Mathew looked from Father Thomas to Collin. Neither said anything.
"Father... do you know what Karas Duren looks like?" Mathew asked, breaking the silence.
Mathew could already see the answer on Father Thomas's face before he began to speak.
"I saw him once at the Great Hall when the peace accords were signed, but that was almost thirty years ago. He was a tall man, slender and arrogant in his bearing. He had dark hair and—"
"Hooded black eyes," Mathew finished, slumping down into a chair.
Collin looked from his friend to the priest. Then he threw up his hands and said, "Oh, this is just wonderful."
"You said there were three people," Father Thomas prompted.
Mathew nodded. "Like I told you, I never saw the third one, except from the back. She had long black hair. The other woman's hair was the same color. She was tall, slender, and very beautiful. She was wearing a silver gown. This is odd, but in spite of how she looked, her expression was as cold as Duren's—maybe colder. I don't know how to explain it, but I could almost tell what they were feeling about me—all of them. It wasn't pleasant."
"You sometimes have that effect on people," Collin observed, sounding more like himself.
Mathew ignored the remark. "The woman who did look at me wore a thin circlet of gold around her head. I remember that. There was something else too," Mathew said, closing his eyes in concentration. After a moment he gave up. "I suppose it'll come back to me. Do you have any idea who she is, Father?"
Father Thomas pressed his lips together before answering. "It could be any number of people. I don't believe it's Duren's wife. She's fair-haired, and not tall in the way you describe her. My guess is that it's Marsa Duren d'Elso, Karas Duren's sister. The description sounds right. She also happens to be the Queen of Nyngary."
"Well what do they want from me?" Mathew asked dejectedly.
"Your ring, I suspect," Father Thomas calmly replied.
"Land ho!" one of the seamen shouted.
His voice yanked Mathew out of his reverie.
"Where away?" Zachariah Ward called out from the ship's wheel.
"Two points fine off the port bow."
Mathew looked but wasn't able to make out anything from his vantage point. A moment later, Collin climbed up to join him. Both boys stood up using the footropes to balance themselves. On the distant horizon, where the sky and sea merged, Mathew was able to pick out a hazy irregular shape just barely visible above the sea.
"There," he said, pointing.
Collin followed the line of his arm and saw it too as word spread quickly around the ship. Soon everyone was on deck to watch the landfall. Mathew took special pride in the fact that he had accurately plotted the last five days of their trip across the Southern Sea by himself, albeit with Zachariah's approval.
"Well, gentlemen, what do you see?" Captain Donal called up to them.
"Just a shape," Collin answered, looking down. "Doesn't look like much right now."
"Temper your patience, sir. In about another hour, if
the wind holds, we should round the point and be in Tyraine harbor."
The wind, however, chose not to cooperate, shifting directions before their feet touched the deck. They spent the next hour tacking eastward and had to beat their way back, with only minimal progress. Throughout the morning the sun continued to rise, burning off most of the haze that covered the land ahead of them. When their last tack was completed, Mathew was certain he could make out more than just a vague outline on the horizon. A short time later the rocky coastline of lower Elgaria came into view. Craggy hills mixed with trees and exposed rock rose up steeply up from the beach to form the famous cliffs of Tyraine.
Lara joined them by the rail, her brown cloak thrown loosely over her shoulders despite the early morning's warmth. Almost unconsciously, she slipped her arm through Mathew's and leaned her head on his shoulder. They watched as the ship moved toward a jagged point of land that jutted out into the water like a crooked finger. Captain Donal sent one man into the chains at the bowsprit to take depth readings and another man aloft to the crow's nest to watch for shoal water.
From the navigation classes, Mathew knew what that meant. Having spent all of his life in Devondale, he had never thought about the land dropping away from the shore in an uneven manner with rises and falls of its own. Captain Donal explained that changes in the water's color, particularly close to a shoreline, were good indications there was land just below the surface. A ship could easily run aground if its master wasn't alert. White water and breaking waves were other signs to watch for.
Mathew tried passing his new knowledge along to Lara, and although she gave every appearance of listening politely, he decided that was all she was doing. Ultimately he gave up, and resolved that he would confine his discussions on the finer points of sailing with those who better appreciated them.
The sky continued to brighten to a deep brilliant blue, and the warm breeze on Mathew's face felt good. In a short while they would sail into Tyraine harbor. He knew he should have been happy, but of all the people on the ship, he was least looking forward to it. Over the last few days, he had felt more at ease than he could remember in quite some time. Life was simple and uncomplicated there. Definitely something I can get used to, he thought. As if she could read his mind, Lara squeezed his arm tighter, and Mathew closed his eyes, letting the seductive rise and fall of the Wave Dancer take him.
The tranquillity of the moment lasted only until a low whistle from Collin attracted his attention. The rugged face of a sheer cliff was passing slowly to the starboard side of the ship, and opening before them was the full expanse of the Tyrainian harbor.
From what members of the crew had told him, Mathew expected Tyraine to hold a good deal more vessels than Elberton did. But not this many! It was immense. There had to be at least forty ships of every kind and description dotting the harbor. Every available space at the docks was taken. Masts and yards with furled sails were everywhere.
The harbor itself was shaped like a horseshoe, with the city of Tyraine rising majestically behind it, extending up into the very hills. He had thought Gravenhage was big, but this dwarfed it by a long shot. He looked at Collin, whose mouth was open. Lara seemed equally taken aback, although she managed to conceal it better.
Building after building of all shapes and sizes rose up from the landscape. Mathew counted at least eight different towers, all taller than Gravenhage's central one. Just off to the right, his eye picked out a large, prominent, gold-domed structure that reflected sunlight like a beacon.
"Will you look at that?" Collin said. He was staring at the same thing and could barely conceal the awe in his voice.
"The Temple of Alidar," Father Thomas said from behind them.
They were so fascinated by the sight, none of them had heard him approach.
"I thought they only worshiped him in Coribar," Collin said.
"Their priests have had a temple here for many years. The city tends to be quite tolerant of all religions. Even the Bajani have a mosque here. It's the one with the two spires up on that hill to your left."
"But I thought that everybody in Elgaria was the same as us," Collin said.
"Most are. In fact the majority are. But we do have a number of other religions throughout the country. I've always tried to think of them as new customers," Father Thomas joked.
"Well, I for one am astounded," Collin said. "See, it's just like I told you, Mat, we don't know anything about anything. There's a whole world out here just waiting . .."
Collin's voice trailed away, and Mathew and Lara turned to look at him. He was watching Father Thomas. The smile had disappeared from the priest's face and his expression was suddenly serious.
"What is it, Father?" Lara asked.
"Too many," he replied absently.
Mathew could see that he was concentrating on the ships anchored in the harbor, his lips moving silently, counting them.
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"What's too many?" Collin asked.
"The ships. And if I'm not mistaken, those six over there are from Vargoth."
"Is that bad?" Collin asked again.
"Possibly. The problem is that we lack any real news. Unless things have changed a great deal over the last sixteen years, it would be unusual to have more than one or two Vargoth vessels—three at most—in the harbor at the same time."
"That doesn't mean there's anything wrong, does it?" Collin said
"Perhaps not," Father Thomas said, not taking his eyes from the ships. "Another problem is that if we are at war, we don't yet know who stands with whom. And by my count, there are at least fifteen vessels from Vargoth tied up at the piers and more in the harbor. I don't like the look of it."
Mathew was about to ask a question of his own when a cry came from the crow's nest,
"Two galleys putting out oars, and two more closing from the stern."
It was true. Just after they rounded the point passing the harbor mouth, Vargoth ships stationed on either side of the entrance set a course to converge on them. At the same time, the two galleys at the docks, noting their presence, were now steadily moving toward them. Any chance of escape was effectively blocked.
Mathew recognized the heavy tread of Captain Donal approaching. He was joined a minute later by Zachariah Ward, who looked even more grim-faced than usual. After surveying the situation, they exchanged a meaningful glance.
"This doesn't bode very well, I'm afraid," he said to Father Thomas. "I would say we've sailed straight into a trap."
Father Thomas nodded slowly. "You think Vargoth has sided with Duren?"
Captain Donal's frown deepened before he answered. He leaned over the rail, studying the approaching ships, then looked to the stern.
"I'd say there's very little question of that, sir. We're caught like fish in a net."
"Is there any chance we can turn and make a run for it?"
Father Thomas asked the question without conviction. The answer was already obvious on Captain Donal's face.
"The Dancer's faster and handier than those ships, but we'd not make the headland before they were on us."
"How long do we have?
"I'd say fifteen minutes, no more."
Father Thomas's brow furrowed in concentration while he considered the possibilities. Mathew turned back to look at the approaching ships once more. Those that had
set off from their anchorage were large ungainly affairs, considerably bigger than the Wave Dancer. Each was equipped with a catapult that could pound an enemy's vessel into submission. Even from his distance, he could see the broad black and gold pendants of Vargoth flying from their masts.
Mathew thought about it for a minute and realized that he knew very little about either Vargoth or its people. To the best of his knowledge, he couldn't recall ever having met anyone from that country before. He knew it lay somewhere to the east of Elgaria and well to the south of Alor Satar at the tip of the Great Southern Sea. He could remember his father telling him it was a barren, hard country that hired its soldiers out to those who could pay.
Mathew watched the graceful rhythmic oars moving back and forth together, giving the strange ships the appearance of a bird in flight. In its own way, he thought it was a beautiful sight.
"Where's the least likely place to look for someone on this ship?" Father Thomas asked after a moment.
"The cable tier," the captain answered, watching the galleys drawing nearer.
"Mathew, Collin, this is what I want you to do—get yourselves down there now. Mathew, do you know where it is?"
Mathew nodded.
"You're to stay there until after dark, then make your way to a tavern called the Stone Pheasant. You shouldn't have any trouble finding it. Walk up five streets from that center dock next to the large gray ship. Can you see it?" he asked, pointing.
"I see it," Collin said.
"Fine. It doesn't make any difference which street you take; they all lead to a large square called the Plaza Marcus. There's no way to miss it. Go across to the other side. At the very left corner you'll find a street, called Montaigne. Follow that street to the tavern. It will be about a twenty-minute walk. Do you both understand me?"
Father Thomas's voice had turned rapid and urgent.
"Right," Mathew replied.
"My niece and I will be registered under the name of Miles Vernon, a trader in gems from Tardero. If all goes well, we'll be meeting a friend of mine there."
Mathew opened his mouth to ask who the friend was but never got the chance. A huge fireball, flung from the Vargoth ship closest to them, roared overhead, causing everyone to duck. It splashed down in the water no more than fifty yards from their stern, the sea boiling around it.
"Mr. Ward, pipe the hands to the braces and heave to, if you please. Take in all sail."
"Aye, Captain. Take in all sail," he echoed, following the custom of repeating the last order.
"And you, gentlemen, will please make yourselves scarce," the captain said. "Take a set of spikes and hammers down there with you. It will look like you're working. In case you're discovered, you've been on the ship for three months—runaways from Wakefield. Mathew, you're John Tabor, and you Collin are Sammy Shelton— both apprentices. Now off with you."
"But—" Mathew said, turning to Lara.
"Just go," she said, pushing him. "Uncle Miles and I will be fine. I seem to be acquiring a lot of new relatives on this trip."
"What about Daniel and Akin?" Mathew asked. "They'll be here tomorrow on the Douhalia, and they're going to sail right into the same trap we have."
"Akin can take care of himself," Father Thomas replied in a low voice. "You'd both better get moving now. We don't have much time."
Mathew looked over the port rail at the lead ship. As soon as it became obvious that Captain Donal didn't intend to run or put up a fight, they also shortened sail and dropped anchor. Two boats were being lowered over their side. The other ship, on their starboard side, already had a boat in the water. Both were filled with soldiers.
Mathew slipped the leather cord holding the ring over his head and handed it to Lara. She promptly put it
around her own neck, tucking it out of sight down the front of her dress. Then he and Collin looked at each other and dashed for the ladder.
Father Thomas also disappeared belowdeck. He re-emerged minutes later, wearing a long dark blue robe and a jeweled belt around his waist. He had changed his breeches and donned a new shirt with a white silk scarf. To all outward appearances he looked exactly like a wealthy foreign merchant. Seeing him, Captain Donal raised his eyebrows.
"I see that you're a man who plans for the future," he said under his breath.
"The Lord helps those who help themselves," Father Thomas replied quietly.
Their conversation got no further, as fully armed soldiers began to clamber over both sides of the ship at the same time. Father Thomas and Captain Donal watched at least thirty Vargothan mercenaries' deploy themselves along the deck. Two minutes later boats from the stern ship tied on and another twenty men came onboard. Watchful and alert, none of the soldiers spoke, but they stood ready to act at a moment's notice.
Father Thomas pulled Lara closer to him and put a protective arm around her shoulders. To his experienced eye, these men appeared both professional and tough. Their black cloaks were thrown back, and though no weapons were out, he could see their hands resting suggestively on the hilts of their swords.
The wait didn't last long. A man in'his late fifties, followed by another man, climbed through the entry port. Both were dressed as soldiers. The first wore a silver star-burst insignia on the left breast of his cloak. His hair was almost completely white and his dark brown eyes bespoke intelligence. He had a hard, slender physique. The second was a large man, rougher in appearance than the first, with a scar running from his right eye to his upper lip. He looked cautiously around the deck with his hands on his hips.
The first man took only a second to pick out Captain Donal. Father Thomas gently guided Lara to his opposite side, then casually leaned against the railing as the man approached them.
"You are the captain of this vessel?" the first asked without preliminary.
"I am, sir. My name is Oliver Donal. And perhaps you'll explain the meaning of your actions."
Without any warning, the man lashed out, striking Captain Donal across the mouth with the back of his hand. The captain's head snapped sideways and he took a step forward, but ten blades drawn at once by the nearest soldiers forestalled him. Slowly, keeping his eyes on the man, the captain raised a finger to his lower lip and wiped the blood from it.
"Good. It appears that you have sense as well as courage. I find that refreshing. My name is Abenard Danus, commander of the occupation force of Tyraine. You are now subjects of the Empire of Alor Satar."
The statement brought an immediate buzz of reaction from the crew, causing several of the soldiers to step back, drawing their weapons. A look from the large man next to Danus restored order.
"Cooperate and you'll be treated well," the large man said, pitching his voice to carry. "Resist and you'll hang from those cliff's yonder till the skin falls from your bones and the crows eat your eyes." Though he made the pronouncement blandly, Father Thomas had no doubt that he would carry out his threat without a second thought.
When the man continued pointing in the direction of land, Father Thomas and several crew members turned to look. Startled gasps came from everywhere at the same time. It took every bit of Father Thomas's willpower to keep from reacting. The memory of that sight promised to stay with him for as long as he lived.
All along the cliffs ran a continuous fine of gallows with people hanging from them. What made the sight all the more startling was that even from their distance, the priest could tell the bodies were not just men, but women and children as well.
"This is Notas Vanko, my second in command," Danus said. "I suggest you take heed of his warning. He is a man of considerably less patience than I."
Mitchell Graham - [Fifth Ring 01] - The Fifth Ring (v1.0) Page 35
