by Tim Stead
22 Jerohal
They had rounded the eastern end of the island before dawn, and when Arla came up on deck she could see Cabarissa off their starboard side as a low, dark mass. The sea was bluer that she had ever seen it, and the sun beat down from a cloudless sky. It was even hotter that the previous day.
“Not far now,” the mate said, coming to her side. “We should sight Jerohal before midday.”
She nodded, not having anything to say. The land looked indistinct and unremarkable, but it was a land forbidden to men. Somewhere on that shore Serhan had created a terror that could not be overcome, and Arla was planning to land there.
Jud’s words had been prophetic. There had been no further attempt to interfere with their journey, but Arla knew that it would be foolish to relax their guard now. With so much at stake a more desperate attempt might be forced upon the killer’s agent just when they believed themselves safe. Arla didn’t think it likely, however. Whoever was in the assassin’s pay would be no more than a common sailor, and probably not willing to risk his life or livelihood to fulfil his task.
“How do you want to do this, lawkeeper?” the captain said. He was standing by the wheel looking landward. He was clearly worried.
“The Shan told you,” she replied.
“I’d like to hear it again,” he said. “A mistake would be costly.”
“There’s no magic to it. The harbour is shallow, so pole the ship in. Nobody is to touch the land. There are bollards on the pier, so throw a couple of ropes over them and retire below decks. Leave everything else to Seer Jud. And whatever happens, don’t draw a knife or show a weapon of any kind.”
“I like to be in command of my own ship,” the captain complained.
“As soon as we’re at sea again, captain.”
“Aye,” he said. “Just so you know, I don’t like it.”
“You took the city’s coin, captain. You knew the job before you cast off.”
“True enough, but back in Samara it seemed a good deal.”
Arla understood what he meant. In Samara a journey to Cabarissa, to Jerohal itself, had seemed a logical next step, but now with the threat of Serhan’s curse so close at hand it seemed a fragile piece of sanity.
She stood and watched the land, knowing that Corin and Otway were down below with Seer Jud, keeping him safe. She watched the sailors go about their work and saw the tension in them. They, too, were having second thoughts about Jerohal.
Arla didn’t know these men. It was impossible to say how likely a mutiny, or more accurately a breach of contract, would be. It was something she hadn’t considered. She walked up onto the rear deck where the captain stood.
“I think the time is right to announce the bonus,” she said.
“What bonus?”
“There’ll be an extra two gold for every man on board when we get back to Samara,” she said. “And four for the officers, of course,” she said. “In recognition of their courage in taking on this voyage.”
“That’s generous, commander,” the captain said. “Will you sign a paper to that effect?”
“You doubt my word?”
“Not personally,” he said. “But the men…”
“I understand,” she said. “Of course I’ll sign a paper. After all, I might not survive Jerohal, but it will be dependent on the success of the mission.”
The captain made the announcement, which is what mattered, and Arla saw the tension melt away as the sailors wondered among themselves how they’d spend the extra money, even as they worked the ship closer to shore.
It wasn’t long after that Jerohal came into view. It was a city that clothed the slopes around a long and narrow, east-facing bay. The buildings were low for the most part, and painted white so that it made a stark contrast with the green hills behind. A single, long pier jutted out from the back of the bay, favouring the north side, so they would have to come in on the south to have clear water around them.
The captain shouted orders and the sailors unstrapped long poles from each rail – four in all – and one man began to plumb the water with a lead line, calling out the depths as they came into the bay. Sails were taken in until they were gliding at something less than walking pace on a single sheet of canvas high up in the bow.
“Four fathoms, rock and sand,” the man with the lead called. It was shelving quickly. At the mouth of the bay it had been twenty.
“What happens if we run aground?” Arla asked.
“We’ll kedge off,” the captain said. “Depending on the tides.”
Arla didn’t know what kedging was, but at least the captain seemed to have a plan.
“Three fathoms, rock and sand.”
“Poles up!” the captain shouted. Two men ran forwards on each side and raised their poles high in the air.
“Two and one half fathoms, rock and sand.”
“Poles in!”
The men thrust the poles down into the water, hand over hand and they began to angle backwards as the ships momentum through the water pushed them behind. They struck bottom and the men heaved against them, walking slowly towards the stern, propelling the ship forwards.
The second pole on each side was readied by the bow, and when the first poles were past midships they thrust downwards and began the process again. The first teams reached the stern and quickly lifted their poles, laying them flat and hurrying back to the bows once more.
In this fashion they crept across Jerohal harbour towards the pier.
Arla studied the pier. It was far longer than anything in Samara, at least two hundred paces. She guessed that it had to be that long to reach water deep enough for ships to dock. But it was not the pier that caught her gaze. Something was walking down the pier towards them, and whatever it was it bore no resemblance to either Shan or Man. It was far too tall and walked with a bird-like gait.
She knew what it was and what it was called – Kastan Delor – but its presence still sent a shiver up her spine. This was Serhan’s curse, one of the monsters he had created to defend the island. She had heard so many stories, and in tavern talk they had seemed fascinating. In the flesh it was quite different.
The gap between the ship and the monster closed relentlessly. Two men stood ready with ropes already looped for the bollards. They, too, looked frightened.
“That’s one of them, isn’t it?” the captain asked. “It doesn’t look so invincible.”
“They say one of them can destroy a ship and all aboard,” she said.
“They say the moon is made of lily petals,” the captain replied. “But don’t fret. I’ve no intention of testing the thing.”
They were close now. The men with the ropes were flexing their arms for the throw and the Kastan Delor was standing only a few paces away, staring down at them from eyes that looked sightless, but clearly were not. For some reason Arla was reminded of something the cook had said, about being paid by a blind man. She pushed the thought aside.
The ship touched the dock, a grinding noise of wood on wood, and the men laid their poles on the deck and fled below. The ropes were thrown.
The stern rope flew true, snared the bollard, and the sailor quickly tied off his end and retired. At the bow, however, things didn’t go so well. The sailor there threw short, his arm stiffened by fear, perhaps. Whatever the reason, the rope clawed at the top of the bollard, slipped, and fell into the sea with a splash.
“Shit,” the captain said.
The man reached for the fallen rope, stretching down over the side as far as he could. Instinctively he hand went out to support him and rested on the dock.
The creature on the dock moved with blinding speed. Arla had never seen anything move so fast. It was on the sailor in a flash, wicked claws sweeping down and suddenly there was blood, blood on the dock, on the deck, and the man was screaming. Arla instinctively reached for an arrow, but she had none and it would have been pointless anyway. No arrow could hurt that thing.
The monster reached down and lifted th
e man off the deck. The sailor’s hand was gone, severed cleanly at the wrist, and in a moment he would be dead. The creature’s hand lifted high in preparation for the killing blow.
“Stop!”
Seer Jud strode across the deck towards the monster, unafraid. The Shan would have measured an inch shy of the Kastan Delor’s knee, but he seemed quite comfortable with the disparity. The Kastan Delor froze.
“Put him down at once,” Seer Jud said, and amazingly the creature obeyed, laying the now unconscious man gently on the deck and retreating back to the pier. Seer Jud stooped to examine the man’s arm and quickly tied off the wrist to stop the bleeding, then pulled out a jar and began to apply the contents to the wound.
Arla recovered her courage enough to walk forwards and join the Shan.
“He’ll live,” Jud said. “But he’ll not sail again, I fear. The strap will have to come off in a short while, but the salve should have sealed the wound by then.”
“You can command the Kastan Delor?” Arla asked.
“Any Shan can,” the Seer said. “But they know me, and they know I am acquainted with the Mage Lord Serhan. It gives me a certain leverage.”
The creature on the pier was clearly uncomfortable with the turn of events. It paced up and down, two or three steps each way, claws clicking on the bleached planking.
Arla helped the captain carry the injured man below decks. She was only absent for a minute, but when she came back up Seer Jud was in conversation with the monster. She was surprised to hear it speak. She was surprised that it could speak.
“…the law is clear, Seer Jud,” the thing said. “Men cannot be allowed to set hand or foot upon the island. The mage lord’s own words…”
“It was not the Mage Lord who made the law. He made it possible for us to defend ourselves – no more than that.”
“But the law…”
“…Is no more than a slogan. It is not written in the books of the law, neither has it been voted upon by the council of Sages. We are here to ask questions, not invade the island.”
“We?” Arla kept a distance, and she was alarmed that Jud seemed to be suggesting that she be permitted to walk the streets of Jerohal.
“Of course,” Jud said, turning to her. “You need to question him.”
“Can he not be brought to the ship?” she asked.
“He will not come,” Seer Jud explained. “He will only come if there is some reward for him, and we have nothing to offer.”
“You can question him,” Arla said.
“I am a Seer. He will not be happy to speak with me. It is a Shan protocol, commander.”
“You never said that I would have to violate the island, Seer Jud.”
“You are my guest. Any Shan will respect that. It is like being a clan-friend,” he said, turning back to the Kastan Delor. “And I am clan friend to the Mage Lord, so by extension Commander Crail is protected by his arm.”
“There are many who will not agree,” the monster said.
Arla was one of them. She didn’t see walking through Jerohal as a good survival strategy.
“You will protect us as you would any sworn clan-friend,” Jud said.
“Me? Protect a man on Cabarissa?” The monster seemed shocked at the idea.
“Commander Crail is not a man. She is a woman,” Jud said.
“Hair splitting,” the creature complained.
“Such is the essence of the law,” Jud said.
“I will do as you say,” the creature said. “But first I must speak with Jat.”
“Jat is here?”
“He is. I will be back shortly.” And with that the monster stalked off down the pier towards the town.
“Jat?” Arla asked.
“The first of the Kastan Delor to take the word,” Jud said. “He, too, is a friend of the Mage Lord, a tribe-master. They will all follow him whatever he decides.”
“I don’t understand what you’re saying, Seer Jud. This Jat, he is the leader of the Kastan Delor?”
“These are Shan matters, Commander,” Jud said. “You would be advised to forget what you learn here today, but I don’t suppose you will.”
It wasn’t long before the creature came back, and now it was accompanied by another. Arla could not tell them apart, but that one of them had a touch of grey in its mane. They stopped by the ship.
“Seer Jud,” the grey-touched monster said. “You are welcome here.”
“I thank you, tribe-master Jat.”
“And you wish to bring this woman with you into Jerohal?”
“By guest-right,” Jud replied.
“Do you town Shan even have guest-right?”
“You do, Jat, and this is no ordinary woman. She is Commander Crail, chief investigator of Samara, a lawkeeper, a champion archer and a great warrior.”
“Truly?”
“You doubt me?”
“Let the woman speak, Jud. Are his words true?”
“I am who he says,” Arla said. “And I hold the titles and honours he gave me, apart from the last.”
“You are not a great warrior?”
“I have not seen enough of war to know one way or the other, but I am three times fasthand champion of Ocean’s Gate, one time champion archer, so I can use a bow well enough.”
“Have you brought your bow with you?”
“It is below.”
“Fetch it,” the monster said.
“You will not take offence?”
“My word on the blood of my tribe. You will come to no harm.”
Arla went to fetch her bow and a quiver of arrows. She was worried. The older creature seemed curious and not especially threatening, but that could change in a moment. Back on deck she strung the bow and held it up for the Kastan Delor to see.
“A strange shape for a bow,” Jat said.
“It’s a recurve,” Arla said. “The shape…”
The monster dismissed her explanation with a gesture. “You wish to walk on Cabarissa?” he asked.
“I need to ask questions. There was a ship here, maybe two or three weeks ago. Someone on the ship met with a Shan.” It was a guess, but a good one. Why else would you come to Cabarissa?
“I remember,” Jat said. “They spoke to Sage Dahl. He came here to the dock and boarded their ship. He came again three days later.”
“Then I need to ask questions of Sage Dahl,” she replied.
“So we shall have a contest – if you are prepared to chance your arm?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I will stand at the beginning of the pier. You will stand here. I will run at you. If you can hit me three times before I reach you, you win. If you fail I will kill you.”
Arla looked at the pier. It was very long, but she had seen the other Kastan Delor move and it had been incredibly quick. The real question was if she still trusted her skill. Two years ago she wouldn’t have hesitated, but now?
“And if I win?” she asked.
“I will personally escort you to Sage Dahl’s house and ensure that he speaks to you. I can do no more.”
“Commander, this is madness,” Jud said. “Tell me the questions and I will ask them.”
“You said he wouldn’t speak to you,” Arla reminded him.
“I will insist.”
“Even so, questions are not a list. They are a path that must be followed. It would be better if I asked them.”
Jat was still watching her. “You accept my challenge?” he asked.
“I accept your challenge.”
“Then you may step onto the pier.”
“A moment.” Arla strapped the quiver on, making sure it was secure, that she could draw arrows from it without it tipping or swinging away from her hand. She was surprised to find her hand a little unsteady. But she was betting her life, and she’d never done that before.
“Three hits?”
Jat nodded and grinned, showing a frightening set of razor sharp teeth. Arla wondered how he intended to kill he
r if she failed. She plucked an arrow from the quiver and set it to the string.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Jat turned and walked back down the pier. He didn’t hurry, but his long, awkward-looking legs carried him quickly enough. Yet it seemed an age before he turned, a distant figure, and faced her.
It was too far. At this distance she would be shooting high and falling short. To be sure of hitting the monster she would have to wait before loosing her first arrow. She licked her lips. The sun was behind her, which was good.
Jat began to run.
It seemed for a moment that he ran in a cloud, but she realised that his claws were ripping splinters from the pier and throwing them into the air behind him. He was very fast.
Arla drew back the string and raised the bow. How long did she have to make three shots? Twenty seconds? Less? She waited. Waited.
Now.
The first arrow arced up and began to fall, but Arla was already drawing the second. She held it a moment to see how well the first had flown, and was astonished to see it pass over Jat’s head by a foot. He must be running faster than she’d thought. She loosed again.
The second arrow hit him square in the chest and bounced away. One. Two more needed. Time was growing short. The third arrow was flatter and so easier to judge, and yet it struck Jat on the shoulder and shattered.
Two.
She had time for two more shots, but they would be hurried, and she couldn’t afford to miss. She drew the arrow back and waited. It was hard. Jat was moving faster than a galloping horse, and she wanted to let fly, to finish it, but she waited longer until the sound of his clawed feet ripping at the pier was loud in her ears, until she heard Seer Jud cry out in alarm, until Jat filled her world with speed and noise and terror.
She loosed the arrow.
The distance between them was so narrow that it seemed the arrow struck almost as soon as it left the bow. It struck the Kastan Delor square in the belly and disintegrated into splinters and red feathers.
Jat leaped. Arla ducked. The creature passed over her head and landed twenty paces further down the pier, claws digging in once more to stop it dead. It turned and faced her.
“That was well done,” it said. “Holding the last arrow like that, bravely done.”
