by Kirby Crow
13.
Into the North
The Rshani ship arrived sometime in the night. It was the calls from shipboard to shore that woke him: deep, boisterous voices shouting back and forth in Sinha, the language of Rshan. For a moment, Liall thought he was still dreaming of home, and then he recalled the last few days. He opened his eyes to search for Scarlet. The pedlar was asleep on the bed, one hand curled against his chest and breathing softly. Liall got up carefully, mindful of his many aches, and began to take down the dried clothing from the pegs. Scarlet slept like a cat, quiet and still, but lightly enough so that Liall's small movements woke him.
Scarlet blinked and looked around the musty room. “Liall? How do you feel?"
"I will live,” he said, his back turned. “Don't concern yourself. Northmen heal very quickly."
"Well, I don't,” he said as he stretched his arms over his head and yawned. “I think they must stuff the mattress with rocks hereabouts. That must be the single worst bed I've ever slept on."
"You must have not have slept in many beds during your travels."
Scarlet smiled ruefully and combed his black hair off his forehead with his fingers, clawing it into place. “I didn't. The ground was good enough for me, barring snow or wet. Beds cost money, even this one."
Liall knelt to push his rumpled cloak into one of the packs and tied it closed, dusting his hands off as he stood. He bit back a groan as his muscles screamed protest, resigning himself to a slow but steady healing. At least the bruises would not stand out on his amber skin and he was not maimed or disfigured in any way.
"Hard to believe they can get away with charging for such as that,” Liall said, “but it was worth it to be out of sight for the evening.” He reached with both hands to rub a very sore spot on the small of his back. “Word has probably spread among the bravos that there's a fat bounty to be had."
Scarlet paused in the middle of slipping his boots on. “You'd better leave soon, then. When does your ship arrive?"
Liall noticed that Scarlet's socks were darned and worn paper thin at the toes, and he was glad he had stowed several gold doges—thick coins stamped with the vine of the Flower Prince—in Scarlet's pack as he slept. He pointed. “You mean that ship through yon window?"
Scarlet turned his head to see the brigantine. He made a little sound of awe at the size of it. It was a large ship. It had to be, to weather such a long and hazardous crossing.
"Just look at it,” Scarlet whispered. “I've never seen a vessel so large, not ever. Look at all the sails! How many crewmen does she carry? What about—"
Liall held up his hand to stem the flow of words. “Those are the least of my concerns. The bravos will have staked out the dock by now."
Scarlet chewed his lip as he stared at the square-rigged ship and the great white sails. “What do we do?"
"We?"
"It's obvious you no longer have the time to help me find another path, as you put it, so I might as well help you."
"But what will you do? How will you live?” Liall fought off a surge of anxiety. By his own words, he was preparing to leave Scarlet to fate. What right did he have to begin questioning him now?
Scarlet waved that off. “Don't fret. I've been making my own way since I was fourteen."
"Scarlet."
"I'll be fine. Honest."
Liall saw the shine in his liquid eyes and the determined set of his mouth, and he realized that a final parting was upon him. “You're a curse on me, you fool of pedlar. You must be."
"Funny. I thought the same thing about you, once."
Against all sense and reason, Liall crossed the room to kneel at Scarlet's feet, startling him.
"I've dreamed about you many times since we met,” he confessed. Scarlet's black eyebrows rose. Liall smiled. “And yes, some of those dreams do not bear repeating in polite company, which you most certainly are.” Liall reached and cupped the pedlar's face, and Scarlet dipped his chin and brushed his cheek against Liall's palm, his eyes closing.
"I know thee,” Liall whispered urgently. It felt like all of his heart was pouring out into these few short words, yearning hungrily toward Scarlet like a flower does toward the sun; a primal, natural hunger that would now never be consummated. “I've known you forever. You have not been absent from my thoughts for one hour since we met. Something in you calls out to me, demanding an answer, but I do not know how to respond."
Scarlet exhaled, his warm breath rushing against Liall's palm. He reached up to press Liall's hand closer to his skin. “And I've dreamed of you. I think I've been looking for you all of my life, and now you're leaving again."
Liall could not speak. From the quay, the sound of a ship's bell rang out, and Scarlet opened his eyes. Liall forced himself to pull away.
"We must go."
* * * *
Captain Qixa was an Rshani commoner who had a passing acquaintance with a few nobles in Rshan, enough to recognize that the man who sat before him was no merchant down on his luck or a traveling dandy with affected manners. Liall bought Qixa a drink in a dank, wood-paneled taberna that was lit by swinging yellow lamps made from ships’ wheels. The crown of Qixa's head, bald as an eagle's egg, gleamed dully in the light. He was less tall than most Rshani, but had a broader chest and a longer reach. These traits bruited of his northern blood, the people of the Ged Fanorl.
Qixa downed the liquor—red imbuo and raw enough to peel skin from a man's throat—in one gulp and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He nodded at Liall and ignored Scarlet, who sat close to Liall's elbow.
"You have heard a rumor,” Liall judged, watching for Qixa's reaction. Yes. “A passenger waiting to take ship from this port. A very certain passenger.” He leaned forward over the sticky, grimed table and watched how the captain's eyes drifted up to note the pure white color of his hair and his stone-hard features. If Qixa had any knowledge at all of certain families in Rshan, he would recognize the resemblance.
Liall raised his hand to show him the sapphire and platinum ring on his finger. “You see what I am,” he said, deftly switching his Sinha dialect to match the hard northern burr in Qixa's, and the captain's chin lifted.
"I wish to take passage on your good ship. I will pay well,” Liall concluded.
Qixa waved that aside as if it were nothing, though Liall knew he would accept the silver. “You are welcome to a good cabin on the Ostre Sul, noble ser. Food, too, we have, but, ap kyning, forgive me, if I defy the harbormaster or tangle with his bullies, I'll never be allowed to dock at Volkovoi again, and it's the last supply port in Khet before the sea."
Qixa was speaking of the bravos who had positioned themselves at the quay where the brigantine had made anchorage. He was risking much to help Liall.
"I will get past the bravos. You need only agree to carry me. I will remember your loyalty,” he added.
Qixa slapped his hand on the table and stood. “Done. We leave in one hour. I will set a watch on the foredeck to keep an eye for you, but do not keep us waiting."
"One hour,” Liall confirmed.
Qixa left them. He had not glanced at Scarlet once.
The hour passed too quickly. Liall had no time to come up with a workable plan and did not think it safe to hire thugs to take on the leather-armored men who lounged by the quay, waiting for a specific bruised, white-haired Rshani to show. Most of the thugs would be in tight with the bravos, or even related to them. He would find no help there.
There were eight bravos on the wharf: two by a wrecked loading platform that teetered precariously high over the water, and six more nearest the gangway to the ship. They sharply eyed each dockworker and pedestrian who came near their post, their heavy faces grim with determination.
"What are we going to do?” Scarlet hissed.
The rain had stopped and they were concealed between the wall of a crumbling factory and a stack of tar-soaked lumber twice as high as a man. From their vantage point, Liall could see the lookout on the forecastle, a blond mariner
, tall and young and clearly of pure Rshani blood. The lookout's sharp eyes swept the docks, not too blatantly, and careful not to appear conspicuous.
"Peace, let me think,” Liall growled.
Qixa appeared on the deck. He sent the docks a misgiving look and pointedly turned the hourglass near the wheel. As if signaled, the crew began to ready the sails to break harbor.
"Liall,” Scarlet plucked his sleeve urgently, “they're going to leave without you."
"I'm thinking!” he snapped. Yes, Liall, think.
Scarlet waited another minute. The crew scurried faster, and then he blew his breath out in a huff and slung his pack at Liall.
"What—"
"Don't lose any of my things,” Scarlet ordered. He took some heavier items out of his pockets: a flint and steel, a compass, and the two long-knives from his belt. When he would have ducked into the open street, Liall grabbed his arm and swung him around.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"You do intend to get on that ship don't you? Well, don't you?"
"Yes!"
"Then let me go."
He had no choice. In another minute the mariners would pull the gangway up and he would have to swim for it. He released Scarlet, who tossed him an easy grin.
"Don't worry. Just get aboard as soon as the way is clear."
"You're going to clear the dock of bravos on your own?"
"Looks like it."
He sighed, admiring in spite of his exasperation. “Scarlet, one back-alley brawl against men armed with clubs does not make you a warrior."
"No, but I'm not going to fight them, or not if I do this right."
"Gods grant me patience; you're going to give me a seizure!"
"You don't have time for that. Wait ‘til after you're on the ship, eh?"
He gaped as Scarlet smoothly stepped into the foot traffic and made his way down the docks, to the quay where the Ostre Sul was anchored, stopping in open sight of the bravos, one of whom bore a plastered bandage on his flattened nose. They noticed him at once. How not, in that red coat? Scarlet stood with his hands on his hips and waved sunnily, then called out to them, his voice carrying over the hubbub of the wharf.
"Aye, it's me, ugly one. How's the nose?"
And that was it. The bravo with the plastered nose roared and tore after Scarlet, swinging his club. The remaining five bravos by the gangway dropped everything and followed and the two by the teetering platform tried to duck around and flank Scarlet, who stood almost lazily in the middle of the street. Scarlet waited until the six men moved fully away from the Ostre Sul's gangway and the other two bravos began closing in on him, and like a shot from a cannon, he was off.
Never had Liall seen anyone run so fast or so well, but then he had never seen a pedlar who walks for a living decide to stop walking and fly.
Scarlet was a deer fleeing the archer, a rabbit let loose in a market with the butcher on his heels. He turned and raced back up the docks, away from the brigantine, dodging pedestrians, leaping over anything that was in his way, seeming to flow through the press of people like water down a drainpipe. A ninth bravo, coming down the street purely by accident, almost ran headlong into Scarlet. He saw his fellows hard on Scarlet's trail and made a grab for him. Scarlet easily danced out of his range and took a turn down a long alley that led into another street running away from the docks, and as neat as that, Liall had a clear path.
Liall moved down the quay in a daze, hearing the crashing and shouts of the bravos on the parallel street as they pursued their quarry. His path to the ship was open and he took it, straight down the quay and up the wooden gangway, which the mariners pulled up after him at once. Qixa's face was urgent and angry. He barked orders at the crew and they cast off from the dock. The ship began to pull away from land, slow as sap in winter.
Liall went straight to the stern, dropped his packs to the deck. He leaned over the bulward to scan the docks, searching the crowd anxiously for a flash of red. Scarlet suddenly emerged from the small crowd, who had gathered in a knot on the wharf, running fast, the tails of his long coat flying behind him. One bravo blocked his way. He ducked the swinging club and shoved out with his arm, unbalancing the thug, who fell flat on his rump.
As Liall watched, Scarlet leapt over a pile of wooden crates and kept running. It looked like he was headed straight for the water. Was he going to swim? Liall turned his head to shout for ropes in case they were needed, and then Scarlet suddenly swerved and dodged to the right.
Oh, he would not...
He would. Scarlet took the rotted steps of the derelict loading platform two at a time, his feet barely touching the wood, and raced across the sagging planks that jutted high over the waterline, straight toward the slow-moving brigantine. Putting on a last burst of speed when he hit the top of the platform, he kept running until there was open space under one foot and wood under another, and pushed off. Scarlet leapt over the open water between the dock and the ship and crashed onto the deck, landing on his hands and knees and rolling to absorb some of the shock. The impact knocked the breath out of him and he lay there panting until Liall got over the shock and helped him to stand.
None of the crew had moved to their aid.
The bravos were gesturing angrily and screaming at the brigantine to come back, waving their clubs. Captain Qixa called back to them in Sinha, knowing they would not understand, but shrugging his shoulders and spreading his hands in a helpless gesture that said plainly; what could I do?
Scarlet was clutching his heaving sides and gasping, tired but proud of himself.
"I've never seen anything like that,” Liall said truthfully, very awed at his skill.
Scarlet grinned. “Did you like it?"
"Yes, it was very brave.” He sighed wearily, and some of the shining triumph sloughed off Scarlet. “But you cannot come with me."
"And you can't send me back to the port, they'll hang me."
"What?” Liall grabbed Scarlet's arm, his heart accelerating again. “Why would they do that? Certainly not for breaking a bravo's nose."
"I killed Cadan. I didn't want to but there it is, and the army knows it was me."
Liall's shoulders sagged. Fool! he raged inwardly. Oh lad, what have you done?
From the corner of his eye, Liall saw the Rshani crew begin to draw closer to them. Captain Qixa squared up to Liall, his quartermaster and the young man who had served as a lookout behind him. Slowly, Liall sensed the blanket of hostility folding around them, and he wondered at its cause, thinking for a moment that he had made a bad mistake in boarding the Ostre Sul. Then he saw their pale, hard eyes fixed on Scarlet and knew what was wrong.
"This was not part of our bargain,” Qixa snarled in Sinha, jabbing a finger at Scarlet, who naturally did not understand a word of it.
Qixa was right. He had never asked permission to bring Scarlet on board, because he had never intended to. Yet, even if he had, it was doubtful he would have sought Qixa's consent. He could be that proud and used to getting his way. “Perhaps not,” he allowed. “It is now."
"No! We do not carry lenilyn on this ship!"
Qixa used the old Sinha word for foreigner: lenilyn, which in some nuances could mean non-person, or even animal. Liall glanced pointedly around him at the shabby condition of the deck, the tarred ropes that were rat-gnawed, the smell of bilge and the gull droppings on the planks. “But you do evidently carry rats and lice."
"Better than lenilyn,” the lookout reckoned. He wore his long hair vainly flowing around his shoulders, and he eyed Scarlet meanly before spitting into the scuppers. In another moment there would be violence. Liall forcibly kept his hand away from his knives and locked eyes with Qixa.
"This Byzan is not to be touched."
"Perhaps if he were not Hilurin, we could have made some arrangement,” Qixa said in a conciliatory tone. “You understand, ap kyning? I regret, but it must be this way."
Qixa snapped his fingers and the crew hemmed them in closer, sixteen
Rshani on the near deck and another fifty elsewhere on the ship, at least. Liall had no hope of fighting them all off.
He pushed Scarlet behind him with one arm and backed up to the bulward. Scarlet had gone quiet and watchful as a mouse, seeing only that they were in trouble and not knowing why, but wise enough to keep his mouth shut. In another moment, Qixa would order the crew to throw Scarlet overboard and—hell!—he was not even sure he could swim. Even if he could, there were the bravos on the docks, still within sight of the departing ship, who would be waiting for him.
The young mariner started forward and Liall gave him a cold stare. “You will not,” he said, his voice low and lethal. “You dare not.” His heartbeat had slowed and he was as calm as if sleeping soundly under a friendly sky. The weights of his Morturii knives were warm and reassuringly heavy where they touched his thighs. They would not lay hands on Scarlet.
It confused the mariner, one man against many who showed no fear and was confident he would be obeyed. Liall continued to look at Qixa as thunder rolled out of the sky and the ship tacked northeast into a gray horizon. A light, misty rain began drifting down.
"It belongs to me. My property,” Liall said in Sinha, hoping that the rude claim of ownership would reach him where subtler arguments could not. “I give you the word of a Camira Druz that it will cause no trouble."
Qixa did not like it, but he backed down. Perhaps he simply did not want to be the man responsible for killing him. Gods knew there were enough waiting in line to do that once they made landfall in Rshan.
Qixa barked new orders and the crew dispersed with much grumbling. Liall relaxed and spat over the side to clear the sour taste from his mouth, his long hands trembling.
"What was that all about?” Scarlet inquired coolly.
He shrugged. “Nothing,” he lied. “They're unaccustomed to transporting foreigners on board, an old taboo. I gave my word to keep you in line."
"Me?” Scarlet eyed the fair-haired Rshani crew, their large size and the belligerent glares they cast at him. “Who's going to keep them in line?"
