‘Thank you, Queen Isolt.’ Lord Travany dipped his head. Then he and Travrhon went to back away, with Trafyn between them.
‘Wait,’ Fyn said. ‘You sailed on Lord Travany’s ship?’
Trafyn nodded.
‘There was a seven-year slave on that ship, a lad about your age, with a slight gap between his front teeth.’
Trafyn nodded.
Fyn swallowed, fearing the worst. Garzik would have fought to the bitter end, but Fyn had to be certain of his death. ‘What happened to him?’
‘He joined the Utlanders.’
‘No!’
‘He did,’ Trafyn insisted. ‘What’s more, he advised them to make the attack on our port. He was a vile coward, and if he were here right now, I’d happily cut his throat!’
Others echoed this sentiment.
As Travany left with his sons, Fyn returned to his seat. Why would Garzik lead Utlanders to attack Port Mero, when Byren...
It all fell into place. Garzik didn’t know Byren had killed Palatyne and claimed Isolt for his queen. He thought Merofynia was still the enemy.
But why hadn’t Garzik escaped with Trafyn?
Later, after Fyn had seen Abbot Murheg off, someone knocked on his door. Half expecting it to be the manservant, Kyral, Fyn answered the door. ‘Mitrovan!’ He glanced up and down the hall and pulled the scribe inside.
‘It wasn’t Garzik’s fault,’ the skinny scribe said as he slipped through the door. ‘He thought Byren was still at war—’
‘With Merofynia.’ Fyn nodded. ‘I worked that out. But something about Trafyn’s story doesn’t ring true. Why didn’t Garzik escape with him? What did Trafyn tell his father?’
‘He claimed Garzik chose to stay with the Utlanders. But I think he’s lying. He told his father the Utlanders spared three lads when they took Travany’s ship. One was Garzik, and the other was Lord Istyn’s son, who killed himself because he could not live with the shame of...’ Mitrovan flushed. ‘The Utlanders used the lads like girls, but Trafyn claims he escaped that fate. I ask you, why would they rape two of the lads and not the third?’
Fyn winced for Garzik. Had the horrors of captivity unhinged his mind? To think Garzik had been here in Port Mero last night. If only Fyn had known...
‘I should be getting back,’ Mitrovan said. ‘If they notice I’m missing, they’ll beat me.’
‘Go. And thank you.’
Mitrovan shrugged. ‘I wish I could do more.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
GARZIK RUBBED HIS eyes, then lifted the farseer to search for signs of pursuit. Since escaping Mero Bay, they’d fled east, every sail straining in the wind. With so many dead and the injured to care for, they’d done no more than snatch a moment’s rest here and there, and eaten on their feet. But soon someone was going to notice Trafyn was missing, and then they’d want to know how he had escaped. A heavy hand landed on Garzik’s shoulder, making him jump.
Olbin laughed. ‘Don’t worry. We have a day’s head start on the sea-hounds, and Rus is going to avoid the shipping lanes.’
‘We headed home?’ Garzik’s voice sounded like boots on gravel as it made its way through his damaged throat.
‘Take the stores back and make sure everyone is safe.’
Garzik nodded. Most of the beardless had been killed when Vultar’s renegades attacked the settlement. He swallowed and winced.
‘That’s a fine necklace of bruises,’ Olbin said.
Garzik shrugged. ‘Others are worse off.’
Olbin scratched his jaw, fingers rasping on the bristles as his beard grew back. ‘Why do hot-landers want to look like lads?’
Garzik grinned. ‘How long before—’
‘Until I look like a man again?’ The big Utlander shrugged. ‘Dunno. I never shaved before.’ He winked at Garzik and jerked his head towards Rusan, who was coming over. ‘Bet my beard grows back before his.’
Garzik grinned.
‘What?’ Rusan asked.
‘Nothing.’ Olbin looked innocent. ‘I was telling Wynn that now that we have supplies, you’ll want to build a new ship.’
‘With this ship, we were able to slip into port unnoticed,’ Garzik said.
‘True,’ Rusan agreed. ‘But this ship couldn’t outrun the sea-hounds.’
Olbin grimaced. ‘I never want to feel helpless again.’
Garzik could sympathise with them, yet he didn’t want to be trapped in the Utlands. ‘How long?’
‘To build a ship?’ Rusan considered. ‘Depends on the size and how many men we can spare. Up to a year.’
Garzik’s heart sank. If he’d run when he’d had the chance, he’d already be on his way to Byren.
‘Don’t look so down.’ Rusan took Garzik’s shoulders in his hands. ‘Thanks to you, the hold is filled with stores and the Merofynians will be talking about our raid for years to come.’
‘Clever little Wynn!’ Olbin caught him in a headlock and knuckled his head.
Garzik laughed. He couldn’t help it, but every day he felt himself slipping further into the Utlander ways. Further from Byren and his duty.
‘Your plan would have worked perfectly if Jost hadn’t betrayed us.’ Rusan cursed him.
‘He wanted revenge and didn’t think beyond himself.’ Garzik’s voice cracked, reducing him to a whisper. Only two of Jost’s supporters had survived. ‘What about Vesnibor and Dizov?’
Rusan glanced to Olbin. ‘Did they fight bravely when the sea-hounds attacked?’
‘They fought to survive.’ Olbin was still angry.
‘Speaking of cowards, I’ve searched the ship and I can’t find Lazy-Legs.’ It was Trafyn’s Utland name. Rusan’s voice was casual but he watched for Garzik’s reaction.
‘I’m betting he went over the side when we were in port,’ Olbin said. ‘And good riddance to him.’
A cry of despair drew them to the middeck rail.
‘Crisjon must have died,’ Olbin whispered.
Since his wounds had been terrible it was not unexpected. Despite this, his twin howled like an ulfr bereft of its mate and tore his hair.
Rusan looked grim. ‘Come with me.’
He led them down the steps to the middeck, where everyone had gathered, drawn by the surviving twin’s cries. They had to honour the dead, but Crisdun would let no one help as he stripped his twin.
Unclothed, Crisjon’s body bore witness to the life he’d led. Scars old and new puckered his skin—scars earned in the service of his people to ensure their survival. Garzik’s throat grew tight and tears burned his eyes.
While Rusan said the words, consigning Crisjon’s body to the depths and his soul to a shade-ray, Vesnibor and Dizov hung back. The rest of the crew cast them dark looks.
If the young captain decided on death for the last of Jost’s supporters, Rusan would have to kill them himself. If he did this, he crossed a line. It was all very well to challenge a man to a fight and kill him, but to kill one of your crew in cold blood... Garzik did not envy Rusan.
The captain finished the ritual, then put his pipes away. Everyone except Crisdun turned to him. The remaining twin stared out to sea, knuckles white as he gripped the ship’s side.
Vesnibor and Dizov exchanged looks. They meant to put up a fight, and Rusan could not afford to lose any more of his crew.
The moment stretched. There was silence but for the wind in the rigging and the unceasing whisper of the sea.
Luvrenc edged closer to Garzik. ‘What’s going to happen now?’
He had no idea.
Rusan adjusted his fine velvet coat. ‘Twenty-seven of us set sail. Now only twelve are left—’
‘And two of those are traitors,’ Olbin said.
‘You call us traitors? At least we weren’t going to jump overboard like him!’ Vesnibor pointed to Garzik. ‘I saw him with Lazy-Legs. They had a barrel to carry them to shore.’
Luvrenc turned to Garzik, shocked. But Rusan had already nodded to Olbin, who pushed Luvrenc aside and pinned Ga
rzik’s arms.
Shame curled in Garzik’s belly and the gorge rose in his throat.
‘He was going to betray you.’ Malice lit Vesnibor’s eyes. ‘He’s been laughing at us all behind our backs!’
‘I never!’ Outrage made Garzik’s ruined voice crack, until it was reduced to an impassioned whisper. ‘I wasn’t the one who brought the sea-hounds down on us by attacking Rusan after he promised me a ship!’
‘Don’t listen to him. You can’t trust a slave,’ Vesnibor sneered. ‘He’s to blame for the loss of half the crew. He was going to jump ship.’
Rusan stepped up to Garzik. He radiated anger, but under that was pain. ‘Were you leaving?’
‘Yes,’ Garzik admitted. ‘And I could have gotten clean away. But when I saw Jost’s brothers grab you I came back. I came back for you!’
‘He warned me.’ Olbin’s deep voice rumbled behind Garzik’s back. ‘He saved your life, Rus. If anyone’s to blame for bringing the sea-hounds down on us, it’s Jost.’
Rusan glanced from Garzik to Vesnibor and Dizov.
Vesnibor stiffened. ‘How can you compare us? Dizov and I are Utlanders of the Northern Dawn, born and bred.’ He pointed to Garzik. ‘He’s nothing but a two-faced lying slave, fit only for sucking—’
Rusan covered the distance between them in one stride, swung his arm and punched Vesnibor in the jaw with such force he knocked him into Dizov.
Olbin released Garzik, who staggered, knees weak with relief.
‘She said you’d do that.’ Crisdun shrugged. ‘I didn’t understand what Tomorrow meant, but now I do.’
‘The oracles spoke of this?’ Olbin asked. ‘Why didn’t you tell us? What did they say?’
‘That sometimes it is hard to identify the real traitor.’
‘Oracles... why can’t they say what they mean?’ Rusan flexed his fingers and grimaced. ‘I know this much. Too many of us have died. It was Jost who betrayed me and Olbin killed him. We have a hold full of stores to take home. It’s going to be a challenge with so few crew, but it can be done, if we have good weather.’
Rusan split up the crew, then nodded to Garzik. ‘Come with me.’
As Garzik followed him into the captain’s cabin, he recalled all the reading lessons they’d shared and felt a sense of loss.
Rusan turned to him. ‘Did you set up that whole raid so that you could escape?’
‘We both got what we wanted.’ Garzik was not going to apologise. ‘You filled your ship’s hold and would have been rid of Jost, and I almost got to go home.’
‘I thought you were Rolencian.’
‘I am, but I speak Merofynian.’
‘If you went to so much trouble to escape, why come back?’
Garzik shrugged. ‘I’m an idiot.’
Rusan gave a bark of laughter. ‘I like you, Wynn. I really do. But now... Are you going to jump ship first chance you get?’
Heat raced up Garzik’s face. ‘Do you want me to speak frankly?’
‘Yes. Yes, I do.’
‘I didn’t ask to join your crew. After that first night I thought about throwing myself overboard, but...’ He lifted his hands. ‘I’d sworn an oath. I had to go home to make things right.’
Rusan went over to the stern windows, where the setting sun turned him into an enigmatic silhouette.
Garzik watched his shoulders.
Rusan gave an odd laugh. ‘Even now, I’d rather have you at my back than Vesnibor.’
A weight lifted from Garzik.
PIRO HAD NEVER been seasick before. She huddled on the bunk and clamped her mouth shut, and she clutched the stupid stone. She refused to throw up, but each time the ship dipped, everything in the cabin swung one way, then the other.
A storm had blown up, driving them off course. All day, the wind and the seas had grown steadily worse. Now Runt poked his head into the cabin, looking wet but annoyingly chirpy. ‘Want me to fetch you some dinner?’
She shook her head.
Runt frowned. The ship lurched to the side as if a giant hand had shoved it, and he staggered.
‘What was that?’ Piro asked. It wasn’t the first time this had happened.
‘Wind shear. Happens a lot this time of year. We’re headed into summer, hot air meets cold.’ Runt saw she did not understand. ‘Think of it as Halcyon and Sylion fighting to see who has dominance over the sea.’
She nodded, but she must have looked bad. Not long after he left, Bantam turned up. He stood in the cabin doorway, one hand on the wall to steady himself, legs spread, watching her.
She held his eyes, determined not to throw up.
‘Bit of a blow,’ he finally said.
‘If this is a bit of a blow, I’d hate to see a storm.’
He grinned. ‘Mulcy girl. I’m taking us further north, to avoid the worst of it.’
‘But that’ll add days to the voyage.’ Piro was dismayed.
‘Better to take longer than never get to port.’
‘Fair enough.’ She frowned. ‘But a northerly heading will take us close to the Utlands.’
‘In a storm like this, any Utlanders we come across will be too busy to bother us.’ He studied her.
She lifted her chin. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You’d better be. The ship’s surgeon took a tumble and dislocated his shoulder.’
Piro’s heart sank, but she swung her feet to the floor.
‘No need for that. Jaku put it back in, but Wasilade can’t do much right now.’ Bantam tossed her a small leather satchel.
She caught it automatically. ‘What—’
‘Basic saw-bones supplies in case someone needs stitching.’
She checked the pouch. It contained a vial of dreamless-sleep, a tincture for cleaning wounds and needles and fine thread for sewing up torn flesh. Her stomach churned at the thought. Hopefully, she would not have to use it.
That night she ate no dinner and could not sleep. Each time the ship reached the top of a wave, she was lifted off the bunk and her heart rose in her mouth. Each time the ship reached the bottom of the valley between the waves, its timbers shuddered and groaned as it fought to ride the slope of the next wave. Piro knew how it felt.
The night seemed interminable, and she was certain the seas were getting worse. Clearly this was not going to be a swift voyage. But she hadn’t had another vision, so she figured she was on the right track to stop Cobalt’s marriage to the impostor and prove herself to Siordun.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
BYREN CHECKED THE alley, but there was no sign of the corax. He back went inside. ‘I don’t like it, Orrie. He was only going to be a few moments.’
‘Maybe he’s setting up another meeting.’
In the last three days, they’d had two meetings, one with the leaders of the craft guilds and another with the lake captains. In both cases, Byren had asked them to spread word that he was alive. The guild-masters had a network of members throughout Rolencia’s prosperous towns, and the lake captains sailed the five great lakes, linked by rivers and canals. Any news they picked up in Port Marchand could reach the most distant lake village on the far side of Rolencia within fifteen days.
Byren paced. Thanks to the lake captains, the people of Rolencia would soon know he’d turned the tables on Palatyne and claimed Merofynia.
How Florin would smile... He must not think of her. She was never going to be his, and right now she was on the far side of the divide, safe in Warlord Feid’s stronghold, along with the survivors of Narrowneck. Feid would have to be compensated for housing and feeding Byren’s men. Before too long, he would need to get word to them. Feid’s wife was the mage’s agent and had a pair of pica birds. That reminded him. ‘Didn’t the mage have an agent in Rolenton?’
‘The hat maker.’ Orrade frowned. ‘Salvatrix.’ He took a thin volume from the corax’s desk. ‘I didn’t know you’d read Merulo’s treatise on power and leadership.’
‘I hadn’t. I spotted the corax’s copy. When he was questioning me I gue
ssed he was quoting Merulo’s theories.’
Orrade grinned, thin face creasing. Then the smile left his eyes. ‘Much as I hate to admit it, that merchant was right. Thanks to Palatyne, a great many men of fighting age have been killed, crippled or—’
Shouts reached them from the street.
‘Probably just some molly-boys fighting over a street corner,’ Byren said. All the same, he strapped on his sword and hunting knife.
Orrade did the same.
The commotion began to move away, and Byren gave Orrade a relieved grin.
A heartbeat later, feet pounded up the steps and the corax threw the door open. ‘One of my spies betrayed me. Grab your things. Cobalt’s knows you’re here. He’s moved the wedding forward. He marries your sister in four days, on Narrowneck!’
Byren cursed. No time to gather an army, no time to do anything but save his sister. He reached for his cloak.
‘Take this.’ The corax thrust bread, cheese and a wine skin into a sack and shoved it into Orrade’s hands, then ran to a chest, tipping its contents onto the floor. Several bags clinked. ‘Here.’ He sprang to his feet, tossing a bag each to Orrade and Byren. Then he gestured to the screen at the far end of the attic. ‘We’ll have to go that way, over the roofs.’
Byren tucked the coins inside his jerkin. ‘I’m sorry we exposed you.’
The corax laughed. ‘I’ve missed this.’ He grabbed a cloak and his sword, then hesitated at his desk, looking at the books. ‘Pity—’
‘Come on!’ Byren turned towards the attic window.
A thump on the landing made them all freeze. Another softer thump followed.
The door flew open and slammed against the wall. Two lightly clad men stepped inside. One was old, the other young, but both moved with lethal purpose.
Byren’s mouth went dry. ‘Coraxes...’
‘You made it easy, Vilderavn.’ The grey-haired man spoke Ostronite. His mouth smiled, but his eyes remained cold.
Their corax took a step back, drew his sword and tossed the sheath aside.
‘I told them you weren’t dead.’ The grey-haired corax drew his weapons. He moved to the right, his companion to the left. ‘I told them you were a coward, who ran from—’
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