The islander considered Trell with the same expression he’d worn in the Common earlier, while Trell gazed neutrally back. After a moment, the pirate crossed his arms and said, “That Hammond fellow—”
“Harmon,” Trell corrected.
“Yeah, him,” the pirate agreed. He pulled out his tabac pouch and rolled another fag. “So he says you speak the desert tongue. How’d you learn it?”
“I spent five years in the Akkad.”
“Huh. You’re one of those Converted?”
“No.”
The pirate arched a solitary black brow. “Interesting.” He leaned to light the fag in the lamp on the table and then exhaled a cloud of smoke. Looking back to Trell, he held out the pouch. “You smoke?”
Trell shook his head. “So the governor thought we might be able to help each other.”
“Yeah.”
“But he failed to mention how.”
A knock on the door interrupted further conversation. The red-haired barmaid came to the table, curtsied and murmured, “Is there anything I can get you?”
“Two more of whatever he’s having,” the pirate answered.
The barmaid curtsied again and left—all without looking at Trell even once.
Trell frowned after her. After a moment, he shifted his gaze to the pirate and found him grinning from ear to ear.
“They don’t see the likes of you around here much, I’ll wager,” the islander observed. He drew long from his fag and puffed out three smoke rings in quick succession.
Trell shook his head. “The likes of me…” he muttered, still frowning.
“You know—obviously court bred,” the pirate said, waving airily, “sporting a cloak that would cost most of these yokels a year’s wages. Plus I hear you ride a Hallovian.”
Trell gave him a sharp look. “How did you hear that?”
The pirate barked a laugh. Abruptly he leaned one elbow on the table and eyed Trell shrewdly. “What you should be asking me, Trell of the Tides, is why it should matter to these folk what kind of horse you ride.”
The truth of those words made Trell wary, and he lifted alert grey eyes to the door.
“Nah,” said the pirate, waving with his fag as he sat back again. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”
Trell’s gaze shifted to the pirate. “How do you know what I’m thinking?”
He grinned. “It doesn’t matter what you’re thinking. I guarantee you it ain’t what they’re thinking.”
“Which is?”
The pirate shrugged inconsequentially. “They suspect you’re a mage.”
“A mage.” Trell was indeed surprised, and even somewhat appalled. “Whyever would they think such a thing as that?”
“There’s a rumor going round about a mage in these parts. He’s spoken of in reverent tones, like as one of those damned desert gods you say you aren’t sworn to, but he’s supposed to have dark hair—might as like your own—and speak the desert tongue—same as you—and ride a Hallovian Grey. Also like you, my friend.”
Trell received this news with outward calm, but inside he felt dismayed. What would the Emir’s Mage be doing in Olivine? To the pirate, he said, “How did you hear about this?”
The pirate grunted dispiritedly. “These blaggards talk so much you’d think their mouths were the bellows of their soul. They’ve no idea how to play a hand of Trumps—always talking when they should be thinking and thinking when they should be playing. This bloody mage is all I’ve heard about since I arrived two agonizing days ago.” He exhaled another cloud of smoke and crossed one booted ankle over knee. “Who knows if it’s even true, aye? ‘These parts’ could mean Rethynnea the way rumors spread in Xanthe.”
“But you’re not worried that I’m this mage,” Trell remarked after a moment, gazing now with interest at the islander.
The man shrugged, grinned. “Are you?”
“No.”
“Well then.”
The barmaid arrived with their stout. She plunked them on the table, blushing all the while, and left with her eyes downcast, closing the door silently behind her.
“Balls of Belloth, if she ain’t a pretty poppet on a string tied to you!” the pirate observed with a leering grin.
“The girl can’t even look at me.”
“Bucko, you’re probably the man of her dreams. A pretty chase like you…”
Trell turned him a flat look at his choice of words. “More likely she was confused as to whether you were a freakishly hairy woman she should pity or a mannish woman she’d best guard as a rival, what with hair so long and lovely.”
The pirate grinned at him. “I like you, Trell of the Tides,” he declared, gesturing with his fag. “So tell me this: how would you feel about taking a little trip to Veneisea?”
“My destination is somewhat south of there.” His eyes shifted to the snow blowing against the frosted windowpanes. “They say travel through the pass is impossible now.”
The islander leaned back in his chair and puffed a large smoke ring, which floated lazily above the table between them. “What if we needn’t travel through the pass at all?”
Trell sipped his stout. The prospect suited him just fine. “I’m listening.”
“I’m in need of a man who speaks the desert tongue to help in resolving a certain conflict with an acquaintance of mine,” Carian said. “It’s the age-old proposition of ‘you scrub my decks, I’ll scrub yours.’ Come with me to Veneisea, assist in resolving my problem with this acquaintance of mine, and I’ll take you anywhere you wish to go afterwards.”
Trell was beginning to suspect how the islander meant to ‘take him anywhere’, but he wanted it plainly stated. “And how would we travel then, if not through the pass?”
The pirate flashed a toothy grin. “On the very pattern of the realm, my fine lad.”
Smiling softly, Trell contemplated his offer. While the prospect of traveling the nodes was certainly intriguing—even quite exciting if he let himself think about it—Jamaiian natives weren’t known for their honesty in trade. It was a brave man who risked any kind of bargain with a pirate captain—Nodefinder or otherwise.
Trell sat back in his chair and settled hands in his lap. “How do I know you’ll honor our accord?”
“A pirate can be trusted to keep to the Code,” Carian said through a toothy grin.
“What code?”
“The Pirate’s Code.”
Trell crossed arms and regarded the islander carefully. “Which states what, exactly?”
“I’m not obligated to divulge the secrets of the Code.”
“Then how do I know you’re keeping to it?”
The islander blew another smoke ring and eyed him sagaciously, a humorous sparkle in his brown eyes.
As much as the man was obviously avoiding the question, Trell had a good feeling about him. The islander seemed good-natured, for all of his pirate’s bluster, and he had an uncommon spirit that reminded Trell of Krystos. Trell genuinely liked him. “So…a pirate can be trusted to keep to the Code,” he repeated thoughtfully, holding the islander’s brown-eyed gaze, “but if I don’t know the Code, how do I know if it is in my best interests?”
Carian grinned even wider.
“Ahh, so,” Trell returned his smile in good humor. “I think I begin to understand. The Code is probably never in anyone’s best interest except the pirate in question. In fact,” he added, pressing a finger to his lips, “I’m willing to wager that’s all there is to it: whatever is in a pirate’s best interest is all your illustrious Code bespeaks.”
Carian barked an approving laugh and clapped a hand upon the table. He gestured with his vanishing fag, splaying ash as he observed, “You’re a brighter torch than I gave you credit for, Trell of the Tides. Most men need a taste o’ the cat before smartening up.”
Something in the pirate’s manner reminded Trell of Vaile’s words: ‘None of us can be trusted, but the worthy ones will tell you so.’ Trell had already made his decision, so i
t didn’t matter which way the pirate answered, but he was curious to know what he would say. “So, Carian vran Lea,” he posed, “can I trust you to keep your word?”
The islander laughed. “As a pirate? Definitely not.” Abruptly his expression sobered and he continued with oath-bound solemnity, pressing a fist to his heart, “but as a Nodefinder—on your life and mine.”
Trell sat forward and offered his hand. “Then I would say we have an accord.”
“Aye,” Carian said seriously, clasping wrists with him. Then he grinned victoriously. “And so we do.”
Thirty-seven
‘Thalma cannot be bribed with worshipful praise and flattery; the gift of her luck requires dutiful and repeated sacrifice.’
– Excerpt from The Elevated Teachings of Jai-Gar
“How does it work?”
Trell stood facing the icebound wall next to the Nodefinder while snow piled around their knees and Gendaia snorted warm and wetly into his ear. The prospect of heading back out into the storm in the middle of the night seemed a small price to wage against the promise of the relative warmth to be found upon reaching Veneisea. Trell was grateful to leave Olivine, especially after learning of the rumors spreading about him, and of course, the pirate couldn’t have been more eager to be off.
“How does what work?” the Nodefinder asked absently as he pulled a long, black silk scarf from his knapsack and began tying it around his head, the fringe mingling with his wild wavy hair. “Nodefinding? Elae? Sex?” He winked at Trell, adding, “I’m sure you’ll find out about that last option once you grow a little hair on your balls. Girls like pretty boys, but women desire manly men,” and he puffed out his chest to demonstrate his point.
“And yet when salty old men like you tire before pleasuring their ladies, they’ll come running to a younger man,” Trell remarked, “like me.”
The pirate gave him a sooty look. He pulled a dagger from his belt and thumbed the blade. “So this first exit may be a little hairy,” he admitted, “especially with that horse of yours. Don’t worry though, lad,” he reassured Trell, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Stay close to me, and I’ll protect you.” He took Trell’s hand in his own.
“Oh, honey,” Trell cooed.
“Don’t get any ideas, pretty boy. My boom don’t swing that way.” The Nodefinder clenched the dagger between his teeth—he looked much the quintessential buccaneer—and stepped through the wall, pulling Trell after him.
Highly curious, Trell followed him into darkness, feeling only the pirate’s firm hand around his own and a momentary rushing sensation—like walking through a waterfall without the wet and the cold. Then he felt a jerk and emerged quite ungently into a small bedroom whose only bed was tipped up against the wall.
“Shh!” said the pirate as Trell led Gendaia through into the tiny room.
Trell glared at him in return, for however did one get a shod horse to walk quietly on a stone floor?
It was daylight there, where night had been before, and Trell saw green grass outside the cracked windowpane. The pirate quietly opened the bedroom door, and—
Something colorful leapt upon his back, letting out an angry screech. The pirate swung from left to right trying to dislodge the tiny woman who was clinging to his neck, but this effort was complicated by the two young children who rushed up and began shouting and beating at his legs with sticks.
While Carian yelled curses and pried at the shrieking woman, and the woman in turn shouted in an Agasi dialect and continued trying to strangle him, Trell led Gendaia on into the next room. Three pallets on the floor by the hearth told the story of a frightened family. Doubtless they’d been keeping watch since the last time the Nodefinder visited their abode, perhaps too afraid to sleep in the bedroom lest the inveterate invader return.
The scene was so comical that Trell regretted having to stop it, but intervene he did, coming up behind the woman and wrenching her forcefully off the pirate. The children continued to beat at Carian while Trell dragged the hysterical mother to the other side of the room and pinned her against the wall with one arm.
Clapping one hand over her mouth, Trell leaned close and told her in Agasi, “We mean you no harm.” His accent was elegant and refined compared to her provincial dialect.
She stilled beneath him, startled by his educated speech, her brown eyes both furious and frightened.
“Please call your children off my friend,” Trell continued. “I have coin to repair any damage to your home, and more to help mend your fear. I’m going to release you now.” Holding her gaze, Trell removed his hand from her mouth.
“Ami, Mika!” she managed hoarsely after a moment. “Enough! Leave him be!”
The children lowered their sticks with obvious disappointment.
“Hellions!” a battered Carian complained, yanking the wood from their hands with a scathing look.
Trell suppressed a smile. It was an unlikely scene: a pirate who valued the lives of women and children such that he hesitated to use the dagger plainly in his hand. Trell backed away from the woman, who remained against the wall breathing hard, and opened his satchel. He withdrew ten pieces of Agasi silver—as valuable in the country of their minting as anywhere else in the realm—and handed them to her. It was more than she’d see in a bountiful year, but how did one put a price on feeling safe in one’s own home? “For your patience,” Trell told her while the pirate continued to scowl at the children, who looked supremely unrepentant, “and for the use of your home on our journey.”
Her eyes widened at the coins in her hand, the image of her Empress so clearly stamped upon them. “Milord!” she whispered. “Won’t you…won’t you stay the night?”
“What did she say?” Carian grumbled. Abruptly he spun and growled like a bear at the children, who jumped with dual shrieks.
The woman eyed him apprehensively.
“We’re just passing through,” Trell assured her.
She clenched the money to her breast and nodded. Trell motioned Carian toward the door, and he went, but not without making one last jump at the children, who screamed and then started shouting unpleasant things at him. Carian straightened with a triumphant grin and strutted out the door.
“Please come use our…our…” she struggled with the words, “well, you know…any time you need. But…milord,” she added as Trell was leading Gendaia out the door.
He turned inquiringly.
“Perhaps...might we have a little notice next time?”
Trell smiled. “I will mention it to him.”
She nodded, and they left.
Trell joined Carian on the lane leading away from the cottage. He cast the pirate a wry grin as they fell into step together, with Gendaia following on her lead. “A little hairy?”
The pirate scowled at him. “I didn’t know the minx would be lying in wait!”
“That was your idea of protecting me?”
“I was being strangled,” Carian pointed out.
“And the children?”
“Hellions!”
Trell laughed. “Remind me never to go into battle with you, old man. My horse could’ve done a better job of it.”
“The woman was freakishly strong,” the pirate muttered.
They walked along the lane, which led among grassy hills dotted with sheep. “So where are we?” Trell asked, looking around.
“Somewhere on the outskirts of Sevilla.”
Trell arched brows. “Really? I have a friend who was born in Sevilla. You remind me of him a bit, actually.”
“Must be a handsome fellow,” Carian quipped with a toothy grin.
“He’s never lacking for feminine company,” Trell replied obligingly, a shadowy smile hinting on his lips. “Where are we headed now?”
“To the next node.”
“And where is that, if I might trouble you to inquire?”
“In the city,” the pirate said. He shot Trell a sidelong look. “So how’d you come to spend five years in the Akkad if yo
u’re not Converted?”
“It’s a long story,” Trell said.
“It’s a long walk to Sevilla,” Carian replied with a grin.
“Yet I have a horse,” Trell pointed out. “I might choose to ride ahead and wait for you at the city limits.”
“Then I might choose to take a different node and let you find your own damned way back to Xanthe,” Carian retorted.
Trell sighed. “Walking it is. I’ll grant you a tit for a tat; you answer my question, I’ll answer yours. D’accord?” he added in Veneisean.
“Agreed,” the pirate said. “What’s your question?”
“How do you find your way from node to node? When plotting a course across the realm, is there a chart you can use?”
“The Guild keeps charts,” the Nodefinder answered, “but they make you pay out the nose to use them. Most often a Nodefinder just travels a leis or a node to see where it takes him. You try to use portals that you’re familiar with, and Nodefinders typically have a repertoire of them. We try to find portals that are easily accessible, but it isn’t always possible if there’s somewhere specific that you’re trying to go.”
“Hence that ugly bedroom scene I just witnessed,” Trell said, clicking his tongue reprovingly.
Carian gave him a withering look. “Now you. ’Fess up. What were you hiding from in the Akkad? You’re too young to have caused much trouble.”
Trell thought of Korin’s fate and knew youth wasn’t any sort of protection against the wiles of evil men. “The truth is I don’t know how I came to the Akkad…” he began, and as Carian listened, Trell told him his tale.
The Nodefinder was quiet when Trell was done. He thumbed the blade of his dagger thoughtfully as they walked. “So you’ve embarked upon a journey to uncover your past,” he said at last. “Why then the Cairs?”
Cephrael's Hand: A Pattern of Shadow & Light Book One Page 61
