end—and we had to run.”
“But why did you have to run? You were attacked—surely you would have been asked only to testify. But by running, you as much as attested to your guilt when you had none.”
“Your crewmen would not have stayed to stand trial. Yanth and I would have been alone, with three dead men in our room and another downstairs in the hearth, with only each other to swear that we were attacked and that we had done nothing to deserve the attack, and had nothing to do with the death of Shrubber. Strangers without resources in a town that had lost a man it cared for . . . I didn’t like our chances.”
“Nor do I, when you describe them in that manner.”
They stood on the deck together, watching the K’hbeth Rhu’ute make its way through the scattering of other ships that dotted the harbor, heading for open sea.
“I will have to try my own men,” Rrru-eeth said. “And you and your man, as well.” Her voice had no more emotion to it than it had when she gave the gold to the dockworkers to pay off Shrubber’s death. “I am little concerned about the death of a landsman; there are more of those than the world needs, and one or two removed from the world by accident matter not a whit to me. But I am concerned about why my men should so greatly question your loyalty that they would leave this ship without my knowledge to try to kill you. I am equally concerned by the manner in which you went from enemies to allies.”
“I explained—”
“You did. But a trial brings out truths that explanations often don’t. You can explain before me once you’ve sworn to the gods. With your soul forfeit, you can tell the same tale and the matter will end there.”
Ry nodded.
Rrru-eeth smiled a tiny, thoughtful smile. “Or perhaps a different story will come out—and then I’ll have to get out the gallows and have a hanging or two. It’s a bad thing for a captain to wonder too much at the activities of her crew, and not to know why they should behave as they have.”
“You won’t have cause to wonder,” Ry said.
“No. I won’t.”
He knew then that any hope he might have had of keeping his purpose and his true loyalties secret until he reached Calimekka had died with the attack. He and Yanth and Ian’s loyalists were going to have to take Rrru-eeth prisoner, try her, and hold her for sentencing by Ian when at last the Peregrine reached him.
He wondered how many of the crew had sailed with her to Novtierra, and how many of those remained loyal. Probably a lot, he thought. The wealth they’d gotten from the sale of the Ancients’ artifacts would buy a fair amount of goodwill among the crewmen.
This business promised to turn into a bloody mess. He wondered if he would ever see Kait again anyplace but beyond the Veil.
• • •
Ry? Can you hear me?
Ry, resting in his new bunk after the midday meal, opened his eyes, feeling Kait’s presence for the first time in a long time. He had almost dared to hope that she was truly nearby, but as he let himself reach out to her, he could feel the long leagues that separated them—leagues growing longer by the instant. Her shields were down, though, and he sensed that though she had been in terrible danger, she was safe for the moment.
I hear you.
Beloved, please forgive me. I was wrong to want to change you, and wrong to want you other than as you are.
I forgave you before I even left.
I love you.
He wished he could pull her into his arms right then—he had to satisfy himself with touching her in his thoughts. I love you, too.
Come to me. Please. Find me again. I don’t want to be without you anymore.
What happened?
The pictures that flashed through his mind—of Crispin’s attack, of the turning of the guards, of the mob led by Anwyn and Andrew, who had destroyed Crispin before turning to attack Kait and all those with her—chilled him. He could have lost her that night, and he would have felt the truth only at the moment of her death, when she lost her grip on her shields.
Now she was on an airible with Ian and Dùghall and Alcie and the rest, fleeing south.
I have news for you, too, he told her, and showed her the images of the ship he was on, and the woman who captained it.
Shall I tell Ian?
No. If I triumph, I’ll bring the ship and the mutineers to you, and Ian will have his justice. If I fail, better he does not know what I had hoped to accomplish.
Don’t fail. I need you.
He felt her worry, and as best he could he reassured her. If I failed I would never see you again. So I cannot fail—it is my fate to die in your arms.
And mine to d
ie in yours. Promise me.
I promise, he said.
The strain of reaching each other across the spaces became too much then, and Kait began to fade away from him. For as long as they could, they held each other, but at last she vanished from his mind.
But now he could not lose.
I promise, he told her, though she could no longer hear him. I will find my way back to you. And I will never leave you again.
Chapter 41
The main body of the Army of the Thousand Peoples moved into the pass, covering the ground like a living carpet as far as the eye could see. They rolled forward in a wide column, mounted outriders to either side, regular cavalry inside of their lines, foot soldiers in solid phalanxes inside of those lines, and in the center, the noncombatants—mothers with children, the elderly, the wives and young sons and daughters of various officers—and the supplies, loaded on sleds and wagons and travoises.
From the top of the pass, Har, the youngest of Dùghall’s sons who had followed his father when he came requesting volunteers to fight at his side against a threat that back then was still hypothetical, watched them coming.
“We haven’t a fraction of the men they have,” he said. “And if our weapons are better, it won’t matter much because they have so many more of them.”
“Go.” His older brother Namid, who watched the pass with him, closed his eyes, and rubbed his temples. “Tell Ranan what comes. We’ll need men at Long Fall and Third Point and Highbridge to work the rockfalls. A goodly supply of fire arrows. The bags of poison powder for the catapults. . . .” He stared down at the enemy, who covered the ground beyond the pass like blades of grass, or like grains of sand on a beach. “And for the gods’ sake, tell him to hurry.”
Har fled, feeling death on his heels. The enemy scouts would be into the pass soon, and they needed to believe no resistance awaited them. If they gave a report of all clear, the enemy would march into the pass unaware, and perhaps—perhaps—Dùghall’s army could trap them and slaughter them without being wiped out in the process. Har knew the stories of small forces who had held off massive armies by benefit of terrain and intelligence and planning—and he and his brothers and their men had planned, and prepared, and made use of every niche and cranny and drop the mountains offered.
