by Marc Turner
He was right, of course. And not out of misplaced loyalty to the Guardians either. When the emperor had come knocking, it had been easy for Amerel to turn her back on the order, because she’d started the process herself many years previously. The hard part had been accepting Avallon’s authority over her. At least in this small way, though, she could fight back. “A teacher is only as good as her pupil. You know how many Fenilar children make the grade? One in fifteen. The Will can’t be learned like swordsmanship. Either you have the ability or you don’t.”
“But you said I can only use the Will if there’s no doubt in my mind that I can do so. How can anyone know they can use it, if they’ve never done so before?”
“They can’t.”
Noon inserted the crossbow’s trigger components into the stock. “And you don’t see a contradiction there?”
“The Fenilar learn the Will as children. They are taught to believe they have the skill before they learn the cynicism that comes from failure.”
“But only Fenilar children do the learning.”
“Obviously. It’s only by keeping the knowledge secret that the Guardians have been able to stop it falling into the wrong hands.” Like the hands of someone who could challenge their privileged position within the empire, for example.
“There’ve been Guardians from outside the caste before, though, haven’t there? Luker Essendar for one.”
“And look how he turned out.”
Noon grimaced. One subject, at least, on which they could agree.
Into the silence that followed came footsteps from the passage outside. They stopped at the door. Noon set down his crossbow and covered it with his blanket before moving to stand beside the doorway. Amerel closed the window and turned her back to it. Within moments, the heat in the room began to build.
Someone knocked.
“Enter,” Amerel said.
The door opened to reveal a middle-aged man wearing a green shirt bearing the spear symbol of Dresk’s clan. The years since Amerel had last met him had not been kind, for he was leaning on a walking stick. As he stepped into the room, Noon pushed the door closed. Talet half spun round, wincing as his weight came down on his bad leg.
“Come in,” Noon said. “My compliments on your choice for our quarters. If nothing else they embarrassed our princess here”—he gestured to Amerel—“enough to bring some color to her cheeks.”
Talet wiped sweat from his brow. “The brothel isn’t for your benefit; it’s for mine. Fewer questions this way if someone sees me arriving.” He took in Amerel’s black-lined eyes and white hair. “I preferred you as a brunette.”
“So did I,” Amerel said. Talet extended a hand, and she shook it. Best friends now. “You’re late,” she said.
Noon chuckled. “Yes, to business. Those pleasantries were starting to drag.”
Talet’s gaze remained on Amerel. “You’re lucky I’m here at all. When I left Dresk, he was still talking to his krels. I took a risk leaving when I did.”
“We’ll sort you out a medal later. In the meantime you can tell us how the Augerans managed to turn up today when you said they’d be arriving tomorrow.”
Talet shuffled to Amerel’s bed and sat down. “I told you what I was told. The stone-skins’ arrival took Dresk by surprise as much as it did you.”
“They didn’t send a message to say they’d be early?”
“No. And even if they had done, how was I supposed to get word to you on the Whitecap? With smoke signals?”
Amerel smiled faintly. “What did we miss at the fortress?”
Talet collected his thoughts before beginning his account of Dresk’s meeting with the stone-skins.
“A moment,” Amerel cut in after no more than a dozen words. “The Augeran commander spoke the common tongue?”
The spy grunted. “Better than Dresk, truth be told.”
“And the other stone-skins too?”
“As far as I could tell.”
Amerel exchanged a look with Noon. If the Augerans had learned the common tongue, that meant their coming here had been long in the planning indeed. She motioned for Talet to continue, and he took up his narrative again. Noon whistled when he heard how much the Augerans had offered to secure the Rubyholters’ cooperation. After years of war with the Kalanese, Amerel doubted such a sum existed in the whole of Erin Elal.
“Did the stone-skins confirm that Erin Elal would be their target?” Noon asked Talet.
“No.”
“But they did say where they’d be setting up this base they mentioned?”
“No.”
“And Dresk didn’t think to ask?”
Talet shrugged.
Amerel said, “What about the timing of the Augerans’ campaign? Will they strike before winter?”
“Their commander didn’t say. But he wants this agreement signed today. That suggests the stone-skins are looking to move quickly. Maybe there’ll be some details in the treaty itself. If so, I’ll be able to tell you when I see it later.”
“You’re sure Dresk will sign, then?”
“Of course. Before I left, the talk was not if he should sign, but whether he should share the money with the other tribes.”
Amerel crossed her arms. “For the treaty to work, the stone-skins will need passage through all the Isles. Does Dresk have authority over the other clans’ territories?”
“Depends who you ask. Dresk would say yes. The tribes may see things differently.”
Noon was shaking his head. “Twenty thousand talents, and Dresk doesn’t want to share? What’s he going to do with all that money, pave the streets with gold?”
“It’s not that simple,” Talet said. “If Dresk keeps the money, the other tribes will call him greedy. But if he shares it, they’ll think him weak. Better greedy than weak, Dresk will say. And he’s probably right too.”
Amerel turned to look out the window. To the east she saw Galantas’s steel-hulled ship gliding between two of the islets that shielded the harbor. Leaving so soon? “What about Galantas?” she said. “Where does he stand on this?”
“His father was keen to accept the stone-skins’ deal, so naturally Galantas had doubts. He spoke sense too, but it hardly matters now. The pigs are already lining up at the trough.”
Pigs? “You would have turned down the twenty thousand talents yourself, then?”
Talet did not respond.
The Guardian gazed out the window again. Twenty thousand talents. Such a sum made Amerel’s course here much clearer, for there was no point in her speaking to Dresk now. You didn’t persuade a pirate to refuse that sort of money, no matter how strong your Will was. It would be like persuading him to stop breathing.
An idea formed in her mind, and she looked back at the fortress. On the battlements a lone guard was leaning against one of the merlons and vomiting over the side. Who knew, maybe he’d spotted an old flame passing by. How far to the wall? she wondered. Two hundred armspans? Close enough for that crossbow of Noon’s?
Undoubtedly.
“When exactly are the stone-skins due back at the fortress?” she asked Talet.
“At the seventh bell. Why?”
Amerel considered not telling him, but she would need his help to make her scheme work. “Because I’m planning on killing their commander before he signs the treaty.”
The spy’s brows drew in. “Why?” he said again. “The stone-skins’ agreement with Dresk will unravel long before the Islanders fulfill their part of their bargain.”
“Will it?”
“Of course it will. I’ve already told you, the other tribes won’t let Dresk dictate to them. When he refuses to share the money, they’ll make a point of hunting down any stone-skin ship that strays into their waters. This could play out to the emperor’s benefit.”
“The Augerans will still have Dresk’s scouts to guide them through the Isles. Not to mention the base he promised.”
“Assuming he hasn’t disappeared with the money by then.�
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“Assuming? You would risk the fate of the empire on an assumption?”
Talet shifted under her gaze. “If you’re going to kill someone, kill Dresk. When Galantas takes his place, he’ll send the Augerans packing.”
“Assuming his opposition to the money doesn’t die with his father.”
“Assuming, yes.”
Amerel let the silence drag out. Most likely Talet’s claims about the durability of the treaty were true, but they weren’t the real reason for his objection to her plan. He’d lived in Bezzle for years, so it wasn’t surprising he’d built up ties among the Islanders. Stronger ties than those that bound him to Erin Elal? Amerel watched the thoughts race behind his eyes.
“If you assassinate the commander,” he said, “what makes you so sure the Augerans will think Dresk is responsible?”
“Because I intend to kill him inside the warlord’s fortress.”
Talet barked a laugh. “And how are you going to do that? The stone-skins are bringing an empire’s weight in gold, which means they’ll be coming in numbers. And Dresk has already called in more men. I won’t be able to smuggle you in.”
“You won’t need to. I can see as much of the fortress as I need to from here.”
Noon came to stand beside her and looked across the marketplace. “You expect me to shoot the stone-skin from here?”
“The fortress is within crossbow range, isn’t it?”
“Absolutely, Princess. You just have to convince the commander to climb to the wall and stand still long enough for me to line up a shot.”
“Won’t work,” Amerel said. “If the Augerans are to believe that Dresk killed their leader, he has to die where only the warlord’s forces can reach him. We’ll take him out as he crosses the bailey.”
Noon laughed. “I may be the best shot in Erin Elal, but even my chances of hitting a target I can’t see are limited.” His eyes twinkled. “No better than seven in ten.”
Talet said, “Guardian, I urge you to reconsider. If you kill Eremo, the stone-skins aren’t going to be content with recovering their money. They’ll want revenge.”
“We can hope.”
“And Dresk isn’t going to stand alone against them. He’ll drag his people into the fight.”
Now we get to it. “The Islanders are a piece on the playing board whether they like it or not. The only question is, who gets to play that piece first, us or the stone-skins?”
Talet scowled. “This isn’t their war.”
A bloodroach scuttled out from under Amerel’s bed, and she crushed it beneath the heel of a sandal. “If the stone-skins attack the Isles, that’s an attack that might otherwise have fallen on Erin Elal. Them or us, it’s as simple as that.”
“‘Them or us’ means something different when you’ve lived here as long as I have. You’re asking me to condemn friends—”
“I’m not asking you, I’m telling you.” Amerel moved closer. “To listen to you, you’d think you cared more about the Isles than you do about your homeland. Perhaps you need to remind yourself where your loyalties lie.” Not easy keeping a straight face with those last words. Next thing she knew, she’d be accusing him of betrayal.
Talet drew himself up. “You dare question my allegiance? Twelve years I’ve spent in this shithole! Twelve years wiping Dresk’s ass and whispering poison in his ear to keep the tribes at each other’s throats!”
“And why at each other’s throats? To stop them uniting, of course. To protect the empire. Is that so different from what we’re doing here?” Amerel stepped closer still. She’d given Talet a touch of the whip, now it was time to use her Will to salve his cuts. She lowered the pitch of her voice. It was the same voice she’d used to soothe Lyssa during the weeks after her mother’s death. “You know the stone-skins. You know their history is written in blood. Once they’ve finished with Erin Elal, do you think a treaty with Dresk is going to stop them turning on the Isles? Better the Rubyholters face the threat head-on than get a knife in the back when they’re least expecting it.” Unless that knife was Avallon’s, of course.
“They need time to prepare.”
“So does Erin Elal.” Amerel laced her voice with the Will. “And from what your reports say, the Islanders already have a warning system to protect them if they’re attacked. When the stone-skins come, the bells will ring. And the Rubyholters will melt away, just as they’ve done a hundred times before.”
Talet’s face was getting a sheen of sweat to it. He tried to break Amerel’s gaze, gave his head a shake as if he sensed her hold on him and was trying to free himself. But she had him caught as surely as a fish on a hook. He made to speak, then stopped himself. Finally he looked up in helpless appeal and said, “I have a son here. Surely the emperor…” His words trailed off.
A year ago Amerel might have laughed in his face. Not now, though. Not after Lyssa. Still, did he really think the emperor cared about his boy? That he could afford to? Avallon had the welfare of an empire to consider. And nothing—nothing—could be allowed to jeopardize the success of this mission.
Faced with the Guardian’s silence, Talet tried again. “I need to make arrangements to move my son—”
“No,” Amerel cut in. “Not until our business with the stone-skins is complete. If you move the boy, someone might ask questions. There will be time for that later.”
“Could he come back with you when this is done? To Erin Elal?”
“If that’s what you want.”
The silence stretched out again. Talet stared at Amerel like he was weighing up what she’d told him, but she already knew what his answer would be. Doubts were what she fed on, and the spy was genuinely torn between his allegiances to Erin Elal and the Isles. A final nudge of her Will was enough to steer his course toward his homeland. The last part of his resistance buckled.
He hung his head. “What’s the plan?”
* * *
From the quarterdeck of the Eternal, Galantas watched the waves being cut to foam by the submerged ruins. He knew this stretch of water well. Just beneath the surface off the port quarter was a domed roof whose high point you could stand on. Years ago, he’d won a bet here with a drunken Needle clansman over whether he could walk on water. Nice little earner that had been, and all part of the legend he’d created for himself. The sight of the dome now should have brought a smile to his face, but instead he found himself thinking about the ancient civilization that had built it. Dead that civilization might be, yet it had left a mark on these lands that had survived for centuries. What had the Rubyholters fashioned that would last that long? They didn’t even build their own cities, merely grubbed about in the bones of the old, waiting for the next invader to sail through and raze them.
That had to change.
The headland to Galantas’s left started to drop away to reveal Tinker’s Strait—the narrowest part of the South Corridor. This was a favorite spot for Ravin’s krels. Galantas had used it a few times himself. The cliffs to the west, along with the headland to the east, offered cover for ambushers, while the labyrinth of underwater ruins there meant a ship sailing through the strait without a water-mage would have nowhere to run once the trap was sprung. Galantas frowned. And yet the stone-skins would have had a water-mage for a journey across the Southern Wastes. So why hadn’t they retreated when the Falcons broke cover? Or made a break for the open waters to the north?
Unless, of course, they’d wanted the confrontation.
Above the headland Galantas could see the topsails of two vessels. Their rigging had been torn loose in places, and there seemed to be something—no, some things—hanging from the lower yards …
“Sender’s mercy,” said Qinta, his Second, from beside him.
Bodies.
The yards had been transformed into makeshift gallows. Dozens of corpses swung back and forth in the breeze. Where the yards met the masts, more Rubyholters had been pinned to the wood—crucified, most likely. Still more bodies were piled on the main deck. C
overing the dead, along with every inch of rigging, was a shifting white blanket of squabbling starbeaks. Galantas gave a low whistle. From Eremo’s talk of sending messages, Galantas had known to expect a spectacle. When he’d walked through the harbor, though, he’d seen the stone-skin flagship without a scratch on it, and he’d wondered if he had misread the signs.
Something didn’t add up, however. Ravin’s Falcons were a steady bunch. There was no way two of their ships could have been routed by a solitary Augeran vessel, meaning Eremo must have had help from other stone-skins.
So where were these helpers now?
As the headland fell away, Galantas saw two boats plying the waters of the strait. The Augerans manning them were fishing from the waves the corpses of Rubyholters who must have died trying to flee the massacre. Tidying up after themselves, perhaps? Or checking to ensure there was no one who could report on what had happened here?
“Do you recognize the ships?” Galantas asked Qinta.
The Second crossed his tattooed arms. “Three-master’s called the Lively. Yali is her captain.”
Or was her captain.
The breeze picked up, and Galantas caught the smell of blayfire oil. One of the boats had drawn alongside the two-master and was unloading its grisly catch. The crew of the other boat, meanwhile, had stopped to stare at the Eternal. Galantas could make out four stone-skins on board. One wore a red cloak, the others black—
“Captain,” Qinta said, pointing south.
Galantas looked in the direction indicated and saw an islet in the distance. Maybe a stone’s throw across, it was little more than a tumble of rocks and yellow grasses.
Then he realized it wasn’t the islet his Second had been pointing at, but a man swimming in the water near it. A survivor. A witness. Must have played dead all this time to avoid the stone-skins’ notice. Now he started shouting to the Eternal and waving his hands in the air. Surprising reaction, really. Usually the best a drowning Islander could hope for from another clan was a boot on the head to speed his passage through Shroud’s Gate. But clearly a swift death was better than what he’d get from the Augerans if they saw him.
