Someone grabbed the top of the sack and a sharp blade sliced clean through the material, just missing Sorne’s throat. He blinked in the sudden light.
The Maygharian swore in three languages, caught Sorne by his hair and tilted his head this way and that. Then let him go with a vicious twist that brought tears to Sorne’s remaining eye.
‘Hard to fake a face like that,’ the Maygharian said. ‘That bald patch over his left temple, half the ear missing and smooth skin where the left eye should have been.’
‘He’ll fetch a good price.’
‘That he will.’ The Maygharian hesitated. ‘I don’t have that much coin with me. Come ashore, take a drink with my men.’
‘You’ll forgive me if I turn down your invitation. You’ll wait out here with me, until your men bring me my coin.’
‘Fair enough. Take the butcher to the boat, boys.’
Hands grabbed Sorne, hauled him to his feet and drove him towards the side. His head spun. He took one look at the rope ladder and shook his head. ‘I can’t climb down with my arms –’
Someone clipped him over the head. While his wits were still reeling, they lowered him over the side into the ten-man rowboat.
The waiting man shoved him into the boat’s belly and the rest climbed down. As they rowed back to the sea-vermin’s nest, Sorne thought it best to cooperate for now. When they neared the kingdom of Maygharia, he would ask to speak to the sea-king. He’d convince the man that the queen would pay a better price for him than anyone wanting revenge. At least he hoped she would.
They hauled him out of the boat, drove him up the beach above the high tide line, towards a lop-sided tavern built of driftwood and wreck salvage. As they drove him up the steps, he spotted cellar doors, which opened at ground level, and then he was inside the one-room tavern. He spotted about two dozen disreputable-looking True-men and a sprinkling of women. A sea-eagle banner hung over the fireplace. Then they shoved him down a ladder into the darkness of the cellar. The stairs went down further than he anticipated and he tripped on the final step, sprawling onto the sandy floor.
The light disappeared as they slammed the door. All he could smell was onions, but he’d caught a glimpse of ale barrels.
It could be worse.
After a moment, he heard soft scrabbling. Rats. He hated rats.
Sibilant whispers. Indistinct words.
‘Who’s there?’
No one answered.
Glimmers of light came through the cracks in the cellar doors and under the tavern door at the top of the stairs. The floorboards themselves were ill-fitting, letting in shafts of pale light. His sight gradually adjusted, and he spotted pale faces and dark eyes, watching him from the corners of the cellar, peering around barrels and sacks – children.
‘It’s all right. I won’t hurt you,’ Sorne told them. Then he wondered if they’d hurt him.
Why would sea-vermin lock up children? He suspected they were unfortunate captives who were destined to become indentured servants, or perhaps they were to be sold to brothels down south.
Up in the tavern above, he heard shouting, laughter and frenetic pipes. The floorboards shook. Dust drifted down on slivers of light. Someone was exhorting the others to join them.
Sorne sat on the second step and shrugged his shoulders to ease the tension. ‘How about one of you release my arms before my fingers go numb?’
He might be able to steal a boat. He knew how to raise and lower a sail, and how to handle a rudder, and he knew Ivernia lay to the south-west.
One of the children ventured closer. Sorne could make out a pale face, fair hair, dark eyes. Judging by his size, he was no more than seven or eight.
‘That’s right.’ Sorne tried to sound friendly and hoped they wouldn’t be frightened of his missing eye.
Another child grabbed the boy’s arm. ‘Don’t, Orza.’
They’d spoken T’En. Sorne went cold with shock, and a sick feeling settled in his stomach.
‘How did T’Enatuath children end up in the cellar of sea-vermin?’ he asked in their language.
And he was inundated by children of all ages and sizes. There had to be over twenty of them, mostly Malaunje, but he spotted a few fair-headed T’En, like Orza. The smallest were no bigger than two, while the eldest would have been around thirteen.
They all spoke at once, in intense whispers, as they told him their stories. And they pawed him, seeking the reassurance of his gift. He realised they’d mistaken his white hair for silver in the dimness.
‘You came to save us,’ Orza said and burst into tears.
A nimble-fingered T’En girl undid Sorne’s bindings. He pulled the remains of the hessian sack over his head and tossed it aside with relief. As if this was a signal, the littlest ones climbed into his lap, while several children climbed up the steps behind him. He could feel them hugging his back, patting his head.
‘Where’s your gift? Why don’t you share?’ little voices pleaded.
‘I’m Malaunje,’ Sorne said.
They told him their stories, and by the time he had settled them down, he’d worked out who they were. Not everyone on the estates had been massacred. Some children had escaped, been captured and passed on from Mieren to Mieren. Others had been on their way to port with the people from their estates when they’d been attacked. Again, they’d been captured and passed on.
And they had ended up here.
‘But why?’ Sorne asked.
They didn’t seem to know.
‘I think they mean to sell us,’ said the T’En girl who had freed him from the ropes. ‘The one with the strange way of speaking –’
‘The Maygharian,’ Sorne inserted.
‘He called us “exotics.”’ She pronounced the Chalcedonian word as if it didn’t make sense. ‘He said wealthy southerners would pay top price for us. I don’t trust him, but when the dirty men tried to take Tiasely away, he wouldn’t let them.’
The other children gestured to a beautiful Malaunje girl, who was as big as an adult Mieren woman, for all that she was probably only thirteen.
‘I think he’s going to sell us as slaves,’ the T’En girl said. ‘I didn’t know the Mieren kept slaves.’
They didn’t, strictly speaking, but these children would have ended up in high-class brothels or in the private collection of wealthy men.
‘Now that you’re here, we don’t need to worry,’ Orza said, wrapping his arms around Sorne.
The little ones believed him and many wept with relief. Sorne soothed them, but his heart sank; he could not desert them, yet he did not see how he could save them all.
‘Quiet, everyone,’ Tiasely said.
They obeyed her and tilted their heads, listening. The music had stopped, and there was only one pair of footsteps shuffling across the floor above.
‘Everyone’s gone,’ Orza said.
Several children ran up the stairs to peer into the tavern through the cracks in the door and confirmed this. Others ran over to the cellar doors, climbed onto barrels and peered through the gaps.
‘There’s a couple of rowboats on the beach. Everyone’s getting into them,’ one reported.
Sorne slid two small children off his lap and went over to the cellar doors. From this angle he could see the slope down to the beach, the inlet and the different vessels.
‘No lanterns,’ a boy said. ‘They’re being sneaky.’
He was right. The rowboats glided from the shore, making their way across the silvery sea of the inlet towards the merchant vessel.
‘They’re attacking the ship that delivered me,’ Sorne said.
‘Why would they do that?’ someone asked.
‘Because then they don’t have to pay for me.’ Yet he’d gained the impression they’d paid for ‘exotics’ in the past.
‘The ship’s crew have spotted them,’ one of the boys reported. He kept up a running commentary for the rest of the children, as the sea-vermin boarded the ship. The crew fought valiantly, but they w
ere overrun. Before long, bodies tumbled into the sea and there was celebrating on the ship.
Sorne climbed down. Perhaps he could escape, but in good conscience, he could not leave these children behind.
What was he going to do?
Chapter Thirty
TOBAZIM LOOKED UP from his book, not sure what had disturbed him. Then he heard it again.
The thump of bodies hitting a wall.
‘Fighting in thecabin below,’ Hand-of-force Norsasno said, coming to his feet. ‘That’s the initiates’ cabin. They’re not known for thinking before they act. I’d better –’
‘Wait…’ Ceyne held up a hand. ‘There’s bound to be some rivalry between the survivors of Chariode and Tamaron’s brotherhoods and ours. Let them work it out.’
An even louder thump was followed by the sound of breaking glass.
Ceyne snorted and reached for his bag.
Tobazim almost got up, but his gift rose and he sensed the forces at play in his brotherhood. If he went with the saw-bones and Norsasno it would make it seem he did not have faith in his hand-of-force. He waved them off.
This left him alone with the brotherhood’s gift-tutor. It was the perfect opportunity to broach something that had been bothering him.
He joined Deimosh at the desk. ‘What I am about to ask must go no further.’
The gift-tutor nodded.
‘The night we fled the wharf, the causare gift-infused me. Since then…’ He swallowed. ‘The nature of my gift has changed. I used to be able to sense the stresses and weights of a building. I can still do this, but I can also sense the stresses on the brotherhood now, as if it was a building constructed of people.’
‘That’s… interesting.’
‘Have you come across anything like it before?’
He shook his head. ‘Your gift-defences were down, thanks to the concussion you’d received that night. You were vulnerable. The causare’s gift is the ability to read people. It sounds like she has triggered a new facet of your gift, one that combines her ability with yours. I wonder –’
‘If it can be repeated?’ Tobazim had been wondering the same thing. He rubbed his head and grimaced. ‘I wouldn’t recommend trying it.’
Deimosh grinned. ‘If I were you, I’d call it a lucky accident and be grateful.’
Tobazim came to his feet. ‘Think I’ll stretch my legs.’
As he went to open the door, the gift-tutor added, ‘No more problems with craving her gift?’
Tobazim turned around. ‘You noticed? Did anyone –’
‘No. If they wondered why you were pushing yourself so hard, they put it down to the tension with Kyredeon. But I would be wary of her in future. Any taste of her gift could trigger the craving. Now that I think of it, you’re lucky you didn’t have a bad reaction when she used her gift to enforce the covenant vow.’
Tobazim nodded. He’d told no one, not even Ardonyx, that the causare hadn’t enforced the covenant vow. He was grateful, but he didn’t understand why she had broken four hundred years of custom.
Still wondering, he went along the passage and out onto the rear-deck. The ships were at anchor tonight, shrouded in fog. He climbed the stairs to the high rear-deck where he found Ardonyx on watch, wrapped in a cloak. His shield-brother smiled when he saw Tobazim, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
‘What is it?’ Tobazim asked.
‘This fog. We’re becalmed until it lifts, and it provides perfect cover for any sea-vermin in the area.’
‘We should warn –’
‘Don’t worry, any sea captain worth his salt will be on alert tonight. If trouble comes, we’ll be ready for it.’
RONNYN CURLED UP with his brothers, part of the huddle of T’En boys in the sisterhood’s cabin. The ships were at anchor until the fog lifted. The all-mother and her inner circle were on the deck above. He could hear the murmur of their voices and soft music. He wasn’t sure why he had woken. Beside him, Vittor shifted restlessly.
‘I miss Vella,’ his six-year-old brother whispered.
‘Tani…’ Tamaron muttered in his sleep and rolled over.
Baby Ashmyr stirred, working himself up to a cry. Ronnyn rolled to his feet before Ashmyr could wake the children. When he took the baby outside, he found that the fog had grown even thicker. The lanterns cast pools of golden light, making the air almost tangible.
Ashmyr was crying in earnest by the time Ronnyn climbed up to the foredeck. The women laughed and All-mother Reoden glided over, taking the baby to feed him. When Ashmyr latched on, Ronnyn could hear him gulping.
‘He’ll get wind.’
‘So wise for one so young.’
A cry came from the nearest ship. Through the fog, Ronnyn could just make out the lanterns on the ship’s five masts.
Another cry followed.
‘Ree, what is it?’ Nerazime came running over. ‘Not more brotherhood feuding? They swore a vow.’
‘That’s the Endurance, Ceriane and Athazi’s ship. I wonder –’
A scream cut her short. Flames leapt up from the ship’s deck, glowing in the fog.
‘Fire,’ Reoden said. ‘Send help, Nerazime.’
Her voice-of-reason ran down the steps to the mid-deck.
Ronnyn went to the rail to watch them lower the boats. There was shouting as they organised buckets and volunteers. The empowered lads surged out of the cabin below, jostling and teasing, eager to help.
Through their excited talk, the roar of the fire and desperate shouts of those on the Endurance, Ronnyn made out the clang of metal on metal. His stomach clenched.
‘Did you hear that?’ he asked the all-mother. ‘Their ship’s under attack.’
Reoden thrust baby Ashmyr into his arms and ran down the steps onto the mid-deck, calling to her hand-of-force. ‘Athazi and Ceriane are under attack. Cerafeoni, hand out weapons and go to their aid. Nerazime, secure our ship.’
The mid-deck erupted in a flurry of activity as the hand-of-force from the causare’s sisterhood came out with their warriors. Cerafeoni shouted, and the empowered lads poured over the ship’s side. Ronnyn shivered, impressed and a little terrified by their eagerness to wade into battle.
He watched the rowboats pull away. Soon the first was swallowed by the fog, and only a dim pool of light told him of its progress. A second followed.
Shouting came from another ship, and more ringing of metal. If he was right, it came from a brotherhood vessel.
Fear chilled him. What if his sisters’ ship was under attack? Even as he thought this, Vittor came running out on deck, calling for him. By the time Ronnyn reached the steps, Tamaron was there too, frightened and bewildered.
They both threw their arms around him. He could feel Vittor shaking. How could he protect them all with the baby in his arms?
‘Not so tight, you’ll squash Ashmyr.’ Ronnyn tried to reassure them. It’s all right. It’s –’
‘No, it isn’t!’ Vittor cried. ‘You said we’d be safe with our people, and we’re not!’
ARAVELLE SURFACED FROM the sleep of exhaustion. She surfaced with her heart pounding so hard it seemed to shake her whole body. For an instant she didn’t know what was wrong. Then the slippery sound of steel-on-steel set her teeth on edge. She sprang into a crouch, ready to run with Itania. Her little sister clutched her, trembling.
In the dimness of Charsoria’s cabin, the women woke and whispered fearfully.
Nariska lit a lamp, turning it down low. Children whimpered. The women soothed them, but Charsoria ignored Aravelle and Itania.
Aravelle opened a window. The harsh sound of the fighting increased as tendrils of fog reached into the cabin. ‘It’s coming from the ship next to us.’
‘We should go help,’ one of the young warriors said.
‘You stay,’ Charsoria snapped. ‘They’ll send for you if they need you.’
The four warriors pulled on their breeches, leather jerkins and boots. They’d just finished dressing when the cabin door swung open. A M
alaunje youth gasped for breath. ‘Hand-of-Force Reyne calls on all warriors to help fight the sea-vermin.’
‘Is our ship under attack?’ Charsoria demanded.
‘No. It’s the Perseverance. And I heard that one of the sisterhood ships is on fire.’
‘Which one?’ Aravelle asked, thinking of Ronnyn and her brothers.
‘Don’t know.’ He dashed off, accompanied by the four warriors.
Aravelle backed up, felt a bunk behind her knees and sat down abruptly. Itania gave a little squeak of fright and her fingers worked on Aravelle’s shoulder, seeking reassurance.
Thrusting Itania into Redravia’s arms, Aravelle made for the door. ‘I must –’
Charsoria grabbed her as she passed, swinging her around. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘To the deck, to find out which sisterhood ship –’
‘You’ll stay right here.’
‘But my brothers –’
‘You think they’re thinking of you right now? You’re nothing to them.’
‘Ronnyn will never –’
Charsoria slapped her hard enough to make her stagger.
‘Arrogant brat!’ Charsoria was so angry she quivered. ‘Never make claim on your T’En kin. Do you hear me?’
Aravelle blinked tears of pain from her eyes. ‘I just need to know if they are all right.’
‘You think you’re the only one with T’En kin? I have a son on All-mother Melisarone’s ship. He’s only two. Do you think I don’t worry about him?’ Her voice had grown shrill and she made a visible effort to regain control. ‘The sisterhoods have sworn to protect the T’En children with their lives. There’s nothing we can do, so you can just sit down and keep your mouth shut.’
Charsoria turned away and Hariorta consoled her.
As much as Aravelle hated Charsoria, in that moment she also felt sorry for her. For all of them.
She retreated to her bedroll, where Itania crept into her arms.
After a while, the fighting died down. But now she could smell smoke and hear a dim roaring.
Charsoria told Redravia to prepare a soothing hot milk posset to settle the children. When the old woman brought Aravelle a mug for Itania, it smelt of almonds, lemons and brandy, just like her mother’s posset.
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