Fleeing Peace

by Sherwood Smith

  Leander shrugged, trying hard to look apologetic. He rubbed his gut. “Stomach-ache,” he said.

  They laughed, and one of them said something rude that Leander was just as glad not to understand. He sighed, and climbed below.

  Senrid had watched it all from the other side of the ship. He didn’t hear everything, but he didn’t have to know that Kyale had been complaining, and Leander tried to placate her, using the good sense and that endless patience that roused both Senrid’s admiration and his contempt.

  He liked Leander, who was smart and knew his history. And you had to admit he was loyal to that tiresome girl who wasn’t even any blood relation, just the horrible result of her mother’s ambitious marriage to Leander’s father when both kids were small.

  Senrid had only himself to blame for Kitty’s presence. He could have transferred out and left them to the Norsundrians. Now the three of them had to live together in a tiny compartment until they reached Mearsies Heili. They couldn’t talk about anything interesting, much less important. Even if Kyale dropped into sleep, she slept so lightly that whispers brought her awake, demanding to know what they were talking about, and no, they were really talking about her.

  Senrid gripped a worn, scarred rail, gazing out over the gray-green sea. The horizon looked grim, an unbroken wall of blue-gray clouds with the uneven lines in them that meant hard weather nigh. He wished he could transfer the entire ship; he wished he dared any kind of magic. This thing was so slow, and he ached to be home, to know what Tdanerend—or rather Detlev—was doing to his kingdom. He wondered if this determination to warn the lighter mages was an utter waste of time.

  No. Not with a rift, maybe a secret one. They were the only ones to stop it. Good tactical sense dictated you warned those who could defend best, if you couldn’t defend yourself.

  He squinted against the frigid air, peering at the horizon for the least sight of land.

  If only ships weren’t so slow.

  o0o

  Kitty woke to find snowflakes on her eyelashes.

  She sat up, her face so cold it hurt. Leander and Senrid were just barely visible in the weak gray light filtering through the open hole, each wrapped entirely in his cloak. Kitty could feel freezing air flowing down.

  She sat up, and her anger from the night before rushed back, heating her from the inside. How dare Leander turn against her! It had to be Senrid’s fault. Leander was never mean to her at home.

  Well, one thing for certain. She was going to eat hot food, and good food, and maybe—if he apologized—she’d share it with Leander. Senrid could just stick with the nasty scrapings from the crew. Exactly as he deserved. And since she would do the magic, it wouldn’t disturb any tracers on Leander or that stupid Senrid.

  But as she struggled to sit up without letting any cold air get at her, she thought, glaring in his direction, If he does get caught, well, that’s also exactly what he deserves.

  She said nothing when the boys woke. Leander kept casting her worried looks. She enjoyed those, and turned away, hoping he’d feel even worse. As soon as they got their walk on the deck, of course she’d talk to him again—for one thing, being silent was boring. But for now it felt good to let him worry. Whining!

  The boys got out their cards, and she just sat, trying hard to pretend she was at home with her cats all around her. Time dripped with all the speed of a melting icicle.

  Eventually they heard the thumping footsteps that meant their food was coming. Kitty drank her share of the water, and didn’t look at the food—she didn’t want to feel sick. Leander muttered about ice being a new kind of herb that hid flavors. Senrid snorted a laugh.

  Finally it was time to take their walk on deck. The corridor outside their horrid cell smelled of baked meat pie. Kitty slowed as they passed the galley, and paused to glance in. As soon as they were up on deck, Kitty glanced at the fierce blue of the sky, and huddled further into her cloak. The wind actually hurt.

  But then Leander said, in an urgent, low voice, “Kitty, I’m sorry I snapped at you yesterday. It was my fault. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

  “Well.” Kitty felt an urge to spin it out longer—but she looked up into his face. He looked tired, and the little frown between his dark brows meant his head ached. All her anger melted away. “All right,” she said. And tried a smile, though her lips cracked. “Would you like a nice, hot meal? Hot little chicken-pies, and greens, and a big piece of cheese?”

  “Would I,” Leander exclaimed. “And why not a fine apple-tart to finish it?”

  He thought she was just playing an imagination game! Well, why not? It would make the surprise even better.

  “Let’s go below,” she said. “It’s too cold up here. And we can talk, just us, before that stupid Senrid crowds back in.”

  “All right. Go ahead—I’ll tell him to take his time getting exercise.” He turned away as Kitty dashed below. Relieved, he joined Senrid at the weather-side, where the wind was worst, but the crew got angry if they stood on the more sheltered lee. “I apologize,” he said abruptly.

  And though he didn’t say what for, Senrid knew what he meant. He also knew Leander was too honorable to actually mention Kitty’s name. He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll see land within a couple of days.”

  Leander nodded. “I hope so.” And he chatted on. Nothing important—sailors moving around them, if they wished, just heard a couple of boys talking about winter, riding, what countries they’d like to see some day. But Senrid felt a little less isolated, and though he knew what Leander was doing, he gave him credit for good intentions.

  Meanwhile, Kitty laughed to herself as she ran down below. The one part of her plan she’d worried about was doing the magic so that Leander would be surprised—and here, unplanned for, was her chance!

  She bustled by the galley again, spotting the position of the foods she wanted, and then clambered into their cell.

  There, she sat down, shut her eyes, pictured her meal in her mind, carefully performed the spell. A tiny paff of displaced air, and there was the food!

  When Leander came Kitty looked up proudly. “Surprise!”

  “What? How’d you wangle that? We won’t have to pay extra, will we?”

  “Of course not! It’s my other surprise. I learned the spell! See, I told you that learning useful spells would be the best way for me to learn how to do magic, and not those silly, boring basics—” She stopped when she saw Leander wince and put his hand to his head. “What am I going to tell Senrid?” he muttered.

  He didn’t sound angry, he sounded anguished.

  Kitty’s pang of guilt swiftly turned into exculpatory anger. “Nothing,” she said. “This is for you and me. He got us into this disgusting, horrible situation. He can just sit up there and freeze.”

  “Kitty. We both explained to you about the wards.”

  “No one would ward me,” she pointed out triumphantly. “They don’t know I know a spell—even if there really are tracer wards on you two. I certainly haven’t felt anything, and I’ve been around magic enough to know what it feels like.”

  “You don’t feel tracer wards, unless you have a—” Leander began. “Oh, why didn’t you ask me? I hope they didn’t put a tracer on you, but they could, knowing we’re together. Nothing easier, in fact.”

  “Because I knew what kind of stupid answer you’d give. I think you’re both idiots, and if you don’t want your share, fine. I’ll just eat it all myself.”

  Leander sighed. “No. While it’s here, let’s eat. I think we’re going to need it.”

  “Don’t tell Senrid,” Kitty said, cradling a hot chicken pie in her hands. But the warmth, the aroma, did her good. “He’ll just get nasty, and if nothing happens, then who cares?”

  Leander frowned. “If you promise no more spells, no matter how tiny, I won’t tell him. But if something happens, then I’ll have to.”

  “I promise,” Kitty said. “But in the meantime, admit it will feel good to have a decent meal, just once. L
ike decent people.”

  Chapter Five

  Leander woke abruptly when someone shook his shoulder.

  He tried to protest as from somewhere on deck a man screamed, I never heard of any Marloven prince! Never!

  Then came the reddish flare of a lantern on his eyelids. Fear snapped his eyes open.

  Senrid stared down at him, twin lantern-flames in his enormous black pupils making his eyes look bright and ferally angry. “Did you do magic?”

  Leander worked his dry mouth. “No. Kitty did.”

  Kitty sat up, silent, her face blanched. She did not deny it, or even try excuses.

  “Food spell. I didn’t know she had it, and she really didn’t understand about tracer wards—”

  Senrid made an impatient movement. “Norsunder knows I’m here. Sounds like the crew is deserting.” His mouth thinned to a white line. Then he said flatly, “Make certain the message gets through about the northern rift.”

  He turned his back, the lantern swinging, pushed through the storeroom hatchway and slammed it. They were in darkness.

  Kitty clutched at Leander’s arm. “You’re not—”

  “No,” Leander said, hating Norsunder, hating her, hating himself. “I don’t dare do the right thing and go up there and surrender myself, because he’s right. The message is more important than our worthless lives.” He couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice; at least she did not protest.

  Leander eased the storeroom door open, just in time to hear Senrid laughing. “Of course I’m alone,” Senrid said—too loudly? “I ditched Leander Tlennen-Hess in the harbor and took his money, the sentimental lighter fool.”

  A fast exchange in a language Leander had hoped never to hear again was followed by Senrid’s derisive laughter. That ended with the sharp smack of a fist against flesh, and a thud against the deck.

  Then came the rumble of boots, a few shouts, and finally all Leander heard was his own harsh breathing, and the creaks and groans of the ship’s timbers. No, there were other noises—crashes, and crackles. . . followed by a reddish glow reflecting down the open hatchway, and the sharp stench of smoke.

  “They’re firing the ship,” he breathed. “Kitty, we’ve got to get out of here!”

  She wailed in fright as they scrambled out. Her wails turned to high, thin screeches of fear that ripped through his head when they saw the flames shooting high above the upper deck.

  “Cloak around your head,” he shouted into her face. “We’ll run for it! Dive over the side!”

  And die in the freezing water, if the crew wouldn’t pull them into the life boats—but that would be better than burning to death.

  He pulled Kyale up behind him on the ladder. She was struggling with her skirts, which kept getting caught under her feet. At the top, he gave her a push as they dodged the spreading flames.

  The creaks turned into the groan of timbers. One of the masts toppled and crashed across the foredeck, sending a fury of hot embers boiling out into the darkness.

  Kyale was screaming again. Leander whirled around. Sparks had landed on her skirt as she pressed back against the rail, her thin fingers spread in terror.

  Leander swung his legs over the side of the rail as the ship canted dangerously. He pulled Kyale up, then thrust her out into the darkness. She screamed all the way down.

  Splash!

  He held his breath and jumped, coughing when a gout of smoke singed his lungs. He was just about to gasp again when the icy water knocked his breath out.

  Blue stars blinded him; his limbs wouldn’t work. The need to breathe forced him upward, kicking against the dragging weight of his cloak. Just when he couldn’t bear another moment he broke the surface. Smoky air made him gasp and choke, again and again.

  He threw me in! Kyale tried to think past the shocking indignity. He threw me in, but my skirt was on fire.

  Kyale thrashed around in the bitterly cold water. At first she struggled to hold her breath while the weight of her clothes pulled her down. She screamed Leander’s name, or tried—water kept sloshing into her face, her eyes, nose, mouth, making her gag and gasp.

  She began to weep in terror and despair when a cold sensation round her arm reminded her of the armband from the water world.

  She sobbed in relief, and forced herself to relax. To sink below the surface. Then she let just a trickle of water into her nose. At once the magic took over.

  The bone-aching cold diminished to a pleasant coolness, especially on the parts of her that had been scorched in the fire. She gazed upward past the crystalline bubbles rising to the surface, which glowed a frightening red. The burning ship! Where was Leander?

  She lay underwater, trying to identify the confusion of things floating on the surface, lit up by that sinister goldy-red light that blocked the black sky beyond. The huge shape of the ship began to tilt downward frighteningly near. She kicked away, trying to find a human shape among the floating debris.

  On the surface, Leander struggled to keep his limbs from freezing as he scanned for the life boats. There were no life boats. What did that mean—had they rowed away, or what?

  He swam toward a tangle of bobbing debris. Where was Kyale? He remembered that she still had on her gold band from the adventure on the water world, and sighed with relief. She would be much safer than he was.

  He had to get out of that water, or he’d die.

  The jumble of debris included the main yard, onto which he dragged himself, avoiding tangling himself in the snarl of ropes surging just below. His fingers had gone numb, so he lay along the mast as straight as he could, shivering violently. Heat poured from the sinking ship, but he dared not get too near; he remembered reading that big things that sank would suck people with them. At least he didn’t freeze on that side. His other side was numb.

  He watched as the last of the ship sank, and the red glow flickered out, leaving him alone under the scattering of night stars glittering coldly overhead. Remember the rift, Kitty, he thought tiredly, and dropped his forehead onto his wrists, and his mind slid into a soft darkness.

  As the last of the red light diminished, Kyale kicked hard, rose to the surface, and broke free. Icy air hit her again. Swimming below the surface was faster, for then the magic aided her, but she couldn’t see much. Swimming on the surface meant the horrible cold, and slowness, and the danger of getting tangled in all those ropes snaking out. She bobbed down and up again, slowly making her way through the mess. Was that? Yes!

  A leg dangled in the water, over by that long thing with all the jumble attached.

  She thrashed her way grimly under and around the snarls and tangles until she reached that leg, and popped up. “Leander!” she called.

  No answer.

  Danger flared in her, brighter than the fire earlier. She shoved her way past a thick mass of ropes, wincing when a wood shard jabbed into her shoulder. There was his face, resting on his hands, which looked like ice in the starlight. “Leander? Wake up!”

  Nothing. She poked at him, then gripped his arm and shook, but he almost slid off the wooden thing. His skin was so cold! He felt like a marble statue.

  Think . . . think . . . would the magic work for two? She ducked down, took a deep breath, then—while still underwater—reached up and touched his ankle, which was still below the surface.

  She felt magic flow out of her, and into him. She felt it.

  She tried a breath—still worked. Maybe it wouldn’t if two breathed under water?

  No time for that now. It seemed the right thing to do, to just stay where she was, floating in the water, and hold onto his ankle.

  Sleepiness prickled at her eyelids. She wound her hand around one of those floating loops of rope, and then around his ankle so they’d stay connected, and she let herself drift into sleep.

  o0o

  Senrid knew it was a mistake to dodge that first blow—but then anything he did was going to be a mistake.

  Someone grabbed him from behind. Someone else smacked him across the
face, forehand, backhand. His skin was so numb from the wind he barely felt it, though he knew he would later. At least he could think, realizing that the Universal Language Spell either did not include Norsundrian, or that he was warded against understanding them.

  One voice snapped orders—he knew that from the tone—and others reported back. Then a transfer, a rough one that left him feeling nauseated and unable to balance.

  Not that the hard grip on him was going to permit him to walk on his own. He stumbled as long adult strides forced him along. When the smeary black dots across his vision cleared, he saw a stone corridor, lit by torches at intervals.

  The reminder of the prison at home was an ironic touch. Where were Leander and Kyale? Comforting themselves with the thought that Senrid was now with his own kind?

  Stop that. There is no bigger waste than self-pity. He had to observe, listen, and survive.

  The Norsundrians shoved him into a small room where an older man sat behind a narrow table. A longish exchange ensued, during which Senrid twice heard the name Detlev.

  Fear made his mouth dry.

  During the exchange, two women came in. A young one gave Senrid a derisive smirk as she asked a question. The man gripping Senrid by the arm laughed. The other woman laughed as well, contemptuous and cold.

  Abruptly the older man pointed in one direction.

  Senrid braced himself to face Detlev. Instead, he was marched down a shadowy corridor, taken through a guarded door, and then down another corridor lined with heavy-wooden doors: cells.

  A clank of keys, a shove, and he was left in darkness.

  The door shut.

  No Detlev, he told himself. That was a good start.

  Observe, and survive.

  o0o

  When Kitty woke, the water glowed blue-green around her, and golden shafts lanced downward.

  She turned her face up. Blue sky gleamed beyond the translucent light-shifts of the surface.

  Popping up above the surface, she discovered that the sun was actually almost warm. Certainly Leander’s face was pink—whether from sunburn or fireburn she could not tell.