The Wolf's Call

by Anthony Ryan

  “How many ships?” he enquired, coming to the captain’s side.

  “Just one, my lord. But she’s about our size and therefore I’d wager she’ll be a sight slower, but she does have the wind in her favour.”

  “No chance of outrunning them?”

  Veiser shook his head, eye still pressed to the spyglass. “Can’t make out the flag at this distance. If she’s one of the affiliated clan ships, we might be able to buy them off. If not . . .” He trailed off with a meaningful shrug.

  “If you can’t see the flag, how do you know she’s a pirate?”

  “Three red lines on the mainsail. Lets us know they mean to board us. That might be a good sign, suggests they’re not spoiling for a fight.”

  Vaelin looked back at the deck, watching those sailors with bows climb the rigging whilst the first mate and the bosun marshalled the others into two companies, positioned fore and aft. Vaelin gained a quick impression of a marked lack of expertise from the way most of the sailors held the swords and billhooks they had been given. “Has this crew been in battle before?” he asked Veiser.

  “Only the handful I sailed with in the war. Must say, my lord, at this juncture I’m sorely glad to have you aboard.”

  Vaelin watched the approaching sail grow in size, the darker shadow of the hull beneath resolving into view as the minutes passed. A large black flag flew from her mainmast emblazoned with a white motif showing a shield shot through by a bolt of lightning. Beside him, the captain gave a grunt of relieved recognition. “Seems we’re in luck, my lord.”

  “How so?”

  “Ships bearing that flag first appeared about two years gone, and they never trouble Realm vessels. The rest of the world aren’t so lucky. No one’s exactly sure why.”

  His words were quickly borne out when Vaelin saw a fresh gout of white water erupting on the starboard side of her pirate’s hull as she began to veer away. Within moments she had slipped into the haze of the northern horizon.

  “Pity.”

  Vaelin turned to find Nortah standing close by. He wore a seaman’s oilskin cloak, his face pale and thoroughly miserable in the chilly drizzle that swept the deck. Vaelin took a small measure of satisfaction from the fact that his brother had chosen to arm himself with a billhook, though the absence of either fear or anticipation on his face was less encouraging. “I thought at least a pirate might give me a last swallow of grog before tossing us to the sharks.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, brother.”

  He expected Nortah to scowl and slouch away but instead he lingered, voicing an uncomfortable cough amidst the lengthening silence. “I’m bloody bored,” he said finally. There was a tension on his colourless features, an impression of a favour asked only with the greatest reluctance. “Sea life is tedious without grog, or something to do,” he added with forced and unconvincing levity.

  “Lady Ellese is skilled with the bow but still has room for improvement,” Vaelin said. “And the lad lacks stamina.”

  “I’ll see to it.” Nortah paused, grimacing as he forced himself to ask another question. “I no longer own a sword . . .”

  “Your sister bought it back from the blade monger you sold it to,” Vaelin said. “It’s with my gear, along with your bow.” He started towards the ladder to the lower deck. “I’ll fetch them.”

  “I’m still going to get drunk when we make landfall,” Nortah called after him, voice diminishing to a bitter sigh when Vaelin didn’t turn. “I’m just bored, that’s all.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  What is that smell?”

  “A city.”

  Alum’s nostrils flared and his lips formed a disgusted grimace. “I once journeyed to Alpira. It didn’t smell like this.”

  “Alpira is constantly swept by the desert winds,” Vaelin replied, recalling the days towards the end of his five-year confinement when he had been allowed out of his cell for a short period each day. The easterly wind would stiffen each morning with remarkable regularity, bringing a daily pall of dust along with a warm breeze that did much to banish the worst of the capital’s aroma. To Vaelin the scent seeping through the morning fog enfolding the Sea Wasp wasn’t especially unpleasant. It consisted mainly of smoke with a few sharper notes that told of the fish market and the tannery. He found it no more objectionable than Varinshold on a summer’s day, although the fact that it had reached them at such a remove from the port indicated a place of far-greater size and population.

  “Trim sails!” the bosun called, sending a dozen men aloft whilst others heaved ropes across the deck. “Prepare to haul away the boat.”

  “This may not be the best place to disembark, my lord,” Captain Veiser told Vaelin as the lights of the city began to shimmer through the haze. “If it’s your object to remain unnoticed, there are smaller ports to the south where the authorities are not so scrupulous.” He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together in the universal sign of the bribe.

  “Master Erlin tells me this is where we’ll find our guide,” Vaelin replied. “Besides, I’ve often found that the larger the city the easier it is to evade notice.”

  “As you wish. The Sea Wasp will call at this port on our return journey in two months. If you’re not here . . .”

  “Then sail home with my thanks. Your full fee for this voyage has been lodged with Lady Kerran.” Vaelin clapped him on the shoulder and moved to the rail as the crew finished hauling the boat over the side.

  “A fee I’d happily forgo to see you safely returned.” There was an uncharacteristic intensity to Veiser’s gaze that made Vaelin pause. “The Reaches needs you, my lord,” he went on. “As does the Realm. We lost too much in the war. I have met Queen Lyrna, and don’t relish standing before her to explain why I carried Vaelin Al Sorna to his end.”

  “Tell her I commanded it. I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  Vaelin joined Ellese at the rail, watching Nortah and the others climb into the boat. He took a moment to survey her, noting how her face had become leaner over the weeks at sea. The daily regimen of punishing exercise, sword practice, Nortah’s lessons with the bow, not to mention the nights spent sleeping on deck, had all been borne with wordless acceptance. Her gaze still betrayed the occasional flash of resentment but at no point had she refused a command, no matter how injurious to her pride it might be. He wondered if she were trying to prove something to herself rather than him. Or is it Reva? he thought. Is it her measure she wishes to match? The thought provoked a small pang of sympathy, for he knew that to be a height none could ever hope to reach.

  “Your last opportunity, my lady,” he told Ellese. “You can still turn back, go home. I feel your mother will be satisfied with your newfound discipline . . .”

  She turned away and vaulted over the side, landing in the centre of the boat and drawing a soft curse from Sehmon as it rocked in the placid harbour waters. Vaelin smothered a laugh and climbed down the rope to join them. He pointed Ellese and Sehmon to the oars and joined Erlin at the prow as they began to row.

  “The name of this place, again?” Vaelin asked him.

  “Hahn-Shi,” Erlin replied. “The greatest port in the Venerable Kingdom. Second only to the capital in size and population.”

  “So, I assume finding the guide you spoke of will not be easy?”

  A faint smirk crossed Erlin’s face and he shook his head. “Oh, I don’t think so. Unless someone’s finally managed to slit his throat that is.”

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Although the hour was barely past sunrise, as was the way with ports the quayside was busy with people when they came ashore. Fishermen prepared their nets for the day, and merchant crews traced uneven courses back to their ships after a night of drink and carousal. As Erlin led them from the docks into the densely packed streets beyond, Vaelin was surprised by the lack of interest they aroused in the inhabitants, drawing only a
few glances and most of those directed at Alum due, Vaelin supposed, to his height.

  “The docks are the foreigners’ quarter,” Erlin explained. “The only place in the entire kingdom where they are allowed to live for any length of time, having purchased license to do so from the Merchant King, of course. Some Realm-born and Alpiran merchants have lived here for years.”

  “What’s to stop them upping sticks and moving somewhere else?” Nortah enquired, Vaelin noting how his eyes scanned the various passing shop signs with keen interest.

  “The threat of immediate execution,” Erlin said. “And the fact that there’s a fairly large wall enclosing the quarter. You’ll find the people of the Far West are nothing if not thorough.”

  The streets narrowed as they moved deeper into the city. Erlin turned this way and that with an unconscious familiarity that bespoke an undimmed memory regardless of any bodily failings. Vaelin soon gained an appreciation for the marked difference in architecture here, almost all the houses being constructed from wood rather than stone and hardly any standing higher than two storeys. The roofs sloped at a more shallow angle than those in the east, each densely covered in terra-cotta tiles that dripped swollen dewdrops onto their heads as they passed beneath.

  “What a place for a thief this would be,” Sehmon commented. Vaelin glanced over his shoulder to see the outlaw gazing up at the encroaching rooftops with a wistful eye. “Each house no more than a few yards apart, and if you slipped, the fall won’t kill you.”

  “No,” Erlin told him, coming to a halt and nodding at a symbol painted in red on the wall of a corner house. “But the Crimson Band would if they caught you. I advise you to curb your urges, young man. No one steals here without permission.”

  “The Crimson Band?” Vaelin asked, moving to Erlin’s side to peer at the symbol. It was round with an intricate curved character in the centre.

  “All cities have their underside,” Erlin said. They had come to a junction between five streets, and he peered into each one in turn with a tense, wary expectation. “And those that govern it. We’ll need their assistance to get beyond the wall.”

  “So that’s our destination? The den of this gang.”

  Erlin let out a derisive snort. “‘Gang’ is far too inadequate a term. And as for their den, I couldn’t find that if I wanted to.”

  “Then where have you been leading us?”

  “Not so much where as when.” Abruptly, Erlin’s gaze snapped to the nearest rooftop. Vaelin saw nothing but his ears detected the faint tick of a disturbed tile. In the space of a few heartbeats, he heard several more from the surrounding houses.

  “When what?” he demanded.

  “Whenever they chose to take notice of a bunch of armed foreigners wandering their streets without permission. Don’t!” he snapped as Ellese reached for an arrow. “All of you, make no move that could be taken as a threat.”

  Vaelin’s gaze roamed roofs, shuttered windows and walls as a thick silence descended on the junction. His eyes slid over an empty street, then froze as a woman appeared from a shadowed corner. She stood a dozen feet from them, features faintly inquisitive and lacking alarm or suspicion. She wore a plain jerkin and trews of loose-fitting dark brown cotton and possessed no weapon that he could see. However, the surety and lack of concern she exhibited made him conclude she was far from defenceless.

  It was Erlin who broke the silence, voicing a polite good morning in Chu-Shin and bowing low. As he straightened he formed his hands into a curious gesture, the left positioned above the right in a fist with small and fore fingers extended.

  In response the woman tilted her head a fraction, her gaze sliding from Erlin to Vaelin and then the others. Her face possessed a youthful smoothness that jarred with the experience he saw in her narrowed gaze, no doubt gauging the threat each of them posed. Her survey complete, she blinked and focused again on Erlin, speaking in a soft, almost melodious voice, “It will be the scorpion’s kiss for all of you if you have spoken falsely.”

  With that she turned and started along the street. Erlin hurried to follow, gesturing for Vaelin and the others to do the same.

  “I take it the scorpion’s kiss is not to be relished?” Nortah asked in a grim murmur.

  “I shall do you a service by not even describing it,” Erlin replied. “Except to say that I once saw a man chew off and swallow his own tongue to avoid it.”

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  The subsequent journey was even longer and more confusing than the course traced by Erlin. The woman moved at a rapid pace, turning corners with a regularity Vaelin knew to be intentional as his gaze picked out landmarks they had passed at least once before. Apparently, she wished to ensure they weren’t being followed before leading them to her destination. From the continued tick of disturbed tiles from above, they remained under continual if unseen observation.

  The woman finally came to a halt outside the doorway to a nondescript shop. A continual pall of steam emerged from the doorway and windows, Vaelin recognising the Far Western symbol for tea inscribed on the sign hanging over the lintel. The woman bowed and gestured for them to enter, continuing to hold her pose as they hesitated.

  “Never precede a stranger through an unfamiliar door,” Nortah said. His eyes roamed the surrounding streets and Vaelin recognised the anticipatory clench to his hand that told of an urgent desire to reach for the sword on his back. At least he’s fearful rather than thirsty, Vaelin decided.

  “If you want to find what you came for,” Erlin said, a strained smile on his lips as he returned the woman’s bow, “then there is no choice. The only onward path is through this door.”

  Vaelin mirrored Erlin’s bow before moving to the door. The interior was clouded with a sweetly scented steam that concealed much of the detail, and presumably rendered any visitor vulnerable to attack. He glimpsed a few shapes in the swirling mist, all seated at tables where long spouted porcelain teapots added yet more steam to the atmosphere. None of the seated figures turned to regard the tall foreigner as he passed by, Vaelin gaining a sense of studied indifference.

  A dozen steps brought him to a counter even more shrouded in steam than the rest of the shop. It billowed from a dozen or more copper kettles, much of it escaping through a wide aperture in the ceiling. A lone figure moved amongst the kettles, arms bare and torso clad in an apron as he went from one shiny receptacle to another, lifting and pouring the boiling water into a row of teapots on the counter.

  “Wait here,” the woman told Vaelin, moving to the counter to stand with her hands clasped together and head lowered. It took a prolonged interval for the man to take notice of her, repeatedly emerging and disappearing into the steam to fill his pots. A succession of waiters came and went from the counter to convey them to the customers. Like the clientele, they were scrupulous in paying no heed to the foreigners in their midst.

  “You’re old,” the man behind the counter said, his voice startling in its stridency, and surprising in his words; they were spoken in perfect Realm Tongue.

  He filled another pot, then set the kettle down, bracing his arms on the counter to regard Erlin with a steady gaze. Vaelin found it hard to judge the man’s age. His head was completely bald and his face clean shaven. His bare arms were not broad but were rich in finely honed muscle, scarred here and there with the pale, jagged stripes that told of injuries suffered in combat. Only the faint lines around his eyes and the depth of careful scrutiny they held told Vaelin this was a man with several decades of hard experience at his back.

  “My grandfather named you Kho-an Lah,” the man went on. “The ‘Ageless One.’ And now you return to make him a liar.”

  “Age comes to us all,” Erlin replied, a tentative smile on his lips. “Even me, old friend.” He gestured at Vaelin. “May I present . . .”

  “Vaelin Al Sorna,” the man interrupted. “Tower Lord of the Norther
n Reaches.” He blinked and focused his piercing scrutiny on Vaelin. “You are very far from home, and not here by the Merchant King’s invitation.”

  “Your perception was always a thing of wonder,” Erlin said. Dropping his voice, he stepped closer to the counter. “We have business to discuss, Honoured Pao Len. Business of both a private and lucrative nature.”

  Pao Len’s eyes flicked from Erlin to Vaelin and back again. His face remained impassive but Vaelin sensed a reluctance in the slow nod he gave before snapping out a curt command to the woman in Chu-Shin. “The back room. Tea for these others.” He paused and addressed his next words to Vaelin. “They will be killed if they try to leave before our business is concluded.” He was still speaking Chu-Shin, although Vaelin had no notion of how the man knew he could speak it.

  “Understood,” he said in a neutral tone. “Wait here,” he told the others as the man disappeared into the misty recesses of the shop.

  “And do what?” Nortah enquired.

  “Drink tea, brother.” Vaelin followed Erlin as the woman lifted a slat in the counter and gestured for them to enter. “Perhaps you’ll like it.”

  * * *

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  “I once had a cousin who journeyed to your Realm.” Pao Len sat on a stool at a small round table on which a teapot sat next to three cups. He poured a dark, floral-scented liquid into each cup as he spoke, Vaelin noting how he never spilled the slightest drop. “He stood high in the ranks of the Crimson Band,” Pao Len went on, setting the teapot down, “and was our eyes and ears in your country for many years. Sadly, he was tortured to death some time ago by an agent of your late king, and our reports have been fragmentary ever since.”