Exile

by Rowena Cory Daniells

  The little man lifted his hands. ‘An unfortunate misunderstanding. If I’d realised, I would have sent you to the Wyrd wharf. Your ships are there right now.’

  ‘What of my cargo?’

  ‘Gone, I fear. Stolen.’ The harbour-master shrugged. ‘You know how I detest dockside thievery. I fight an uphill battle to keep it under control.’

  Ardonyx dropped his voice, speaking T’En to Tobazim. ‘With a percentage going into his pocket. The man’s a rogue.’ Ardonyx switched to Chalcedonian. ‘And where is the Wyrd wharf?’

  Stiffly, the harbour-master came to his feet. From his bent shoulders and drooping jowls, Tobazim would have said he was past ninety; as a Mieren, he was probably nearer to fifty.

  Standing only as high as Ardonyx’s chest, the harbour-master was almost as wide as he was tall, and he rolled from side to side as he walked to the windows. Once in position, he pointed towards the nest of wharves and ships. ‘There.’

  Ardonyx joined him, keeping a good arm’s length between himself and the man. Tobazim tried to make out which wharf he meant, but there were too many.

  ‘It’s not big enough,’ Ardonyx objected.

  ‘This is a busy port, I can’t spare another.’ It was not an apology. ‘I’ve hired strongarms to guard the entrance. You go in and stay there. I don’t want your people wandering around the city, causing trouble.’

  ‘Are we forbidden to leave the wharf?’

  ‘Did I say that?’ He looked far too pleased with himself for Tobazim’s liking. ‘Leave, if you must. But I cannot be held responsible for what happens to Wyrds wandering the port alone. There are brigands in town, especially down near the docks. They see your rich garments, your silver arm-torcs and...’

  Ardonyx’s eyes narrowed. ‘We will have to come out to order supplies. Your merchants won’t want to miss out on our custom.’

  The solid little man considered this. ‘Very well, but you don’t come out without my strongarms’ permission, and no more than four of you at a time.’

  ‘And the other T’Enatuath ships? The causare sent a list to the king’s agent.’

  Hersegel searched his desk, uncovered a piece of paper and ran a blunt-tipped finger down the list of names. ‘This one, she was sunk. Her, I don’t know. She was confiscated, then the new owner sailed off. This one, I don’t know. This one, confiscated–’

  ‘Those ships which were confiscated must be returned to my people, by the order of King Charald.’

  The harbour-master lifted his head. ‘As I told the king’s agent, I’ve sent messages to the other ports around the Secluded Sea, but...’

  Ardonyx looked grim. ‘Remember, Hersegel. We can’t sail without ships, and your king wants us to sail.’ With a curt nod, he went to leave.

  ‘I’ve already had a delivery of Wyrds,’ the harbour-master said. ‘I told them to wait in the warehouse. I was going to send a message to the king’s agent, but since you’re here, you can pay the bounty.’

  ‘We’ll do that,’ Ardonyx said. ‘Meanwhile, please let the agent know we are here.’

  As they’d hurried down the stairs, with Ionnyn and Haromyr behind them, Ardonyx muttered, ‘He’s a heartless thief. They all are. The Mieren merchants are going to rob us blind.’

  Down in the street, they joined their companions and mounted their horses. Twilight had claimed the valley between the buildings. Without street lamps, the only light came from the open doors of businesses and unshuttered windows. Respectable establishments closed up for the night, as bawdy houses opened and taverns did a roaring trade. But Tobazim’s party travelled in a pall of silence. Conversation fell away at their approach, and once they were past, a wave of comments picked up behind their backs.

  Passers-by gave the T’Enatuath party a wide berth, the well-dressed holding handkerchiefs to their faces and averting their faces. There seemed to be a fashion for malachite jewellery; everyone wore it. And everywhere Tobazim looked, blue eyes slid away from his gaze.

  ‘Soon you’ll see my ships.’ Ardonyx seemed cheered by this thought. ‘The Spring-cusp is a sturdy vessel, reliable, quick, five masts, three decks. The Autumn-moons is a beauty, lovely lines, seven masts. There are ships more richly appointed, but I know every creak, every whisper. My ship, she talks to me.’

  Tobazim felt the pieces of the puzzle fall into place. This was why Ardonyx’s gift had felt exotic. It was tied to his ships, and the sea was a foreign country to Tobazim.

  Now Ardonyx led them through a narrow street only just wide enough for their wagons. The buildings almost met overhead. The way sloped down into a hollow where boards rattled over fetid water. There was no sign of the stream itself; houses had been built over it, so that the water travelled in darkness to the sea. It struck Tobazim as obscene. He was glad he had grown up under open skies with the mountain at his back and the whole of Chalcedonia laid out at his feet.

  Here, surly denizens inhabited the shadows. From narrow doorways, lean, hungry-eyed children watched them. Tobazim was shocked by how ragged and thin they were. If Mieren could treat their own young like this, no wonder they did not balk at murdering the children of Wyrds.

  As a boy, his choice-mother had taught him that Mieren callousness and cruelty arose from their lack of the T’En gift or Malaunje gift affinity. They could not feel the pain they caused one another. Even so, the Mieren disregard for each other evident in the faces of these starving children shocked him.

  He was relieved when they emerged from the street of top-heavy hovels. An area of open land dotted with charred rubble lay ahead of them.

  ‘Ah, that explains why hatred burned so fiercely in those Mieren,’ Ardonyx said, gesturing to an area of blackened rubble ahead of them. ‘The harbour-master flattened half their homes, poor rats.’ He saw Tobazim’s expression. ‘That’s what they call this quarter, the rats-nest.’

  ‘The Mieren call their own people rats?’

  Ardonyx jerked his head back the way they had come. ‘Their nest is a den of filth. If you hadn’t been shielding so heavily, you would have felt it. Enough cruelty, greed and desperation to make you physically ill. The harbour-master used us as an excuse to knock down a few blocks of the worst of it, to isolate the area where he’s quartered us. Here we are.’

  They’d come to a barricade, defended by the harbour-master’s hired thugs. About a dozen of them lined the barricade and clustered around the gate. At his party’s approach, the strongarms stiffened, reaching for weapons. Once inside that gate, Tobazim’s people would be prisoners.

  A lantern hung from a poorly-constructed barricade. A second lantern was hastily lit and raised on a pole and hung from the gate tower – a rickety platform. One of the strongarms sauntered out to meet them. He was not the largest, but the light of cunning burned in his pale eyes.

  ‘Harbour-master Hersegel said you were to answer to us now,’ Ardonyx bluffed. ‘We’re in charge of the wharf.’

  The guard glanced to his men, and they shuffled aside, but did not open the gate. It was a blatant insult. Tobazim contained his anger, turned in the saddle and signalled the nearest Malaunje. One of Ardonyx’s sailors jumped down from the cart and opened the gate. As they rode through, Tobazim was aware of unfriendly stares.

  The sky still held the afterglow of the sun but night had claimed their wharf. A jumble of dark buildings, some of which tilted alarmingly, spread out before them. There was just enough ambient light to make out the nearest one on their right: a warehouse with a dull glow coming from its open door.

  Tobazim thought longingly of hot food and getting off this torture device they called a horse. Two ships were tied up, one on each side of the wharf. Another two ships were moored further out.

  ‘The two ships anchored near our wharf are sisterhood vessels.’ Ardonyx guided his mount closer. ‘The two moored here are mine. My defiant little Spring-cusp’ – he gestured to the ship directly ahead of them, then to the one on their left – ‘and the Autumn-moons. Aren’t they beautiful?’


  Tobazim hid a smile. To his landsman eyes, the Autumn-moons looked like a row of terraced houses, with a taller building at each end. No lights glowed in the ships’ windows.

  ‘The sails burned when the Mieren attacked our ships. They’ll have to be replaced,’ Ardonyx said. He reached out to take Tobazim’s forearm. ‘But you should see them when we’re at sea.’

  Tobazim’s vision blurred and he saw the sails illuminated by the setting sun. They looked like a dragonfly’s wings. They were so beautiful an aching joy filled his chest.

  Ardonyx’s hand dropped and Tobazim’s vision returned to normal. Memory-sharing was an intimacy that revealed trust. Tobazim was honoured.

  Just then, Ionnyn and Haromyr caught up with them.

  ‘What’s that foul smell?’ Tobazim had noticed it as soon as they approached the wharves. ‘Some kind of fish?’

  Ardonyx laughed. ‘Seaweed, you landsman. It’s low tide.’

  Tobazim felt his face grow hot. He was going to be out of his depth for a while, and he didn’t like it.

  A man shouted from the door of the warehouse.

  ‘What now?’ Haromyr muttered.

  ‘The unwanted Wyrds?’ Tobazim guessed.

  Ardonyx dismounted, handing his reins to one of his sailors. Tobazim stepped down and turned to find Maric ready to take his horse.

  ‘What do we do, Captain Ardonyx?’ the sailor asked. ‘Unload the carts and stow the stores aboard ship?’

  ‘Not yet.’ Ardonyx spoke absently, studying the man who came towards them. To Tobazim, he looked underfed, wiry, and ambitious.

  ‘You’ve come from the queen of the Wyrds?’ the man asked.

  ‘We represent the causare, our leader,’ Ardonyx corrected.

  ‘Good. These women and their brats are eating our profits. You’re welcome to them.’ He led them into the warehouse.

  It was large and high-roofed and the far end was lost to shadow. Tobazim caught glimpses of stars through cracks in the roof. The place had a stale smell that was a mixture of damp, unwashed bodies and mice. His gift stirred, roused by the Mieren threat and the warehouse’s state of disrepair.

  Gathered around an open fire and a single lamp were ten rough-looking Mieren who came to their feet, radiating threat. Huddled at the far end, in the dark, several women tried to keep about a dozen children quiet. Even so, a small child cried, as if he had been crying for a long time and would soon fall asleep from exhaustion.

  When Ardonyx and Tobazim entered, the women came to their feet, whispering hopefully. As far as Tobazim could tell, they were all Malaunje.

  ‘This lot have come from their queen,’ the man told his companions. ‘We’ll finally get our reward.’

  This was greeted with relieved muttering to the effect that it was about time, but the Mieren did not take their hands from their weapon hilts.

  ‘You’re in charge here?’ Ardonyx asked the first man.

  ‘I am,’ the leader said, as he eyed their silver belt buckles and the brotherhood torcs on their arms. ‘We’ve got fifteen Wyrds for you, all copperheads, so that’s fifteen silver coins you owe us.’

  Ardonyx ignored this. ‘Bring them into the light.’

  ‘Over here, you lot,’ the man bellowed. ‘You heard me. Hurry up.’

  An old woman and two young ones called the children, picked up the toddlers and hurried across. They gazed on Ardonyx and Tobazim with a fierce hope. That they did not defer but met Tobazim’s eyes outright told him how desperate they were to return to the protection of the T’Enatuath.

  ‘Are you sisterhood or brotherhood Malaunje?’ Ardonyx addressed the old woman in T’En.

  The Mieren leader spoke before she could answer. ‘A couple of them are knocked around a bit – they wouldn’t do as they were told – but they’ll heal up all right. We didn’t spoil their looks.’

  Tobazim studied the two young Malaunje women. One had a split lip, the other a black eye. Now that there was hope of release, they blazed with fury.

  ‘I am Lysarna of All-father Tamaron’s brotherhood.’ The old woman spoke T’En. ‘Ours was a small estate far to the north. We knew nothing of the attack on the city. One day, while our men were out hunting, these Mieren came. They said our people had been exiled and they’d come to confiscate the estate. Old scholar Vittor did not believe them. They–’

  ‘Don’t listen to what she’s saying,’ the man spoke over her. Tobazim suspected he was worried by her tone. ‘We’ve fulfilled our part of the bargain. We just want our silver.’

  The old woman kept speaking. ‘Scholar Vittor tried to stop them, but they cut him down.’

  ‘Here, what’re you telling them?’ the man demanded.

  ‘They dragged us out of our home–’

  ‘Shut up!’ The man raised his hand.

  Ardonyx caught it mid-arc and held it, without apparent effort. ‘Let her finish.’

  The other Mieren moved closer, their hands going to their weapons. The women put the children behind them, and edged away.

  Lysarna gestured to the two young women. ‘They raped–’

  ‘She’s lying. Whatever she says, it’s all lies!’ the man shouted her down.

  Ardonyx twisted his arm up behind his back and thrust him aside; he staggered and turned on his toes, his hand going to the hilt of his weapon.

  ‘What’s going on, Ardonyx?’ Ionnyn asked, coming in with Haromyr. Several more T’En stood in the doorway.

  The Mieren strongarms looked them over, clearly calculating the odds.

  ‘If any of them makes a move, Ionnyn, kill them,’ Ardonyx said in T’En. Then he continued in Chalcedonian. ‘I was just paying these Mieren for their service.’

  ‘Paying them?’ Tobazim objected in T’En. ‘You heard what they–’

  ‘If we don’t pay them, others like them will hear of it and they’ll consider our people worthless,’ Ardonyx said. His words were reasonable, but his hands shook with fury as he pulled out his pouch and counted out fifteen silver coins.

  The leader of the Mieren watched Ardonyx put the pouch away.

  ‘There you are,’ Ardonyx said, dropping the coins into the man’s worn hands.

  ‘What about the cost of food?’ the man objected. ‘You can afford it.’

  ‘You’re lucky to get out of here with your life,’ Tobazim told him, voice tight with anger.

  The man glanced from him to Ionnyn and Haromyr, then signalled his companions. With bad grace, the Mieren packed their travelling kits.

  The moment they left, the old Malaunje woman dropped to her knees. ‘Adept Ardonyx, we are in your debt.’

  ‘No. The T’En swore an oath to protect all Malaunje. I am sorry we could not have done more,’ Ardonyx said.

  ‘They need food and decent shelter,’ Tobazim said. ‘This warehouse is a fire trap, and it’s about to fall down.’

  Ardonyx nodded. ‘They can sleep onboard one of my ships.’ He took the old woman’s hands, helping her up. She lifted her face to him, surprised and honoured. ‘Soon, you will have warm food and clean beds, I promise.’

  The others crowded them, thanking them, weeping with relief. The children plucked at Tobazim’s robe, trying to find bare skin to touch, needy for the reassurance of his gift. He felt overwhelmed.

  ‘Wait here by the fire,’ Ardonyx told them. ‘We have to inspect the ships.’

  Eagerly, they came over to the fire, some running to fetch the few belongings they’d managed to bring with them.

  Ardonyx turned on his heel and marched out. Tobazim strode by his side and Ionnyn dropped into step behind them. Three Malaunje sailors waited with lanterns to light their way.

  ‘The Autumn-moons first.’ Ardonyx headed straight for the gang plank. ‘They’re fine vessels, crafted from strong oak timbers. You’ll find this interesting, Tobazim. Each deck is divided into compartments which can be sealed, so that if one part of the hull is breached, the ship will not sink.’

  Tobazim followed, adjusting his weight as t
he wooden gang plank bounced with their steps. The ship’s intricacies fascinated him, and he wanted to see Ardonyx in his natural element.

  On board, he found the high deck at the front of the ship could be reached by a set of stairs, one each side. The rear of ship had two higher decks, one set back further from the other, so that from here it looked like a two-storey building with a large balcony.

  Near him, on the mid-deck, were hatch covers and water barrels. Although the ship was long, he could cross the deck in six strides. At least now he understood why Ardonyx thought of the safety of the whole T’Enatuath, rather than an individual brotherhood. He had seen the larger world, and with so many Mieren ranged against them, it was clear to Tobazim that they had to put aside old rivalries.

  ‘Ionnyn, take three sailors and go below, check for traps and sabotage,’ Ardonyx ordered. He gestured to one of the older Malaunje. ‘Harkar, go to the fore-deck cabins and make a list of what’s been stolen and what needs to be repaired.’

  They nodded and divided up the lanterns.

  Ardonyx ran lightly up the stairs to the first rear deck, going to the door. Tobazim followed, holding the lantern.

  As soon as Ardonyx opened the door the smell hit them. Not dead bodies, excrement. The hall stretched before him, three doors opening from it, a single door at the far end. They held their cloaks over their noses, but it made little difference.

  Ardonyx nodded to the far door. ‘My cabin.’

  Tobazim tried not to gag.

  When Ardonyx swung the door open, Tobazim raised the lantern. The cabin had been stripped; not a stick of furniture remained. Human waste was smeared across the floor, the windows and the bunk base.

  ‘Barbarians! How could they do this?’ Ardonyx ran to the far window, thrusting it open to vomit into the sea. Tobazim followed, dry retching. The cool night air was a relief. Tobazim welcomed the honest smell of seaweed. Ardonyx raised his head, tears streaming down his face. He wiped a trembling hand across his mouth.

  ‘We need to get out of here,’ Tobazim croaked.

  Ardonyx nodded. He opened all the windows before he left, and the smell followed them out onto the deck.