Tobias surveyed the grounds again. It seemed every person in the palace stood around them, staring at Ojeyd and the Belvora, shocked silent. Or not quite every person, not yet. Even now Chancellor Shaan strode in their direction, his robe billowing behind him, guards before him and behind.
He spotted Mara, her eyes puffy, her arms crossed over her chest. She stared back at him, lovely and grave. He gazed at her for another fivecount, then shouldered his sack and followed Saffern away from the blood and toward the palace’s lower gate. The weapons master paused to retrieve his pistol, and the musket he had fired and discarded.
“You still have that pistol I gave you?” he asked Tobias.
“Yes. It’s in my sack.”
“What good is it doing you there?”
He glanced at the man before pulling out the weapon. He loaded it while they walked.
As they entered the middle courtyard, Tobias spotted a small form watching them from an archway. Droë.
At the same time, Saffern said, “The Two take my eyes, there she is again.”
“You’ve seen her before?”
“Aye. Have you?”
Tobias faltered, fearing Saffern’s reaction. “She’s a Tirribin, and… and a friend. I’ve known her for a long time.”
“Well, I had never seen her before this morning, and would never think a bloody demon could be friend to anyone in this palace. She woke me with her knocking. When I finally got up to open the door, she told me to follow her and bring a weapon. Then she ran away without giving me time to ask questions. I dressed and grabbed these–” he hefted his musket and pistol, “and went after her, but she kept her distance. Led me to the upper courtyard.” He regarded Tobias again. “She’s your friend, all right. She saved your life.”
Tobias halted, as did Saffern. They both turned to look Droë’s way again, but of course by then she was gone.
Chapter 5
27th Day of Kheraya’s Waking, Year 647
He made his way to Windhome’s waterfront in a stupor, images of the Belvora and Ojeyd flashing through his mind. Every few strides he scanned the sky, expecting to see more of the winged demons stooping toward him, clawed hands extended, teeth bared.
Saffern watched him, and Tobias hoped the weapons master would tell him to relax, that another attack was unlikely so soon after the first. He didn’t.
The chancellor had arranged passage for him aboard the Gray Skate, a merchant ship out of Belsan, on Aiyanth. Upon reaching the ship, Saffern sought out the captain, a tall, spear-thin, taciturn woman named Seris Larr, and spoke to her in low tones. Tobias couldn’t hear what they said, but he guessed that the weapons master told her of the attack at the palace.
When Saffern concluded his conversation with Captain Larr, he approached Tobias, proffering a hand and, when Tobias gripped it, laying his other hand on Tobias’s shoulder.
“You’ll be all right,” he said. “Remember all you’ve learned, and do me proud. Do Ojeyd proud.”
“I will.” Emotion thickened the words. He had to blink back tears.
After Saffern left, the captain greeted Tobias in the most perfunctory manner, saying nothing about the Belvora, but making it clear that he should stay out of her way, and do nothing to distract the men and women of her crew.
That suited him. He wished only to stand by the rails near the bow, take in the seascape, and watch the sky for threats. The sun was still low in the east when they slipped out of Windhome Inlet on oars, passing laborers in broad-rimmed straw hats, ankle deep in mud, shaping gaaz, the mud bricks for which these isles were renowned.
Once beyond the shallows, they raised sails, and began to carve through the waters of Safsi Bay and then the Oaqamaran Sea. Tobias had but the dimmest memories of his voyage to Windhome so many years before, but now, as the pall cast over his mood by the morning’s events lifted somewhat, he discovered that he enjoyed sailing. His body adjusted with alacrity to the pitch and roll of the sea.
Too much of his time in the palace had been spent indoors, poring over maps and texts. He savored the warmth of the sun on his face, the briny wind that swept back his hair and made the gold and blue flag of Aiyanth snap above the swelling sails. Once out on open water, there was little to see. Occasionally he spotted schools of fish leaping clear of the ocean surface, flashes of silver twisting in the sunlight. Or long-winged birds skimming over the swells, swooping up into the blue before tucking their wings to dive for food.
He had feared feeling exposed on open water, an easy target for another Belvora. Instead, he took comfort in the endless stretch of swells and troughs. For now, he or some member of the crew would see any attack coming. But he dreaded the setting of the sun.
The crew, which numbered about twenty, joked and teased, but they worked with quiet efficiency and responded instantly to the captain’s commands. As far as Tobias could see, no tasks were assigned to one sex to the exclusion of the other. Men and women worked together, dressed similarly, swore with equal eloquence. The same had been true among the novitiates in Windhome, but he was surprised just the same.
Late that first day, one of the crew shouted from the rigging and pointed to the southwest. Crossing to the starboard side of the ship and following the line indicated by the sailor, Tobias picked out the outline of a large ship on the horizon. He glanced back at the captain, who had raised a brass spyglass to her eye. The rest of the crew fell silent, waiting for her next command. He had been taught in the palace that privateering ships operated in waters farther south and west. Chances were this was an Oaqamaran marauder, one of the huge warships that had menaced the Aiyanthan and Herjean Seas and inflicted heavy damage on the navies of Daerjen, Vleros, and Aiyanth.
He doubted the marauder’s crew would look kindly on a Walker from Trevynisle newly assigned to the Daerjeni court. His stomach tightening, he eyed Captain Larr.
For her part, the captain studied the ship for some time, and though she didn’t call for a change in course, she continued to check its position until it disappeared from view just before sunset.
A short time later, a bell rang belowdecks, and the crew converged on the hatch leading down to the hold.
“Come on there, young master,” one sailor called, beckoning to Tobias. “Mess time.”
Tobias hadn’t realized how hungry he was. He followed the woman belowdecks where most of the crew had already tucked in to a meal of hard biscuits, salted meat, and wrinkled apples. He had heard that sailors put up with abominable food. This supper was edible if not elegant. His meals aboard the Gray Skate wouldn’t compare well with the fare he had enjoyed in the palace, but he knew better than to complain.
“The meat’s fresh,” one of the men said. “If’n you don’t mind dog.” Several of the others laughed.
Tobias didn’t want to believe him, but he also didn’t want to scoff, just in case it really was dog.
“It ain’t dog,” said another sailor, looking his way.
“I was just having a go,” the first man said. “Coulda played along a bit.”
“And let him puke on me? Not a chance.”
Everyone laughed again. Even Tobias grinned.
“It’s stag,” said the second man. “And it is fresh. Got it in Windhome. The apples…” He eyed the one in his hand and then took a bite. “They still eat fine,” he said around a mouthful of fruit, “no matter how they look.”
Someone placed a full tankard of ale in front of him – something the chancellor would never have allowed. Tobias took a sip, decided he liked it, and began to eat. He said little, and blushed at many of the stories told by the men and women around him. For what remained of the supper, the crew and captain largely ignored him. By the time the meal ended he was sated and slightly dizzy from the ale. The crew cleaned up and began to arrange themselves around the hold on pallets and in hammocks. A few couples – men and women, women and women, men and men – retreated into darker corners away from the hatch.
The second mate, Melsed Carina, le
d him to a pallet under the stairway and handed him a rough woolen blanket.
“This is yours, such as it is. Rest well.”
“Thank you.”
Conversations continued. Low laughter and the occasional taken breath emanated from those dark recesses. Someone began to play a mouth harp. Tobias didn’t think he could fall asleep with so much noise. Once lanterns were extinguished in the Leeward Keep, the boys were expected to remain silent. But he was already a long way from the palace. He lay on the pallet, covered himself with the blanket and closed his eyes, thinking he should try to sleep, fearing that winged demons would haunt his dreams. He kept his loaded pistol beside him.
Next he knew, the peal of a nearby bell woke him from a sound slumber, and morning sun spilled through the hatch onto the stairs above him.
Most of the others were already awake and on deck. He rubbed a hand over his face and blinked. He could have slept more, but his bladder was full to bursting. He went forward in the hold to where the heads – as the sailors called the ship’s privies – were located and relieved himself. Then he climbed the stairs to the deck and took his place near the bow. The sky had clouded over during the night, a freshening wind out of the west carrying the scent of rain and the threat of heavier seas. Tobias kept his place along the rail for as long as he could, but by midday rain and spray from the surf had forced him back into the hold.
The storm lasted into the night, testing his newly-discovered affection for sea travel. He felt queasy for much of the day and evening, and had no interest in eating his supper.
“You’ll be better off if’n you do,” one of the sailors, man named Trem, told him, offering another of the wrinkled apples. “These ‘n particular might help.”
He was right. An apple, a bit of bread, a few sips of ale: by the time Tobias finished, his stomach had settled. He took to his pallet, damp though it was, and soon managed to fall asleep despite the rocking and creaking of the vessel.
By the following morning, the weather had passed, gentling the Skate’s motion, and allowing Tobias to reclaim his spot at the ship’s bow. Dark clouds retreated to the east, shadowing the waters there. Clear skies in the west stretched to the horizon, a welcome sight.
Near midday, they sighted Craeda and several other isles of Sipar’s Labyrinth. The storm had cleared the air, and at first Tobias thought the isles closer than they actually were. It took the ship another four bells to reach the first. All the while, the isles grew, darkened, came into relief: towering stone cliffs, capped by lush forests and striated by silver cascades. Clouds obscured the highest peaks of the larger islands, and white ernes circled above the coastal crags, their cries echoing weakly across the water.
The captain steered them into the Labyrinth and to a small port village on an island just past Craeda. The closer they drew to land, the more watchful and nervous Tobias grew. He scanned the sky continuously, his pistol tucked into his belt.
A boy about Tobias’s age had swabbed the deck for much of the day, gradually working his way from stern to bow. Despite the captain’s instructions, Tobias had been tempted to speak with the lad. At last he had an excuse.
“Why here?” he asked, his voice low. “Why not Festown?”
The lad cast a wary look back at the captain, who called instructions to her bosun. “She can’t moor at Festown,” he whispered in a lilting accent. “Nor anywhere in Craeda. Word is, she killed a man there. Tha’s what they tell me, anyway. They could be havin’ a go with me, though.”
“And you could be having one with me.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “No! I’m not! I–”
Tobias stopped him with a grin. The boy smiled as well.
“That was pretty good.”
“I’m Tobias.”
“Evan,” he said, checking on the captain again, and shifting his attention back to his mop and bucket. “Gotta keep workin’.”
They didn’t remain in the port town for long. Only Captain Larr left the ship, and she returned within half a bell, bearing a small parcel that she took directly to her quarters. Soon they were back in open ocean, their sails full, the setting sun to starboard.
One bell out from port, they came upon a large drift of ships, large and small, all of them heading east, their decks crowded with men and a few women. They were short and tall, fair-skinned and dark, with hair of yellow, red, brown, and black. Some bore elaborate skin etchings on their cheeks and brows, necks and arms, and a few had shaved heads, save for a single plait growing at the nape of their necks. Most wore rags: torn breeches, tired, tattered shirts. None appeared to have bathed in some time.
Still, they were anything but downtrodden. Torches burned in sconces mounted on the vessels’ masts, and on several of the ships men and women played stringed instruments, sang, and danced. Tobias heard many of the languages he and the other novitiates had been taught in the palace: Oaqamaran, Aiyanthan, the common tongue of the Ring Isles, even Milnish.
“Prospectors,” Tobias heard from behind him. Another of the ship’s crew, a burly bearded man, stood a few paces away, leaning on the rail. “They’re heading for Chayde, or maybe Flynse. Word is, folk are practically tripping over gold and silver up there. Gems, too. And lesser metals.”
“So how come you ain’t there already, Ben?” came a voice from the rigging above.
The bearded man answered with a grimace. “Mining work’s too hard for me. I prefer the easy life of a sailor.”
That drew laughs from the sailors around them.
“I heard that,” the captain called, eliciting more laughter.
“Where are they from?” Tobias asked, eyeing the vessels once more.
“All over, from the looks of them. Some it’s easier to tell than others. Those with the skin art – they’re from the western lands: Jsorde, Herjes, maybe even Westisle itself. And the shaved heads come from the Knot.”
That much Tobias had learned, though he didn’t say as much to the sailor.
“Them with red hair probably come from around the Bone Sea, and the yellow-heads are likely from the Inner Ring, though you can’t be sure with any of them.”
“Some of those places are at war. Westisle? And the Bone Sea islands?”
The sailor dismissed this with a wave of his meaty hand. “Wars are for kings and queens. The rest of us just want a bit o’ gold to keep the demons at bay.”
“But surely–”
“That’s enough prattle over there,” the captain said.
The sailor pushed away from the rail and pulled himself up into the rigging.
The captain sauntered forward from the quarterdeck, the last golden rays of sunlight on her tanned face.
“I believe I instructed you to stay out of the way of my crew,” she said, her voice a gravelly alto.
“Yes, captain. Forgive me. I was… curious.”
She crooked a smile. Her face was all sharp angles and overlong features, but when she grinned it coalesced into a mien both friendly and winsome.
“Curiosity can be good. I find myself curious about you.”
“Me?”
“Your chancellor paid me ten Oaqamaran rounds to take you on. That’s quite a lot for any passenger. He also forced me to change my route. I had planned to stop at several ports, but he didn’t want that. It had been my intention to anchor at Belsan and pass you off to another captain. The chancellor made me swear I’d see you all the way to Hayncalde.”
“I had no idea.”
“I don’t doubt it. But I wonder if you know what makes you special, what would make him spend so much gold, and take such care with his instructions to me.” She tipped her head. “What would bring a Belvora to Trevynisle?”
Tobias’s cheeks warmed, and he was abruptly aware of the weight of his pistol on his hip. His gaze swept the sky again.
“I’ve noticed you do that a lot. Watching the sky, I mean. Do you expect another attack?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I find myself more comfortable on open w
ater. I hadn’t expected that.”
“Interesting,” she said, her tone making him turn. “And worth discussing. First, though, I’d like an answer to what I asked. Do you understand your value?”
Since the age of seven, Tobias had been trained in the art of diplomacy, the first rule of which was quite simple: no matter the currency – gold, land, authority, information – never give away more than necessary.
“You’ve taken passengers from Trevynisle before, haven’t you?”
Her grin ossified. “I don’t like impertinent children.”
“I wasn’t trying to be impertinent. Forgive me if I was.”
She gazed eastward, after the drift of vessels. “Yes, I’ve had previous dealings with Windhome. You’re a Traveler. I want to know what kind.”
Tobias faltered, caught off guard by the directness of her response.
Her smirk was thin, reflexive. “For all your training, you’re not ready to match wits and will with the likes of me. Remember that, boy.”
“Yes, captain.”
“So?”
She might have been a merchant – legitimate in the eyes of the chancellor – but there was a hardness to her. How much trade did she do with the privateers of the western waters? Or, for that matter, with the Oaqamaran autarchy? Someone with his talents might fetch a price that would dwarf the ten rounds the chancellor had paid for his passage. Without a chronofor, he could do little, and securing such a device would cost a good deal of gold. But hardly enough to dissuade the autarch, or privateers.
“You don’t trust me,” she said. “That’s probably wise, albeit unwarranted. Besides, your reluctance to answer gives you away.”
“I’m a Walker.”
“I assumed as much. I could make good use of a time Walker. Any merchant could.”
The blood drained from Tobias’s face.
“Not against your will. I would pay you. Far more, no doubt, than will the Daerjeni sovereign.”
“The chancellor gave his word, and the sovereign has paid for me already.”
“Paid for you? So you’re chattel.”
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