Stormcaster

by Cinda Williams Chima

  Destin nodded. “I’m in a . . . particular division of the King’s Guard. Outside of the normal chain of command.”

  “Does the fact you came in costume indicate that you’re here in an official capacity?”

  Destin laughed. “If I were here in an official capacity, you would be in chains. You’ve become quite notorious, here in the wetlands. I’m proud of you, Pirate.” He pushed a chair out with his booted foot. “Would you like to sit down?”

  Feeling a little foolish, Evan crossed the room and sat down in the chair nearest the hearth. Still country to this city boy. If Evan was deadly, Destin was always deadlier.

  Evan had grown, but Destin had grown, too, so that the soldier still had a good three inches on him. He was thinner, too, though maybe the proper word was honed. Honed by whatever had happened since they’d been apart. Honed into a sleek and deadly weapon for the wetland king.

  The silence between them grew until it was awkward. For two years Evan had dreamed of this meeting, and now he had nothing to say.

  “I believe this is your meeting,” he said finally.

  Destin lifted a decanter of amber liquid, poured for himself, and then extended it toward Evan. “Would you like any—?”

  “No, thank you,” Evan said. He needed a clear head to pick his way through this minefield of a meeting. “I’m—I just had something.”

  Destin’s smile was hard-edged, bitter, almost a grimace. “A wise move, Pirate. Never accept a drink from me. I am the midwife who delivers the king’s enemies into hell.” Destin swirled the liquid in his glass and drank it down, his throat jumping. The message seemed clear. I am not for you, and you are not for me.

  “Am I one of the king’s enemies, Des?” Evan asked softly.

  “Well, there is a heavy price on your head,” Destin said, studying his empty glass, as if deciding whether to refill it. “However, as an official of the king, I’m not allowed to collect.”

  “Too bad,” Evan said. He lifted the hammer-and-tongs amulet from around his neck, wadded the chain in his hand, and extended it toward Destin. “Thank you for the loan of your amulet.”

  “Keep it,” Destin said, waving it away. “I replaced it a long time ago.”

  Evan slipped the chain over his head, pleased to feel the familiar weight of the flash against his skin. He fished a small velvet bag from inside his coat and slid it across the table, feeling like a suitor offering a series of unworthy gifts. “I saved your mother’s ring and locket for you.” He pulled a leather-wrapped bundle from his carry bag and set it next to the rest. “And . . . your father’s dagger. In case you wanted that, too.”

  Surprise cleared the bitterness from Destin’s face. “You . . .” He stopped, swallowed hard, and brushed his long fingers across the leather, then met Evan’s gaze for the first time. “Thank you. It’s my mother’s dagger, actually,” he said, a bit of color staining his pale cheeks. “My father took it away from her the first time she tried to defend herself.” He paused, as if steeling himself to go on. “She’s alive, you know. My mother, I mean. If you can call it that.”

  Evan sat forward, a spark of hope kindling in his middle. “Frances is alive?”

  Destin nodded. “She lives with her family in Tamron.”

  Memories flooded in. Frances asking Evan to stay on and be a friend to her son. I think you both have lessons to teach each other. Frances saying to Dustin, I’ve lost so much. I don’t want to lose you, too.

  “Can I—? I would love to see her again.”

  “No,” Destin said, with a bleak finality. “You wouldn’t. Leave well enough alone.” That seemed to be the theme of the entire conversation.

  Then why have a meeting at all?

  “What about your father?”

  “Still living,” Destin said.

  “Why?” Evan met Destin’s eyes directly. If you’re such a dangerous, despicable, ruthless person.

  “He’s not the king’s enemy,” Destin said. “Not yet.” He shifted his eyes away and methodically refilled his glass. “Why do you think he brought my mother back alive? The general has made it clear that if anything happens to him, Frances and her family will pay a dear price. But he knows it’s a card he can play only once, so right now, it’s a standoff. He’d better get down on his knees every night and pray for their good health.”

  “I’ll kill him for you, if you want,” Evan said. “Though, admittedly, it would be easier if you could lure him to the coast. Even better, suggest a father-son fishing trip.”

  Destin laughed, low in his throat. “Thank you, Pirate,” he said, “but killing is something I’m actually quite good at. The general is mine. I can wait.” He fingered Breaker’s ears, ruffling up his fur. “Is it my imagination, or has my dog joined the bloodsworn? I couldn’t help noticing that he and your crew share a certain reddish glow.”

  “It’s not your imagination,” Evan said, “though I prefer the term ‘Stormborn.’” He explained what had happened at the cottage and after.

  “So, how does it work, this blood magic?”

  Evan hesitated. He hadn’t shared this with anyone else. It wasn’t something he was particularly proud of.

  “It is a magic I share with the empress. My blood has the power to raise the recent dead and nearly dead. Once raised, the Stormborn are fearless, exceedingly strong, impervious to pain, and unflinchingly loyal.”

  “The perfect soldier,” Destin murmured.

  “There is a price to be paid,” Evan said. “They lose some of their mental edge, creativity, decision-making ability, and the like. And the desire for more blood never leaves them.”

  “I’m surprised at you,” Destin said, his face mingling grudging respect and a trace of surprise. “You used to be annoyingly ethical.”

  “I’m a pirate, not a priest,” Evan snapped. “Most of my crews are converts from the empress’s bloodsworn that I bind with my blood. That takes them out of Celestine’s hands and delivers to me the most experienced sailors and fighters. They also know her weaknesses and strengths.”

  “Is that how you justify it?” Destin raised an eyebrow. Same eyebrow, same way. Joltingly familiar.

  “They are all given a choice—stay with the empress and die, or serve me and live. Most don’t find it a difficult decision.” Evan took a breath, forcing his muscles to relax. There was no reason to be defensive. It was just Destin, pulling whatever chain he could get hold of. “I do what’s necessary to stay alive, and make a living. Tarvos is thriving. I’ve made it into a sanctuary and fortress that the empress can’t breach. The Guardians stand watch when I am not there.”

  “So you’ve figured out how to use them?” Destin said, brightening. “Did that manuscript I found—?”

  “That manuscript you found was a lifesaver,” Evan said. “Thank you.”

  “What about Celestine? Any meet-ups with the empress in the north?” Destin toyed with his mother’s dagger, as if half-listening, but something in the way he said it suggested he was striking close to the bone.

  “She used to stalk me continually, every time I put to sea,” Evan said. “After losing several ships, she learned to keep her distance, for fear of being swamped. However, I believe the price on my head in Carthis is higher than the one your king is offering. Which is why I need a crew I can trust.”

  Destin studied Evan’s face, the heat of his scrutiny bringing the blood up under his skin. “It seems what I’ve been hearing about you is true.”

  “That depends,” Evan said. “What have you been hearing?”

  “I am the spymaster for the king now, Pirate. I have eyes and ears across the Indio. They call you the Stormcaster of the Desert Coast and the Scourge of the Wetlands. They say you’re the only one who still defies the empress in the east. They say you are ruthless.”

  Evan half-shrugged, oddly touched that Destin had been keeping track of him. “I suppose you could still call me the lord of the ocean, but Celestine has gobbled up nearly all the land. Sooner or later I have
to put in to a port, and the only stronghold I have along the Desert Coast is Tarvos. Even that’s becoming more and more dangerous.” He paused, then forged ahead. “When you called me here, I thought maybe you intended to cash in.”

  “No,” Destin said, “but it does have to do with the empress.” He released a long breath. “You see, a few months ago, my king sent me to Delphi to hunt down a girl with a magemark.”

  Evan listened with growing alarm as Destin told his story. He’d always known this would happen—sooner or later the empress would run down her quarry and add another weapon to her armory. But to know it was actually happening was like a bolt to the heart.

  “Her name is Jenna?” Evan found himself wishing that he’d accepted Destin’s offer of a drink.

  “That’s the name she goes by now. Jenna Bandelow.”

  “Bandelow,” Evan repeated, as if that would deliver some insight. That was not a name that Celestine had mentioned the day they’d first met, but then again, she’d only named the ones she’d already found. “You’ve seen her magemark?”

  Destin nodded. He pulled out a folded paper and handed it over. “This is the sketch the king gave me.”

  Evan studied it. “The jewel in the center—?”

  “It appears to be a ruby. And there’s this.” Destin reached under the table and retrieved a black leather case. Setting it between them, he opened it, revealing a curved Carthian blade like the ones carried by Celestine’s horselords. “It was left to Jenna, supposedly by her mother. She killed one of the King’s Guard in Delphi with this blade.”

  When Evan reached for it, Destin gripped his wrist, hard. Evan looked up, startled, all but undone by the pressure of Destin’s fingers against his pulse point. For a long moment, they stared at each other.

  “Careful you don’t cut yourself,” Destin said. “It’s magicked. Jenna stabbed herself with it and nearly died.” One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Then he let go.

  But it was too late. Destin had shown his hand. It had been a huge risk to contact Evan, to hold this meeting, to commit treason against the king he served. It proved that, despite his claims to the contrary, the connection between them remained. Destin hadn’t moved on, either.

  Evan swallowed hard, undone by the gratitude that welled up inside him. He wrenched his mind back to the conversation. “Jenna nearly died—but she is alive?”

  Destin nodded. “She’s recovering. The king has sent word to the empress, but I took steps to make sure it would take a long time to get there. Still, at best we have a few weeks before Celestine comes to collect. Maybe less.”

  Evan was ambushed by a mixture of hope and dread. A few weeks. They had a few weeks. He had to find a way to . . . “You’ve questioned this . . . Jenna?”

  Destin nodded. “I used persuasion on her, but it doesn’t seem to work. As you’ll recall, it doesn’t work on you, either. Still, I’ve interrogated a lot of people, and I think she was telling the truth when she said she had no idea what the magemark means.”

  Hope diminished, just a bit. “What are her gifts?”

  Destin frowned, as if trying to remember every detail. “As I said, she’s resistant to magery. She claims to be clairvoyant—that she sometimes sees images of the future, sees people as they really are, or can tell when someone is lying. She claims that her senses are sharper than most—vision, hearing, sense of smell. She heals quickly, and is resistant to flame. In fact, she develops a kind of armor for protection.”

  Evan shook his head, bewildered. He couldn’t put those details together into any kind of theory that made sense. But, maybe, together they could—

  Destin rolled his glass between his hands. “If worse comes to worst, I could kill her before the empress arrives, but—”

  “No!” Evan all but shouted.

  The door banged open, and Brody, Jorani, and Teza crowded into the doorway. “My lord?” Teza said. “Is everything all right?”

  “Everything is fine,” Evan said. “I’m sorry. We were just having a . . . political discussion.”

  Jorani gave Destin the evil eye, and then they withdrew.

  “Back to Jenna,” Evan said. “I don’t want to kill her! I want to save her if I can. I have to talk to her. I’ve never met anyone else like me. I just—”

  Destin raised both hands. “Calm down, Pirate. I guessed that you would. So. I do have another plan. It’s a terrible, foolhardy, hastily made plan that will probably get us both killed. It involves the weapon I asked you to bring with you.” He paused. “You did bring a weapon, didn’t you?”

  Evan nodded. “I brought a sun dragon.”

  Destin stared at him. “A sun dragon?”

  Evan nodded. “It’s still rather small, but it’s growing fast. We need to act before it outgrows the hold.”

  “You weren’t worried that it would set fire to your ship?”

  “It came with a flashcraft collar that blocks magic,” Evan said. He paused, then continued, eagerly, “Would you like to see it?”

  Destin laughed, his first deep, genuine laugh of the day. And suddenly, they were back in Tarvos, two boys laying plans and building their ship of dreams.

  “Gods, Pirate, I have missed you,” Destin said, shaking his head. “Let’s go see this dragon and I’ll go over the plan.”

  15

  DEBRIEFING

  Hal Matelon crawled forward on his belly until he could look over the edge of the cliff. The wind off the Indio drove a freezing rain inland in sheets, plastering his hair to his head, running under his collar and down his neck, and dripping off the tip of his nose.

  Below and to the south lay the city and harbor of Chalk Cliffs. His heart sank when he saw that the same siren flag flew over the battlements as had flown over the ships that attacked the city a scant few days ago. It was what he had expected, but still . . . disappointing.

  The harbor was packed with ships, and the waterfront seethed with activity despite the rain, like an anthill that’s been overturned. The invaders were wasting no time off-loading soldiers, horses, and supplies.

  Horsemen rode up and down the beach in their thickly padded coats, head wraps, and knee-length breeches. They carried the curved swords they’d used so effectively on the city battlements. Some wore bits and pieces of Highlander uniforms along with traditional garb.

  Corporal Sasha Talbot eased up beside him. She stared down at the scene for a long moment, swore softly, then blotted at her eyes with her sleeve. She cleared her throat. “That answers that,” she said. “It looks like they mean to stay awhile.”

  Hal nodded, watching her out of the corner of his eye. The statuesque bluejacket had been subdued and gloomy since the city fell and the empress Celestine sailed off with the heir to the Gray Wolf throne. At least she no longer talked about drawing her sword and charging down into the midst of the horselord pirates, taking out as many as she could before she went down herself.

  She blames herself, he thought. And I blame myself. He guessed there was more than enough blame to go around.

  “Do you see any of ours?” he said, focusing on the scene below.

  Talbot slowly turned her head and stared at him.

  “Yours, I mean,” he amended quickly. He and Talbot got on fairly well, except for the fact that she still considered him to be a prisoner of the crown. At least she’d allowed him to keep the weapons he’d collected off a dead soldier.

  Talbot looked again, then murmured, “I think they’ve got some of ours repairing the fortifications.”

  Hal saw it now, teams of workers hauling rock under the supervision of the riders. It seemed that one of them wasn’t moving fast enough, because his horselord guard unslung his blade and cut him down.

  Talbot swore again. “I wish we could help them.” She fingered the hilt of her sword.

  “Come back with an army,” Hal said quickly. “Then you can help them.”

  Talbot grunted. “I don’t know if we can field an army that can stand against them,” she said, her express
ion bleak.

  “Buck up, Talbot,” Hal said, punching her lightly on the shoulder. “It’s not like you to surrender before the battle begins.”

  “I’ve never fought soldiers like these,” she said.

  Hal knew she was second-guessing every move she’d made, all the choices that resulted in the loss of her captain. Her princess. Her friend. Hal was doing a lot of that himself.

  “We’ll be ready for them, next time,” Hal said. “They may be fierce and fearless, but they’ll bleed like any other soldier.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Talbot said. She shot Hal a defiant look, as if daring him to contradict her.

  Hal fully intended to bring that same story to his father, but he knew better than to go before the thane unprepared. He needed more information.

  “Stay here,” Hal said. “I’ll be right back.”

  When he began scrambling back, away from the cliff, Talbot gripped his arm. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “I’m going to go down and see if I can find out a little more about who we’re up against.”

  “What if you don’t come back?”

  Hal struggled not to lose his temper. “If I don’t come back, I’ll be dead, but you’ll be alive, so you can go tell your Captain Byrne and your queen what’s going on.”

  Talbot scowled, but released her hold. Hal crept south along the cliff until he found an icy streambed where he could descend to the beach. Once on the sand, he threaded his way forward between huge chalk slabs until he could get a clear view.

  The horses were being ferried ashore in small boats south of the high cliffs and kept in temporary paddocks until they could be moved into the city. They were not the dun-colored Ardenine military mounts Hal was used to, nor the sturdy, shaggy ponies used in the highlands. These horses had chiseled heads, arched necks, and long legs, and they carried their tails high.

  A sentry leaned on the paddock fence, watching the progress of a longboat back to the ship anchored offshore. Unlike most of the others, he was bareheaded. He wore his hair in a long plait that extended nearly to his waist, though the top of his head was shaved clean. His beard was also braided and decorated. He wore light armor over loose-fitting clothing. More than anything, he resembled the horselords from the desert realms across the Indio.