Warhammer Red Thirst

by Warhammer

  At that moment, Ariel hated him. "Do you care about anything?"

  "I care about my life. Which may be threatened if I don't get this lantern lit. The Magrittan militia are looking for me. We have to leave."

  "Without finding out your important information?"

  "But I did." He struck the flint, tried again. "They've laid the keels for thirty new ships. Thirty. And they floated twelve others less than a month ago. That's why they know I'm here: they saw me in the boatyards."

  Ariel did not listen. She found the path down the cliff and scrambled along it.

  The path ended in the sea: the tide was coming in. She sat and listened to the waves slapping up against the rock. She knew how Bel had died and why; there was nothing more for her to do. But Bel was still dead and she was... angry. Angry at Send, angry at herself for having begun to trust him, angry at the Magrittans.

  And angry with Bel.

  She pulled air, cool and salt, through her teeth. Bel had died and left her alone. They had always laughed in the face of the future - marriage, motherhood, loss of freedom - secure in the knowledge that each would have the other to depend on, that they would be together. And now Bel had deserted her.

  "How can I face all that on my own?" she whispered to the sea. "Why did you leave me? Why?" She punched the rock. "Why why why?"

  She sucked the blood from her knuckles and spat the metallic taste into the sea. Where did she go from here? Not Quenelles. More blood dripped onto the dust by her feet. She ignored it. She felt old and tired. She would go wherever Send was going, then buy passage back to Brionne. There was always the Rosamund.

  A light winked out from the top of the cliff. Send had lit his signal lantern. What ship would it be this time? She started back up the path.

  Through her feet she felt the rhythmic step of many people. The militia. She flattened herself against the rock. Send was still holding his lantern out to sea. He had not seen them; they could be on him before he had time to do whatever it was he had done to those soldiers in Bilbali.

  If she called out they would catch her too. She looked up the rock face. If she climbed that instead of using the path, she might not be seen. She felt along the rock until she found a crevice; she pushed her hand in, made a fist and hauled herself up, scrabbled until she found a foothold. With her right fist still anchoring her to the rock, she felt above and to her left. She found another handhold almost immediately. If she imagined she was pulling herself up the mainmast of the Rosamund it would not be too hard.

  The cliff was not high. She hauled herself up onto the grassy clifftop and lay for a moment on her stomach, listening and watching. Send was still signalling; the militia were creeping closer. He was an easy target for a bow; they must want him alive. From the water, a light winked back. It was what she had been waiting for.

  She hit him squarely from behind, wrapping one arm around his arms and a hand over his nose and mouth. Sweeping his legs out from under him, she kicked them both over the cliff and into the water. It was cold and her money pouch was heavy. Although he struggled, she kept her hand clamped over his face until they surfaced. Her knuckles stung.

  "Listen!" she hissed.

  Shouts of frustration echoed over the water and a torch flickered. Send nodded his understanding, and Ariel let go. She held her finger to her lips and pointed out to sea in the direction of the light that had blinked earlier. He nodded again: with the torchlight dazzling the militia, they would be able to escape if they moved quickly and quietly. They began to swim.

  After half a mile, Ariel judged it safe enough to call out. "Hoy!"

  No reply. They swam some more. She thought she saw a smudge of deeper darkness ahead. It could be a ship.

  "Hoy!" Water slapped into her mouth and she coughed. She was getting tired. Briefly, she considered cutting loose her pouch. Only if she had to. They trod water for a while.

  Send called. "Hoy the Aramam!"

  Ariel heard the distinctive rolling thump of a ladder dropping down the side of a ship. A light flared.

  "Aramam?"

  "Who else?" The voice was young, laughing. "If you hurry, you'll be in time for dinner. Who is your companion?"

  "We'll make the introductions on board, Djellah."

  They reached the ladder. Ariel clung to it, too tired to pull herself up immediately.

  "Can you manage?" the voice called.

  "Yes," Send said, so Ariel did, climbing dripping and exhausted onto the deck of the Arabian dhow.

  "Thrice welcome." The twelve-year-old bowed, then grinned. "You look half drowned."

  "Thank you," said Ariel.

  Send hauled himself aboard. "Where's your father? The Magrittans know I'm here. We need to move quickly."

  A figure stepped from the shadow and bowed formally. "Please excuse my sister. All is in hand." She gestured to their growing wake.

  "Ariel, this is Cendenai."

  Cendenai was her own height, slim and dark. Her hair was as short as Ariel's.

  "If you wish, you may exchange your clothes for dry garments before eating. Please follow me." She led them to a cabin door. "Inside you will find a selection of robes. Please join us in the mid cabin for dinner when you are rested." She withdrew.

  The cabin was big and the walls tapestried. Brightly coloured robes hung from a rail in one corner. Ariel fingered one. The material was cool and sleek; it smelled spicy, unfamiliar. She let it drop, sat down on a plain wooden stool.

  "Where are we going?"

  Send stood with his back to her, his hands clasped stiffly behind him. "We're aboard the Rose of Aramam," he said tightly, "the private pleasure vessel and sometime trader of an Araby merchant called Hamqa. He has other titles. We are sailing for his port of Meknes."

  "What's wrong?"

  He turned round. "I owe you my life."

  "I needed you to get me away from Magritta," she said coolly. "There was no altruism involved." She watched him absorb that. "Now, why are we heading for Meknes?"

  Young Djellah stood up from behind the ottoman. "But we're not!" Ariel looked at her, startled.

  Send reached to lay a hand on the girl's shoulder. "We're not sailing for Meknes?"

  Djellah said nothing.

  "Let her go, Send, you're frightening her." He moved away as she got up from her stool. She took the girl's hand. "Where are we going, Djellah? Do you know?"

  Djellah shook her head. "They never tell me anything. But I heard my father talking about it to his steward when they thought I was on deck."

  "What did he say?"

  Her smooth, olive brow wrinkled. "He said 'We haven't time to make it to Meknes now.' And then something about sending messages to someone about a change of plan."

  "When was this?"

  "Days and days ago. Weeks."

  Send cursed and wrenched open the door, slammed it behind him. Djellah looked up at Ariel.

  "You should get changed, you're still all wet." Ariel could not argue with that. Djellah pulled a blue robe off its hook. "This one. It goes with your eyes. I'll show you how to wear it. It's Cendenai's favourite, but she won't mind."

  So this was Cendenai's cabin.

  The mid cabin was even larger. Silver and glassware on a table set for six glittered in the light of oil lamps. They all looked up as she entered: Cendenai, and Send, and three other men. Send was no longer angry. A large chart lay over the settings. The lamps made it very hot.

  "Ah." One of the men stood. He was stocky but not fat, with a wide pink mouth. Hamqa, she guessed. "Welcome to my humble vessel." He smiled and gestured for her to sit. "We are in the middle of explaining to your companion why we are not sailing to Meknes to collect the rest of the fleet."

  Ariel sat opposite Cendenai, who smiled slightly.

  "Father."

  "My sweet?"

  "Our guest might feel easier if she knew everyone."

  "Ah. Introductions, then. Mademoiselle de Courtivron, allow me to introduce myself and my companions. My beloved da
ughter, Cendenai, captain of the Aramam." He pointed down the table to his left. "Next to her, Mousaou Salah, captain of my fleet. On my right is Adiffrah el Deheb, second steward."

  Cendenai poured Ariel a glass of water and handed it to her. "The first steward stays at home to manage the affairs of my father who is prevented by modesty from introducing himself. Allow me: my father, Hamqa the Divine, Sultan of Aiir, Suzerain of Sadiz and Regal of all Kust."

  Hamqa smiled complacently. "She looks well in your robe, daughter."

  Cendenai tensed; it was slight but Ariel noticed. She cleared her throat, wondered what the correct form of address was.

  "Perhaps, sir, you would grant me the favour of continuing your discussion regarding the course of this ship."

  In answer, he gestured at his daughter.

  "His Exalted Magnificence," Cendenai said - Ariel smiled her thanks - "anticipated the late arrival of Senduiuiel Cortengren and, fearing the news he would carry, determined to bring forward by a few weeks the plans laid many months ago. Thus, instead of sailing now for Meknes in order to meet with our fleet and send messages both north and west to the fleets of elven and other vessels, we sail south to meet these fleets."

  Send pulled the chart round to face them, pointed to the bow shape of the south sea. Ariel was reminded of the dirt under Marya's fingernail. It all seemed so long ago.

  "Here to the west, between the Horn of Araby and the southern tip of Estalia, the sea flows into the Great Western Ocean. That should now be blocked off by ships from Marienburg, Lustria and even from Brionne or Bordelaux. They will be sailing west to meet us and the fleet out of Meknes."

  "What about the Magrittan ships in Bilbali?"

  "They should already have been dealt with."

  "I see."

  The conversation continued but Ariel sat apart from it. There were strange tensions in the cabin, things she was not being told. She felt alien and unwelcome, Cendenai must have sensed it: she caught Ariel's attention and looked pointedly at the door, raising her eyebrows. Ariel nodded.

  "Father, our guest is tired. If you will excuse us, I will take her to eat in my cabin where she can rest."

  They met Djellah on the way. "Were they mad that I told?"

  Cendenai appeared to consider that seriously. "Not very cross. But you would be wise not to do it again. And now, little one" - Djellah made a face - "make amends by telling Marrokh that we wish to eat in my cabin."

  "Can I eat with you?"

  "Not today. We have things to discuss." Djellah opened her mouth to protest. "Things arising from your indiscretion." Djellah went to find the cook.

  Without the lamps, Cendenai's cabin was dark and cool. The food arrived on their heels: an enormous tray of spiced vegetables, fish in delicate rolls, fluffed rice and flat bread. Cendenai lit a thick yellow candle which she covered with a multi-faceted glass. The walls glowed with refracted colour that drifted with the candle flame.

  "You have questions," Cendenai said, heaping a platter with rice and vegetables. She handed it to Ariel, began loading a second for herself.

  "Several. First," she hesitated, "why did your father's remark about the robe I'm wearing make you so angry?"

  Cendenai's skin was dark and the room not well lit but Ariel thought she blushed.

  "It has been a custom amongst the male line of the suzerains of Sadiz that the woman from their harem who last had sexual congress with the husband wears an item of the husband's clothing to show her status as favourite. My father's remark is his way of reminding me I'm a woman and should stick to... women's ways."

  Ariel thought about that for a while, then it was her turn to blush. "You captain his flagship," she pointed out.

  "Only for as long as he allows it. He can take it away from me any time. He likes to remind me of that."

  "Will he?"

  "No. I'm one of the best he has" - Ariel could imagine that - "and in his way, he is proud of me."

  They ate in silence for a while. Ariel thought about her own future as the unmarried daughter of Bretonnian merchant aristocracy. Her money pouch lay heavy against her skin underneath her robe. Cendenai's robe.

  Djellah burst in. "Send and Mousaou Salah are shouting at each other!"

  "How many times have I told you not to run in here without knocking?" Ariel recognized Cendenai's response as automatic. She was reminded of Bel. "And don't steal food from a guest's plate." Djellah stuffed a piece of fish in her mouth and grinned at Ariel, who smiled back. "What are they arguing about this time?"

  "Something to do with magic and corn."

  Khorne. Ariel felt her nostrils flare. She touched her knife.

  "… and they're not really shouting. But Send's angry, you can tell. I think Mousaou Salah's scared of him," she finished doubtfully.

  Ariel nodded. She remembered Send's soft voice when she had caught him with her knife. Angry, the elf would be terrifying.

  Djellah recovered her exuberance. She cocked her head, looked Ariel up and down. "I said it would suit you," she said slyly and disappeared through the door.

  "Do you have sisters?" Cendenai said as she closed and bolted the door.

  Ariel nodded, unsure of her voice. "She was called Isabel."

  And there, for the first time, sitting in the rich colours of the candlelight and wearing another woman's clothes, Ariel was able to talk about Bel.

  Behind the Rose of Aramam the setting sun stained tattered cloud bloody. The evening breeze was cool and strong, canvas bellied. Hamqa and Djellah were safe below; on the foredeck, Cendenai talked quietly to the two women loading the arbalest with arrows. Ariel stood aft, watching the fleet. Here and there among the graceful elven ships and the lateen-rigged Arabians, she was able to pick out the sails of an Empire or Bretonnian craft. She wondered if the Rosamund was among them. In the middle of the fleet floated fourteen ships crewed by cloth dummies and a handful of sailors. Fireships, Cendenai had told her.

  They hung five miles outside the Magrittan harbour. The Magrittans were nowhere to be seen.

  Mousaou Salah raised his eye-glass and scanned the water. "What are they up to?"

  "Escribano is not... predictable," Send said. Ariel noticed that he was wearing multi-coloured studs in his ears. It was the first time she had seen him wear ornament of any kind.

  "I don't want to hear any more talk of mysterious Powers and magic," Salah murmured, still scanning. "This is plain naval warfare."

  Send said nothing. Ariel remembered his talk of Khorne and Slaanesh, the soldiers in Bilbali.

  "Sweet god!" Salah jerked the glass from his eye, then lifted it again. "I don't believe it." He passed the glass to Send. "They're still in the harbour. The whole fleet. Like sitting ducks." He offered the glass to Send. "Has Escribano gone mad?"

  "No," Send said without bothering to look through the glass. "He wants something other than 'plain naval warfare'."

  To Ariel, it seemed that something in him tightened, like a rope going taut under the strain of a sail in a full wind. Cendenai noticed the disturbance. She came over.

  "It's as you feared?" she asked. Send nodded.

  Mousaou Salah looked from one to the other. "I can do nothing?"

  "Do as you see fit," Send said. "I'm no strategist. But the real battle will not be won with ships." He walked back a few paces, looked directly at Ariel. "Please ensure that no one approaches me until this is all over." He sat down cross-legged and closed his eyes.

  "I can't believe that what we do isn't important," Salah said to Cendenai. He reached a decision. "Captain, I want you to prepare your crew for an assault on the harbour. And send me someone who knows mirror code."

  Messages flashed to and fro and on every deck, people scurried about like ants whose nest has been poked by a stick. Ariel seemed to be the only one doing nothing. She found a bucket and drew seawater. At least she could damp everything down.

  Meanwhile, the fleet altered its configuration: those possessing balisters and mangonels came to the fore; th
ose like the Aramam, with only arbalests, were to stay behind the others and discharge their bundles of arrows from behind the protective hail of stones and burning naphtha offered by the others. The fire ships lay behind them all, hidden. The fleet put on more sail.

  Ariel had nothing to do now but watch. The massive cliffs of the Magrittan harbour loomed and she questioned the wisdom of approaching so closely: surely the Magrittans would have those high overhangs fortified. But the cliffs appeared deserted. At the wheel, Cendenai looked calm. Send still sat with his eyes closed, breathing deeply. Ariel began to sweat.

  The front ships lay within the jaws of the cliffs and still the Magrittans made no move. Ariel could see the anchor chains of one vessel glinting in the last of the red sun. Others had no sail set at all. Instead of being reassured, fear dried her tongue and swallowed the air in her lungs. Her hands hurt: she was gripping the rope handle of the bucket like a life line. She bent and put it on the deck, then took position near Send.

  Mousaou Salah called something, but her hearing was muffled by fear. A mirror winked. All across the fleet tiny points of light bloomed as torches were lit. For the naphtha. They continued forward.

  In the harbour, there was frenzied activity aboard some ships. Nothing aboard others. Mousaou Salah grinned, a fierce, tight grin.

  "Some of them at least are beginning to realize that there'll be more to this engagement than the muttering of spells."

  "They seem confused," Cendenai observed. The ships which had dropped anchor and set sail were moving off in different directions.

  Salah lifted his glass and watched for a long moment. "Some of them have decided that Escribano and his Power friend might need some more, ah, material help and are following orders of their own. Let's add to their confusion. How fast is this ship?"

  "One of the fastest."

  "And the other arbalest carriers?"

  "Most are the faster, lighter vessels."

  "Good. How do you fancy risking a pass alongside one of those?" He pointed at one of the vessels raising anchor.

  "What does it carry?"

  Salah raised his glass again. "Naphtha. But I doubt it's been heated ready, and if we pass at right angles and at sufficient speed their chances are small."