The Ship of Tears_The Legend of the Nine_Part One

by T. J. Garrett

  The guards ushered the new folk into two lines. They arranged the lines, so all could see the raised dais at the far end of the otherwise empty room. Kasini was already on the dais – she knew her job for the day. Fa’rann joined her, and sat on the only chair. From there, he cast an appraising eye over the new folk. He was not pleased with what he saw.

  “Beggars,” he whispered, “he sends me beggars. Better he had left them in the gutter.”

  But aren’t you a beggar? he asked himself. And one man is as good as another once they are Turned.

  He supposed that was true, but he would have preferred healthy folk, or at least a group that did not smell so. He would have to have Bayon wash his clothes again, and have Kasini checked for flees.

  “We was promised food,” the man at the end of the second row said. “And a purse. So far, we aint seen nothing but snow and the inside of this shack.”

  The guard on that end of the line flicked a quick glance up at the dais. Fa’rann gave a single shake of the head. He could let the man have his say, for now.

  “You will get all you were promised and more,” Fa’rann said. “You will find me a generous master.”

  The man who had spoken laughed. “Fine with me if you want to call yourself master, but I aint doing nothing ‘til I see some silver.”

  Fa’rann’s lip curled into a grin. He liked strong-minded folk; once Turned, they made the best slaves. “What is your name?” he asked.

  “They call me Riddle, on account of folk thinking I got a gift for a bit of the old story tellin.”

  “Well, Riddle, soon as we are finished here, I’ll make sure you are fed and see some silver. But we must finish here first. And for that, you must be quiet and listen to what I have to say. Can you do that?”

  Riddle shrugged. Glancing around, he said, “I spose. I mean, it aint like we got any place else to go.”

  “Quite so,” Fa’rann.

  He stroked the back of Kasini’s neck and bade her look out over the room. Turning back to the beggars, Fa’rann said, “Now, if you would focus your attention on my friend. Notice, if you will, the colour of her eyes. Are they not the most astonishing shade of green? Look deep into her eyes and allow yourself a moment to relax…”

  * * *

  Again, Bayon heard the scratching. His Lordship would have to control that pet of his if he wanted to keep the hidden passageways a secret. This time, there was nobody about to hear, but last month, he had relocated a perfectly good cook’s assistant because she insisted there were giant rats in the walls. He would have to have a quiet word with his master, or keep the staff away from the east wing. Why Breen did not just condition the staff was beyond him. It would make his life so much easier.

  He was in his small apartment on the third floor. Looking out over the courtyard, he wondered what the view would be like from his apartments in Bailryn Palace, and if His Lordship would relocate there before the spring. Surely by now he had enough men to claim the throne. A springtime view over northern Bailryn would be quite the sight, Bayon decided. If he were lucky, maybe there would be a promotion, a place in the east tower. There, he could look out over the bay.

  “You’re not there yet,” he reminded himself.

  He had no doubt his master was possessed. Any fool who had known Breen before the Battle for Bailryn would have to be blind and deaf not the notice the difference in the man. But as to what possessed him, Bayon had no idea. He did not, however, know that His Lordship would need his help, and as long as that were true, he did not care who or what was rolling around inside the man’s mind – not so long as he got his view.

  Thinking of views, he should ask the patrol sergeant if his men had seen more of those dragons. Breen had dismissed the sighting as a mere stopover, saying the dragons had rested just south of the forest on their way back to Bailryn, but Bayon was not so sure; the dragons had no reason to come this far east, and if they were flying down to Linieth, they would have followed the coast. So why land on the hill in the north field?

  Maybe he should ask Breen for more say over the patrols. His Lordship was always too busy to listen to reports, and it was Bayon who would shoulder the blame should some group breach the perimeter. It was only right he should have control over the guards in that area. Yes, it only made sense for the sergeant to report to him. In fact, maybe Breen should make him a captain or something, or a general?

  “General Bayon,” he whispered.

  That idea made him smile. A general could choose his own apartments. He could have the whole of the east tower to himself.

  A tap at the door shook him from his revelry.

  “Who is it?”

  The door opened and Nallie the cook entered. “We are almost out of milk, again,” the fat woman said. “I told you last week, if we don’t get another delivery soon, they’ll be no butter for the table.”

  Butter, Bayon thought, here I am planning my future and she wants to talk about butter.

  “A grain shipment from Whitecliff is due in the morning,” he told her. “I’ll send them on to Townhill for more milk.”

  “They’ll need coin,” Nallie said. “I have none. And you still haven’t paid them for the last lot. You’ll not get more until you square up the account.”

  Bayon rubbed at his temple. Yes, better if Breen conditioned all the staff.

  “I’ll talk to His Lordship. You will have your milk. Now, if you don’t mind, I must see to His Lordship’s wardrobe, he has an important meeting to attend.”

  That was a lie, but it would do to get rid of the woman.

  Nallie gave a curt not, then shut the door behind her.

  Sighing heavily, Bayon turned back to the window and tried to image he was looking out over Halem Point. “Five minute’s peace,” he told himself. “Is that too much to ask?”

  * * *

  That great ugly cat was in His Lordship’s rooms when Bayon took in his supper. Why Breen insisted on keeping the thing in the house was a mystery, but Bayon tried to ignore Kasini’s preening whine as he placed the tray on the table next to Breen’s chair.

  “That will do for now,” Breen said. “I’ll be out for a while, likely until morning, you can take the rest of the evening off.”

  Out? Bayon mused. Where would Breen be going at this hour, and why had he not requested his horse saddled or the carriage made ready? And it was snowing out; where could he be going in the snow?

  “Would you like me to accompany you, sir? Would you like me to have the carriage brought around?”

  “I won’t need any of that where I’m going, Bayon. And thank you, but this is something I have to take care of myself.”

  He doesn’t need a horse, and yet he has to take care of something?

  “If you are certain, sir. I really don’t mind.”

  “I’m quite sure, thank you. But if you want something to do, you can clean my leather boots, the ones with the flat heel.”

  Bayon frowned. They were summer boots? Did the man know it was snowing?

  “Err, are you sure you don’t want—”

  “The flat heels, Bayon, and be quick about it. I want to get down there before it gets too dark for these eyes to see where I’m going.”

  “As you say, sir.”

  Bayon walked to the wardrobe and took the flat heel boots from the compartment at the bottom. They were dusty, but otherwise clean.

  “Is there anything else, sir? A coat, maybe?”

  “Just my brown cloak. And you can fill that waterskin.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The brown cloak? That was the thin cotton one. Bayon shook his head as he filled the waterskin Breen had laid out on the counter. The man had finally lost his mind.

  “If you are going to be out all night, sir, I must ask: the remuneration for the stores? Nallie requested the coin to settle the account. Seems the Townhill magistrate will not allow an extension to Bannerman’s credit, and if the wagon man does not pay….”

  “Ask me when I get back,”
Breen said. “I have too much on my mind to worry over all that.”

  “But we are running out of food, sir, and there is no money to pay the mercenaries. Your men might work for nothing, but the sergeants and the team leaders will want paying.”

  Bayon had no idea why His Lordship did not simply put his own men in charge. Maybe it had something to do with the conditioning, but Breen’s men, those who had gone to the shed, seemed incapable of summoning a complex thought – hence the need for unfettered leadership. It was a shame, they would save a fortune, had that not been the case.

  “Yes, Bayon, I understand, but you will have to deal with it. I have important business on Bly.”

  “But, sir…”

  “Enough. Now hand me my boots, I must be off.”

  Bayon handed Breen his boots, then help him into his cloak. He waited around, to see just exactly where His Lordship thought he was going in such light attire, but Breen dismissed him with the flick of a finger.

  Bayon left the room and shut the door behind him.

  A moment later, the gap under the door lit up with a burning white light. Quietly, Bayon opened the door again. There was no sign of Lord Breen.

  CHAPTER 21

  Lookout

  Daric worried at the lump on the back of his neck. It felt like a flat wart, but did not hurt anymore. Nor did the tendrils itch; both the pendant and the tendrils had, somehow, buried themselves under his skin - that Rysa woman had not said anything like that would happen, she had said the lattice would fall off once he completed its task. How could it just fall off if it was stuck under his skin? Would he have to cut it out?

  More worrying, he was spending far too much time fretting over the lattice. He had to rescue Mairi, and here he was thinking about Aldregair and Tamri Maison and that Storm woman – and never mind he only had two full days left to use the Tandrian blade before the binding wore off.

  Worst still, the bloody lattice kept talking to him!

  Well, not talking exactly, more like answering questions without being asked.

  Earlier, he had seen a berry bush, and wondered if the fruit was safe to eat. The lattice had told him they were sour berries, and yes, he could eat them if they were cooked first. How had the lattice known what he was looking at, never mind the question he was asking himself? A handy trick, yes, but as useful as it was, that lump on the back of his head worried him more than the knife and the Balance and running into this creature Magryn had mentioned – the bloody lattice was inside his head, literally.

  Almost everyone was in the cave, all sitting around the fire Yacob had made. Two of the legites and Brin were out scouting. Gyna had been picking wild herbs, and was now sorting through them with the young legite girl who looked like a hunter. Nana was making snares. Aleria and Ranyr were talking quietly about the Tandrian blade and what they thought Daric should do with it. The dragons were by the pool – sleeping, again. In fact, all seemed remarkably relaxed, considering where they were and what they were there to do.

  Daric was just deciding whether he should get some sleep when Yacob appeared at his side with a mug of tea.

  “You ready to see the lookout?” Yacob said.

  “I thought you wanted to wait,” Daric said. “Didn’t you say something about mid-afternoon being the best time?”

  “It is mid-afternoon,” Yacob said. “You have been sleeping.”

  Daric blinked at the man, frowning. He could not remember sleeping. They had come to the cave late last night, and he had watched the dawn light rise through the trees. That was only a few hours ago, was it not? He had scouted around the cave, checked his provisions, and come back for some breakfast – he had not slept.

  Daric glanced over at the cave mouth. The shadows from the tall trees were straight, lying away from the opening – it was afternoon.

  Sighing, he rubbed at the lump on the back of his neck. Are you messing with my mind? he asked it. Don’t do that; I need my wits if I’m to save Mairi.

  No answer.

  Rysa? Are you there?

  Again, no answer.

  Could the woman hear him? She had dragged his mind all the way to Tervaryn; compared to that feat, listening to his thoughts should be a simple trick. He remembered what she had said about the lattice, that it contained the Knowledge of Ages, or rather, it gave him access to the knowledge, but that did not mean the thing was alive, did it? If it was, would it not do more than answer simple questions? It would tell him what to do, wouldn’t it? Talk to him?

  He looked down at a brightly coloured stone. It was ivory in colour and had a black line through it.

  What is that made of? Daric asked.

  A pause, then, By its colour and texture, there is a very good chance the rock is arenthosite, run through with an indigenous layer of non-porous bauox, which is a kind of baux sediment common to central Aleras. The presence of the bauox indicates you are currently travelling a long-dead volcanic region of the southern grasslands, possibly the Rox Caldera – named for Ermud Rox, 1248-1322.

  Ermud Rox? Arenthosite? What by all the bloody hells are you talking about?

  “Are you well, Mr Re’adh?” Yacob asked.

  Daric had forgotten the old man was there. He closed his gaping mouth and took a sip of tea.

  Finally, he said, “Yes, the lookout. We will go after I have had this tea.”

  Yacob nodded, then retreated to the fire. Doubtless wanting to be away from the crazy staring man. He sat, then regarded Daric with a quick, questioning glance before picking up his own mug of tea.

  Daric ignored the look – what did he care if the legit thought him mad?

  Have you gone mad? he asked himself. Listening to voices, visions of an island no one has heard of, questions answered by some ancient device buried under your skin. He touched the lump on the back of his neck. Could it be an insect bite? Maybe the venom is giving me all these visions.

  He picked up the rock. “Gyna,” he said. The half-Ulroch looked up from her sorting. “Do you know what sort of rock this is?”

  He tossed her the rock. She caught it deftly, then turned back to her herbs.

  “I think I’ve gathered enough elder bark to make up a couple of buckets of potion,” Gyna said. “If we can get it into their food before supper time, we can put most of the guards to sleep for eight hours or so.”

  Daric raised an eyebrow. “Now that’s a good idea. Better still if we can get some into the manor house.”

  Gyna nodded. “I was wondering if I could get some into a barrel of wine – an open one, of course, one they are already drinking from. And if not the wine, I could crumble some up, put it in a stew.”

  “Or soup,” Daric agreed. “But you can’t do it,” he went on. “We need someone small and unobtrusive.” He looked at the legite girl, the one who looked like a hunter. “Could you do that?”

  The girl did not seem surprised at being asked. “I could, yes,” she said. “Everyone ignores me. I could sprinkle the herbs on Lord Breen’s supper, and nobody would take a second look.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” Daric said. “The wine, the stew, the water; that will be enough. And we don’t want them to raise the alarm, so no wandering about. If you do this, you should stick to the kitchens and the mess.”

  The girl nodded.

  “Thank you… err? What’s your name again?”

  “Mags,” the girl said. “Folk call me Mags.”

  “Well, Mags, thank you. If you can pull this off, assuming we can come up with a plan to work around it, you will be saving a lot of lives.”

  Gyna nodded her agreement. “Even if you only put the guards to sleep, we should be able to manage anything from inside the manor.”

  “Agreed,” Daric said. “But we should wait until dark; folk sleeping heavily during the day would be too suspicious.”

  “Tomorrow night, I think,” Gyna said. “We still have to observe the guard’s movements and see if we can get a number on the folk inside the manor. And I would prefer to
know exactly where Mairi is before we start an attack.”

  Daric smiled at the plan, then frowned. Why had he not thought of that? Of course he should find out where Mairi was before they attacked.

  He nodded at the rock still in Gyna’s hand. “Do you know what it is?” he asked.

  She tossed the rock back to him. “Just a lump of common arenthasite,” she said. “It has a streak of something running through it – Bauox, most likely; we are in the Rox Caldera. Why do you want to know?”

  Trying not to swallow hard, Daric picked up the ivory coloured rock. “Oh, nothing. I was just interested in the black streak.”

  “Yes, it’s likely Bauox,” she said. “Old volcanic sediment; there are layers of the black stone all over Aleras.”

  “I see,” Daric said, staring at the stone.

  He reached back to rub at the lump on the back of his neck. So, he thought, you’re not an insect bite.

  * * *

  The lookout was high up in the branches of a broad cedar tree. So high, Daric wondered how the legites had managed to build the thing and not fall. The tree itself was on a slope, giving it another five spans height over the snow-covered ground north of Breen’s manor.

  It took a long time to climb the rope ladder, but when Daric followed Aleria onto the flat platform, he was surprised at how comfortable the lookout was – they even had a bench.

  “You spend a lot of time up here?” he asked Yosul.

  The young man blushed.

  He was a short man with flat brown hair and small eyes. His round face was usually pale, but he would redden at the slightest provocation, even at a simple question.

  “I’m up here all day,” he said. “That’s my seat there.” He pointed to the end of the bench. “When Mags is up here, I keep an eye on the barracks, but when I’m alone, I look at everything.”