by Ashley Capes
The first mate rasped his own laugh. “Well, I’m impressed that you dealt with one of them creatures and the white witch.”
“Maybe ‘placated’ is a better word,” Notch said. “I doubt anything that happened back there was contrary to her plans. How did you fare?”
“Made it back to the ship with most o’ what we wanted. One of those things caught up with us but lucky for us that giant of yours cut it near to pieces.”
Relief rippled through him. Luck holds. “So no-one was hurt?”
“Well, the big guy took a nasty gash to the arm but he’s holding up.”
They’d nearly reached the ship. A few faces lined the rails, one of which belonged to Melosi, who was grinning down at them. “Didn’t think we’d see you again, Notch.”
“Thanks for staying.”
“We’d nearly given up, but we thought at least one circuit round the island couldn’t hurt.”
Gappilo manoeuvred the longboat near the ladder and held the boat steady while Notch climbed. Once on deck, he was greeted with a little cheer. Some of the men now regarded him with a touch of awe. Misplaced, but welcome compared to the more uncertain looks he’d earned when, at times, he’d been too drunk to stand. Now, he no longer felt the urge to seek the bottle – the guilt and self-recrimination hadn’t faded, but the white witch had obviously done something good.
Would anyone notice the bite marks in the dim light?
“How is Alosus?”
“Well enough. Why don’t you go and see him then take some rest?” Melosi turned to his men. “Let’s get my Hawk back on the path – there’s a fortune waiting at the other side.”
Notch passed Tersi while heading below, nodding to the younger man. By the state of his clothing, the Storm Singer looked to have dressed in haste, but his expression was one of determination. Was he pushing himself too hard? Perhaps a word with Melosi wouldn’t hurt.
Notch found Alosus resting in his modified hammock, his entire forearm bandaged. He did not appear to be in pain at least. “Notch, it is good to see you alive and well,” he said.
“Alive but I do not know how well.” He gestured to his neck. “This is from the white witch – I suspect she is not quite finished with us.”
Alosus frowned. “You think she means us harm?”
“More that she wants to be able to use me again. Not that I know how. She’s obviously powerful enough not to bother.”
“All power is finite; there’s always a cost.”
“I suppose.” He fought off a yawn. “How long until we reach the coast now?”
“Four weeks, as before,” Alosus said, his voice calm.
Now Notch sighed as he leant against the door. “That doesn’t bother you?”
“Each day is a day closer to finding Yolanda and Mane.”
“I see.” And so it was for Sofia. Each moment took the Hawk closer to Ecsoli and the hope of answers. He would not abandon her as her own father had. But Alosus needed help too; Notch had given his word and he meant to keep it. “What will our first move be, when we land?”
“We’ve discussed this, can you not recall?”
Notch frowned. Much of the trip was a haze, admittedly. They had to convince whatever harbour master awaited them that lenasi and their seedlings – along with various other goods that Melosi bore – were worth trading, and also that Alosus was an important figure. But after that? “Not enough.”
Alosus leant forward, his serious expression deepening. “You will not survive in the Land of the Sun if you cannot keep your wits about you. You will not be able to help me or Sofia, Notch.”
“I know.” Notch had to look away. Gods, how quickly he’d slipped back into old habits, wallowing in fire-lemon beneath a dark cloud. But that had changed now; he would not waste the white witch’s unintended gift. He met the Tonitora’s gaze. “Not another drop.”
“Good,” Alosus said with a nod. He leant back. “I need to find Vinezi’s trail. He claimed to have my family and unfortunately, that most likely means contacting the palace.”
Vague pieces of one of their prior conversations were returning. “And Vinezi’s father, the king, is he senile? Marinus and the other children were squabbling over the throne?”
“And probably still are. However, something may have changed since news of Marinus’ death has no doubt arrived before us. There is another possibility.” He paused, and his expression darkened. “The Slavers of the Pine Coast. Vinezi may have sold my family before he left – and if so, I will tear those scum apart.”
5. Flir
“Perhaps you should just tell us why you’ve really returned, Flir?”
The man folded his arms in the lamplight. His grey, fur-lined uniform stretched across his shoulders as if he had grown into it a little too swiftly. And maybe he had; the lieutenant would have been little more than a boy when she’d left Renovar. A cold draft found its way into the damp basement somehow; welcome home. It didn’t bother her body so much as represent disappointment, a stark reminder of the lingering grip of winter which seemed to last an extra three months here.
Chains rattled when Flir lifted her arms into her lap, leaning back in the chair, which creaked. It wasn’t the chains that kept her – or Kanis – compliant, but the dozen crossbow bolts trained upon them that had the desired effect.
“I’m surprised anyone remembers me here.”
The lieutenant chuckled. “Very droll. Your exploits – the both of you – are indeed well-remembered, if not fondly so.”
“I imagine that makes it difficult to think of us as diplomats then,” Kanis said with a grin.
The soldier did not smile. “Sent by King Oseto of Anaskar.”
Flir linked her hands behind her head, the steel cold against her neck. “Yes. He sent us to reopen relations with the Conclave, which I understand were not precisely rosy, even before the recent attack by certain Renovar ships, ships that the king understands were acting independently of the Conclave. It is an act of good faith that he sent us, not of subterfuge.” Not subterfuge so long as she didn’t count Seto’s instructions to search for the bones of any long-forgotten Sea Beasts, too. Sofia’s sacrifice had drained every piece of bone in Anaskar ‒ all save Argeon ‒ and Seto wasn’t willing to leave the city unprotected if even a rumour of bone existed elsewhere.
It didn’t help that neither Flir nor Kanis could think of a single site in all of Renovar that might hold such bounty. Nor that the Renovar Lieutenant seemed unlikely to believe in the legitimacy of their visit.
“And you have some official documents perhaps, to corroborate your story? Surely your king sent you with something… anything possessing a seal at least.”
“If it weren’t for the pirates –” Kanis began but the man held up his hand and Kanis fell silent.
“Ah, yes. Silly of me to forget. The pirates – they ransacked your envoy ship and that’s why you two and your servant were wandering the coast off Whiteport. Not because you had more underhanded motives for returning home?”
“Exactly,” Kanis said.
Flir nodded. She glanced to the heavy oaken door. Was Pevin still alive? He’d been feverish, his skin searing to the touch…
The lieutenant glanced at one of his men. The soldier, an older fellow with greying hair, shrugged. “Stranger things have turned out to be true, Tikev.”
“But you’re not inclined to believe them.”
“Not at the present, sir.”
Flir sighed. “This is quite the farce, isn’t it? I mean, there’s clearly nothing we can offer that you’ll accept as proof so I’d appreciate it if you gave up the questioning and either put us on a horse for Enar and the Conclave or put us in your cells so we can break out of them and be on our way already.”
Lieutenant Tikev raised an eyebrow. “That’s very… bold of you.”
“Am I wrong?”
Now he chuckled. “Perhaps not. Very well – you’ll visit the governor’s cells but remember that anything you try will end quite badly for your se
rvant.”
“He’s worthless to us,” Kanis said.
But the lieutenant had already locked eyes with Flir; she’d given away everything he needed to know without opening her mouth. “I doubt that,” Tikev replied before gesturing to the door. “So, if you’d like to lead the way, I’ll show you to your cells. And not too quickly mind, my men have their orders.”
***
Flir walked the ice-crusted road between low-buildings, the setting sun doing little to warm the quiet streets of Whiteport. The echo of waves and gulls were drowned by wind here, this high upon the hill. Yet when they turned into a narrower street the chill eased, soaked up by the stones. Icicles hung from the eaves like frosty dagger blades overhead.
“Not much of a spring, is it?” Kanis said pleasantly.
“Do you really want to talk about the weather?”
“Well, unlike some, I think talking escape details in front of our captors to be in poor taste.” Kanis rubbed at his little finger as he walked, something Flir noticed him doing more and more lately. Ever since the Ecsoli woman placed her bone within.
One of their guards grunted. “Shut up, freak.”
Flir added her own glare but Kanis only grinned. Damn fool. “Save it, Kanis.”
Flickering light appeared on the walls at the street’s end, glinting in the windows. A man stepped from a building ahead, heading toward the light. A Fire Market; Flir almost smiled. How long since she’d seen one. She caught the sharp scent of ginger and pepper mingling on reindeer skewers.
Her first taste had been as a child. Visiting Whiteport from her village to the west. Mishalar, what had it been called? She’d been so young, her father’s hand like that of a giant and her mother’s smile so bright...
Flir frowned; it was as if the loss were brand new once again.
Had returning been a mistake?
A huge bonfire dominated the market square, lined by braziers with echoing flames. The light almost rivalled the setting sun and the warmth it sent out banished the cold as Flir and her guards neared. Men and women were already milling about the stalls, smiles on their faces as they gossiped and haggled over everything from furs and food to imported fire-lemon or medicines, pouches of the ice-plant with their waxed drawstrings easy to spot and familiar, so familiar.
“Pevin would have liked this,” she said softly. Seeing as he was barely conscious in the back of some cart, he’d certainly miss it.
Kanis did not answer, preoccupied with his hand. The white and blue robes of an Ice-Priest splashed with orange firelight caught Flir’s eye. The man was paying for liquor, triangular pieces of silver in his gloved hands. The tender was replaced with regular rounded coin and then the man slipped into the growing crowds. A new currency?
“Kanis, I just saw an Ice-Priest using strange new coins.”
“Conclave introduced it well over a year ago now.”
“Why?” she said, glancing back toward the stalls as the market started to fade.
“Something about needing a stronger currency to maintain national identity. I didn’t pay much attention.”
“Of course.” Change wasn’t necessarily bad… she shrugged. There were more important things to worry about; chief among them being how to convince the Governor of Whiteport that they were actually envoys and not spies, as Tikev suspected.
The governor’s manor was a dark giant against the sky, its walls climbing to an impressive height – doubled since she’d last been to Whiteport. The guards on the gate rushed the lieutenant through and along the broad path between well-tended gardens, the shaped blue-fir looming in lantern-light. Within the building they were escorted through marbled halls to a large reception room where a single man stood before floor-to-ceiling windows, staring into the night sky.
“Lord Mildavir?” The diminutive seneschal approached his master, lowering his voice when he reached the governor, whose name and bearing seemed familiar. Something about the man’s close-cut hair, the way he stood with hands clasped behind his back.
“Very well,” the governor said after a moment, turning to face the newcomers.
Lieutenant Tikev went to one knee. “My lord, two dilar were found ashore earlier today. They claim to be shipwrecked envoys from King Oseto of Anaskar.”
Mildavir frowned, his frog-like face becoming sinister. Recognition was clear in his eyes. “Do they indeed?”
Flir exchanged a glance with Kanis and she reassessed their list of problems. Staying alive was suddenly a much bigger concern than convincing the governor to hear Seto’s messages of goodwill – the man who stood before them was one of the surviving cousins of the royal family they’d accidently displaced from the throne all those years past.
‘Accidently’ to hear Kanis tell it, anyway.
“How delightful to see you both once more,” Mildavir said.
6. Flir
Mildavir leant over to whisper something to his seneschal, who dashed off down a corridor, before beaming across at Flir and Kanis. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting a moment?”
“For what?” Kanis asked, his tone wary. Flir didn’t blame him; what was the governor up to?
The frog licked his lips. “It won’t take long.”
“I don’t remember you being this theatrical,” Flir said.
The governor did not respond, he only moved to Lieutenant Tikev, again speaking too softly to be heard. Flir frowned at Kanis, who was glaring at Mildavir. Footsteps echoed along the hall and the seneschal returned, arms laden with an oiled cloth, which he arranged before Flir and Kanis.
“Please stand upon this.”
“Why?” Kanis demanded.
Mildavir waved at Tikev and his second. Each held a crossbow, gleaming steel arms raised. Tikev faced Flir and the other man stood across from Kanis. Tikev’s jaw was clenched and his subordinate gripped the stock of his weapon so hard that his knuckles were white.
“Time for a little test.”
Flir still hadn’t taken a step. “Test what, exactly?”
“I’m going to find out if you’re truly dilar as you claim.”
“Come closer and let me show you, Lord Governor,” Kanis said.
Mildavir smiled again, his wide mouth revealing teeth. “Surely you’re not afraid? If you are telling the truth we all know you will survive. And someone will shoot you, no matter what you attempt; whether you attack, simply stand still or step onto the cloth as instructed. For incentive, know that your fate is the same no matter what you choose – but if you choose to make a mess on my marble, your servant will also be given the dilar test,” Mildavir paused. “Think he’ll pass it?”
Flir stepped onto the treated material and glared at the governor. The bastard knew exactly who they were; this was revenge for what happened to the old king; he’d been a very real chance at succession. But if there was a chance it would protect Pevin, she had to take it.
The problem was figuring out how to escape afterwards. And just maybe how to do it after wringing Mildavir’s neck first. So much for diplomacy.
Kanis spat but stepped forward. “Let’s hope our positions aren’t one day reversed.”
Mildavir narrowed his eyes but did not retort, instead, he snapped an order to his men. “Shoot at will.”
But both hesitated. Did they doubt the stories about dilar? It seemed unlikely. Dilar were rare but she and Kanis were hardly the only two in Renovar.
Kanis nodded to his soldier and Flir looked to Tikev. “No hard feelings.”
“What are you waiting for?” Mildavir screeched.
The men fired.
Pain exploded in her shoulder. She dropped to one knee, vision swimming. Warm blood ran down her tunic but she rose without a sound. Tikev’s eyes were wide and his crossbow hung from his hands. Poor fellow. Flir checked on Kanis. He’d taken his bolt in the thigh; blood ran down his pant leg – and it looked like he hadn’t stumbled. Wonderful. Flir shook her head – he’d probably try to trot out that ridiculous claim that he was stronger all over agai
n. She reached up and snapped the bolt free before raising an eyebrow to Mildavir.
“Satisfied?” Her body was already starting to heal itself; the pain lessening slightly – though only slightly. Agony still coursed through her.
The man was no longer smiling; he’d obviously wanted a better display of pain. “Not even close.”
“Then let’s see what else you have in store,” Kanis returned.
Mildavir snapped his fingers. “Put them in the cells. Kill the other one if they resist.”
And that was that.
***
Her cell was typically cold and dark. Straw and a filthy blanket. Stone walls, no window, no bars, just a serious-looking steel door. Nothing that she couldn’t break through in time – if it weren’t for the drug they’d given her, and the fact that Pevin’s life depended on her compliance. If he was still alive.
Until she knew for sure, that meant she couldn’t take a risk.
And that was even if the lethargy from the drug wore off before... Mishalar! Her bravado and anger had masked an increasingly dire situation. “We’re a pair of stubborn fools,” she called.
“I’m happy to accept one of those.” The stone wall muffled Kanis’ reply.
“So what are we going to do about it?”
“You want me to come up with an escape plan?”
“Yes, I do.”
“While you take a nap or something, I suppose?”
“I hope that’s not your plan.”
Barely audible muttering followed. She shifted her limbs as best she could where she leant against the chill stone. No brilliant ideas came to mind. If they were to be fed, that would get the door open without drawing attention but where was Pevin? How could she find him while drugged? If Mildavir planned more torture she might be able to take him hostage, but would it be enough to prevent Pevin being misused as a bargaining chip? Or Kanis for that matter? Healing quickly wasn’t the same as Godhood – if the governor tried, he could likely kill them.
“Flir?” Kanis’ voice was weary. “I have nothing. They’ve given us sapper and it’s a strong dose, Pevin will die if we try. We’re in trouble.”
