by Deborah Hale
The hillcat rubbed its head against Gull’s cheek. He reached up to pet it, but his gaze never left Rath’s. “Do not flatter yourself that I let you see all I may or may not know.”
Perhaps the time had come for Rath to try a little flattery. “It does not take a clever man to guess that the first must far outweigh the last, Captain.”
Gull chuckled. “Believe it, inlander. A man like me does not survive in this town unless he is well armed with the right knowledge.”
“Then you must have heard rumors of a revolt at the Beastmount Mine. A successful revolt.”
“Amazing if it is true.”
“It is true.” Rath could not keep a ring of triumph from his voice. “And it was amazing.”
Feeling the hold on his arms loosen, he tugged them free, but made no rash move to draw his weapons. “I led those men and now the lass and I have been summoned to the Vestan Islands. If you cannot take us, let us go so we may seek passage elsewhere.”
Gull took some time to reach his decision... or to announce it, at least. While everyone stood waiting, he sauntered around the room, petting the cat and feeding it small scraps of what looked like raw fish from a heaping platter on the table.
At last, when Rath had prepared himself for another casual death order, Gull looked up at him and Maura as if wondering what they were still doing there. “Lucky for you the summer Ore Fleet has already sailed with its cargo of metal back to Dun Derhan. Otherwise nothing could persuade me to venture those waters.”
He directed his next words at the tattooed fellow standing behind Rath. “Don’t just stand there, Nax, find our guests food and a place to sleep.”
“You will accept my hospitality, I hope?” he asked Rath and Maura. “We will need to be on our way very early tomorrow.”
Before Rath could reply, Maura spoke up, “You honor us with your kindness, Captain. May the Giver’s favor fall upon you.”
Gull accepted her blessing with a wry smirk and an exaggerated bow.
Rath guessed the man did not risk his life keeping open links between the Embrian mainland and the Islands out of duty to the Giver. Likewise, his offer of food and shelter was an act of caution, not kindness. If they were spies, Gull would not give them a chance to steal away and tell the local garrison about the forbidden voyage he had agreed to make.
Rath suspected Maura knew it too. But since they had no money and knew no one in Duskport, even a smuggler’s hospitality beat sleeping out in the fog. Perhaps destiny was taking care of them after all.
The man called Nax led them through a maze of narrow hallways and up two flights of stairs to a snug, windowless room. The latter did not sit well with Rath, who preferred open spaces and always liked to have an avenue of escape. But he hid his misgivings from Maura, who seemed pleased enough with Captain Gull’s “hospitality.”
“Luxury!” She threw herself down onto the thick straw mattress in one corner of the room. She sniffed. “The straw’s clean too, strewn with honeygrass and pestweed.”
Rath forced a smile and nodded. The most comfortable cage in the world was still a cage.
“There’s plenty of room for us both.” She patted the mattress.
“A good thing,” he teased. “I would feel bad making you sleep on bare floor.”
The door opened and Nax entered bearing a well-laden tray. “I hope you’re hungry. There’s plenty here.”
Maura scrambled up from the mattress. “This looks like a feast for twice our number! Give Captain Gull our thanks for his generosity.”
“Very good, mistress.” The large, menacing smuggler sounded so meek, Rath could scarcely keep from chuckling. “If there’s anything more you need—anything at all—just give a call.”
That cordial invitation did not reassure Rath. It only confirmed his certainty that one of Gull’s men would be standing guard outside the door.
Nax set the tray down on a low table in the opposite corner of the room from the mattress. Once he had gone, Maura pounced on the food.
“Hold a moment!” Rath grabbed her hand on its way to her mouth bearing a biscuit of some kind. “How do you know that’s not poisoned?”
“Don’t be daft.” Maura jerked her hand free and took a bite before he could stop her. “If Captain Gull decided to have us killed, he had no need to go to all this bother. He could just have let his first order stand.”
“Or his second,” Rath muttered. How could she talk about threats of cold murder as if they were trifles?
“Just so.” Maura swallowed her first bite and took another. “It would make no sense for him to pretend he was going to take us to the Vestan Islands, then waste perfectly good food by using it to poison us.”
She stared at her left hand, which was still clenched in a tight fist. “I had better wash off this madfern, though, or I could do myself worse harm than our host means us.”
Her tone reminded Rath of the gentle scoldings he used to get from Ganny when he was a young fellow. Maura was probably right. Somehow, when it came to her safety, caution got the better of his good sense.
He picked up a fried patty of some kind and gave it a suspicious sniff. “Smells all right.”
Maura shook her head and chuckled as she washed her hands in a small basin beside the bed. “I’m certain this food is no more poisoned than the barleymush I fed you the night I brought you to Langbard’s cottage.”
How foolish it seemed, looking back, for him to have suspected her and her kindly wizard guardian of treachery.
“That was different,” Rath growled, taking a nibble of the patty, which turned out to be a toothsome mixture of fish and vegetables. “I had no good reason to mistrust you, except that the Han had made me suspicious of all magic users. Placing your trust in a fellow like Gull is a quick way to get yourself killed. You mark me.”
He’d only meant to take the one tiny bite then wait to see if it made him ill. Now Rath looked down at his hand to find he’d wolfed the whole patty.
“I mark you very well.” Maura stole up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek to his back. “I did not trust you, in the beginning, any more than you trusted me, remember? I was certain you would murder Langbard and me in our sleep on the road to Prum. As it turned out, I could not have been more wrong. So if I have become less wary of dangerous-looking men, you have only yourself to blame.”
Bad enough she was right. Did she have to remind him he was the rogue who’d taught her this dangerous lack of caution?
He echoed what he had said to her after she’d tricked him into eating that barleymush. “Oh well, if the food is poisoned and the room a trap, we are done for anyway. Might as well die with a full belly and a decent sleep.”
A loud banging jolted Maura from the warm haven of sleep in Rath’s arms to the baffling fright of impenetrable darkness and hard limbs thrashing around her.
Then a blessed sliver of light appeared and a deep, hoarse voice called, “Time to rise! Sea-going folk cannot afford to loll in bed till all hours, like inlanders.”
Rath’s thrashing stilled. He must have remembered where they were, as Maura had.
Someone—Nax by the sound of his voice—thrust a lit candle into the room and set it down on the table.
“Take these.” He tossed a soft, bulky bundle onto the mattress. “And make ready to go as quick as you can.”
Despite the need for haste, Rath gathered Maura into a swift embrace. “I didn’t do you any harm just now, did I?”
When she assured him she had only been frightened by their abrupt summons in the darkness, Rath cursed. “I hate not knowing where I am when I waken. It does not happen to me often, but when it does, it gives me a wicked fright and makes me lash out at whoever is nearest at hand.”
He pressed a kiss on her brow, “I entreat your pardon.”
“It is yours, now and ever.” She clung to him an instant longer then turned to peel open the bundle.
“A change of clothes for us.” Rath grabbed
a shirt that appeared to be his size and pulled it on. “So we do not look quite so much like inlanders.”
Maura picked up the smaller of two pair of breeches. “And I do not look so much like a woman. How do you put these on?”
With Rath’s help, she dressed in boy’s garments then hid her braided hair beneath a cloth cap. Not knowing if they would be given any breakfast, they ate some of the food left over from the previous night.
“At least now we can be certain it is not poisoned,” Maura teased Rath as he gobbled up several cold fish patties.
He replied with a menacing growl that only made Maura laugh. Then he lifted the candle and looked her over with a critical stare. “If we meet up with anyone who might cause trouble, keep behind me. You won’t fool anybody who looks too close.”
He began to gather their clothes into a bundle, when another knock sounded on the door and Nax pushed it open without waiting for an invitation. “You ready?”
“We are.” Rath tucked their bundle of clothes under his arm and bid Maura bring the candle.
“Hold on.” Nax pointed toward Rath’s scabbard. “You’ll have to leave that behind and the clothes too.”
As the first sounds of protest left Rath’s mouth, the man nodded toward Maura’s sash. “And that. Off with ’em.”
“Damned if I will go unarmed!” cried Rath.
Maura dug a pinch of spider silk from its pouch. She had been stripped of her sash once by an enemy, and she had no intention of being rendered so vulnerable again.
“Captain Gull don’t care whether you’re armed,” said Nax, “so long as the weapon’s not metal or you will damn us all!”
The way the two men glared at each other, Maura feared they would soon trade blows unless someone stopped them. Fighting her ingrained instinct to flee or hide from conflict, she pushed herself into the middle of their quarrel. “Metal will damn you all? What does that mean? My companion’s blades have been tempered of mortcraft, I promise you.”
“Your pardon, mistress.” Nax shook his head. “But tempered is not good enough.” He glared at Rath over Maura’s shoulder.
“Not good enough for what?” she persisted. “Forgive our ignorance—we are inlanders, as you know.”
He should know, for he had reminded them of it often enough in a tone that proclaimed his contempt. Did all coast folk in Embria look down on inlanders? Maura wondered. The way people from the Hitherland considered all Dusk Coasters smugglers and pirates? And folk in Norest poked fun at Tarshites for their rustic speech and manners? Before Embrians could hope to throw off the yoke of the Han, they would need to forget such prejudices and come together.
“You do not know?” A look of doubt softened Nax’s fierce countenance. Had he thought Rath opposed his order out of arrogance or stubbornness?
Maura shook her head.
“It’s the Islands, see?” Nax explained. “Do you not know why the Han haven’t overrun them along with the rest of the kingdom?”
“I have heard the waters are treacherous,” said Maura, “and the Han are not the best of sailors.”
“The Islands have nothing the Han want,” snapped Rath. “If they were riddled with metal and gems like the Blood Moon Mountains, they would have fallen to the Han long ago.”
Maura stabbed backward with her elbow and made forceful contact with some part of Rath. She loved the man to the depths of her heart, but that did not mean he had lost his power to try her patience.
She directed an apologetic smile at the fierce-looking smuggler in front of her. “Is there more keeping the Han from the Islands than those things?”
“Aye. The waters around the Islands have a powerful warding spell upon them. They sense the presence of metal, and when any comes too near, they swallow it up. After losing a few ships, the Han had sense enough to give the Islands a wide berth.”
“Of course,” Maura whispered, wondering why the idea had never occurred to her before.
“Then how are we to reach the Islands without being swallowed up by the sea?” asked Rath. “Does Captain Gull have a ship that is held together with string?”
Maura turned to skewer him with a look. This sort of bravado had worked last night to win the smugglers’ cooperation. Now a little courtesy would take them farther.
Suddenly, from behind her, she heard Captain Gull’s voice. “You may soon see how my ship is held together, inlander, if you have wit enough to leave behind your blades and other metal. If you will, then come. You have wasted too much time in talk.”
Spinning around to face him, Maura saw no sign of the colorful character who had ordered their deaths last night. Instead, only a gray-bearded old man stood beside Nax, clad in tattered garments that looked to have been woven with a waterproofing spell. Her heart went out to him, for his back was pitifully bent with a cruel hump deforming one shoulder.
As she watched, the hump seemed to swell and ripple. Maura’s gorge rose.
Then Rath let out a burst of scornful laughter. “That disguise won’t fool anyone, Gull, unless you keep that cat of yours from moving about.”
Maura chided herself for not seeing through the ruse.
The smuggler performed a mocking bow. “Do not fret, inlander. The wharf guards are so used to seeing me shuffle past, they would not notice if Abri turned tumbles under my coat. I’m more uneasy about sneaking your wench past them. It’ll take more than a pair of breeches to make her look like a proper boy.”
He flashed her a smile that might have been meant to look admiring. His false beard and several blackened teeth quite spoiled the effect.
Rath brought his hands to rest on Maura’s shoulders. “I’ve already told her to stay behind me.”
“Do not fret about me!” Though Maura knew he only meant to watch out for her, sometimes Rath’s intense protectiveness vexed her. “If I dose myself with enough hundredflower, the wharf guards will pay me no more attention than the garrison at Windleford used to.”
“Hundredflower?” murmured Gull. “You’re an enchantress?”
Maura nodded and patted her sash. “Which is why I cannot surrender this. You have my word it contains no metal. But now that we understand about the warding spells around the Islands, my companion will gladly surrender his weapons.”
“Not gladly,” Rath muttered under his breath.
But Maura heard him ungird his scabbard and hurl it onto the mattress. Then he stabbed his knife deep into the wood of the doorjamb. It occurred to her how defenseless he must feel surrendering his weapons.
“You will be glad,” she assured him, “when we do not drown in the Sea of Twilight.”
“Come, inlanders—” Captain Gull started down the hall “—or we will never get to sea this morning!”
Maura grabbed Rath’s hand and followed. A quiver of excitement gripped her belly. To think she would soon be sailing upon the great ocean!
Once the small fishing boat pushed away from the wharf, Rath felt as though he could breathe properly again, without iron bands of dread tightening around his chest. Passing under the scrutiny of the Hanish wharf guards without even the tiniest knife to protect himself and Maura was one of the hardest tests of nerves he’d ever undergone.
For a moment, he’d glimpsed a flicker of heightened interest in the eyes of one of the guards, perhaps seeing through Maura’s hundredflower spell to pick out a pair of unfamiliar faces among the regulars. When the guard approached, Rath had tensed, preparing for the worst.
But before the Han could challenge him, a scuffle had broken out in another part of the wharf, distracting the guard long enough for Rath and Maura to slip past and board a boat with Gull, Nax and another man.
“Stay to the back,” Gull muttered. “Make like you’re tending to the nets. Keep your heads down until we’re out of sight of the shore.”
He climbed up into the prow of the boat and detached the loop of rope that held it to the wharf pilings. Nax and the other fellow had taken their places on a wide bench in the middle of
the craft and commenced to wield a pair of broad oars in strong, rhythmic strokes.
“Where are we bound for?” asked Rath as they drifted out into the foggy darkness, the lights of the wharf growing dim behind them. Off in the mist, he could hear the dip and splash of other oars, and above them, the screech of seafowl.
“We aren’t rowing all the way to the Vestan Islands in this, are we?”
Though he had heard plenty of tales about the Islands, he did not have a clear idea how far off the western coast of Embria they lay.
“Inlanders!” Gull let out a hoot of mocking laughter as he peeled off his false beard of brushed fleece. “This poor little dory would not last more than a mile or two off the coast, which is why the Han will not let us fish in anything bigger.”
He did not offer any further explanation, but continued to remove his disguise.
Rath glanced sidelong at Maura. Did she guess whatever Gull was not telling them?
She only shrugged and murmured, “We will find out soon enough, I suppose.”
True, but Rath did not like surprises. What would he do in Gull’s place, to get around the Hanish edicts that bound sea-goers so tight to the coast?
By the time he had come up with a couple of possibilities, the fog did not seem quite as thick as when they’d pulled away from the wharf. Behind them, dawn had begun to light the sky for another day.
“Ease off, lads,” Gull ordered his oarsmen, peering into the mist. “We’re getting close.”
True to his word, a large, dark shape reared up out of the fog before them. Someone called out a challenge, to which Gull bellowed back an answer, neither of which Rath understood. They sounded a bit like the Old Embrian language, twara, of which Maura had taught him a few words.
Now he understood what was happening and reckoned himself a fool for not guessing earlier. “They must keep a sea ship anchored in some hidden cove,” he whispered to Maura, “then they sail the little fishing boats out to meet it.”
Gull made a sound between a chuckle and grunt. “You’re clever enough... for an inlander. The Han still haven’t figured it out after all these years. Mind you, we keep the local garrison busy enough that the officers aren’t eager to stay on the Dusk Coast a day longer than they have to. Before they guess our little scheme, they’re back to Venard or over the mountains where the locals don’t give quite so much trouble.”
