Godric waited. Imorlar stepped closer. “You are aware that the Magister sent members from both factions in the Dictat on the expedition to Shanal in order to stymie what he perceived as moves against him.”
“I recall. I understand that his action has succeeded in breaking the collusion between the remaining dissenters here in the palace, but no one has yet figured out their ultimate goal, and they’ve been clever enough to leave no evidence to accuse them with.”
“Indeed.” Imorlar shifted to rest a lean thigh against the edge of Godric’s desk. He unfolded the letter and handed it over.
Salvor’s brief message to Imorlar, penned in Ha’Lakkon, painted a grumpy picture of a man forced to spend time with a fool who happened to be Prince Geret. Godric handed it back. “May I presume that young Salvor’s commentary on our beloved prince was more frustration than arrogance?”
“I took it as such. What I came to discuss with you was the comment he made about your newest Archivist. Salvor’s nearly incapable of giving compliments. Considering that the situation out there may get vehemently political, or may have suffered a setback from destructive waves, I wanted your opinion on Sanych’s mental fortitude.”
Godric sucked in part of his lower lip, gnawing on it. “She’s eager to please, but she also has a solid core of idealism, and it rides close to the surface. As long as she’s in Salvor’s good company, I have no worries for her ability to withstand and properly advise the prince. Geret, though, I don’t know much about. If he’s as politically clumsy as Salvor intimates, there could be trouble with the dissenting faction. Either way, there’s nothing we can do about it until we receive further news.”
“A practical assessment. If you receive any correspondence from Sanych, or anyone in the expedition, let me know, please. I’ll do the same.”
“I will.”
Imorlar stood from the desk, preparing to leave. “You know, that’s a rather large box. And all the way from Ha’Hril.”
Godric smiled. “I’ll open it, then. I’m curious as well.”
He sent for an acolyte to fetch him a pry bar. Once he had it in hand, Godric levered up the wooden lid. It squeaked along the square nails until they popped free, releasing a small cloud of pale dirt. Indeed, the box was filled with it. On top lay a small square of oiled leather and what appeared to be a dried white root with little brown hairs sprouting from it.
Imorlar raised an eyebrow. “Salvor sent her…dirt.”
“A lot of dirt,” Godric agreed, reaching for the oiled square. Unfolding it, he found a short note, detailing instructions for the dirt and the root. Reading them, his eyebrows shot up.
“What is it?”
Godric took a moment to digest the note’s contents before replying. “That volcano, Heren Garil Sa. It nearly blew Ha’Hril off the map.”
“Yes, it did.”
“Destroyed the entire toothspice trade. Every last plant, buried under tons of ash.”
“I believe so.”
Godric picked up the root, a broad smile spreading across his face. “I believe the Temple of Knowledge is about to expand into the realm of botany.”
Meena sidled over to Sanych as everyone else began to bandy about ideas on how to steal House Aldib’s Claim. “How was your time with the Silver Hand?” she asked.
“It was busy. Those women, they can do so many amazing things. They even tried to help me find you, but their magic couldn’t reach far enough from Salience.”
“Did you find yourself having anything particular in common with them?” she asked, eyes wandering to Geret.
Sanych frowned for a moment. “Not really. I’ll be glad to get these braids out of my hair. Salience fashion really doesn’t suit me.”
Meena tsked.
“What’s wrong?” Sanych asked.
“Nothing. Let’s get this done,” she said, moving away.
“So how will we know this Circuit when we see it?” Salvor asked, eyeing his nails. Sanych gritted her teeth at the man’s familiar gesture.
Kemsil grabbed a spare corner of the map and sketched a circle the width of his hand. He gave it an open center, then divided it into a few wedges.
“Awfully small for hiding armies,” Meena said, leaning over his shoulder as he added four vague symbols on some of the wedges.
“That’s its beauty: it’s incredibly portable. Aldib embedded it in their Patrus’ battle armor generations ago, and it remains that way to this day.”
“We need to rescue a suit of armor?” Geret asked.
Kemsil chuckled. “No, just a single gauntlet. The Circuit used to be worn as a medallion, but recent centuries required a more martial approach. Possessing the Circuit has given Aldib great power. Other Houses capitulated at the mere threat of invisible armies invading their shores.”
Meena nodded. “Did they use this threat on Jath?”
“No; again, times are changing, and a softer approach is taking them further.” He sniffed in disapproval. “That means ruining only one man’s life, rather than slaughtering hundreds. But the other houses take note and reward Aldib for their restraint; over the last two generations, Aldib’s softer choices have helped elevate it to one of the three most powerful Houses in Juala.”
“Where will they keep their Claim?” Sanych asked.
“Most Houses have their ancestral homes on smaller, outlying islands. Aldib is one of these. There is little of value at the homes, and only the Patrus’s immediate family and their house guards and servants live there. The ancestral homes are all guarded well against attack. Just because it is nearly the only thing on the island does not mean it will be easy to get in.”
Sanych had seen Salvor looking at her during Kemsil’s entire reply, and felt the need for fresh air and distance. With an uncomfortable glance to Meena, she excused herself.
~~~
Up on the bright, windy deck, Sanych climbed to the aft castle and told Rhona that they needed to sail for Juala after the rendezvous with the other ships. As she climbed down the short, steep steps to the main deck again, she decided to remain topside for a while. She had no battle skills and no information to impart about Juala or House Aldib, and found the air much less Salvor-ish on deck.
She meandered to the rail, staying out of the crew’s way, and gazed down at the ocean that frothed past the Princeling’s hull.
“Citrus?” came a voice.
Sanych turned to see Ruel offering an orange fruit. She took the food.
“Thank you,” she said to Ruel, who grinned and leaned his elbows back on the rail beside her. She peeled off a curled strip of the smooth skin and smelled its tartness for a moment before tossing it out to the waves below. “Is it custom to let young Clansfolk charge off across the sea like this?” she asked, wriggling her thumbnail under a flap of citrus skin.
“Not usually. Rhona had a private talk with the Prime, and whatever was said, when they came out, Rhona had permission to continue.”
“I bet she did,” Sanych murmured. “She doesn’t seem the type to let protocol stand in her way.” She pulled one fruit section off and offered it to Ruel. Ignoring his surprised look at her generosity to a man, she peeled off another for herself. “I was raised in the Temple of Knowledge, not on the deck of a Clan ship,” she reminded him.
“Lucky for me.” He grinned and bit into the fruit. “You want to know how we found her, don’t you?” he asked, swallowing.
Sanych stopped in mid-chew, tonguing the pulp between her teeth. Finally she swallowed too, and admitted, “Yes and no. I don’t want to hear about her being…”
“Digested, aye.” Ruel, hardy member of the most powerful Clan in the Southern Sea, shuddered. “But she doesn’t remember that part, so none of us knows that story.”
Sanych frowned in interest. “Where did you find her?”
“In a small fishing village at the southern edge of the Scattersea Isles. We pulled into their harbor to get fresh water, and the villagers fled in a panic. All except one. She stood o
n the coral jetty with a long spear and a short sword. Her bald head made us wonder if she was a man, until she let loose with a string of Clan whistles. You should have seen the look on Rhona’s face. I thought her joints had finally gone rusty, she was so stunned!”
Sanych grinned. “Meena does tend to have that effect on people. Did she say how she got there, at least?”
Ruel related the story of the villagers’ accidental discovery of Meena while butchering the garrim.
Sanych shook her head at Meena’s continual ability to defy the odds. “How long was she inside that thing?”
“Somewhere around six weeks, she said. No air to breathe in there,” he began to explain, and then caught Sanych’s expression. “She was just deeply asleep,” he finished.
Sanych recalled Meena’s deep trance when they were in the ice storm the previous winter. She was relieved that Meena hadn’t been in agony inside the Deep One.
They talked further, sharing the rest of the citrus fruit, and she told Ruel about Clan Swordfish and what they had done to Kemsil.
“Oh, a wedding party?” he murmured, blue-grey eyes sparkling. “Shiny! I bet they were loaded with swag. I would have taken them too!” Clearing his throat, he added, “But no slaves. None of the clans in the Southern Sea do slaving. We’re despised enough at home without its miasma trailing after us like tar-smoke. I can only wonder how hated that practice makes the Clans out here!”
“I hope we don’t encounter them,” Sanych said.
“That would be detrimental to our success,” Ruel agreed, nodding. Sanych couldn’t help but smile at his casual attitude.
“Gryme’s Circuit should keep us safe from the cult, but I’m not sure how effective it’ll be against Clan ships.”
Ruel gave her a sharp look. “You’ve told Rhona?” he asked.
“Yes, she knows we need to go to Juala,” she replied, puzzled.
His expression cleared. “Shiny. What’s this plan, then?”
Sanych explained the mystical abilities of the Circuit of Sa’qal, and how Meena planned to use them to protect everyone from the seeking spells of the Shanallese cult.
“Some kind of sheltering shield?” Ruel asked.
“It sounds that way. Once Gryme steals it, we’ll have to test it and learn how to use it.”
“Steals…?” He squinted at her. “You are going to let us come too.”
Sanych saw the avaricious gleam in Ruel’s eyes. “I…” she began, realizing his words hadn’t been a question.
“Consider,” he said, stepping close to her and lowering his voice. “From what we’ve learned in our weeks of searching this sea for Geret, the Clans out here are more…direct…in their attacks, and make more of a mess. Everyone who’s got immobile assets has serious protection in place. You’ll need us.”
“Immobile assets?”
“Cities, towns, islands. From what we hear, the Archipelago of Juala has rarely been attacked, and has defenses that are nearly impenetrable. Surely Gryme wouldn’t mind us helping ourselves to his rival’s swag, and I know it’d be a notch on Rhona’s belt if she could claim success where local Clans couldn’t.”
“We’re not out to notch anyone’s belt, Ruel. We’re going to destroy the Dire Tome.”
“Aye, sure, but if the opportunity presents itself…” he shrugged, grinning.
~~~
Soon the Princeling met up with Rhona’s other six ships, which had made an easy task of outdistancing the Salience sentries. Rhona produced charts she had stolen during supply raids across the Middle Sea while looking for Geret, and with Kemsil’s help, she pinpointed Aldib’s ancestral home and plotted a course.
As soon as Rhona had returned to the ship’s wheel and ordered their new heading flagged to the rest of her fleet, Ruel mentioned how much he was looking forward to the opportunity to relieve the House of Aldib of some of their goods.
“Belay it or flay it,” she ordered sharply, referring to Ruel’s tongue, and her cousin paused in alarm, eyes wide.
“What? Why?”
“When did you hear plans I wasn’t privy to, and why did someone go behind my back?” she demanded, glaring.
“Sanych told me earlier, before she returned below. I asked her if she’d already told you, and she said she had. I would have sent her to you otherwise; you know that!” Ruel growled, daring to raise his voice to his captain.
“All she told me was our general destination.” Rhona whipped a dagger out of its sheath. “I’ll pin that girl’s tongue, and teach her to keep it from flapping.” She started down toward her cabin.
Ruel darted in front of her. “Rhona, you know she doesn’t know our ways. She’s like any Clan child. Mistakes are allowed, as you should well remember.”
Rhona pressed her lips together and glared up at him. “It’s disrespectful. I’ll not be disrespected on my own ship. Especially not this one.”
“Aye, it was disrespectful. But it was also unintentional. Tell her, and I’ll wager she’ll not do it again.”
Rhona’s gaze cooled. “I’ll accept no wagers about that little fry, Ruel. Take the wheel.” She brushed past him and went below.
Rhona, not accepting a wager? Ruel sighed and tucked that thought away as he took the Princeling’s wheel.
~~~
Sanych stood out of the way, against a bookcase, as the raid planning continued, not having much to offer. Without warning, Rhona burst in, dagger in hand. As everyone looked to her, she strode toward Sanych. Just as Sanych opened her mouth to ask what the problem was, Rhona buried the tip of her dagger in the spine of a priceless first edition beside her ear. Sanych cried out and flinched away.
“Rhona, what are you doing?” Geret said, grabbing her wrist. Kemsil and Salvor stood in alarm. Meena didn’t even bat an eye.
Geret’s interference only angered the Clan captain, and she wrenched her wrist from his grasp, hissing, “This is my ship, Geret, and on its decks I make the rules! This,” she added, wrenching the dagger from the book, “is my mercy, not my justice.”
“I’d hate to see your justice, then,” Salvor commented, eyeing her as a snake he’d just seen beneath his feet.
“Aye. You would.” She turned to face Sanych, which was difficult with Geret standing between them. “If you have details to tell, dirtwalker, they go to the captain first. Letting my crew know something I don’t—that’s fomenting trouble. Crews have mutinied with that sort of leverage.”
“I didn’t know—” Sanych began.
“Which is why your tongue isn’t pinned to the bookcase. This is your one warning,” Rhona said, gesturing at the girl with the dagger. Then she slipped it back in its sheath and turned to Meena. “I didn’t mean to interrupt, Seamother, but I had to set things straight. Ruel…he mentioned stealing? What can we take?” Moments before, her eyes had been snapping in anger. Now, her mercurial mood had shifted to excitement. Her playful eagerness led everyone to dismiss the incident, except Sanych.
Meena’s great-great-granddaughter gets all the leeway she wants, it seems, the Archivist grumped, as her nerves finally began to settle down from her scare with the captain’s dagger.
Chapter Five
Thirteen years ago
“This is the last of the cousins?” Shalin Ebie asked, brushing a roughened finger along the toddler’s soft, chubby cheek. The little girl in Anesta’s lap shied away with a smile, clutching her fish-patterned blankie tightly and leaning against her larger friend for comfort.
“Yes. My final hope.”
A short servant with light brown hair cut in a bob bustled in the background of the lanolin-scented room, adjusting the wide rattan shutters that let the cool sea breeze in. Shayin Ahousi, sitting beside the Shalin, took a break from spinning wool yarn and gestured at a ewer of lime juice. The woman left the window to pour her a cup.
“Let me have a look at her, then,” the Shayin asked, holding out her arms. After a few moments of hesitation, the girl accepted the new lap and began patting a pile of
uncarded wool beside her, enjoying its texture. As she explored the pokiness of the woman’s carding paddle, Ahousi placed her hands on the girl’s head and closed her eyes.
Moments later, Ahousi opened them and said, “May the moon witness, Unbroken: this is a day of luck. She has the gift you seek.”
Anesta’s shoulders slumped in relief. “Yes. Finally. I really didn’t want to wait another generation.”
“Mama says it’s rude to be impatient. She says, sometimes we have to wait for what we want,” the toddler said. The older women stared.
Anesta took the girl back onto her own lap and hugged her. “You’re absolutely right, sweet one.” She looked over at Shalin Ebie. “She talks like that all the time. She can already read, and she never forgets even the smallest detail. It’s quite irritating sometimes,” she said, dropping a kiss onto the girl’s blonde hair. “You must understand, Ebie, that I need to keep her safe, even from herself.”
Ebie pursed her lips and shared a look with Ahousi before replying. “I knew you didn’t ask me here for the conversation.”
“I need to get her away from Salience. And I’m afraid her family will all need a visit from you.”
“I can implant other memories, if you want,” Ebie said. “It will help with the adjustment. But I’ll need to know where the little one is headed.”
Ahousi leaned forward. “Have you heard of a place called the Temple of Knowledge, over in Cyrmant? A land called Vint, I understand.”
Anesta tapped her chin. “I’ve been to Vint in the past, but I’ve had no dealings with that place.”
“I think your youngster may find a safe haven there. She’ll need a guardian, though.” She exchanged a knowing glance with Ebie.
Anesta gave the pair a suspicious look. “I’m listening.”
Ahousi waved the servant woman forward. “Ahni, do you know who this woman is?”
The woman looked at Anesta. “I’ve heard you call her the Unbroken, Shayin, though I’m not sure how she can be; she doesn’t look old enough.”
“Please tell her how you came to be in our service.”
Oathen Page 4
