The sailboat eased into a slip. Jendara and Hazan tied down everything on board and gathered their things, then waited for Fambra on the dock.
Fambra hugged Sven. "I'll be back soon. Keep your mother out of trouble and stay close to the harbor. With any luck, we'll be leading a dozen ships out of this port, and we want to impress them when we leave." She kissed him long and hard, then pulled back to stroke his cheek.
Sven grinned. "Make Jorgen stop by here before we go. Man owes me a bottle of aquavit after that last poker game."
Laughing as she went, Fambra led Hazan and Jendara through the docks. Halgrim's harbor wasn't half the size of Magnimar's, but the docks were crowded with sailors and fisherfolk, wholesale agents looking for cargo, and even the occasional meandering landlubber, hoping for transport to the mainland. Jendara kept a sharp eye out for pickpockets.
Fambra wove in and out of the crowd with ease. She grinned back over her shoulder. "Hope you're keeping up okay."
Jendara stepped out of the path of a cart loaded with tuna. "I'm surprised to see you doing so well. I wouldn't have pegged you for a city girl."
"I've spent my share of time in the city. Because of Jorgen, I visit every few months."
"Just because of your cousin?" Jendara raised an eyebrow. She couldn't help remembering the surprising speed of Fambra's fishing boat.
Fambra winked. "Sometimes trade brings me here, as well."
They reached a flight of stairs connecting this part of the marina to the real city streets of Halgrim. The sounds of trade and chatter fell behind them as they climbed. At the top, a few carriages rumbled past on the cobblestone streets. The stone houses looked down on them, their gray-painted shutters like lowered eyebrows.
"Got to love the older part of town," Hazan muttered. "So inviting."
"You're familiar with Halgrim?" Jendara asked.
"Grew up here," he said. "Well, on a farm outside the city. Moved here to work in the shipyards once I looked old enough to pass as an apprentice."
Fambra gave him a glance. "Didn't stick with it, did you?"
He shrugged. "Not to my liking." He gestured up the street. "Anyway, lived here long enough to know this street ought to take us to the castle."
"I need to find my cousin," Fambra reminded them.
"We can split up," Jendara said. "You go to your cousin and explain what's going on. Hazan can take me to the palace and see if we can get an audience with the king."
"Not a bad idea," Hazan agreed.
"All right. We can meet up back at our boat, hopefully with good news for all." Fambra clapped Jendara's shoulder, then Hazan's. "May the lady of fortune smile upon you!"
Jendara waved at the red-haired woman, then turned to Hazan. "Let's go, before I realize I have to face nobility."
He laughed and they hurried onward through the narrow streets, which climbed sharply up from the harbor. Halgrim's buildings clung to the steep flanks of the hills, the streets beginning at the very front doors. Jendara missed the neat gardens of the cottages on Sorind and the comforting green of thatched roofs. She couldn't imagine living in this gray city.
Then the hills sloped downward again and Hazan led her over a stone bridge. "This is an island," he explained. "The Rustflow breaks in two to go around it."
Jendara nodded in acknowledgment. Here the houses were even more tightly packed together. She studied them a moment and gave up trying to place their age. She didn't know enough about stone and architecture to make even an educated guess. Hazan led her across a second bridge without an announcement, although the stonework looked finer and more ornate.
He pointed ahead. "We're almost there."
A city square interrupted the regularity of the street scheme, great flagstones replacing the cobbles. Jendara stopped to take the measure of the building at its head.
"The palace," he explained.
He needn't have. There were larger palaces in the world, even in the Lands of the Linnorm Kings, but White Estrid's palace stood out from Halgrim's houses like a peacock amid chickens. For one, it was easily many times bigger than the cramped gray buildings around it. For another, someone clever had added colored stonework around all the windows and doors, giving the white granite palace a hint of a town meeting hall. That hint was helped by the steeply pitched roof and the dragon jutting out from the roof projection. Though Jendara had never seen the king's dragon—or the king herself—she'd bet a galleon full of gold that the sculpture depicted Boiltongue, the linnorm White Estrid had defeated and enslaved to prove herself worthy of the throne, rather than slaying one as the other Linnorm Kings had. A subtle reminder to any visiting kings that Estrid's gender was the least of the differences between them.
Jendara grinned. She'd always admired Estrid, and while her palace might not be the humble painted timber of a village meeting hall, it struck the right tone. Over the great door, the king's white-and-blue pennant snapped in the breeze.
A guard in a white tunic with blue sash clicked his heels, catching her attention.
Jendara hurried up the stairs. "I seek an audience with White Estrid. It concerns an enemy of our people. Sir."
"All citizens are allowed entrance to this palace, but your weapons must stay with me." The guard indicated a stand already occupied by a sword belt and a lance.
Jendara undid her belt and slipped off her sword scabbard and belt knife. The guard took them and placed them gently on the stand.
Jendara took a step forward, but the guard blocked her way.
"Your axe?"
Jendara's hand fell to her axe. She had almost forgotten its presence at her side—it was a part of her. She bit her lip as she released it from her belt. She hadn't gone without knife or an axe since she was a child. She felt naked.
He gave a little cough. "It will be perfectly fine with me."
Hazan caught Jendara's eye. "I'll stay out here, too," he said. "I have a feeling someone as dirty as me doesn't belong past those doors." He gave a wry smile. "Don't worry, I won't leave the guard's sight."
She ignored his jibe and stepped inside. The door closed behind her with a solemn whump. Jendara stood on the threshold a moment, letting her eyes adjust. The main entrance hall had been designed to mimic the meeting halls of Estrid's people, just as the building's exterior. Dark woods swallowed the little light entering from the clerestory windows, and flames filled a long central hearth.
"You look lost, stranger."
At the far end of the fire pit, someone sat at a little desk. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated a gray beard and not much else. Jendara's hand moved to her belt to touch the reassuring bulk of her handaxe and touched nothing.
Her boots tapped on marble flooring as she approached the desk, a subtle reminder of the power of the crown: there were no marble quarries on the archipelago that she knew of. That flooring must have cost a fortune.
Jendara's shoulders straightened. "I am Jendara Eriksdottir of Clan Eirkillsing, lately of Sorind. And I wish to address the king to secure aid in a matter of grave import." Her voice sounded small in the vast hall. Very likely it was meant to.
The man turned a page on a book opened across his desk. "What sort of matter?"
Jendara was better used to the darkness now. She looked around herself a moment, seeing the great staircases flanking the hall and the massive unlit chandeliers hanging overhead. What she could make out of the desk beside the fireplace looked very fine, with ornate carvings along its legs and sides. She studied the man at the desk. He wasn't a large man, but she noted the set of his broad shoulders and the way he kept his free hand at the ready on the edge of his desk. He might hold a pen in his other, but this man was no mere secretary or clerk. She knew a warrior when she saw one.
"I come on behalf of the people of Sorind and Flintyreach. Our islands have been attacked by outsiders," she said, leaning closer. "They have a strange kind of magic that threatens all the archipelago."
The man turned back the page he'd just turned, tapping the
paper with his pen. Jendara could see a grid of boxes and notes and realized she was looking at a calendar, each hour of the day parceled off into its scheduled activities. Today's page was already covered with ink.
"Jendara Eriksdottir," he mused.
"Yes." She waited for more questions. He should ask her for details, for the name of her clan chief or someone to vouch for her. He must need to know a great deal of those petitioning the crown.
"Her Highness is not on Battlewall today." He ticked off something on the paper. "But her steward is available this hour. I will arrange for a meeting."
"Steward?"
"The man in charge of the castle and state affairs while Her Highness is unavailable."
"I know what a steward is. I just...can he help us?"
"He is authorized to." The man smiled. A scar wrinkled the skin on his cheek, tugging up the heavy beard. "I knew your father. A good man." He reached out for the small hand bell perched beside the lamp, and gave it a sharp shake. A boy appeared at his elbow.
"Take this woman to the small meeting room and return to me," the man ordered.
The boy nodded and turned toward the left-hand staircase. Jendara had to hurry to keep up with him, and yet his feet made no noise on the great flagstones. She thought of Kran then. When he ran through the cottage, the whole house shuddered.
She reached again for her axe handle and settled for squeezing her hands into fists. While she was here studying the fine floors and luxurious fireplaces, her son was in danger.
At the top of the stairs, her footsteps turned hushed. Here fine-grade whale oil lamps lit the hall to afternoon brightness, illuminating an expanse of glossy paneling and thick carpets in Estrid's blue. The boy opened a door Jendara hadn't even noticed. She ran her fingers along its beveled edge.
"I'll have tea brought up, ma'am," the boy said. "There's schnapps on the mantel, if you'd like."
Jendara stepped inside the meeting room. "No, no, tea will be fine." She turned a slow circle, studying the space.
"The tea will be here shortly, ma'am," the boy said.
She hardly noticed his exit. The meeting room had absorbed her entirely. High above, a cunningly lit fresco—no doubt magic was involved—showed a map of the Ironbound Archipelago on a robin's-egg-blue sea, the large islands outlined in gold leaf, the small in copper. Her eyes traveled automatically to Sorind, then Crow's Nest below it, tiny copper-edged things. It seemed impossible anyone could concern themselves with such small places.
Jendara's knee knocked against the sturdy back of a leather-covered armchair. She stroked it, recognizing the fine grain and suppleness of the hide. No musty pelts like the stuff in Kalira's tents; this was the kind of work master tanners like Morul spent hours upon. A blanket lay casually across its back, its blues and greens and red reminiscent of the Dagfridrung clan flag.
Frowning, she looked around the room again. There, a soapstone carving of a wolf. There, a tapestry of a ship at sea, its figurehead a sharp-beaked eagle. There, a shield emblazoned with a crow's silhouette.
Clan totems. She sank into the armchair. So many clan totems. Her father had taught her the names and colors of dozens of clans, but she'd driven it all out of her head the day she'd smashed their own soapstone token. She wondered if White Estrid and her steward knew them all.
The door opened. Jendara jumped to her feet. A tall man entered, his face unreadable. He scanned Jendara from head to filthy boots and then studied her face a long uncomfortable moment.
"Good day, sir," she managed to say. Nerves made her throat tight. He had to be the steward. The freshness of his black doublet, with its subtle blue and white piping, suggested his importance, as did the silver work on the knife in his belt. The fact that he even carried a knife in this place was a warning of his power.
This was the man who held the fate of the islands in his well-manicured hands.
"Jendara Eriksdottir," he said in slow, measured tones.
"Yes, sir. I'm here to request your aid." She hesitated, then dove in, explaining Kalira's power, her people's sick appetites, her growing army of skinwalkers. His expression did not change as she spoke. His gray eyes stayed on her face, cold and hard as the marble floors downstairs.
Jendara pushed onward. "So I believe the best way to stop these cannibals is to organize a major force and strike hard, now. We need your help, sir."
The steward joined his hands behind his back and began to circle the room, his face thoughtful. "Cannibals. Kalvamen, coming south to invade us. Kalvamen with the power to transform into animals."
Jendara set her jaw. "They make skinwalkers, sir. Not truly animals, but men in animal form."
He shot her a tight smile. "Of course. Thank you for correcting me."
She watched him pause before the small fireplace. She had forgotten the schnapps on the mantle, but now the steward reached for the glass decanter and extended it to her. "Schnapps?"
She shook her head. He put the bottle back on the shelf and brushed an invisible bit of dust off its side.
"Serving as the steward of this land is not an easy task. There are so many requests for assistance, and there are only so many available resources. Our patrols have hundreds of miles of coastline to protect. Right now, I've sent our patrols on a mission I'm not at liberty to discuss. Unfortunately, they're combing southern waters right now and aren't available for diversion."
"Aren't available?" His words made perfect sense, but Jendara couldn't believe there was no one to help them.
"They should be back in about a week and a half," he answered, his tone utterly bland. She thought she might even see a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"You don't believe me, do you?" She shook her head, stunned by the notion. "How can you think I'm making this up?"
His mouth stopped hinting at a smile and became a full-fledged smirk. "I could say it's because your story is so incredible, but that would a lie. I don't believe you, Jendara Eriksdottir, because I know who you are."
He took a step forward. "You see, my sister married a Chelish merchant. A hard man, he had developed a very successful shipping business."
Jendara folded her arms across her chest, unsure where he was going with this tale.
"For some reason, a pirate named Ikran the Bloody decided to target my brother-in-law's ships in particular. He and his vicious crew captured ship after ship, burning and pillaging every vessel until my brother-in-law went bankrupt and killed himself. And do you know what happened to my sister?"
Jendara couldn't answer.
"She sank to a life of crime. She finally made her way back to me and these islands with her virtue and her health ruined. She lives with me now and can't even leave the house. You did that."
"I'm not asking you to help me!" Jendara blurted. "I'm asking for the people of Sorind."
"I don't believe you." He took a deep breath. He was shaking. "You're here for your own purposes, of course. You want me to send our Iron Shields and patrols of seasoned soldiers up to your little islands to leave Halgrim undefended. Then you can bring your ship and probably the ships of half a dozen other scum-pirates and backwater raiders into this city and pillage it, just like you've pillaged so many little towns. Well, not on my watch."
"You son of a bitch. You're going to risk the lives of every islander—"
"What do you care about the islands and their people? You turned away from them." The steward shook his head. "Erik Eriksson was a great man. It's a mercy he didn't live to see what his daughter became."
Jendara's fist whipped out. A crack resounded, and the steward staggered backward, clutching his face. Hissing, Jendara shook out her hand. She'd broken something—his nose, she'd bet, by the crimson leaking out of his fingers.
"Are you all right?"
"Get out!" he bellowed. "Guards!"
The door burst open and strong hands grabbed Jendara's shoulders. She kicked and shrieked, but nothing loosened the guards' grip. They wrestled her down the servants' staircase
and flung her out the back door.
She landed in a trash heap, knocking her head against a rock. She sat up, rubbing her temple. She thought about getting up, but flopped back against the mounds of rubbish. The pungent stink of night waste assaulted her nose.
"Shit."
She closed her eyes. What he'd said was all true. How many men and women had she killed as a pirate, and how many lives had she ruined? She'd stopped worshiping Besmara, she'd changed her profession, but she couldn't put her past behind her. And now it had just ruined her best chance to help her people.
"I heard a ruckus."
She opened her eyes to behold Hazan's inquisitive face. "I bring out the best in people," she explained.
He held up her sword. "I reclaimed your weapons. The guard was more than happy to be rid of them."
"You should have gone in with me. You could have had schnapps." It was a poor attempt at humor, but it restored a little of her dignity.
"I like schnapps. But from the looks of things, I was safer out here." He tapped his nose. "You've got ash on your nose. And green stuff in your hair."
She sighed and brushed off the worst of the filth. "Let's get back to the harbor. Maybe Fambra's had some luck with her cousin."
"You know, I don't set much store in kings and officials. We're islanders. We take care of ourselves," Hazan helped Jendara out of the trash heap and started toward the harbor. "We just need to muster the right kind of manpower."
Jendara looked back over her shoulder at the palace. It still looked like a village meeting hall made large. Perhaps the open minds of Sorind's villagers had spoiled her, but she had expected more from the people inside that palace. She had expected someone who saw the big picture, written in the colors of all the islands.
She remembered the map of the islands and hoped her little copper-edged one was safe.
paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas
Pathfinder Tales: Skinwalkers Page 17
