Gemworld

by Jeremy Bullard

  The Lynchers, of course, had other plans for the shackles. They saw in them the potential for true restraint and, in less than a generation, redesigned them accordingly.

  Jaeda's breath caught as Marissa set the final lock. Now, only Marissa knew the secret to removing Nestor’s shackle without killing him. Crafter forbid she should ever die before passing that secret on, as even a master artisan stood a good chance of tripping the safeguards on a shackle crafted by another’s hands.

  Even knowing the necessity in applying it to Nestor, it turned Jaeda’s stomach to watch the violet aura spread over her former commander’s body and settle into his skin. Her stomach lurched again when Nestor’s gaze fell upon her, completely devoid of emotion.

  Marissa backed slowly out of the wagon, nodding at Reit, who stood at the far side of the door across from Jaeda.

  “I want to voice my objections yet again,” Reit started, but let the matter drop. Jaeda knew that he trusted her. She’d already proven her loyalty and worth to him in today’s ambush. And she had Gaelen to vouch for her longstanding commitment to the Cause. True, she would still face the questioning at the hands of the council of Caravan—those mundanes backed by the Heads of Order and Guild and elected from among the villagers to provide council to Reit—but that was just so much formality.

  “I’ll be fine, el’Yatza,” she said confidently, more so than she actually felt. “Besides, I’m sure you’ll have a guard posted outside.”

  The young rebel leader snickered a bit. “I wouldn’t be a good servant if I neglected the safety of those in my charge, now would I? Gaelen actually wanted to do it himself, but I couldn’t allow it. Conflict of interest, you understand.”

  “Of course. Thank you, my lord.”

  Reit bristled a bit at the honorific, but said nothing. With a jerk of his head, he dismissed the amethyst guards that surrounded the wagon, leaving only one of Retzu’s shol’tuk adherents to guard the door. Brass hilt, Jaeda noted, remembering her lessons regarding the assassin culture. The young man regarded her with no more emotion than Nestor did. Less, in fact, though it meant little coming from him.

  She believed the brass hilt was a skill level equivalent to a Major Lieutenant, though the young man would likely scoff at her applying military rank to one such as himself. Likely, he saw her and all other Rank as anathema, as “unhilted”, bearing swords but sharing none of the strictures that shol’tuk associates with them. Whoever the assassin was, and however skilled with a sword, his hilt proclaimed him more than a match for practically anyone who would free the Chief General of the Granite Guard. Death reflects our inner being, like the brass plate reflects the sunlight, she silently recited, though the mantra held no more power for her than it would for any other unhilted.

  She paused a moment longer to steel herself, though it did little to calm her heart against what she was about to face. She grit her teeth, breathed deeply, and mounted the steps to the doorway.

  Nestor sat perfectly still in his high backed chair, refusing to acknowledge her approach. He simply pushed the chair back on its rear legs, resting his head and neck on the back wall of the wagon and seeming to go to sleep.

  Jaeda let her breath out in a sigh. “I didn’t expect even that much from you, so why should I be disappointed?” When her former commander didn’t answer, she took a seat on the bed to the side of the doorway. “Reit says that the shackle is temporary, until he decides what to do with you. As he has men in place within the Earthen Rank, there is really no need to try to wrest information out of you.”

  “As if he could,” the big granite grumbled.

  “He’s quite resourceful, Nestor. You don’t give him enough credit.”

  “Quite true,” he replied amiably. “I would never have guessed that he could turn one of my own against me, least of all you.”

  Jaeda winced at the barb, but refused to let her hurt get the best of her. Showing Nestor her soft underbelly would serve no purpose. “He didn’t ‘turn’ me, Nestor. He has my loyalty because he upholds the Way of el, something that our own dear Highest has long rejected.”

  “Blasphemy!” Nestor spat, rage distorting his face into a cruel mockery of what it had been.

  “Not blasphemy,” she hurled back, the wall of her heart buckling under the force of her own outrage. “Reality. The ‘vicar of the Crafter’, bah! A self-imposed title, garnering him all the honor and privilege that should go only to the Heart, may el hasten His appearance.

  “Tell me, Chief General, have you never seen his anger? Is it anger set loose on those who would disparage him, or the Crafter?”

  “There is no distinction. The Highest is the—”

  “There is a world of difference! The Way teaches us that the Heart serves el alone, that He takes no glory for Himself. He will come at the pleasure of the Crafter, to serve the pleasure of the Crafter. The Highest serves his own pleasure. Can you deny it?”

  Nestor’s mouth worked as if to reply, but nothing came out. Frustrated, he gave up and looked away.

  “I thought not,” Jaeda said victoriously. “There is flaw in him, and no flaw can exist in the Crafter or His Heart. The Way teaches us that. How can a mere man be the Vicar of the Crafter?”

  “Whether or not he is the Vicar, he has never betrayed me,” he sneered.

  Jaeda felt the blood rush to her cheeks, though she knew Nestor’s granite eyes would see none of it. And what if he did? She had betrayed him. It was necessary, but the fact brought her no comfort.

  “That’s how I know that your heart can still be reached,” she said quietly, making no effort to hide her shame, but still looking Nestor squarely in the eye. She may not have been proud of her actions, but they were justified. By the Prophets, they were right! “The betrayal brings you pain. Tell me, have you ever seen the pain of betrayal in the eyes of the Highest?”

  “I have never betrayed him,” Nestor breathed in outrage. “I have been true to him my entire life.”

  “Of course. A sycophant bears no thought of betrayal. But there have been many to turn their backs on the Highest. King Titus, Count du’Nograh, Reit... has the Highest ever shown even the slightest hint of pain at the loss of those he wished to rule?”

  Jaeda waited patiently as Nestor’s mouth worked desperately to reply. Finally he sputtered and huffed, unable to dispute her argument, but unwilling to give in. Quietly, she stood to leave, but paused at the door and spoke over her shoulder. “If it means anything, I would feel just as betrayed if you had done the same thing. Even now, I place great value on your declaration of intentions. Whatever you think of my actions, I didn’t accept your declaration whimsically. I only looked to distract you, but found distraction myself.”

  Not waiting for a reply, Jaeda ducked out of the prison wagon and into the thickly wooded evening. She likely wouldn’t have heard a reply even if he had made one; the heartbeat in her ears drowned out every sound but its own.

  Chapter 19

  Sal and Mikel made their way along the highroad, headed east at a steady clip that devoured the miles and the days. Mikel’s mule was a sturdy sort, and didn’t complain about the long hours. As twilight approached each evening, Mikel would pull off the highroad and make camp in some remote corner of the woods. Many of the campsites were well used, sites that Mikel knew from previous trips to the Ford. Others were makeshift, little more than a tree with a broad canopy. But even in those cases, the farmers in the area knew the old man well, and generally left him alone.

  Only once did they draw undue attention. Having recently inherited his land from a deceased grandfather, the farmer didn’t know the strange pair who’d had the nerve to set up camp on his land. Leaving his field, he rode over to the campsite to evict his unwanted guests. One glimpse at Sal’s gemstone eye was all it took to satisfy his curiosity. The last that Sal saw of the farmer, he was bowing and scraping his way backward through his field, his horse following along docilely, nickering in a way that sounded suspiciously like laughter.

/>   As it happened, Mikel was an able host, and an engaging conversationalist. He was intimately familiar with that part of the Vale—and many other places throughout the world, to hear him tell it. And who’s to say he wasn’t? He sure had enough stories to tell! As they rode, he’d spy a rock formation, or a curious looking plant, and launch into an endless dissertation on the subject, not letting off until something else caught his eye. But that was fine with Sal—he found the old man’s lessons fascinating.

  At night, though, the stories took a different bent. Nighttime was strictly devoted to entertainment. And it was at dusk that Mikel’s minstrel spirit really came out. He took great pleasure regaling Sal with stories of his youth—though Sal found it hard to believe that a man this grizzled and old had ever had a youth.

  “There comes to mind a time in me younger days,” he was saying one night beside their dinner fire. “Well, mayhap not much younger, but younger all the same. The world, like me, was much the same then as now. Men was men. Times was hard. Any soul wishin’ to throw off the rule of the Highest had best to dream of it in secret, or so far from Veylin as to slip past the Highest’s notice. But birds of a feather tend to flock together, aye, and where ye might miss one bird, ye’ll surely see a flock,” he winked. The old man sipped at an after-dinner brandy—”me one vice, don’tcha know”—savoring its sweet burn on his tongue. Smacking his lips soundly, he continued.

  “I was a merchant in them days, and well to do in me own right. Had me a boat, runnin’ from Guard and Garrison to Deitrich. Me route took me straight through Leviathan’s Maw. Not many a man today will run the Maw, I grant ye that. Not a lick o’ gumption in the lot o’ them, no. Ah, but the gold I garnered for early deliveries was a lovely temptress...

  “Anyways, a special order had taken me north to the port city of Aitaxen. I moored there ‘bout two days, and was just gettin’ ready to cast off when there come up a man—a nobleman if ever I seen one—askin’ passage on me vessel, claimed he needed me to run the Maw with his wife and tots. Well, far be it from me to risk ladyfolk or kids, no matter the hurry. A refusal was on me lips when I seen me a ruckus on the wharf. Three Rank rubies come up in a bunch, lookin’ this way and that, shovin’ folks aside what got in their view.

  “The man looked over his shoulder at the Reds then looked to me—beggin’, if ye can believe that! Well, I never been one to take up with nobles, but what’s I to do? And a-sides, it’d been a while since I last thumbed me nose at the Highest, and I figured I was about due, so I lets ‘em aboard and we shove off. I despaired o’ leavin’ half me cargo on the pier—was downright sour ‘bout it, so I was—but the nobleman tossed me a rabbit purse full o’ gold coin with nary a word said. Cheered me up right quick, don’tcha know.

  “Well, we took south’ard on a course that’d take us a day west o’ Guard and Garrison. When I’d satisfied meself that we wasn’t being followed, I went below to see after me passenger an’ his kin.

  “He held hisself aloof at first. I took him to be yer typical blue-blood, all fancy duds and fancy bows and fancy servants to wipe yer bum. But once the young’uns were settled in, he came to me, frilly hat in hand, apologizin’ for puttin’ me to trouble. Apologizin’ to me, a merchant for Prophets’ sake!

  “O’ course, I took it with all me delicate grace, assurin’ him ‘twas me pleasure to snub the Reds and all. He relaxed a bit at that. Then he told me what the ruckus was about. He introduced hisself as Eram, Count of House Nograh, and attendant to the court of King Titus. That got me attention right quick.

  “Titus was the talk o’ the sea at the time, the only royal in ages to oppose the rule o’ the Highest. He was a local hero, ye might say. All the mariners held him in high regard, as did his own people. But the Highest weren’t to be undone by no mere King, no matter that he held court at the very edge of the world. When word got out o’ what happened in Titus’s very throne room not a day before... Blessed Crafter, me dinner comes up even now at the thought.

  “Anyway, this count and his kin were the only survivors o’ the carnage. I figured he was just a-runnin’, tryin’ to save his own skin. And I told him as much. He coulda agreed and been done with it, but he raised his right hand instead, and vowed afore the Crafter and the Prophets that his aim was to take up Titus’s charge, to tear down the seat o’ Veylin and free the land. In my summation, that marked him either as a true lord or a fool one. Either way, he was brave. Ye don’t swear a Crafter’s Oath and risk damnation, less’n ye know what yer about. So, I swore meself to his safe keepin’, and to that o’ his kin. I always been a sucker for the underdog.

  “‘Twas but a fortnight later when it come time for him to collect on me oath.

  “The breakin’ dawn seen us ‘bout half the morning out from the Maw proper, just inside the outer islands to the nor'west—and makin’ good time, considerin’ I had the mains trimmed a mite what with the winds kickin’ up and all. As was his way, me first mate checked aft of us at the dawn, seein’ what there was to see in the breakin’ light. There on the horizon he spied a warship, flyin’ the Segmented Fist of the Earthen Ranks and barin’ down on us with a quickness. She’d snuck up on us in the night, so she did, thinkin’ to take us unawares, and was but a few leagues shy o’ makin’ good on it. But I could already see the maelstrom over the Maw, even from that far out. So I ordered the mains to full, and set the crew to emptyin’ the hull, leavin’ only food and water enough to make Deitrich, figurin’ if we could beat the warship into the Maw, we’d see ‘er no more.

  “But the warship cap’n seen things differ’nt. Twice as large as me own boat and built for speed, the frigate closed the distance right nice. ‘Bout four miles out from us, she run her colors, demandin’ we drop anchor and prepare to be boarded. Well, I hadn’t fallen off me barge just yet. I knew what they had in store for me, caught conspirin’ with a traitor noble and all. I’s likely as not to see the belly o’ me boat from five fathoms down.

  “So I gives me boat her head, and let the wind take me as it would—racin’ so fast as the sun barely had time to break the mountains to the east afore it was hid again by the maelstrom. The warship weren’t to be outrunned, though, and she closed to about a mile. Me mate seen her runnin’ out her guns, and we knew ‘twas the briny deep for us.

  “Just then we spots the inner isles o’ the Maw through the churnin’ waves dead ahead. A mighty headwind kicked up and slowed us to a crawl, but so ‘twas for the warship as well. So I pulled me last lunker—I ordered me cannons overboard.

  “Blessed Crafter, the crew gave a fit! Ye’d think I was stringin’ their nooses meself! I telled ‘em, ‘We gots fourteen guns, and good, aye. An Earthen Rank frigate lugs thirty six to a side, two to the front, and four to the back.’ Well, they seen the wisdom o’ me ways. The Maw was our only recourse. So the guns and shot went over—with much regret, aye. Saved me knickers a time or two, they did.

  “Well, that give us the head we needed. Our prow higher in the spray, we stayed ahead of the warship all the way to the Maw.

  “A gust caught us just west o’ the isles, and near picked us up. It pushed us into the channels, the deck awash with foam. ‘Batten the hatches!’ I barked. ‘Trim the mains!’ I strapped on me foul-weather harness, and gripped the wheel tight. We’d dumped all our weight for speed, but now ‘twas weight we needed to keep from goin’ belly up in the drink. We rocked to and fro for lack o’ ballast. I fair expected the Maw to beat us worse’n the Rank ever could.

  “Now, any cap’n’ll tell ye that the Maw is a hateful wench on the best days. The channels are narrow, and the waters a-roilin’. But that year was a fair bit hotter’n most, and the maelstrom was whupped up somethin’ fierce. She’s throwin’ a hissy worse’n I’d ever seen, and it was all I could do to keep meself afloat.

  “Lightnin’ struck the nearby cliffs, sendin’ down showers o’ rubbish. Wind gusted, threatenin’ to roll me boat over for me. Whitecaps broke over the prow, tried pushin’ it into the channel wall. I tho
ught sure’n the Maw would claim me for her very own, but a favorable wind pushed us outta the channel and into one o’ the first bays.

  “We’s far enough from the rocks that the seas had calmed just a mite, so I looked back over me shoulder to the warship. A fool cap’n she had, for he’d took her into the channel—and she bein’ twice as big as me own boat! Grieves me even now to think o’ the things that oaf done to his ship. Why, if I’da got me hands on his fool neck...

  “Sorry. Senior citizen’s moment. It happens a-times.

  “Anyways, she was still pushin’ through—though fairing’ a mite worse’n we had—so I took us into the next channel. The strait I chose was narrower than the one behind us, and the waves higher, but it had high cliffs to both sides what kept the worst o’ the wind off’n us.

  “‘Twas a long channel, and I had to sail against the backwash. I’s just past the lip o’ the thing when I heard a boom over me head, and it started rainin’ gravel. I thought nothin’ of it, near wrote it off to lightning when it happened again. That limey sod cap’n was firin’ at me! He’d turned broadsides in the bay and was firin’ at me! Not enough I had to brave the Maw with no ballast, but now I had to dodge cannon shot?

  “Praised be the Crafter, the waters were tossin’ so that the warship couldn’t hope to aim. So we inched outta cannon range as best we could, and the warship left off o’ the guns to pursue. They chased us down least a half-dozen more straits, goin’ broadside in each bay to pop off at us, afore that cap’n gave up on his guns. ‘Bout time he did, too, in me professional view. With the weight o’ his boat, the crashin’ waves and howlin’ winds barely fazed her. He coulda long since run me ship down and not even bat an eye at our passin’. I guess he finally thought o’ that hisself, ‘cause I entered the next channel with the warship fair nippin’ at me heels.

  “When we neared the far end o’ the channel, I seen nothin’ but open water ahead o’ me past the lip. We’d made it through! I’s about to order the mains to a quarter—what to give us a head on the warship and all—when we scrubbed bottom. Wrenched the wheel clear outta me bleedin’ hands, it did! I ordered a few men below to help pump the bilges, and I wrestled the wheel back under control. I got the wheel back, but the boat was sluggish o’ turnin’. We’d lost a portion o’ rudder.