Crown of Earth

by Hilari Bell

  “It’s likely a bit of wreckage cast up there,” the fisherman said. “The sea does that sort of thing. Pay it no heed.”

  But something was pricking at the part of Edoran’s mind where his sensings made themselves felt. Not a warning, no great catastrophe. Not even a change in the weather, which had been amazingly fair. It was just…

  “I think we should check it out,” he told Togger. “There’s something very odd about it.”

  Togger rubbed his bristling chin thoughtfully. None of the men had shaved in the past few weeks. “It’s usually wise to check out odd things when you’re at sea. And it’s not as if we’ve a schedule to keep.”

  Turning the whole fleet and tacking back against the wind was so troublesome and time-consuming that Edoran regretted having said anything long before they neared the rock. Suppose it turned out to be nothing—which was likely! If Edoran should see something else on one of the islands, he’d never be able to persuade them to investigate. He might have jeopardized his chance to save Weasel, just because some scrap had washed up on the rocks at an odd angle.

  They lowered sails as they drew nearer, having no desire to crash into the rocks themselves. Edoran was looking with the others as they approached, but it was the scout stationed on the mast who suddenly shouted, “There’s a man on that rock! I think… Yes, it is a man! But he’s not moving.”

  Dead or not, a castaway had to be retrieved. Togger’s boat had no skiff, but one of the others did. As its crew rowed out to retrieve the man, or the body, as the case might be, the other boats maneuvered closer, till they were able to rope themselves together with bundles of net as bumpers between them. Everyone wanted to see if the dead man…

  But he wasn’t dead. A shout rang out from the rocks, and a moment later Edoran saw the crew helping someone climb down. He appeared to need a lot of help, but he was moving on his own. One of the crew picked up the scrap of red that had attracted Edoran’s attention, and Edoran saw it was a woolen undershirt, the kind that navy sailors were issued.

  As the skiff drew nearer, Edoran thought that the rest of the man’s clothes looked like those of a navy sailor, but they were so tattered it was hard to be sure. The stranger was lying in the bottom of the skiff, and one of the fishermen helped him sip from a water flask.

  They had to lift him over the side of Togger’s boat, for his strength was gone. His skin was red with sunburn, his lips so cracked with thirst that they had bled.

  He was trying to talk as they lifted him aboard, but Togger told him to be still and sent for a bedroll, blankets, and salve. Only when the man was settled, sipping more water while the cook heated broth, did Togger let him speak.

  “Your ship was lost, I take it?” His voice was very gentle.

  “Lost?” The man’s voice was a husky rasp. “It wasn’t lost. It was blown right out of the water by those pirate scum, curse them.” Tears rose in his eyes, and several fishermen gasped.

  “You look like navy to me,” said Togger. “I’ve heard that naval ships in search of the pirates have been disappearing. But they’re all armed, and better than the pirates are. How are they taking you down, without one naval victory in all those fights?”

  He was planning to report the answer to Sandeman, Edoran realized, but the sailor began to laugh. Wild, bitter laughter, with sobs beneath.

  Togger gripped his shoulder. “Steady, man. I’m sorry to be—”

  “No,” the sailor gasped. “Don’t be sorry. You’ve saved my life, and I only pray you don’t regret it. The pirates murdered every one of the Protector’s survivors because they knew the answer to your question. Tried to kill me, too. I guess. I don’t…” His voice began to shake again.

  “Say it, lad,” Togger told him. “If it’s something pirates will kill to silence, they’d never believe you hadn’t told us. So we might as well know.”

  “The navy ships.” The man swallowed hard and took another sip from the flask. “The ones that vanished. That no one could figure how the pirates took ’em so easy…”

  “Aye?” Togger demanded.

  “They weren’t sunk,” the sailor said. “And they didn’t vanish, either. They’ve all joined up with the pirates!”

  CHAPTER 9

  The Six of Stones: compassion. The desire to come to another’s aid.

  Several men cried out in astonished horror, and Togger’s mouth tightened. “I’d like to let you rest, lad, but you’re going to have to tell us why you think those naval ships… Gone over to the pirates? That can’t be right!”

  “Why I think that? Why I think that?” the sailor rasped. “It was the Gauntlet that sank us! We’d heard they disappeared,” he went on. “That the pirates had sunk ’em. That’s what we assumed about all the ships that have gone missing. Though that’s what they’ll think about the Protector, too,” he added grimly. “And in our case, it’ll be true. I wonder…” His voice trailed off.

  “You can’t leave the story there,” Togger told him.

  “What? Oh. Well, when we saw the Gauntlet, we were thrilled. I mean, we’d given them up for lost. We sailed alongside, and the captain hailed her. He was talking to the Gauntlet’s captain, shouting back and forth, trying to find out what had happened to her. I see now that their captain was stalling,” the sailor went on. “But at the time… It made sense he’d be asking for news, for orders, since he’d been out of touch so long. Even when they ran out their guns, we thought they were just drilling or some such thing. Our gun ports weren’t even open when they fired.” His voice was full of anger and pain. “We never had a chance. A shot from the second volley hit our powder and blew the Protector to splinters.”

  The crew was stunned into silence by this, but he went on without prompting. “I think the captain and officers died when the magazine went—they were mostly on the aft deck. There were only about a dozen of us, and most were wounded, when their small boats pulled us out of the water and they took us aboard.”

  “But… I mean… How can you be sure the pirates hadn’t captured the ship, killed all her crew, and set her sailing under their own colors?” Togger asked.

  “Our captain knew their captain personally,” the man said. “And I recognized several of the Gauntlet’s crew when we were taken aboard. Free, and serving with the pirates of their own will, the One God rot their bones.”

  The anger in his voice left no room for doubt.

  “Why did they pick you up?” Edoran asked him.

  “They said they wanted information. What our orders were, where we’d planned to search. But I think they were mostly making sure there were no survivors. None of us knew anything about our orders. How could we? That’s officers’ business. The first few they questioned told them that, and they coshed them unconscious and dropped them over the side. The next few tried to lie—claimed they’d heard officers talking, or that the bosun had told ’em our course. But the pirates broke their heads and pitched them over too. I don’t know what I said. I tried to fight, I do remember that. Maybe that’s why they missed their stroke.”

  “Missed?” Togger asked.

  “They must have,” the man said. “I don’t remember being coshed, or going over the side, but I came round a bit when I hit the water.

  Enough to know that if I splashed and made a fuss they’d launch a boat and make sure of me. My head felt like someone had driven a spike into it, but I turned my face to the side just enough to breathe and floated. The boat was drifting away by then. I think I was one of the last they dumped. But not the last, because I remember at least one splash, and then their mate’s voice yelling to get the sails up. That they had just a week to make it to Boralee and burn it.”

  Several men exclaimed in shocked dismay.

  “Boralee?” Edoran asked.

  “A port town, not too far down the coast from here,” said Togger. “You’re sure you heard that?” he asked the sailor.

  “‘Get those sails up, you lazy wharf rats,’ ” the sailor quoted. “‘We’ve just a week
to reach Boralee and burn it.’ I heard him clear as I hear you now, and it’s not a thing a man forgets. But there was nothing I could do about it, adrift as I was. Once they were gone, I swam back to where the Protector sank and found a bit of deck that was big enough to float. The sea carried me down the coast, but there was never a glimpse of land. The wood was getting waterlogged, floating almost three inches under the surface, when I saw those rocks, and if the tide hadn’t pulled me ashore in all that time it wasn’t likely to, so I swam over there. I hoped there’d be fresh water….”

  He licked his lips and took another drink.

  “How long ago was that?” Togger asked urgently. “How long ago did the Protector sink?”

  The sailor frowned. “I—I don’t really know. I was on the wreckage at least two days… maybe. After I crawled up on the rocks I slept some. I think… I think three days, but I’m not sure.”

  “That’s good enough.” Togger patted his shoulder. “You’ve done your part, my friend. Rest now.”

  “How far are we from Boralee?” Edoran asked, although the crew’s grim faces told him the answer wouldn’t be good.

  “At least five days’ sail,” said Togger. “Unless we cut through the islands, in which case… The wind is with us, but if he drifted with the current, it’s with the pirates, too. Assuming that doesn’t change…”

  “It won’t,” Edoran told him. “Not for at least a week.”

  Togger cast him a curious glance, but he went on, “We know the islands well enough to sail between them, even at night, so we might be able to cut a day off of that. But it’s still four days’ sailing at the best speed we can manage.”

  “That might be enough!” Edoran exclaimed. “And if he’s only been adrift two days…”

  Togger rubbed his chin. “By the look of him, I’d say three days, maybe four. But who knows what might have delayed the Gauntlet? We’ve got to try to warn that town if there’s any chance at all. Even if we’re too late to help them, we can get this man to the guard to tell his story. That naval ships may have gone over to the pirates is something the regent has to know as soon as possible. So cast off those moorings, friends. We’re sailing!”

  They sailed both day and night for the next three days, sleeping in shifts. Remembering the dark rocks the sailor had been marooned on, Edoran finally asked Togger, “Is it safe this close to shore with so little moonlight?”

  “No,” said Togger. “Not unless you know the hazards of these waters as well as a landsman knows the path to his own privy.”

  He sounded confident, but Edoran had to ask, “Do you know these waters that well?”

  Togger was silent long enough to make him nervous. “In parts,” he said finally. “And the other men know other parts, so among us we’ll be able to avoid the rocks and reefs. There’s always some risk, sailing in the darkness. But even if it costs us a ship or two, we have to try. If we can warn those townsfolk in time for them to evacuate—or better yet, get a dozen guard troops there—it would be worth it.”

  Edoran now understood how much ships cost, and how hard they were to replace.

  “Why did the pirates have to be there in a week? Why would it matter to them if Boralee burned eight days from now, or twelve?”

  “I’ve been wondering about that myself,” said Togger. “I’ve a couple of thoughts. The first is that it’ll take more than the crew of one ship to sack a town that size. They’re probably rendezvousing with several other ships, maybe their whole fleet. And while that’s bad in one way, because it increases our chances of coming across ’em, it’s good in another, because some of those other ships might be delayed. My second thought is that they have some information about where the army patrols are, and that’s the date when the largest number of troops are farthest from Boralee. Which is nothing but bad, any way you look at it.”

  “Are we going to be in time?” Edoran asked quietly.

  Togger sighed. “I honestly don’t know. We have to try. And we’ve made good time. We’ll be there late tomorrow. The best a man can do is the best he can do.”

  It wasn’t good enough. All the fishermen watched, throughout that next day’s sailing, but it was the scouts who first saw the smoke. Soon Edoran could see it himself, a great dirty column, rising against the light of the lowering sun.

  He’d been willing the ships to hurry for four days, as they raced before the wind. Now dread made the pace that had seemed so slow feel much too fast.

  At least the pirates had gone. There were no sails in sight as they scudded up the coast and turned into Boralee’s harbor.

  The ships that had been moored at the dock were still burning, their masts charred skeletons in the cloudless sky.

  The fishermen sailed their boats past the docks, right up the beach, till the sand grated under their hulls. Then they leaped out and ran. Edoran knew the tide was going out, so the boats would be safe. No excuse… no need for him to stay there.

  At least it wasn’t work he was trying to avoid. He could already feel it, in the part of his mind where his sensing lived, a red-hot anguish of loss and rage and grief.

  He climbed over the railing and splashed through the surf, following the fishermen toward the burning town. As he saw when he reached the first major street, however, not all the town was burning. Only a few buildings were ablaze, though more were beginning to burn. The smoke stung his eyes.

  The townsfolk were trying to put out the fires that hadn’t taken hold yet, organizing bucket lines. Others went from one ragged pile of clothing to the next, seeing if any of the fallen still lived, or perhaps searching for missing friends and family. Edoran already knew that most of them were dead, a sensing that tasted of steel and ashes on the back of his tongue.

  How best could he help?

  He was about to join a bucket line when the girl caught his eyes. She sat with her back to him, not fallen, but sitting still in the midst of smoke and chaos. She wore a boy’s coat and britches, and Edoran would have taken her for a boy except for the long dark hair that tumbled down her back.

  She might be hurt, or maybe worse, and the thought of dealing with so much pain made Edoran cringe. But if she continued to sit there, someone would run her down, and if he couldn’t help her, maybe he could get her to someone who could.

  He’d almost reached her when a nearby wall collapsed in a burst of flame, and the long hair glinted with copper and maroon lights.

  Arisa.

  He ran the last few steps and fell to his knees beside her. He couldn’t see any blood, but her face was pale and oddly blank.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked urgently. “What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t look at him. Edoran wasn’t sure she recognized him, but she drew a shaking breath and spoke. “I couldn’t reach her. She used to pay attention to me. To listen, sometimes. But she’s in some other place now, and no matter what I say it doesn’t get through.”

  The expression in her eyes, fixed on the burning buildings, sent a chill down Edoran’s spine. He had to get her out of this, but where…?

  “Come with me.” He put all the command he could into his voice, and it seemed to work. At least she allowed him to help her to her feet, and walked where he led her through the seething crowd down to the beach, where the air was fresh off the sea and the crash of the waves overwhelmed the distant shouts.

  He found several blankets lying on the trampled sand—had the pirates bundled loot into them, to carry down to the shore? He folded one and seated Arisa on half of it, then wrapped another clumsily around her. Sitting down beside her reminded him of a folded rug, not so long ago.

  “Remember when we were locked in that closet?” he asked.

  She said nothing. Her gaze was on the waves, but Edoran didn’t think she was seeing them. He reached out and touched her chin, turning her face toward him. “Remember when we were locked in that closet?”

  She blinked, and then frowned. “Of course. What are you doing here?”

  Relief washed throug
h Edoran at the familiar, critical tone. “I’ll tell you when you’ve told me.”

  Her gaze shifted aside. She pulled away from his hand and looked at the waves.

  “I mentioned the closet,” said Edoran, “because of the way you tried to beat down that door. I thought you were going to break an arm or something, before you’d quit.”

  She had thrown herself at it like a madwoman, though it was obvious from the start that she couldn’t break it.

  “So?” Her voice was harsh with suppressed tears.

  “It’s just… There’s no door here. All you have to do is stop beating yourself against whatever it is, and tell me.”

  Two tears rolled down her face. She brushed them aside. “You’re right. The thing is… I found my mother.”

  He’d already figured that one out. Her mother was the only person who could put her into this state. Maybe if she worked up to it gradually, the telling would be easier.

  “How did you find her?”

  “She left a message at one of the drops, just like I thought she would.” Her breathing was easier now, and she went on without prompting. “That was two days after Giles took off with you. I wanted to follow you, but I thought—”

  “Weasel was in more danger,” Edoran cut in. “I thought so too. And I got rescued anyway, so go on.”

  Her glance was mildly curious, but she had too much on her mind to question him, and he was glad. He was tired of being rescued and had no desire to discuss his escape.

  “She was expecting me to bring Holis’ response to her demands,” said Arisa. “I caught up with her just a few days after we parted, and I told her she’d got Weasel instead of you. She’d sent him by sea, but she rode with the men who went out the gates to draw the pursuit, because she knew that was the more dangerous job. She’s not a coward!”

  She glared at Edoran, daring him to deny it, but he’d never questioned the Falcon’s courage. It was her sanity he doubted.

  “Is Weasel all right?” That was what he cared about most.