I don't recall ever being so famished. I wonder what they've been eating. Well fed and well defended, there's no reason for these people to have a care in the world. Not with that fortress protecting Shek Kul's residence. No ship's going to land on that side of the strait without permission, without falling to a hail of arrows from the watchful rampart.
The galleys and countless smaller boats jostling for anchorage in these waters knew better than to try, clustered instead on this side of the narrow seaway. There were intimidating guardians of the warlord's peace here too. Kheda looked dourly at the heavy triremes drawn up at either end of the beach where he sat. Beyond, fast triremes patrolled the more open waters, on the lookout for any opportunist vessel taking a course it shouldn't.
'You look very serious, friend. Get caught without shelter in this morning's downpour?' As unkempt as Kheda, another of the pathetic human flotsam washed up on the shore dropped down to sit beside him. 'Me too,' he said ruefully, gesturing at the sodden, tattered tunic draped across his bony arm.
Kheda hadn't bothered to try drying his clothing. The humid air hung around like a damp blanket in any case. He nodded at the heavy trireme closest to hand. 'I was wondering if anyone had ever managed to hide themselves aboard one of those.' It was the only vessel he'd seen making the infuriatingly short crossing in the day and a half he'd kept his vigil.
His companion laughed out loud. 'Not that I ever heard.' He shrugged pale brown shoulders. Like so many in these reaches he was light-skinned enough to pass for a sun-darkened mainlander. 'Some say there are domains whose trireme captains will take a bribe to carry a passenger unbeknown to their lords but I wouldn't risk it myself.' He shook his head with a shiver. 'Not and get thrown over the side at the first hint of trouble. Anyway, there's no chance any of Shek Kul's shipmasters would do such a thing.'
'I don't doubt that,' Kheda admitted ruefully.
Not with the power and competence of Shek Kul's rule so indisputably apparent in every move his people make, every word they speak. His all-pervasive authority makes any claims of the Daish domain look no better than Chazen Saril's ramshackle governance. You've nothing left to bribe your way aboard with either.
The fisher family that had saved him had more than earned their set of crystal cups. Set ashore on an islet ringed by busy fishing vessels, Kheda had been forced to give up the canthira goblet for a frustratingly short passage to a trading beach. Each of the vizail bowls had carried him a little further east and finally, the single gold bell that he'd hoped to give Janne had been the price of passage here. Now he'd arrived in Shek Kul's domain, he had nothing. Kheda fingered the ivory hung around his neck.
Nothing I'm prepared to give up.
'I'm here for another few days at least.' The newcomer jerked his head at a handful of galleys anchored close to the shore. 'None of this morning's arrivals will be going my way. How about yourself?'
'Nothing for me so far. Any news to share from the ships you've spoken with?' Kheda asked with studied casualness. 'Anything from the south? I heard rumour Ulla Safar was getting above himself.'
'There's word of warfare.' His unsought companion looked puzzled. 'But that the Redigal and Ritsem domains are joining with Daish to divide the Chazen isles between them. Does that sound right to you?'
'I've heard stranger things.' Kheda sounded suitably dubious but a faint warmth kindled beneath his breastbone.
Surely that must mean Sirket is backed by the allies I hoped my apparent death would win him. The three domains must be proving strong enough to hold their own against the invaders, otherwise the news would have travelled north faster than the breaking rains. I'll take that as proof that I read the omens aright, to follow the course that brought me here. But how long can they hold out, once the rains retreat and withdraw the protection of the smothering storms.
Kheda looked beyond the scatter of little houses on the far side of the strait. A dark stone wall cut a line through the green of the trees. Shek Kul's compound: ringed around with high walls ceaselessly patrolled, a lofty watch-tower raised above the main gate vigilant day and night. Just beyond the tower Kheda could see a corner of a central palace doubtless built with defence at least as much in mind as luxury.
Somewhere inside that impregnable wall, someone knows how Shek Kul defeated magic and drove it from his domain. I have to know, if I'm to take back any hope of Daish holding off these savages whenever they choose to come north.
'What I was wondering,' continued his new companion in a wheedling tone of voice, 'is whether you'd hook up with me for the afternoon.' He twisted to look up the steep slope of the shore towards houses tucked in among lilla trees now moist with new green. The morning's rains had made pools of the sailer grain plots firmly edged with sharp earthen banks and ducks were foraging happily in the liquid mud. Hens looked on aloof from the shelter of fowl houses with fans of sailer straw making frivolous crests in their thatch.
'Someone up there should be happy to let two strong men hoe their garden while they sit in the dry and cook a dinner big enough to share round,' he urged Kheda.
Or one strong man and a narrow-shouldered runt with ribs plainly visible beneath his tight-drawn skin. No, that was unfair.
Kheda could see his companion was entirely willing to work. It was just that his narrow frame wouldn't exactly inspire confidence.
'That woman there.' The newcomer nodded towards one of the closer houses, where a brindled hound with heavy jowls lounged in the shelter of an arched gate set in a substantial clawthorn hedge. 'She gave me some meat for cleaning out her hen run a few days since.' The ugly beast pricked suspicious ears at the pair of them.
'I haven't seen any of the Shek so much gather their own wood since I got here.' Kheda surprised himself by speaking that sour thought aloud. 'Travellers do almost all their labours.'
Being aboard that galley loosened your tongue more than you expected, certainly more than is prudent.
'What of it?' The newcomer was growing impatient. 'Do you want to eat today or not?
Kheda noted his companion wasn't the only vagabond looking enviously at the shelter and food the islanders enjoyed, doubtless why spiked palisades or hedges surrounded each house and most boasted hounds bigger than any Kheda had ever seen in the southern reaches.
The spokesman of a large village would think himself lucky to win the least of these hounds as a reward from his lord. A warlord would think himself generous to make such a gift to a most favoured warrior. Here, they guard chicken houses.
'If you're not interested—' The newcomer rose, dusting with ineffectual hands at wet sand sticking to his scrawny rump.
'I'm interested. I have to eat.' Kheda spared one last look for Shek Kul's distant compound.
If I can't get inside those walls to find out how Shek Kul defeated insidious magic brought down by his erstwhile wife, perhaps someone outside might know something of use.
'I'm Shap by the way.' His companion led the way up the slope towards the house he'd pointed to before. The hound in the gateway rose slowly to its massive feet, russet hackles bristling and loose black lips curling back to reveal formidable yellowed teeth.
'Cadirn.' Kheda halted, folded his arms and stared the dog down.
Authority rather than challenge, just as Daish Reik taught you.
It held its ground but didn't start barking, plainly reserving judgement.
'Good day to the house,' Shap called out, watching the burly dog with considerable nervousness.
A woman appeared on the wide porch, wary of drips sliding down the nutpalm thatch over her head. 'What do you want?'
'We wondered if we could be of use to you today, in return for whatever food you might spare us,' Shap said humbly, taking a hurried pace back as the dog took an inquisitive step towards him.
'Wait there.' After some consultation inside the house, the woman reappeared. 'You can weed the reckal plot.' She jerked her head towards a row of neat furrows where pale-leaved seedlings were already showing th
emselves. 'As long as you know reckal from everything else?' Her question was severe.
'We do,' Shap assured her with ingratiating cheerfulness.
'Come in and be welcome.' The woman came down the steps of her house and opened the gate, nudging the dog aside with her thigh. Like most of the Shek islanders, she was taller and longer-legged than the women of the southern reaches. Shap made sure he kept Kheda between himself and the dog, to the woman's evident amusement. Once they were inside, the woman caught up the beast's chain and brought it inside the fence, fastening the gate securely. 'Leave your things with the dog. He'll keep them safe.'
'Thank you.' Shap handed Kheda an anonymous roll of closely woven cloth tied tight with dark, much-knotted cord. Kheda set down both their bundles by the gatepost.
'Good lad,' he soothed the dog as it cocked inquisitive ears at him. Realising the woman was looking none too patiently at him he followed Shap.
Reckal. Toothed leaves and dark green, reddish veins on the underside. Janne's cook only ever serves the roots and then only when he feels their orange colour will enhance the look of a dish, given they taste so bland.
'You start at that end and I'll start here.' Shap was already on his knees in the stone-bordered vegetable plot, teasing errant sprigs of green out of the moist earth with his fingers.
Kheda crouched at the far end of the seedbed, studying the two- and three-leaved seedlings with interest. He separated them with a careful forefinger.
Firecreeper, inevitably. Redlance, good for the blood and especially women's concerns. Aspi, leaves good against worms and yes, the root oil makes an excellent wound wash.
Shap looked up from his furrow, annoyed. 'The reckal's the only thing with toothed leaves.'
'There are some useful healing plants here.' Kheda looked at him. 'They could be planted somewhere else.'
'She said nothing about that.' Shap already clutched a handful of green and white tendrils. 'Leave the reckal and get everything else out, roots and all, mind.'
'Very well,' Kheda conceded stiffly.
'If we don't make a good job of this, we don't eat,' Shap warned sourly.
'Throw the weeds into the hen run.' Kheda glanced around to see that the woman had brought an embroidery frame out of the house together with a stool and a basket of brightly coloured silks. He watched her needle dart in and out of the white cotton until she looked over to see what he was doing and scowled at his lack of progress.
Of course, the Shek domain is celebrated for its embroideries.
Kheda bent hastily over the narrow furrow and dug his fingers into the soft, damp earth as the woman exchanged a few disparaging remarks with someone unseen inside the house. His back was soon aching and his eyes rapidly tired of searching out the minute differences between one dagged-edged seedling and the others clustered round it. His thighs cramped as he hunched and shuffled along the row, trying not to crush the frail leaves he had left behind. Standing to add to his paltry handfuls to the pile of wilting weeds was scant relief, hunger twisting his innards every time. His tunic hung clammy about him, damp trousers chafing, and fresh sweat making him unpleasantly aware of his own rank odour.
All things being equal, I'd rather earn my food as an oarsman than a gardener.
Shap interrupted his thoughts with an unimpressed sniff. 'If you want half the food, you'll need to do half the work, friend.'
Seeing the skinny man was a full furrow and a half further across the reckal patch than he was, Kheda bit down on any reply and crushed an errant seedling between finger and thumb, a smear of green adding to the soil stains on his hands. Then he tried to pick up his pace but Shap was a full two furrows further across the vegetable patch than he was when they finally met.
'You take that lot to the hen run.' Shap stood up and groaned, digging a hand into the small of his arched back, shoulder blades sharply pointed, every bone in his spine clearly visible. 'I'll see what the lady thinks we've earned. Get the bowls.'
Kheda scooped up the heap of discarded weeds. The hens plainly knew what was coming; setting up a shrill clucking that brought the dog to its feet, alert for any suggestion that the fowl were being stolen.
'Empty hands, see?' Kheda spread them out for the dog and then offered one, palm down, to the brindled beast. It gave a perfunctory sniff and then sat on its haunches, allowing him to retrieve their gear, ears still pricked as it watched Kheda rejoin Shap by the house.
'You've got bowls of your own?' The woman of the house was waiting with a burnished copper cook pot, ladle poised impatiently. From the way she carried the pot, it wasn't hot. Kheda and Shap both rummaged hastily to find their bowls.
The broth left from last night's stewed duck eked out with a few left-over vegetables and thickened with the dust from the bottom of the sailer crock, Janne Daish wouldn't serve this to visiting slaves to insult their lord or lady.
Kheda spooned it up hungrily all the same, savouring the few shreds of meat. He cleared his throat and smiled. 'That's a fine piece you're sewing there.' He nodded toward the embroidery frame.
The woman nodded a perfunctory acknowledgement, scraping round the bottom of her cook pot. 'There's a little more. Do you want it?'
'Famous for its embroideries, the Shek domain, even in the southern reaches.' Kheda tipped his bowl to drain the dregs of broth.
And what are you going to say now? 'Trade good, is it? No one put off by the possible taint of magic clinging to the cloth?'
Shap thrust his own bowl forward as soon as the woman raised her ladle. She gave him a second substantial portion, leaving Kheda with only a few thin spoonfuls of gruel. 'You eat what you've earned.' Her sharp black eyes dared him to challenge her.
'You've our thanks and our hopes that your journeys prosper.' A bare-chested man appeared in the doorway, tall and copper-skinned with shoulders as broad as any Kheda had seen on Godine's galley. He thrust his thumbs into the broad sash that served him as a belt, the bone handle of his serpentine-bladed Shek dagger white against the indigo cloth. The hilt was carved in the likeness of a heron.
Why not ask him? 'Tell me, friend, just how did Shek Kul put paid to his erstwhile wife suborning sorcery? Your warlord will naturally confide such things to you, and why wouldn't you debate such sensitive matters with a ragged, servile traveller?'
'If I don't get a passage out today, may I call on you tomorrow?' Shap squared his narrow shoulders, plainly disassociating himself from Kheda.
'You can, not that I'm promising anything,' the woman said grudgingly. She didn't include Kheda in this.
'Good day to you, then.' Back straight, Shap turned on his heel and headed for the gate. The dog barred his way, advancing to the full length of its chain.
'Get back,' Kheda snapped at the animal, daring it to disobey with a ferocious scowl. He unlatched the gate while the confused dog was looking towards the house for guidance and strode down to the sea, not caring where Shap had got to. Sorely tempted to hurl his cracked bowl out into the water, he crouched down and, instead, began scouring it clean with sand and water.
That was certainly a humiliating waste of time spent finding out nothing in the least bit useful. What now?
'Are you the palm reader?' A timid voice at his shoulder startled him from his frustration. A girl was looking down at him, barely more than a child and painfully thin, dark skin muddy with hunger, crusted eyes a watery blue. 'That man, back there, he said you'd read his journey in his hands.'
'I have some such talent.' Kheda stood, shaking water from his bowl and spoon. 'Sharing it with you depends on what you can do for me.'
The girl dropped her gaze and dug a toe into grey sand pocked from the morning's rains and churned by busy feet. 'I found driftwood this morning.' She was indeed clutching a scanty bundle of warped and splintered sticks scarcely thinner than her own arms.
'Then trade it for food and bring me half of whatever you get.' Kheda kept his voice hard as the girl raised wide, woebegone eyes to him, forcing him to explain. 'I can'
t promise you'll like what I read. Those men from the galley that sailed this morning, they promised me a share in their fish but when I saw ill-luck for their rowing master, I went hungry.' Anger at that unforeseen injustice soured his tone.
The girl's face turned sympathetic. 'I'll bring whatever food I can find.' Swinging her bundle of wood up on one shoulder with unexpected deftness, she trotted away through the shabby encampment ranged along the high-water mark.
Why did you tell her that? Why did you agree to read her future? A lost waif like that, she'll doubtless fasten on anyone who offers her kindness and if you see some hazard in her path, can you turn your back on her? The last thing you need is some vulnerable child dependent on you.
Kheda watched her thread her way through the ramshackle huts of branches and half-rotted lengths of sailcloth. The inadequate shelters changed hands with other every tide as far as Kheda could tell, as men and women came ashore or left with some departing ship, trading whatever necessities or trinkets they might have for protection from the daily rains. Some of the travellers held together in twos or threes, others didn't even bother bidding temporary companions a perfunctory farewell before taking a solitary berth on some galley heading in the right direction.
Give these people enough hints of favourable fortune and you could claim a decent share in food and shelter, not break your back grubbing in the dirt to get it. You've forsworn your honour already, thieving from Godine. How many nights will you suffer an empty belly before you compromise with a few invented omens for the sake of some sailer bread?
A welcome rush of splashes distracted him from such treacherous notions. Ladders were being thrown over the stern of the heavy trireme stationed down the beach. Troops slid down them, barely bothering with the rungs as they splashed into knee-deep surf. The men came ashore in two rapid files, rhythmic chinking from their mail coats, hands on their sword hilts.
Kheda looked around for any sign of disturbance. Travellers were scattering like a villager's ducks but only out of fear of the Shek swordsmen. Some cowered by their inadequate huts, others hesitated, tattered bundles clutched tight. The most terrified found themselves up to their chests in the waters of the strait before they could stop. Some ran inland to find villagers with brooms and hounds on ready chains barring their way. The dogs reared up, baying with excitement.
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