Lera would never have given such sloppy orders on her own ship, but she supposed the crew was used to a master who wasn’t a sailor. Besides, they were probably all in agreement that they needed to be out of range of the wave when the cliff came down, and the exact phrasing of orders wasn’t as important as running for their lives.
“Voyjole,” Richard said, “take her up to the deck. Any interference from that shark and she’ll die—I want that to be perfectly clear to whatever-his-name-was. Make sure she can’t escape, understand?”
“I’ll have her secured to the stern, my lord.” He took Lera’s arm and drew her out of the cabin—not roughly, but not as if he planned to do anything other than follow the orders he’d been given. The last thing she heard before the door closed was Richard’s voice.
“She could be useful for a little while longer, Remerley,” he said. “But I sure as hell don’t need you.”
“M’lord, that warship—”
Jason barely registered the voice through a swimming haze filled with pain, but the word warship penetrated. He heard a soft rasp next to him as Richard spun around.
“Nemesis?” he said. There was no reply. “Look at me when I speak to you, and answer me. Is it Nemesis?”
Though his eyes were still closed, Jason guessed whoever had brought the news was standing in the doorway, staring at him. Good. Let him look. But Richard’s order must have snapped the man back to his senses, because he muttered a cowed, “Yes, m’lord.”
The silence was thick with rage. “Go,” Richard said finally, and from the sound of it, he was speaking through set teeth. “I’ll be on the deck shortly.”
That meant he’d finish his fun in the cabin and return to business, but before Jason could prepare himself for that, Voyjole spoke. “My lord, this will keep,” he said. “He’s going nowhere. But the crew needs to know what to do, and they need to know it now.”
That was an equally unwelcome reaction, Jason could tell, but if anyone could be trusted to protect Richard and look out for his best interests, it was Voyjole, and Richard seemed to realize it too. He flung the poker down and the door slammed behind him.
Jason breathed in deeply. The smell of burned cloth and burned flesh filled the cabin, but he didn’t open his eyes—he didn’t need to see what had been done to him when he could feel it. It was as though nails had been driven into both his arms. Richard had been about to start on his chest when the interruption had come.
A cold sharp line touched his throat. He looked up. Voyjole’s expression was blank other than the hard suspicion in his eyes.
“Who told you?” he said.
“No one.” The longsword’s blade pressed a little deeper. “I figured it out.”
“How?”
Jason’s throat was raw—from screaming, he thought—but he didn’t dare swallow. “Well, you must have noticed he has your eyes.” It was also very rare for two blue-eyed people to have a brown-eyed child, but he was in too much pain to get into that level of scientific detail.
“No one else knows?”
“I haven’t had time to write up my findings yet.”
Voyjole’s mouth thinned. “Don’t get smart with me. The only reason you’re still alive is because I want you to help him.”
“Help him?” For a moment Jason thought he had been hurt so badly he was hallucinating, because he couldn’t have heard that right. Hadn’t Voyjole been in the cabin during the last hour, or was he so accustomed to overlooking whatever Richard did?
The sword slid back into its scabbard, which was a relief, and Voyjole looked at the wall as if he could see beyond it to Nemesis approaching. “We have nothing more to throw at them. He might be taken prisoner, and in that case I want you to speak in his defense.” Unlike Richard, he had sounded resigned, but now his voice took on an ironic edge that cut deeper than the sword. “You were so eloquent when you urged him to reconsider. I’m sure you’re up to this as well.”
Jason could hardly believe he was being asked to do such a favor for a man who had not only treated him like that but who had nearly tortured Lera as well. Unfortunately his hands were still bound, and as far as he could see, the only way out was to trust Voyjole. Fast, before Richard came back.
“All right,” he said. “I can’t guarantee his safety if he does something stupid, but if he’s taken alive, I’ll do anything I can to make sure he’s treated fairly.”
“I want your word.”
“You have it. Unlike your son, I live up to my promises.”
“That’s another thing.” Voyjole’s hand dropped to the longsword’s hilt. “Swear you’ll never tell anyone. Or drop hints like you were doing before.”
Part of Jason—well, most of him—had hoped for a chance to throw that in Richard’s face. The fact that he was no more entitled to the Alth land and money than any of the laborers on the estate, the fact of his bastardy. Dagre had changed a great deal, but that was still one of the most shameful slurs that could be leveled at a man.
At least my parents were married, he could imagine himself saying—though he’d known better than to do so earlier, because he would probably have been beaten to death with the poker for it. Now he’d be denied even that small satisfaction. But the most important thing was to survive and find Lera and get them both to safety somehow.
“I swear by the Benevolent Ones.” Though he couldn’t help adding, “You’re fortunate.”
He’d meant fortunate you’re in a position to dictate terms to me, but Voyjole’s face hardened. “Fortunate? How?” The blade sawed through the ropes. “Am I fortunate that Lorna died? That our only child is hellbent on destroying what’s left of his life?”
“You know he’s hoping to kill thousands of innocent people, don’t you? Save a drop of sympathy for them.” Jason wrenched at the ropes and the last few strands snapped, but before he could do anything else, the door flew open. He slumped in place, gripping the broken ropes in his hands behind the chair’s back as Richard came in.
“Voyjole, what are you doing down here?” he said. “I need you on the deck.”
“What’s happened? My lord.”
Richard hesitated, and his voice was quieter when he answered. “That ship is under full steam, coming straight at us. I’ve had the anchor weighed and the wind’s in our favor. We can head south, all the way around to the cove, but they might follow us there and then they’ll be safe from the wave too. But if we engage them—well, I’m not sure we’d win.”
“They wouldn’t have a full complement of crew, not with some of their men on the island. We might be able to give a good account of ourselves.”
Do that, do that, Jason thought, watching the two men before him as best he could with his head bent. Whether Nemesis won or not—and he’d bet good money on the outcome of that particular engagement—a battle would give Garser’s men on the island enough time to render the real threat ineffective. Once they subdued the guards, they could dig up the caches.
“But why bother?” Richard said. “If we escape under full sail, we could drop a boat as soon as we’re close enough and reach land. Once we light the fuse, it won’t matter what Garser does.” He made a sound that Jason realized was a laugh, rasping and devoid of humor. “He’ll have to live with the knowledge that he failed in his duty.”
“His men are on the island. They could have started digging already.”
“Don’t be stupid. Even thirty or forty men couldn’t remove tons of explosives. It’s not as though they have the map or know where everything’s buried. No, we must get to land. Go up to the deck and make sure the crew obeys my orders.” There was a brief pause. “Go!”
“Yes, my lord,” Voyjole said, and left, closing the door. Jason looked up, just in time to see Richard take one of the swords down from the wall and start towards him.
Chapter Thirteen
Hold Back the Tide
Jason bolted up and was behind the chair in the next moment. Pain flared through both arms as if he were being burned again, but he ignored it as he grabbed the chair’s back. If Richard had been at all startled, he recovered fast. He closed with Jason and brought the sword hacking down.
Wood crunched. Jason managed to block the blade, but that almost tore the chair out of his hands. There was a roar of cannonfire, muffled but unmistakable, in the distance. Richard hesitated with the sword drawn back for a second swing, and Jason flung the chair at him.
He tried to dodge, but the chair clipped his shoulder and the floor lurched under them both as the cannons’ shot struck home. He went down, and Jason caught the handle of the brazier to keep standing.
Richard sprang up, a snarl distorting his face, and Jason kicked the brazier with all his strength. It came down, scattering coals across the floor between them. Richard jerked back reflexively, and that was enough time for Jason to reach the wall where the other sword still hung. He snatched it down from its pegs.
The two-handed greatsword was heavier than he had expected, but he barely felt his arms any more. Richard had stopped at the sight of the blade, and although Jason had never trained with a sword, just holding it made him feel stronger. He could…
Do what, exactly? Try to kill him? Richard had a great deal more swordplay practice than he had. More importantly, Lera was on the deck. If he freed her, they could reach Nemesis.
He was out of the room at once, heading for the nearest hatchway at a run. The ship rolled—or pitched, or yawed, it was one and the same to him—sending him against the wall before he recovered. Two of the crew were in his way, but they sprang back at the sight of the sword. Jason was all in favor of technological progress, even in the field of weaponry, but there was nothing like six feet of sharpened steel to make people leap out of one’s way.
A glance over his shoulder showed no one after him, but he would never hear Richard once the battle was joined. Nemesis’s array of cannons seemed to blast the world apart. Garser was clearly giving them everything he had. Jason thought of Lera tied to the stern—thankfully Voyjole had let slip that detail—while hellfire washed over the ship, and climbed the ladder three rungs at a time.
The deck was in chaos. A swift wind dried the sweat on his skin and filled the sails, tugging them violently and forcing half the crew to struggle to control them. The other half were fighting the warship—and failing. More shots blasted away parts of the gunwale. A sail came down, ropes snapping, and glass shattered. The chicken coop disappeared in a cloud of smoke and feathers.
Jason knew then there was no reaching Nemesis, certainly not while the battle raged and maybe not after it either. The warship was too far away—it had clearly headed to the spot where Princeps had been moored earlier, close to the beach, but Princeps was no longer anchored. The wind had her instead. It took her south, towards the cliffs, straight into the heart of the wave.
No, that’s good. Even if Garser’s men had left any of the watchouts on the island alive, even if they were all alive, Richard couldn’t send a command to bring down the cliff as long as Princeps was in danger too. Jason hurried towards the stern, leaping over a body on the deck.
Richard shouted at someone to stop him. Most of the crew seemed otherwise occupied, but one man barred his way. Jason brought the greatsword up, turning it so that sunlight gleamed off the long heavy blade. The man glanced down at the knife he held and was gone.
The stern was ahead, and Lera stood on the raised portion of the deck there. She couldn’t crouch to shield herself, because her hands were tied to the rail, but when she saw him she twisted enough for him to get the blade behind her. The ropes parted and fell away.
The cannons fired again, but as water flew up like a geyser several yards behind them, it was clear Nemesis was out of range—and heading north. Jason supposed Garser had no intention of taking his ship anywhere near the danger-point, but he’d left them alone on a ship whose crew now rose from the deck where they’d flung themselves for cover. They were regrouping, and Richard was at their forefront.
Everything they had lost, he knew, they would take out on him and Lera.
Without the skirmish to occupy them, the crew was regaining control of the sails—what was left of them, anyway. He’d hoped that would slow down the ship, but the wind was too strong. It propelled them relentlessly southward. The ship turned to circle the southernmost part of the island.
A cool shadow fell over the deck, though Jason didn’t need to look away from the deck to know what it was—the cliffs that slanted out over the sea at an angle. Nothing could have distracted him from the sight of the advancing crew. The birds chirked and muttered as they settled back on their nests, but from the crew there was no sound except for the billow of sails and the creak of the deck as twenty armed men moved forward. That, and the groans of the injured behind them.
The rail dug hard into Jason’s waist. He dared a glance over his shoulder and saw nothing but water turned deep blue with the shadow, turned white where it parted for the ship’s bow.
Lera sprang forward in a dive that brought her flat to the deck. Before the men in the forefront, Richard among them, could react, she’d snatched up a length of rope that had rolled unnoticed to the gunwale in the panic. Something scraped sharply across the deck as she retreated beside him. It was a grappling iron at the end of the rope, the points long and barbed.
The rope snapped out as she whirled the iron around her head in a swift circle, so fast the rope itself was a blur. Her lips drew back from her teeth, and her eyes were like beaten steel as she watched the crew. They watched just as tensely. No one seemed to want to be the first to get that in their face when she let it fly. He heard Richard snap an order for a harpooner.
“Hold on to me,” Lera said, and that was the only warning he got. She spun on her heel and flung the grappling iron out at the cliff.
Birds took off in a shrieking white cloud. Jason didn’t wait to see if the iron had struck home. He dropped the greatsword and grabbed her around the waist as the crew roared, surging forward. In the next moment they were both over the gunwale. He felt himself falling, falling—
—and the rope jerked abruptly, breaking their drop. They wheeled through the air, swaying like a pendulum on a chain. Jason turned his head as far as he could. The crew had gathered at the stern, but Princeps was moving fast enough that he and Lera were already out of reach.
One of the men hurried to the rail, took aim with a harpoon and let it fly. Jason twisted as best he could so Lera was behind him, but even as he did, the steel fell a foot or two short of them. It splashed into the water before it was drawn back by a rope.
The ship turned, canvas stretched full with the wind, and began to sail out of sight.
He felt Lera’s heart pounding against his chest, and her shirt was as sweat-damp as his own. She turned her head so he looked into her eyes, and that was enough to make him forget about everything else.
“Good thinking, Captain Vanze,” he said, and kissed her lightly, just a touch of his mouth on hers. He wondered if she would ever know how much he loved her, if there would ever be a place and a time where he could show her, and if it would matter when he did.
He lifted his head. She smiled that faintly lopsided, lovely smile, and there was something in her eyes he’d never seen before, but when she spoke it was as always in practicalities. “You climb first.” She looked up to where the rope stretched taut, twenty or more feet above their heads. “If it breaks, I can swim.”
Jason’s arms hurt anew at the thought, but he pulled himself up the rope. Before he reached the grappling iron, his palms were scraped raw, which almost felt worse. No wonder Lera’s hands were so callused.
Princeps was gone by then, though, and it was cool in the shadow of the cliff. He got a toehold on a crag and hauled himself on to a ledge a handspan wide, dislodging s
ome nests and praying the birds wouldn’t descend on him in a vengeful, eye-pecking mass.
Lera swarmed the length of the rope like the sailor she was, stepped on an egg as she climbed up and wrenched the grappling iron free before she tossed it again. That time it took two tries before it snagged something on the top of the cliff well above their heads. Jason went first, cursing under his breath as he had never cursed before, though he stopped at once when crumbs of rock pattered down on his head.
He froze, hanging in place, wondering if that part of the cliff would simply crack away either due to his weight or natural geological processes. Or worse, if someone was there, waiting for them. It couldn’t be Richard, but he’d stationed men on the island. Nothing was visible over the edge of the cliff, but at any moment he expected a head to appear or a kick to send the grappling iron spinning out loose.
“Jason?” Lera said.
That helped. A little, but it helped. He couldn’t waste time, much less give in to his fears and dangle from a rope until erosion finished both him and Lera off. So he continued, teeth set, hand over hand, until he reached the top of the cliff.
He was sweating and tired down to his bones, but finally being on a wide stretch of solid rock was wonderful, though he wanted to get as far from the edge as possible. Lera grasped his outstretched hand as she climbed up and pulled the grappling iron free.
“What now?” he said.
She looked around, but the top of the cliff seemed no different than it had been when the two of them had explored it and been ambushed. “It’ll take them a little time to anchor that ship, put down a boat and row across, and I’ll bet Garser’s doing the same thing from where he is. We could try…”
Her voice trailed off. Jason thought she’d seen something that had taken her aback, but she seemed to be staring at him instead.
The Highest Tide Page 26
