Treason's Shore

by Sherwood Smith

  “I would never do that to you,” Thog was stung into exclaiming.

  Inda sighed. “I know you’ve got your loyalties. We all do. All I’m saying is, for this mission, I need to know what you’ve got, what I can expect in battle. Nothing else.”

  Thog pressed her thin fingers to her face, then turned. “These ships. Are all we’ve got.” Her whisper was so low Inda almost did not hear her.

  “I understand that’s your command,” Inda said impatiently.

  Thog took a step nearer. He could hear her breathing, see how her fingers trembled. “You don’t understand, Inda. This is our navy. All of it.”

  The storm had shifted to cold north winds and clattering, roaring bombardments of hail when Inda clambered aboard the Death, soaked and shivering, his teeth chattering, his left fingers dug into his right shoulder.

  Fox waved the wand that transferred heat magic over the bath and pointed silently to the alcove.

  Inda left a trail of icy clothes that Fox picked up. When Fox poked his head into the bath alcove, Inda’s blue lips had warmed to a plum color.

  “You were with the Chwahir?” Fox restrained his impatience. “Did you tell Thog that they’re even slower than they were at Jaro? What’s Thog’s problem?”

  As he spoke, Fox felt the tap of the scroll-case against his leg. He slid his hand into his pocket, but just held the case: it could only be Barend, pestering them yet again for soundings.

  Inda rubbed soap into his scalp, then ducked below the surface. When he splashed up again, he said, “What I’m about to say can’t go beyond you.”

  Fox shut the cabin door, snapped the scuttles shut, then came back as Inda surged out of the bath, groping for his towel. His muffled voice emerged, “We have every fighting ship they’ve got.”

  Fox snapped his fingers. “We’ve been running the wrong dog all along, if she’s telling the truth. If that’s true, then why this years-long war with Khanerenth, which comes down to their refusal to recognize the Khanerenth change of government?”

  Inda paused in the act of toweling his hair. “Because they dared not risk acknowledging a king after a violent revolution when they’ve been having the same problems.”

  “Civil war?”

  “Bad one, Thog says. And I believe it, because everyone at home knows there’s nothing worse than Marlovan fighting Marlovan.”

  Fox uttered a bitter laugh.

  “We don’t know how many of their own ships they’ve destroyed in fighting each other, but we don’t need to. Thog’s got her holds crammed with warriors, so if the Venn do their dismast and raid, they can spring out and fight to take over the Venn ships. That’s their secret orders, to board and take wounded Venn ships. The older admirals, lacking ships, are all back on land, organizing the entire country for defense if the Venn do break us and invade.”

  “And they will invade,” Fox said. “The best canvas and cordage in the world comes from the Chwahir.”

  “So I’ll train the Chwahir to maneuver, and everyone can laugh at their slowness. But when the time comes, our fast ships go in front to harry, and the Chwahir are our dragoons, to dismount and fight hand-to-hand when the Venn try to take ships. We’ll let the Chwahir take them.”

  “Done.” Fox flicked the scroll-case open and moved toward the mirror chart. Barend’s frequent demands for position sightings had become an irritation. What did he think they were doing, playing with the map all day?

  Inda had expected the same, so he was not surprised by Fox’s frown. But when Fox snapped the paper closer to his eyes, and then moved to the nearest and strongest light to reread it with his nose almost on the letters, Inda impatiently yanked on his dry clothes. “What? What?”

  Fox held out the paper, his eyes wide and sea-green in the bright light. “Barend’s here. At Boruin’s old lair east o’ Danai. And he’s got the entire Delfin Islands fleet with him, a hundred strong.”

  “Yip—” Inda clapped both hands over his mouth, his face reddening.

  Fox laughed softly. “He wants to know if they should join up now, and start maneuvering with us.”

  “No. No! Don’t you see? That’s our feint! There are so many, we might even fool the Venn into thinking we’re the feint. The Venn see all those Delfs in a line, led by the Knife, one of their own ships?”

  “Shit,” Fox exclaimed. “You’re right.”

  “Unless our spy ventures south and spots ’em. I can’t believe a hundred ships got down the coast without being noticed. I mean, I see why Barend wanted soundings so often—they must have sailed hull down off the coast . . . but . . .” Inda realized he was babbling, and sprang to the map.

  Fox was already there. “The spy is in the same place, somewhere that way.” He lifted his chin to the northwest. “I wonder if he’s getting ready to break for their lines. Probably under cover of a storm.”

  “Give me paper.” Inda flung himself onto the chair.

  Barend: stay put. Practice combing, then breaking into threes. We are standing on and off just east of The Fangs, which will break their arrowhead for us. If we get any southing on that wind, you’re going to be our surprise attack. Then when they shift, we’ll hit them on the flank.

  “Did you do exactly as I said?” Dag Byarin asked Anchan. His eyes were ringed with dark flesh, his lips cracked.

  She bit back a snappish reply. “Yes. I took the extra tokens as you said. I matched ship to token as directed.” She couldn’t help adding, “I got Valda’s tokens on the entire fleet, in case you have forgotten.”

  Dag Byarin rubbed his eyes. “I know, Anchan. Forgive me. But you must not make an error with these tokens of mine.” His voice was so bleak, he looked so exhausted, she forbore questioning what sort of magic lay over his tokens.

  Besides, she should not be there—she risked discovery every time she spoke. The spell of invisibility was hardly that. Even magic cannot make a thing exist and yet not exist. But it could draw the eye away, if you made the spell that blurred the air before you, and kept quiet.

  Enough of it and her head throbbed. She had used it a great deal when passing from ship to ship in order to lodge one of Valda’s magical tokens on each, in a place vigilant sailors would not notice. Inexorably the magic, and the need to keep alert at all times, had sapped her strength.

  So she said, “Your tokens are now in place, and each as you desired. My next task?”

  Byarin rubbed his eyes again, and her nerves chilled when she saw that he was weeping. But he visibly gathered himself, and said, “Go down to the hold, here in the flagship. Ulaffa has made a place. You will see the rune on the bulkhead, past which is a tiny alcove. Rest. Eat. Next task is the battle, and Valda wants you rested and ready.”

  “Who doesn’t know about Prince Kavna being with us?” Tau asked Jeje as the Vixen raced toward the rendezvous under a high west wind. He was putting the finishing touches on a fine courtly outfit he’d borrowed in pieces from various people through the fleet.

  “The Venn?” Jeje loved seeing him sitting there on the capstan, his needle flashing in the sunlight, the metal scarcely less bright than his gold-touched hair in the wind. She’d thought the borrowed tunic-vest and shirt and trousers looked fine, but Tau had tutted, taken them off, tweaked and cut here and there, resewing until the fabric draped just so, and now it all fitted as if he’d been born in the clothes.

  Tau smiled as he threaded his needle. “The Venn were probably the first to know when he set sail.”

  He was applying to the umber-dyed linen tunic-vest a thin satin-stitch edging of color Jeje couldn’t put a name to but reminded her of the eastern sky just before the sun rose. That was in place of the gold thread he’d considered garish.

  “Inda’s not supposed to know, except he does know,” Jeje said. Despite her impatience with courtly custom and clothing, she deeply appreciated the twisty thinking. “And Kavna knows Inda knows.”

  “Kavna has wanted to meet Inda ever since you and I were living in Bren.”

 
“I remember. Heh! Kavna knows that Inda knows but Inda pretends he doesn’t know, I guess so that Deliyeth can think it’s a secret, except I know her gig crew knows Inda’s been there. We all sat under the flagship scuttles, passing some iced wine back and forth while the captains were up on deck brangling over who got the ‘honor’ of being first in the line against the Venn.”

  “Speaking of Deliyeth,” Tau murmured, tying off his thread. “You don’t know about their king. Got it?”

  “I see nothing, hear nothing!” Jeje said in a deep, flat voice.

  Deliyeth stared through her stern windows at the approaching Sarendan flotilla. “I don’t believe it. We’re forming a battle line with ships full of merrymakers?”

  Tau plucked the slim, gold-chased spyglass from the pocket of his long, Colendi paneled silk overtunic of palest mauve. There in the lead was Taz-Enja on his splendid brigantine. He stood squarely on the captain’s deck, a broad-brimmed hat shading his eyes. The wind fingered through the cluster of curled plumes in his hat. His clothes were bright in the sun—a silk shirt of violet, belted by a crimson sash with gold tassels. The widest-hemmed deck trousers Tau had ever seen rippled in the wind. Taz-Enja, whatever his age, had a good butt and fine upper legs, turning them to account in the tight upper portion of those absurd trousers, and the even more absurd high heeled, tassel-topped boots.

  Tau heard a soft chuckle on his other side.

  “What is the purpose, Lord Taumad?” asked Ymar’s new king.

  He was just Tau’s age, a slim fellow beautifully turned out in sober hued pearl gray cambric and linen, his brown hair worn short around his ears, which emphasized his round face and slightly protuberant eyes. Those eyes would be a mark of pride, Tau had learned during his stay at his mother’s: the royal family of Sartor, the Landises, tended to come out with frog eyes according to generations of portraits, no matter who they mated with. The frog eyes also appeared when they married out, silent testament to the highest royal connections.

  If we lose, the Venn will kill me anyway, he had said when first introduced to Tau, his smile rueful. I may as well go in the free air and not smothered in some dungeon.

  “They’re dressed like pirates.” Captain Deliyeth’s voice thinned with suppressed vehemence and disgust.

  The king said softly, not lowering his glass, “Green and yellow brocade? Do pirates really wear such things?”

  “Some do. They like to be noticed, they like sumptuous fabrics. And fashion . . . is adaptable,” Tau said, hand open. He liked that Marlovan gesture. Everyone seemed to comprehend it without him having to commit himself to words that he might later wish unsaid.

  The king’s shoulders shook with half-suppressed laughter. “So is the pirate clothing a challenge to the Venn?” he asked at last.

  Tau said, “In some wise. I suspect it’s also a way to bolster their own courage.”

  “By acting like pirates?” Deliyeth asked, snapping her glass to, and pacing to the binnacle to put it down.

  The king turned an enquiring look to Tau, who said, “Not like real pirates. Who tend to be just as sneaky, nasty, and untrustworthy as Captain Deliyeth believes them to be. Cowardly, sometimes: most of the pirates I have encountered only took action when they knew they could win. But once they were cornered, they fought savagely, because they knew there would be no mercy.”

  “It could be that some admire their freedom from the constraint of law,” the king said. “So I’ve been told.”

  “Yes, and their freedom from responsibility. A man gains a sum in a city, he puts it into his work, his home. Maybe in a trip for his loved ones. A pirate spends it on pleasures.”

  “And crimson shirts. Is that what Elgar the Fox does?” the king asked with a glance at Deliyeth.

  She watched the Sarendan ships tacking into place, then brailing and reefing to match speed with the rest. But she was too still; Tau knew she was listening. “He’s not a pirate. He fights pirates. And for a while, spent money like a pirate—but on ships, not clothes. Then he went home to his responsibilities. He’s married now, with a home and a new little son.”

  The king’s mouth rounded in an unspoken “Oh.”

  “He’s here because he felt responsible.” Because his king ordered—later, later. “He was asked to keep an old promise he made. He’s here to keep it.”

  The king still held the glass to his eye. “So tell me. Why is he keeping his promise? Does Elgar the Fox intend to take his turn on a throne?”

  “What he wants,” Tau said, practiced by now, “is everyone to agree on harmony in the strait. Trade guaranteed by all.”

  “I want that,” the king said.

  “Would you sign a treaty to that effect?” Tau asked as he tracked a low-flying sea bird.

  “Would anyone else?” the king retorted mildly, watching the nearest ship put its helm down and turn in its length. “Beautiful maneuver. Pirates or not.”

  Late the following night, at the other end of the fleet, Inda, Fox, and Prince Kavna stood alone on the foredeck of the admiral’s flagship.

  “What are you trying to do?” Inda said. “I don’t have enough ships to send you safely back of the line. Why are you here?”

  “You can leave responsibility for my survival to me,” Kavna stated. Even in the weak light his heavy face was grim. Determined. “As far as you are concerned, I am a second mate, so put this vessel where we can best function.” And, at Inda’s hesitation, he said in a low voice, “They invaded your land last time. This time it’s mine they are invading. I have to be here.”

  “You are more liability than aid.” Fox lounged behind them, indicating the firelit line with one lazy hand. “What do you think will happen to your shipmates if they go home without you?”

  In the ruddy light Kavna’s face was stubbornly desperate. “Nothing,” he said. “Nothing. My sister made that clear when I left. I’m nothing but a spare anyway.”

  Kavna looked out to sea, then back. He jammed a hand in his pocket and brought out a scroll-case. “My father woke up enough to abdicate. My sister is now queen. She’ll have chosen a consort within another year and probably have an heir within a short time after that. If she doesn’t send me off to marry some princess for treaty purposes, I will stay at sea—which suits her just fine.”

  He lifted his gaze to the firelit faces before him. Their expressions were characteristic: Fox’s grimly amused, Inda’s troubled and oddly distant.

  Kavna said, “First we all have to survive. And that means you put us where we can fight best.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “. . . AND there’s nothing more to address to Battlegroup tactics. Keep your eye on your flag, and if your Sea Dags begin performing magic on the orders of the Dag of the Venn, stay out of their way.”

  The captains murmured and shifted a little on the fine benches set below the carved bulkheads in the captains’ wardroom aboard the Cormorant.

  Dyalf Balandir tried to shut out Old Man Durasnir’s voice, thinking: Why do these doddering old fools hold on to command so long? They like power too much, that’s why.

  “So my remarks are confined to that observation about the dags. Stay out of their way. We have been ordered to heed the fact that their purpose is no longer confined to navigation. If an ensign is put in charge of a dag’s ting charts, do not demur.”

  In the old days, they put the old men in their boats, pushed them out to sea, and set fire to them. Why can’t we do that now? If only Beigun wasn’t so afraid to take what is ours by right, we could have burned old Seigmad a month ago. Look at him!

  Balandir glared from his one good eye at Seigmad, half of whose face sagged. The old man looked terrible, sitting like a lump there on his bench, left arm dangling. What a commander to inspire the younger men, Balandir thought scornfully.

  Durasnir noted who was paying attention and who not. He tightened his middle in order to add force to his voice, though it took more energy than he had to spare.

  “Here is where we
stand. According to the count Scout Walfga relayed yesterday, they have gained no more capital ships, which gives them just under two hundred to the two hundred forty we have with us now. We’ve got roughly equal numbers of smaller rated ships, or they have a few nines more. One Battlegroup has left Nelsaiam as reinforcement, though without their Drenga complement. Their Drenga remain in Nelsaiam, on the king’s order . . .”

  Balandir slowly turned his head. Unfortunately, he couldn’t sneak looks any more, but a captain—once and future Battlegroup Chief, one time a Breseng youth and then an heir—should not have to sit here sneaking peeks like a scolded ensign.

  “. . . and your orders are clear. If any ship from Khanerenth, Sarendan, or Bren surrenders, you will treat them politely. You’ll know them immediately, because they’ll fling their weapons down or flap white flags or even kerchiefs at you. You will treat them with politeness, because they have complicated rules of honor which suffice to shift the conflict to theoretical, and the side with the best manners gains the moral high ground.”

  Several captains shifted, and a couple of the older captains chuckled. “It’s true,” someone muttered.

  And you old men can dance around with those eastern cowards, Balandir thought.

  Beigun sent Balandir a fast look and a smirk: oh yes. The younger men would go where assigned—madness not to—but they could burn through the idiots until they reached the Fox Banner Fleet. Everyone knew what they looked like: outright pirates. That’s where the real glory promised to be.