“This man knows where we live. How we live.” It was a merman hunched with age. “To release him would bring more landsmen down upon us. Last time this happened there was no debate. You know that, daughter of Atalapah.”
Citala raised her finger. “Then you would consign your grandchildren to a meagre and uncertain existence. Time does not favour us and ignorance only flatters us.”
The elder bristled. “See Atalapah, how your child is infatuated with her prize?”
Atalapah held out his hand to silence him.
Citala turned to her father. “This is no ordinary man. He is the lord of Palestro and knows the princes of Valdur. He is Danamis son of Danamis.”
“What interest does he have in our return?”
“We each can serve the need of the other,” she replied, her eyes moving from elder to elder. “Danamis would return to destroy his enemy and retake Palestro. To do this he needs ships and men. We have the treasure he needs to buy them.”
Atalapah twisted the haft of his spear in both hands. “And what do we receive in return, my daughter?”
Danamis took a step forward. “My lord, I will swear upon all the saints to undertake the protection of your people, to provide a safe haven for them, and to work with all my power to convince the dukes of Maresto and Saivona to afford your people peace and prosperity.”
A few of the elders began making noises deep in their chest—hurr, hurr, hurr. It was the sound of mer laughter and Danamis felt himself foolish.
“I give you my word!” he pleaded.
An elder stepped forward, pushing aside two of his fellows. His head was a mass of black scars, his right eye missing. “And what of the myrra? Where is our myrra? What do you say to that, landsman!”
Citala had warned him this would be mentioned. He shot her a glance, looking for her reassurance. She gave him a nod in return.
“The myrra will more easily be traded with you in Valdur. Whatever you want.”
The merman’s thin lips parted, revealing sharp teeth. “So you say. But you are one man.”
Atalapah spoke up again. “And if he fails to kill his enemy? What then?”
“I will die in the trying, my lord,” said Danamis, puffing his chest out. “And you will have only lost a treasure you have little use for.”
Atalapah nodded. “And if you give up and abandon your quest?”
Danamis bowed, his arms making a flourish. “Citala has sworn to find me at sea and to drown me. I now owe her my life, you see. It was she who pulled me from the depths.”
The mermen exchanged looks and muttered amongst themselves. Atalapah raised his long grey arm. “We will now decide, Citala.”
She bowed to her father and took Danamis by his hand to lead him away. They walked back to the end of the settlement, to the hovel where he had been kept.
“Will they listen?” he asked her.
Citala looked him in the eye. “I do not know.”
“I fear I may never be able to convince the temple priests to relent of their poison. They have stirred up the mistrust for generations.”
She took his hand. “I believe that you can, Danamis. So long as you yourself do not believe their tales.” She allowed herself a small smile, her pearl-white teeth just showing. “I have had several dreams of late. Of a redeemer who seeks reconciliation between our peoples. He is a landsman, not mer.” She leaned back against the tree post of the entryway; her haughtiness was melting as she confided in him. “It may only be a wishful dream, but… it makes me happy to think upon it. Just the same.”
Danamis remembered his dream of the mer—the dream that had foreshadowed his fall into the sea a few days before. And she had not pulled him down, she had pulled him up. “Let us hope it is a harbinger of the future,” he said, “for both our sakes.”
He looked out into the lush forest beyond, filled with great creepers and vines and broad-leafed plants that dwarfed a man. Parrots called to each other, unseen, and green-backed monkeys leapt from palm to palm in search of fruit. “Some might consider this a perfect garden. A place to stay forever.”
Citala followed his gaze. “And others would consider it a prison.”
Danamis snapped back to attention as a group of mer made their way towards them. It was Atalapah and a band of warriors; as fearsome a sight as any he had ever witnessed. He stood up straight, ready to receive his death—or his freedom.
They halted a few paces in front of him and Citala. Atalapah held his short swordfish spear like a sword in his right hand, the pointed end resting in his left palm. His voice boomed as he made his pronouncement, as proud as any duke or king.
“Danamis, son of Danamis. We will accept your oath to Elded and the saints and seal our bargain. You may return to your people but we will hold you to your word.”
Danamis bowed low, his heart thrumming so hard he could feel it pulsing in his ears.
WHATEVER SEA PHYSIK Citala had used on him, his wound had healed wondrously after only a few days. It still ached, but it was clean and scarring well. Most importantly, he could move his torso freely—and fight. It was time to leave. On the fifth day she led him and a party of mer warriors past the tidal pool and the grotto that led to the outside world. Further on they came to another cave, the repository of all they salvaged from wrecks lying on the bottom of the sea. The gold and gems were near knee-deep, spilling across the floor of the cave, silver goblets and chargers tossed amongst it all. Danamis, holding his torch aloft, watched the light dance and sparkle off the treasure and thought of his comrades. He tried to imagine Gregorvero’s face if he could have witnessed such a pirate’s dream. As it was, he could only stare in silent amazement as the mermen stuffed their sea grass sacks with fistfuls of gold coin and necklaces, emeralds, rubies, and sapphires. They filled fifteen sacks each as large as a catana melon and as the last sack was carried out, Citala’s lilting voice echoed in the cave.
“Is this enough for you, Danamis?”
Danamis swallowed hard, nodding. “Aye, my lady, that ought to buy a few cannon and men!”
When they returned to the tidal pool, he saw that the mer had dragged a small longboat from out of the undergrowth. Both prow and sternpost had been ripped off at the gunwales but, as he walked around it, he thought that it appeared sound nonetheless. Citala told him that they had submerged it and dragged it through the tunnel many months ago. If they could drag it in they could drag it back out, bail it, and refloat it. Trouble was, he knew that he would have to be submerged again too, pulled through the grotto while his lungs felt ready to burst.
Citala, hands on hips, watched him as he clambered into the boat and ran his hand along the planks and seams, looking for holes and gaps.
“It was afloat when we found it so it will float again, Danamis,” she said, sounding unconcerned. Not being mer, he felt differently about it.
“It will be low in the water with a load of treasure and me,” he replied, standing as he ran his hand back through his long hair. “One good swell and I’m likely to be sunk.”
She laughed, her confidence radiating like a burst of bright light. “You’ll not be alone and you won’t need a sail. You must trust me.”
He looked at her and managed a grin. If he’d had more soldiers like her he’d never lose a battle. They both stood back as the mermen dragged the boat out to the pool and sank it, the sea roiling where they disappeared. After a time a few returned and with the help of others, they each took a sack of gold and dived in again to pass through the grotto. Lastly, he watched as his brigantine, sword, boots, and hose, all carefully wrapped in the same oilcloth he had used to deliver their myrra, were hefted by two warriors and thrown into the pool. The mer plunged in and disappeared. He stood watching, clad only in his braes to conceal his modesty from the she-mer. Citala turned to him, teeth flashing in a broad smile.
“Now then, Danamis son of Danamis. Are you ready?”
He nodded and waded into the pool, the warm water lapping at his chest. She follo
wed him in and faced him.
“Grasp me tightly as I showed you,” she ordered. “And take the deepest breath you can when we go down. I will give you air when you need it.”
He hugged her about the waist like a lover embracing his beloved. And then they were under. She was preternaturally strong, swimming effortlessly with him clinging to her. It was pitch black despite his eyes being wide open. He could feel her powerful body pulling through the water, her legs kicking as fast as a shark could swing its tail. It seemed an age, she above him, her breasts pressed to his chest, her long arms cutting through the dark waters of the cave. His grasp slipped once and she gathered him close in an instant until he had locked his fingers behind her back, but precious air had escaped his mouth, bubbling out and up. He could see light again and he knew they must nearly be out. But he began to panic, his body bucking. A burst of air escaped his mouth. Her face was in front of his, those violet eyes wide. Her lips pressed his and he felt a blast of air enter him. He swallowed greedily and as he did so he felt them rising upwards. He could see everything again in a blur of greyish blue. She slipped further down, her hands on his waist propelling him upwards as she kicked. He exploded out of the water, mouth gaping as he drank in a lungful of air.
She laughed like a little girl as he spluttered and coughed. And then she pointed to the boat a short distance away. His arms shaking, Danamis hauled himself up and over the gunwale, falling inside on jingling sacks of treasure. Citala’s head popped up, her delicately webbed hands grasping the side of the longboat.
“Now we make you a chariot!” she cried before disappearing below again. Danamis could see mermen at the broken prow where they had tied woven lines to what remained of the stem of the post. He felt the boat pitch up as something bumped it from underneath and he hurriedly grabbed at the gunwales. Four glistening dolphins broke the surface around him, cackling playfully. As he steadied himself amidships, he saw the mermen place them into harness which they readily accepted. The boat rocked again. It was as low on the waterline as he had feared. Citala burst from the surface, her hair swinging and splashing him.
“We are ready,” she said, a hand on the gunwale. “Three warriors will come to guide the dolphins. We will not stop unless you wish it. If they are strong boys you will be in Maresto in a day and a night.”
Danamis put his hand over hers. “If my ships could make such speed!” He looked about him: fresh water in a gourd and a sack of fruit, the sacks of gold neatly positioned from stem to stern. “Then give the word, Citala, and tell your men I am ready. I will not forget what you have done!”
She laughed again. “You will not be able to forget. I am coming with you.” And she cried out in her tongue to the warriors. Before Danamis could protest, he was thrown backwards onto the treasure as the longboat shot forward. The bow shot spray backwards and the boat gathered speed as if a tempest was filling an invisible sail. He clambered upright and looked out ahead to see four white wakes and four straining ropes as the dolphins pulled their load. The mermen kept pace somehow, Citala too, and he saw her reach forward to grab a dorsal of the lead animal, their blue backs just breaking the surface. Behind him, an escort of what seemed an entire pod of dolphins sprang from the water as they followed. Nod’s Rock began to grow smaller as the Sea of Valdur, gleaming in the bright sun and as smooth as mirror glass, opened before them. A day and a night to Maresto. He allowed himself an inward smile.
He was still dicing with Fate and he knew it. His enemies held his ships and his city. The priesthood and his king had abandoned him. And if Gregorvero and the rondelieri had made it back to Maresto safely he would have already been pronounced as lost at sea; like his father. But he had new allies now and he had a plan. In Valdur, gold can buy many things, a much greater tool than honeyed entreaties. Even so, in the back of his mind, a small voice warned him that grand promises—like grand compromises—can undo even the mightiest prince.
Thirty
CAPTAIN JULIANUS STRYKAR and his unlikely bodyguard—a greasy-looking lieutenant in a red sash, a redheaded woman in straw hat, brown kirtle and clogs, and a young man with a curious haircut dressed in a dark green wine-stained padded doublet and hose—crossed the great piazza and approached the main entry of Maresto’s ancient and glorious ducal palace. It was a hulking and slightly menacing construction of red stone, its impressive series of arches faced in ochre sandstone at least affording it some measure of beauty. High above this long palace, a massive row of tooth-like dagged crenelations hinted at the fortress that lay at its core.
It was the second time in just over a week that Strykar, rather worn out from the adventure of the last fortnight, had come to the palace of his half-brother, Alonso. The first time he had arrived on his own, to tell of the untimely end of the rightful ruler of Palestro, the friend and ally of Maresto, and to relay news of the impending threat of Torinia in alliance with the Palestrian usurper, Giacomo Tetch. Now he was back again, this time at the direct summons of the Duke. Not likely to be a good omen, he thought, as the halberdiers at the portico stamped and saluted a stupidly grinning Lieutenant Poule before lifting the bar and pushing open the great door. He had never been on intimate terms with his half-brother, and never publicly acknowledged that he was of the blood, but the relationship was one of mutual respect. Yet he was worried as to why the presence of both Timandra Pandarus and Brother Acquel had been requested. He had confided in Alonso about the monk’s journey and what curious artefact he held, the accusations of murder, and the botched attempt at kidnapping him. Alonso had told him that he would decide what to do later. Perhaps now was that time.
They were escorted through the high-ceilinged galleries, each boldly decorated with colourful murals of the city and the saints, all slightly darkened with age, before reaching the throne room. Strykar watched a nervous Acquel place his hands together while Timandra doffed her wide-brimmed hat. Poule tugged at his sash and took up station next to him. The throne room was empty except for the high-backed carved chair on the dais, and they were quickly marched to the room beyond—an antechamber. The lead guardsman gave a nod to Strykar as he unlocked the door to this private space. Strykar turned the bronze handle and entered, the others close behind.
It was a large chamber, big enough to hold fifty or more guests. As they entered, a palace guard at the other end knocked on an adjoining door and immediately opened it. Four people filed in and stood in front of the massive marble hearth. Duke Alonso, tall, with closely cropped greying hair and a neatly groomed beard, stood centre, dressed in a dark red velvet houppelande gown. A great golden medallion hung from a chain about his neck. Next to him stood his most trusted counsellor, Lord Renaldo, scion of the wealthiest merchant dynasty in the duchy. Two other figures, just taller than either the Duke or Renaldo, stood off slightly to one side. They both wore ankle length cloaks with hoods that obscured their faces. Strykar noticed Acquel pull up sharply for a moment, no doubt thinking they were clerics.
Strykar and his party halted and bowed to the Duke who, in turn, welcomed them with a sly smile and a diffident wave of his right hand.
“Captain Strykar and… companions!” The Duke’s eyes settled briefly on Acquel and Timandra. “We welcome you.”
“Your Grace,” said Strykar, “we come at your service. You do us honour by requesting our presence.”
“Good of you to say, Captain. But it was not me who asked for you.” Alonso took a half step back and gestured to one of the cloaked figures. The man reached up and threw back his hood.
Timandra suppressed a gasp and Strykar bellowed, “Sweet God above!”
Danamis grinned at them like a village prankster and then Strykar seized him in a bear hug for a brief instant before remembering himself and holding back, his head shaking in disbelief.
“You were surely drowned! You were blown over the side—in your armour! How?”
Timandra and Acquel looked at each other, beaming, and she reached out for his arm. The Duke laughed, pleased by the tr
iumph of his little surprise.
Danamis put his hands on his hips. “Aye, maybe half-drowned. I sank faster than a piece of shot. But… I had a rescuer.” He reached over and gently pulled back the hood of his companion. Strykar took a step back without thinking and Timandra’s sharp cry echoed off the frescoed walls. Poule swore softly, his eyes starting from his much-scarred face.
“This is the princess Citala, daughter of Atalapah, the chieftain of the merfolk of our waters.”
Acquel looked at the mermaid and felt his heart nearly stop. A creature, the same of his many dreams, now standing but two paces away. She was looking directly at him with a most curious expression that seemed almost one of recognition. He found her strangely beautiful with her high cheekbones, deep violet eyes and striking pale hair. Timandra was still gripping his forearm and he broke his gaze to look back at the Widow. She too was staring at the mermaid, her mouth gaping as she tried to believe what she was seeing.
“But,” continued Danamis, “I would stay dead a while longer if you will assist in the deception. Far better for Tetch to believe me lost overboard when we begin our expedition.”
Strykar turned to the Duke and then back to Danamis. “What expedition would that be?”
“It is imperative for Maresto that Torinia never control the Palestrian fleet,” Duke Alonso said, his voice commanding. “Lord Renaldo has told me only this morning that a Palestrian warship boarded two of our merchantman yesterday and stripped them clean. They’re goading us. The admiral has a plan to retake the fleet from Tetch and safeguard our trade. He also tells me you two had discussed it at sea, off Perusia.”
Strykar frowned at Danamis. “Not Ivrea? That’s a fool’s errand.” He quickly raised his hands in supplication. “Your Grace, forgive me.”
The Duke looked down his long nose at his half-brother. “I forgive your outburst, Captain. But as Lord Danamis has explained to me his plan already, I find it has merit. And it’s worth attempting.” He gestured to Citala. “And he has entered into an alliance, of sorts, with the merfolk who have lent him a war chest to go to Ivrea with a respectable offer.”
The Guns of Ivrea Page 29
