Roark pocketed four cheaply-made knives and a few coins from the bodies.
“Congratulations, Apprentice. Now finish the job.” Alana gestured to Eohan who followed her out of the shadows. “You can see the implications and importance of our employment. Do you still wish to be trained in the ways of the Guild?”
“I’ll learn to fight like Roark?” Eohan asked.
“You will learn to fight with multiple weapons, read, ride. This life is as bloody as the arenas, but you’re more likely to survive it. You might decide you like assassinations, war ending, or gathering information and writing dossiers. There are a variety of opportunities for advancement.”
“Though I hardly made enough to make this job worth it,” Roark sulked as he cut off the first man’s head with his saber. He kicked the body before he hopped over it and decapitated the next.
“Pay Eohan to do the dirty work,” Alana suggested. “He needs those knives more than you.”
“Dirty work?” Eohan asked.
“The dossier said to tar and stake the heads as a warning.” Roark tossed a head towards Eohan’s feet.
The other apprentice paled as the bloody mass bounced towards him. Roark thought Eohan would turn and run. Instead, he gathered the head by the hair.
“Where’s the tar?” Eohan asked, his voice still low.
With the realization he wouldn’t get his hands sticky, Roark liked another apprentice’s presence quite a bit.
*
Alana copied the ledger page into her journal using her three-step code. Listening to the forest’s night sounds and the boys and horses sleeping, she was glad she always listened to her foresight, even if the gift only uncovered snippets of truth.
Other than tears for his family and general fear, Eohan spoke nary a complaint. A personality trait that would complement Roark — who often protested even though he was the son of a Doyenne with a comfortable allowance. Now if she could only keep the boy alive until he was trained.
Though the adventures of life kept her slender, her frame softened and sagged in new ways as the sun drew fresh lines on her face. The creep of age occupied her bones more than she admitted, even to her nephew.
If Corwin knew, both boys would be in danger. She needed to progress Roark to the rank of Assassin of the Realms and show Eohan’s worth to the Guild before her sword arm slowed further.
*
Chapter 4
The Muirchlaimhte
Eohan knew the horse wasn’t listening to him. Though he pulled on the reins so Cloudy would slow, the horse continued to follow Alana’s lead, galloping wildly down the dirt road. He held on tightly, trying to ignore the constant pain. Eohan lost the concept of time as the forest slurred into an unending green and brown blur until he was blinded by a blue sea.
The horses cantered through the sandy tideline northwards until they reached a beach village with a long dock. At the end of the dock was a large Expanse-faring ship.
Eohan held back the dark memories of the slave hold which crept up his throat as he examined the boat from bow to aft. The forecastle, ending in a large bowsprit, was covered with gun boxes, and Muirchlaimhte was written in gold leaf on the port side. Its rounded-off iron-clad wooden hull held three decks leading to a large aftcastle.
A stately woman in a long coat, directed the sailors and longshore packers surrounding her. He glanced at her ears half hidden by her long black plaits, rather than three points like Fairsinge ears, her ears flowed into a single point. A Daosith. Gods don’t let her be a slaver…
“She is our transportation.” Alana dismounted Talia. “Nyauail!” The women embraced and kissed each other’s cheeks.
Once the women parted, the captain shouted over her shoulder. “Nalla!” Without taking a breath, she said some strange words of welcome to Roark.
Roark bowed his head in greeting and replied with his golden mannerisms. Eohan knew he had been introduced once he heard his name. He bowed. When he raised his head, he saw the most beautiful Daosith girl running towards them. Her black plaits bounced over her long blue coat. Her mahogany face was set in a bright smile. Her skin’s only flaw was the scar across her left cheek; it made her all the more beautiful. He tried to cover his rags with Alana’s too small cloak.
Alana embraced the girl.
“You’re staring.” Roark elbowed Eohan in the ribs as he stepped forward to take Nalla’s hands.
Eohan’s shoulder muscles tensed. He knew he shouldn’t feel jealous by Roark and Nalla’s familiar embrace; Roark didn’t even like girls.
“Nalla, this is Eohan,” Roark said in the language of the Daosith. Or at least that’s what Eohan assumed Roark said in context. Eohan wished he had Roark’s eloquence and gift for language. He didn’t even know how to say hello in Daosith. He bowed his head but didn’t let go of the cloak hiding his rags.
After the greetings, Nalla clicked her tongue at the horses and led them aboard to the lower deck of the ship. Another sailor escorted them up the gangplank and down a small flight of sternward stairs into the large Guild cabin. A built-in table and benches were to the stern below the windows. The port wall was lined with built-in sea chests and bunks covered in comfortable looking ticking. The bow held another door. Inside was a chamber pot.
Outside, there was a bustle of activity until three sharp whistles pierced the air.
Minutes later, darkness enveloped the ship.
Muirchlaimhte dove through a luminous halo. It glided across liquid light which danced in every color. Eohan found no words to express the splendor. Pink and yellow clouds slipped across the sky; the Expanse sparkled. Far in the distance, the soft outline of a distant shore hid in the vapor.
A wrinkled peg-legged Daosith woman carried a tray of apples, oranges, grapes, yellow cheese, and crusty bread, which she set on a larger tray that unfolded from the hull. “Your horses are being washed and inspected for good health, my lady.”
She hobbled out, moments later returning with a large tub. Nalla and a young man each carried buckets of water but didn’t tarry.
Above, the captain shouted something; sailors echoed the command through the ship. Eohan looked out the porthole at the swirling colors as the Daosith steward helped Alana undress.
“Another new injury?” the old woman asked. “You must be more careful, Lady; your body is a temple.”
“But, Lillia, who would you fuss over if I wasn’t wounded?”
Eohan saw Alana’s reflection step into the hot water. For her fretting, the steward chatted brightly with the lady as she scrubbed her with an astringent-smelling soap from head to toe.
Once clean, Lillia helped her out and bandaged her arm. She rubbed cream into the lady’s flesh, dressed her in clean clothes, oiled and braided her wet hair.
“I’ll call for more hot water, Apprentice Roark.”
The old steward rang a bell. Two more sailors brought in more buckets. Lillia took as much care with Roark’s appearance as she had with Alana’s.
Eohan hated he did not understand the rotation of the Realms and the binding forces within the Expanse that allowed ships to move from one world to the next having nothing to do with the hours one lived. He heard of such things, but could barely believe he was experiencing them. In the slave ship, he saw no colors, no light, no stars, only the interior of the hold.
The ship sailed upon an ocean of stars. Ahead was a yellow sun with two little white ones spinning around it. “Fairhdel? When will we be there?”
“Not for another three hours or so. Apprentice Eohan, time for your bath,” Lillia said as more buckets appeared.
He didn’t tell either the steward or his master he had never taken a hot bath before. At home, they bathed in a cool creek outside their village. On the slave ship, the sailors threw buckets of salt water upon them.
The deck shifted under Eohan’s feet as the ship sped faster among the lights. Lillia helped him undress. “I’m not…”
“You are an apprentice of the Guild, even if you are
all out in the Expanse.” The old Daosith continued to unlace his ripped tunic. “I’m paid to serve the Guild.”
Eohan found the caress of the warm soapy water agreeable. Lillia’s callused hands reminded him of his mother’s gentle touch. His heart cracked for his loss, but he forced himself not to cry in front of the old steward, his new master, or other apprentice.
He sank lower in the tub when Nalla entered with a scroll in hand. His cheeks felt hot with embarrassment.
“A sturdy boy like you shouldn’t be so shy.” The old Daosith ran soap up his arm.
Eohan wished he could sink into the water.
“Captain must speak to you, Lady War Ender.” Nalla handed Alana a large, sealed scroll and left without looking towards him.
Once groomed and dressed in a Guild traveling tunic — simpler than Roark’s, but sewn just as fine — Eohan followed Lillia to the main deck. When they boarded, the deck was open, but now panes of glass enclosed the ship as if it were a glass honeycomb similar to the slave ship. The thought made him sick, but the crew moved around him without resentment. Captain Nyauail shouted orders, but then the orders were repeated in a shout. Sweat-stained tunics exposed the difficulty of the work, but the crew seemed content.
Lillia winked and pointed to Nalla’s back who sat upon the deck with three other young sailors patching a sail.
Eohan approached her. “Hello, how are you doing?”
In a bubbly voice, Nalla pointed out an imminent weather system that would affect both the tidal liquid and air currents of the next Realm. “It might get a little rocky. I hope you don’t get Expanse sick.”
“I’ll be alright.”
She looked him up and down. “You look smart in Guild black and green. Why do you journey with Lady Alana?”
“She saved me…” Eohan dragged his sweating palms down his tunic front. He could not think of exactly what to say to her or the other crew members who watched them.
“She saves numerous people; they don’t all follow her.”
“I need money, so I can save my brother one day. He’s enslaved. My ma…she’s gone. My pa was...lost.”
“Oh, I’m sorry.” Nalla’s callused hand squeezed his. Her dark eyes filled with sorrow. Her lovely face was so expressive.
Hoping to see her smile again but unable to think of anything clever, he asked, “What’s it like to work on the Expanse?”
*
In the aft corner of the Captain’s mess, Alana sat so close to Nyauail that her leg brushed against the captain’s. The threadbare cushions covering the hard cedar benches only added to her aging body’s discomfort.
“That boy…” Nyauail hissed.
“Should I have left him there on the beach?” Alana whispered back, keeping her voice low so as not to be heard by the crew. Not wishing to offend her friend, she refused to do a habitual scan for nearby assets or weapons. A friend was one of the best assets a person could have anyway. “Roark needs a friend, I’ve foreseen it.”
“Just be more careful,” Nyauail whispered. “Daouail made an official complaint to the Guild. Everyone is talking about it. And I can’t say I agree with burning a ship — any ship.”
“I already killed the crew. Who’s everyone?”
“Kajsa and Doriel --which means Seweryn must know about it too.”
“Hardly everyone. We’re ending a war together next month. As long as I keep Seweryn in employment, he’s loyal.”
“Don’t wave this off. Corwin has crucified those who flaunt guild law. As he enters his dotage, he has become more zealous about making the Guild respectable again.”
“How so?” Cloaking her fear with movement, Alana stood, paced the deck, sat on the sea chest across the room, stood and sat again.
“Seweryn was saying Corwin wants every noble Fairsinge and Daosith family to send their third born out into the Realms and join the Guild — not just the small Great houses who can ill afford to have their Martlet’s idle. He will not welcome a commoner to the ranks.”
Alana did not doubt these words. Corwin had come to detest the Guild traditions toward commoners. “Even if every third-born entered the Greater Realms, they won’t all join the Guild. We will never be respectable. Besides, to end wars, we need to be hated and feared. Common blood works just as well as noble blood for that.”
“You’re preaching to the converted.”
Doubt of her quick reflexes and mental abilities washed over Alana. “Am I among friends?”
“Don’t be stupid.” Nyauail crossed her arms and leaned back against the inner hull.
“Then I have a favor … for Eohan. If in your travels, you hear of a slave boy sold in Denwort….”
“Do you know how many slaves are sold in Denwort?”
“A boy of ten. With strawberry blonde hair, but hazel eyes like his brother. His given name is Kian, son of Aedell the Sausagemaker.” She removed the ledger page from her pouch. “He’s one of twelve who were sold.”
Nyauail sighed. “Give me that before you’re caught with evidence of your crime. I do not promise anything.”
Alana passed the piece of the ledger which Nyauail hid in her coat.
“I have a daughter to think about, you know.”
“If you find him, I’ll do everything by the law,” Alana promised but regretted her words. She shouldn’t have to respect laws so despicable.
*
Chapter 5
Guild House of Olentir in the Realm of Fairhdel
Roark followed his aunt in the land of painted hills and three suns — though, from this angle, he could only see the largest one with any clarity. The other two were blurry pinpricks of light orbiting the first.
From the docks, no intelligent life was visible, only hillsides covered in tiny pink flowers and a herd of long-haired black deer. The stag lifted his head to look at the Fairsinge who approached by foot. His antlers gleamed gold in the morning sun. Two fawns frolicked under their mothers’ watchful eyes, but otherwise, the herd consumed the new grasses and flowers, ignoring them.
“Why aren’t the dubfeid running away?” Eohan asked.
“They’re wild but protected by the Guild. They are used to small groups of people on the hillsides,” Alana said. “As long as we walk at an even pace and keep our weapons sheathed, they take no heed, still, be mindful of the fawns.”
Seeing the unasked questions on Eohan’s face, Roark said, “Their bleat can be heard for miles, so they make a good alarm. And the Guild harvesters collect the hair from their winter coats for the weave.”
Alana led the way around three curving knolls to a keep built into a rocky hillside of amber-colored granite. The unbroken spires of the keep appeared smoothly carved rock, however within tiny unseen holes, the guard watched for approaching violence. The stone’s warmth radiated towards Roark, as they passed through the first gate. It felt good to be home. The home where he could be himself, not House Eyreid where he must follow the rules of court.
The party was welcomed by the guards as they walked past a large cloister built out of the same tawny granite. Roark told Eohan, “Every guild house supports a community of lay people: shepherds, cooks, brewers, weavers, and the like.” He pointed out storerooms, commissary, latrine and other important locations.
Four large stone-carved hooded beings held an archway. Alana cupped her hand slightly in front of her chest and made a sweeping gesture before a hooded figure who saluted in kind and opened a door.
Every footstep seemed muffled, though they trod upon stone pavers. They walked down a long, red hallway with black doors and stained-glass windows at the end of it. The bright lights danced.
Alana knocked upon a door. They entered a windowless cell where the only light originated from a hole in the ceiling that illuminated a solid wooden table in the middle of the room.
A tall bearded Fairsinge in white linen emerged out of the darkness. His pale, deep wrinkles revealed centuries of sneering.
“House Master Corwin,” Alana bent her
head at the slightest of inclines.
Roark knelt. He was glad Eohan followed his example.
Alana moved towards the table. She opened the tarred sacks to show him the dismembered right hands. “Proof as requested for the job at sea. I am pleased to announce Apprentice Roark completed the Taenhel job alone.”
Corwin replied with an indistinct sound.
“We bring the Guild its tribute, Master Corwin.” Alana set a box of jewels upon the table. Roark rose and offered two knives collected off the highwaymen at Taenhel.
Corwin’s flabby wrists were thin with age, but it did not stop the quickness by which his long, manicured fingers measured each jewel, coin and blade which he recorded on a long, thin parchment. Roark felt the house master’s eyes upon Eohan.
“And the boy?” he asked.
“Is my newest apprentice,” his aunt said with ice in her voice.
Corwin’s piercing black eyes did not leave the other boy. “Is he anything else? One of the slaves from that ship?”
“What ship?”
“The one you set aflame,” Corwin said.
“A lamp spilled. There is a reason every sailor fears fire,” Alana said.
Corwin remained focused on the boy. “Is he to be bound?”
Roark felt his spine tighten. Eohan had no station or relatives to protect him.
During his own binding five years prior, Corwin called his mother a whore. Furious, Roark had shouted at him, “My mother is a Doyenne.” Corwin had slapped him twice for speaking out of turn. Alana stopped the third blow with the promise to cut off Corwin’s hands if he touched Roark again.
Corwin had let him go, but his next words sent chills down Roark’s spine. “I do what I will to apprentices. Any apprentice. Even yours.”
Alana had laughed but without joy. “I’d hate to see our Great Houses fall into chaos because of a difference of opinion between two Martlets. Or is your vow to your House of no importance to you?” she had said.
The War Enders Apprentice (Chronicles of the Martlet Book 1) Page 4
