by Ben Cassidy
Sadira took a step forward. Her eyes had more than a glint of malice in them. “This woman killed two of my men.”
Maklavir didn’t budge. “I’m worth more.”
“Maklavir—” Kara started to say.
“Shut up,” Maklavir shot at her. He turned his gaze back to the beautiful pirate queen. “Well, what do you say?”
Sadira swung her rapier down off her shoulder. She held the point of the blade just off the deck of ship. “Ah, but now we have another problem,” she said softly. “I do not see why I cannot simply kill her,” she pointed a finger at Kara, “and ransom you to your government at my leisure.”
A smattering of laughter came from the pirates on the deck. Several pushed in close, fingering knives and pistols.
Kara swayed unevenly on the board. She spread her booted feet, trying to keep them as flat and braced on the plank as she could.
Below her at least half a dozen lean gray shapes moved just under the surface of the water.
“Well,” Sadira repeated, “I’m waiting for an answer, handsome.”
“Are you?” Maklavir’s voice was calm and low, as if he was ordering breakfast in an inn. “I didn’t want to insult your intelligence. I have no doubt that you’re a very cunning and capable woman.”
Sadira laughed. “You are quite the flatterer, aren’t you Maklavir?” She lifted her head. “Very well, then. Indulge me all the same.”
Maklavir crossed his arms. “You must meet my terms for the following reasons. First, my government will not pay you any ransom for me unless they are persuaded that I am indeed in your custody, and am alive and unharmed.” Maklavir held up two fingers. “Second, the only evidence you will be able to provide them of the aforementioned conditions is if I voluntarily write a letter to my government to said effect. And third,” and here he raised a final finger, “I will in no way write such a letter if you harm Kara or any other member of this crew.” Maklavir paused, and looked disdainfully back at the merchant captain. “Except for him. Toss that one to the sharks for all I care.”
Sadira lifted her rapier. Her dark eyes flashed, even though there was still a smile on her face. “You play a dangerous game, Maklavir.”
“I play to win,” Maklavir said. “As I’m sure you do as well. Play this smart and we can both walk away winners.”
Kara looked imploringly at the diplomat. “Maklavir, don’t—”
“Oh, do shut up,” Maklavir hissed at the girl. “For once in your life just keep still.”
Kara shut her mouth, a surprised look on her face.
Sadira tested the edge of her rapier with her finger, her eyes never leaving Maklavir. “Your logic, I’m afraid, is not without its flaws.”
Maklavir didn’t flinch. “Try me.”
Sadira raised a finger of her own. “I could threaten you with bodily harm unless you write the letter for me.” Her eyes twinkled ominously. “Some of my men are quite good at such techniques.”
Maklavir’s face remained unchanged. “I think that you will find me quite an obstinate man.”
Sadira gave an unexpected laugh. “But I already do, Maklavir.” She took a breath and nodded her head. “Alright, I will save us both blood and time and grant you that point.” She paced around to Maklavir’s side, her eyes flitting to where Kara stood on the plank. “But I don’t need a letter to prove that I have you prisoner. I could send an article of your clothing, a personal belonging.”
“Which you could have easily taken off my dead body,” Maklavir returned. His head did not turn, but his eyes followed Sadira as she moved. “The King will not pay ransom for me unless he knows I’m alive.”
Sadira stopped and turned suddenly. “I could forge the letter.”
Maklavir snorted. “When there are court officials in Varnost who know my penmanship on sight? I think not.”
Sadira nodded and looked off to the side of the ship. “I see. Well, I suppose that leaves only one last argument you have not accounted for.”
Maklavir looked over at the pirate queen. “Really? And what would that be?”
Sadira made a gesture to Petranus.
The hulking pirate strode over and grabbed Kara, then yanked her down off the plank.
The redheaded woman hit the deck hard, her arms still bound behind her back.
Petranus pulled a long dagger from his belt. He grabbed Kara by the hair and dragged her up to a kneeling position.
Kara gasped in pain, her face white. Her hair hung plastered to her face and neck, still damp from the seawater.
Maklavir watched in silence. His face did not change expression.
Petranus pushed the sharp edge of his dagger against Kara’s face.
Sadira came forward. She pushed the sharp tip of the rapier right underneath Maklavir’s chin. “You will write the letter for me,” she said in a low voice, “or you will watch as my men cut this little tart apart piece by piece.”
Maklavir turned his head slowly to face Sadira. “I swear by Eru the One,” he said in a chilling tone, “if you so much as pluck a hair from her head, I will kill you.”
“Kill me?” Sadira gave a mocking laugh. “You and what army, Maklavir?”
“You heard me,” he said.
“And you heard me,” Sadira replied. She pushed the metal of her blade right against Maklavir’s throat. “You will write the letter for me.”
Maklavir’s face was a shade paler, but his mouth was still set in an implacable line. “I will not. Not until you release Kara and the crew.”
Sadira stared at Maklavir for a long moment.
A trickle of blood appeared where the rapier pressed into Maklavir’s skin.
There was a deathly silence across the whole deck for several seconds.
Sadira stepped back and lowered her rapier. She chuckled and shook her head. “Well, well.”
“Care to illuminate me as to what is so humorous?” asked Maklavir. His arms were still crossed, his voice quite calm.
Sadira sheathed her rapier. “I can tell a lot about a man from his eyes. The eyes, they never lie.” She raised two fingers and pointed at Maklavir’s face with a smile. “Beneath all that lace and silk, there is steel in you, Maklavir. In your eyes.”
Maklavir looked over at the pirate queen.
Sadira raised her head. “It takes courage to stand like this before a band of bloodthirsty pirates. Before me.” She snapped her fingers. “I could have you killed like that, you know.”
“I know,” Maklavir said.
Sadira paced away a few steps, then looked back over her shoulder. “And yet you risk all this for the woman you love.”
For the first time in the conversation, Maklavir’s face blanched.
Despite the dagger against her face, Kara looked up with a start.
“I told you,” said Sadira with a sly grin, “a man’s eyes hide nothing.”
“I-I don’t—” Maklavir stammered. He glanced quickly and nervously at Kara. “She’s—” He took a breath, regaining his composure as best he could. “She’s a dear friend of mine.” His face twitched ever so slightly. “Like a sister.”
Sadira’s smile seemed to hint of both wisdom and mockery all at once. “Between a man and woman? There is no such thing.”
Kara stared at Maklavir. Her face seemed even paler than before.
Maklavir couldn’t meet her gaze. He looked down at the deck of the ship. Wind tossed the feather that stuck from his cap and ruffled his cape.
Sadira looked quickly between Kara and Maklavir. “Ah,” she said with obvious glee. “The love is unrequited, then.” She stared hard at Kara and winked. “She did not know before now?”
Maklavir looked up again, straight at Sadira. His face was drawn again, his eyes hard. “Let her go,” he said. “With the rest of the crew. Unharmed. When they’re safely on their way I’ll write the ransom letter for you.”
Sadira tapped the tip of her rapier on the planks of the deck. “I admit, Maklavir, you make a compelling case.”
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Maklavir visibly relaxed and nodded. “You’ll let her and the others go, then?”
Sadira shrugged. “If it were up to me? Yes. Unfortunately, the law of the sea is not so easily overridden.” She flicked the rapier towards Kara. “Petranus, throw the tart overboard.”
Chapter 9
The rain that had been threatening all afternoon broke out at last, bringing a light but steady fall. The last two miles into Redemption were cold and wet. Kendril was soaked through by the time he galloped through the eastern gate.
The guards made a move to stop him, but when they saw who he was, they both stepped back out of the way of his horse with hurried salutes.
Kendril thundered past them, tearing into the streets of Redemption at a breakneck pace. Mud and water exploded out from his horse’s crashing hooves.
Several merchants and fur trappers cursed as they scrambled out of his way, shaking fists as he passed. One even threw a half-eaten apple at him.
Kendril didn’t care. He didn’t draw in his mount until he was right in front of the large wooden building that served as the town’s city hall. He was off his horse in less than a second, flinging the reins so hard against the hitching post that they wrapped around three times.
Several onlookers stopped to gawk at the man in the mud-splattered buff coat who had just come tearing into the street. Somewhere a dog barked.
Kendril took the steps in a flash. He slammed both his hands into the double doors that led into the building, then moved quickly across the red and gold carpet inside.
A small, bald man behind a desk looked up quickly as Kendril entered. He jumped up from his chair. “Sir? Sir! Please, your boots—” He pointed a wavering finger at the trail of black mud that Kendril was trailing behind him. “You must—”
“Regnuthu take the boots,” Kendril thundered. “Blackstone. Where is he?”
The small man’s eyes were still fixed on the mud that covered the carpet. “Lord Blackstone, the Honorable Mayor, is not currently available to—”
Kendril stepped right up to the desk.
The man fell back into his chair.
“I didn’t ask you for his schedule,” said Kendril. “I asked you where he was.”
The receptionist looked as though he might faint. He lifted a trembling finger towards a door down the nearby hallway. “Th-there, sir. But you can’t—”
Kendril didn’t wait for the rest. He clomped down the hall, straight for the door.
The small man nearly fell as he got out of his chair. He grasped in the air after Kendril’s retreating form. “No, wait, sir—”
Kendril slammed both his hands into the door and opened it wide.
Inside was a room clustered with bookshelves and dominated by a long, polished wood table. There was a fireplace at one end. Three men, all wearing fashionable suits, were clustered around the fire. They held lit pipes and tumbler glasses filled with brandy. Their laughter and conversation stopped the moment Kendril entered.
“I say!” said one of them, an older gentleman with a long white beard. “What on Zanthora is—?”
Kendril focused his sight on a tall, thin man with a trim black beard who was leaning against the mantelpiece of the roaring fire. “Blackstone.”
Lord Blackstone calmly set his glass of brandy down on the stone mantelpiece. “Ah, Lord Ravenbrook,” he replied. “I thought I would be seeing you soon enough.” He gestured to the two gentlemen to his right and left. “I don’t believe you’ve met Mr. Killian and Dr. Moranis, but then you have been out of Jothland for some time, haven’t you?”
The small man from the front desk appeared at the open doorway just behind Kendril. He wrung his hands nervously, glancing around Kendril.
Blackstone raised a hand. “It’s all right, Esdras.” He looked at Kendril and gave a meaningful smile. “Kendril and I are old friends.”
Kendril’s gaze flashed to the two men in the room. “Party’s over, gentlemen.” He jerked a thumb towards the doorway. “Both of you out.”
Dr. Moranis rose from his chair. He plucked his smoking pipe from his mouth. “Why I never. How dare this man come in here and—”
Blackstone put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “I apologize, gentlemen. Lord Ravenbrook and I have some matters to discuss.” He gave an affable smile. “Esdras will show you the way out.”
Still ruffled, the two men put down their glasses and exited the room. They glanced nervously at Kendril as they scooted by him.
Kendril didn’t move. He stood at the far end of the table, his hands digging into the top of the nearest chair. He glared straight at Blackstone.
“So,” said Blackstone as soon as the men had left. “I see you still have no sense of tact or decorum.” He gave a haughty glance in Kendril’s direction. “Tuldor’s beard, man, you’re getting mud all over the carpet.”
“You’re out of your mind,” Kendril said. He reached into his buff coat and pulled out the crumpled letter with the mayoral seal, then slammed it down onto the long table. “You can’t do this. You’ll destroy all of Redemption.”
Blackstone took the brandy off the mantelpiece. He turned and gave Kendril a measured glance. “So much like your father.” He took a sip. “Impetuous. Violent.” His eyes moved down to the flintlock pistols and long rapier that hung at Kendril’s belt. “With that tone of voice I’m surprised you haven’t shot me yet.”
Kendril narrowed his gaze. “The day’s still young.”
Blackstone chuckled. “Yes, I suppose it is.” He put the glass down on the table. “You should never have come back to Redemption, Kendril. You’ve been away too long. We’ve moved on without you.” His blue eyes gave Kendril a piercing look. “Without the Ravenbrooks.”
“Is that why you tried to have me killed?” Kendril growled.
Blackstone raised a finger. “Careful, Lord Ravenbrook. That’s slander. No one regrets what happened to you more than me, but Colonel Belvedere and his gang were mercenaries of the lowest caliber.” He raised the glass. “There’s no telling who hired them, or why. Surely a man such as yourself has made plenty of enemies in his time. People who might want you dead.”
Kendril took a deep breath. “We both know who hired them.”
“And yet,” said Blackstone as he studied his brandy glass, “you’ve brought no charges against me.” He glanced at Kendril. “You haven’t even challenged me to a proper duel. And that makes me think you have a distinct lack of evidence to support your accusations.”
“Trust me, Blackstone,” said Kendril, “if I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
Blackstone gave another dark chuckle. “Now, now, Ravenbrook. You’ve moved from slander to threats.” He motioned to the chair that Kendril’s hands were on. “But that’s not why you’ve come, is it?”
Kendril ignored the proffered seat and remained standing. “You can’t disband the militia. Not now. For Eru’s sake, man, I always knew you were a schemer and a blackheart, but I didn’t think you were a fool as well.”
Blackstone tapped his finger against the side of his glass. “More slander,” he warned. He took a slow sip of the brandy. “And for the record, I have every right to disband the Redemption militia.” He gave Kendril a sidelong glance. “Unless, of course, you and your men are removing a parliamentary-appointed official from his rightful place of rule.” He swished the ice cubes around in his glass. “A military takeover? I suppose you could install yourself as the next mayor, for however long it might last.”
Kendril eyed Blackstone carefully. “You really only think of yourself, don’t you? If you disband the militia, the Wall will fall.”
“Really?” Blackstone took another sip and settled down into one of the chairs next to the crackling fire. “Because I was under the impression that the Arbelan regulars were in charge of holding the Wall, not the militia.”
“Arbela is up to its neck in cult uprisings and civil war,” Kendril said in a grinding voice. “We’re not their priority right now. The Lord Pr
otector isn’t going to be showing up anytime soon with an army to protect us.”
“We have the dragoons,” Blackstone said calmly.
“Yearling’s men are stretched thin,” Kendril said. He rose to his full height. “When the Jombards hit the Wall again, they won’t stand a chance if the militia isn’t backing them up.”
“If they hit the Wall again,” Blackstone said. He stretched a hand behind him and snatched a fire poker from where it hung next to the hearth. “It’s been what, almost four weeks?” He got up from the chair, and stabbed at the logs in the fire. “If the Jombards were going to attack, they’d have attacked by now.”
Kendril took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “The Jombards just attacked the Wall this morning. They overran the milefort at Hangman’s Hill. For Eru’s sake, there was a werewolf—”
Lord Blackstone gave a short, barking laugh. “Oh, please, Ravenbrook, let’s not start telling wild stories, shall we?” He replaced the fire poker and turned to face Kendril. “This is hardly Vorten, is it? There are no demons here, no pagan gods come to destroy us.” He fixed his blue eyes on Kendril. “Just you and your delusions of grandeur.”
Kendril’s hands twitched, as if he was going to reach for a weapon. “The Jombards are coming.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I have a scouts’ report on my desk that says that thousands of Jombards are sitting just miles from the Wall,” Kendril seethed. “When they come, and they will come, they’ll sweep over those dragoons in a moment. If the militia isn’t there to reinforce the line, they’ll be in Redemption before we can stop them.”
“Yes,” said Blackstone as he dropped back into his chair, “so you keep saying. From time to time the Jombards have been known to gather together, burn a few outlying farms and make their presence known, and then disappear back into the forest.” He picked up his glass again. “It happens every few years or so. If you lived here you would know that.”
Kendril ignored the barb. “This is different.”
