“Tekali, kast lo Falass,” Rhona whispered.
The change was subtle at first, nothing more than a slight tingling that made the hair on the back of Elias’ arms stand on end. But by the time Rhona had finished her words, the feeling had grown into an irresistible, overpowering sense of dread. Her words, whispered though they had been, seemed to echo in his ears until they were loud as thunder. And then, most peculiarly of all, he began to understand them.
Rhona’s language had not changed. He continued to hear her words, full of unfamiliar syllables. And yet, in some deeply intrinsic, instinctive way, he understood them as naturally as if he’d heard them all his life.
“Tekali, Sun-mother, hear my words and know my blood. Rhona, blessed daughter of your temple, calls upon you for aid. Consecrate my eyes that they may see all things as you do!”
For a few seconds, the weight of Rhona’s words hung heavily in the air. Then, slowly, like the contents of a draining washbasin, the sensation trickled away.
Elias gulped a breath, struggling to make sense of the bizarre sensation before it fled entirely. “What in the seven h—” he began, only to be interrupted by a gesture from Kyra. She nodded significantly toward Rhona and he followed her gaze.
Rhona’s white-knuckled fingers trembled where they clutched the bulwark. The tremor continued all the way to her shoulders. Her head, however, remained perfectly still. And although Elias could not see her eyes from his current vantage point, he somehow knew, just as he’d understood her words, that the elf’s gaze was locked on the horizon.
For the better part of a minute, none of them moved. Then, with a weak, almost pained moan, Rhona swayed and fell. Kyra caught her an instant before Elias, steadying her and supporting her slackened legs until the elf recovered.
“Apology,” Rhona whispered hoarsely. With some difficulty, she leaned against the bulwark and straightened. Her face was ashen white, even paler than she usually was, and there was a curious cloudiness to her eyes. “One moment and strength will return.”
Much as the sight of Rhona’s weakness made him want to pause, Elias could no longer contain his curiosity. He hunched slightly, staring deeply into her unfocused eyes.
“Rhona,” he said. “What was that? What did you do? Why could I understand you?”
For a moment, it looked as though she had not heard him. Then, quietly, Rhona chuckled.
“So many questions,” she said, blinking repeatedly until her eyes began to clear. “I pray to Tekali. She is mother-goddess to my people. I ask her for clear sight and—”
Rhona fell silent and spun to face the distant ship. She turned so swiftly that Elias feared she would fall again. Instead, she whirled back an instant later with her brow deeply furrowed.
“Tell your captain we must flee,” she hissed. “The ship hunts us.”
It was as if a hole had suddenly appeared where Elias’ stomach had been. He turned to go, hesitated, and turned back.
“How do you know?” he asked.
“I know!” Rhona growled, gesturing impatiently. “The ship flies Cotora’s banner. I know her well. She is consort to Digar, Gwydon lo Eh’Fal, who is known to hate your people greatly. Hurry, please! She must not reach us!”
Her answer sparked a hundred questions more, but it also chilled him to the bone. Spinning on his heel, Elias went. If they managed to escape, there would be time for further answers.
If not, well, he’d likely find them anyway.
***
It took Elias several hours to accept the fact that there would be no escape. For most of the morning, he watched Avans pace the quarterdeck, bark orders, and make the most minuscule of adjustments to their sails and heading. But despite the man’s expertise and constant efforts, the elven ship continued to gain on them.
“Damn it all,” Avans growled shortly after noon, in a tone that reopened the pit in Elias’ stomach. “Lieutenant Raltson! Belay my last. I want every man aboard armed with a saber by two bells!”
Without thinking, Elias reached for the hilt of his blade. Resting his hand upon it and pushing aside the growing dread that he might actually have to use it, he marched silently forward to join Avans at the rail.
“You’re giving up?” he asked.
Avans glared at him, his lips twisted into a lopsided sneer.
“Hardly,” he snapped. “Wouldn’t have armed the men if I planned on giving up. We’ll sail until those pointy-eared bastards are right on top of us. Who knows? They might still think we’re some fat merchant full of gold and ore. The sight of swords might scare them off.”
“You think we can win a fight?”
Avans grimaced, strolling from the rail to the bulwark. The elven ship had closed more than half the gap and although it was still distant enough to blur the details, Elias could just make out the dotted forms of elves amid the rigging of its three masts.
“Of course not,” Avans muttered. Glancing around to make certain no one was close enough to overhear them, he snorted. “I’m still hoping we can bluff our way out of this. We’ll stick you and that elf at the side and hope those bastards are the reasonable sort. But if not, I’m not asking my crew to die without swords in hand.”
“Nobody’s going to die,” Elias said. “I promise we’ll figure a way out of this.”
Avans grunted and wandered back to the ship’s wheel without another word. He didn’t need to speak. Elias had known him long enough to know that Avans didn’t believe him.
It made sense; Elias didn’t believe it himself.
Struggling to keep his legs from betraying his nervousness, Elias abandoned the quarterdeck and returned to the cabin. Kyra and Rhona had retired soon after the latter’s revelations, nominally to rest, though even before he reached the cabin door, Elias could hear the quiet drone of conversation. He entered without knocking, drawing glances from both women, and dropped heavily on top of his trunk.
“It doesn’t look like we’ll be able to outrun them,” he said. “David is—the captain is issuing swords to the crew.”
He expected Rhona to respond with dismay, but instead, she merely shook her head in apparent resignation.
“That will do no good,” she said. “Cotora is well-liked as captain. She will have a tymis on her ship. Or several.”
“Tymis?” Elias asked. He glanced at Kyra who merely shrugged. “What’s a tymis?”
“I think you have no word,” Rhona explained. “They are… ones who sing for spells? They are blessed by a god at their temple. Like me, but blessed for war. With one word, many will sink a ship.”
“That’s impossible,” Elias said, before he even had time to consider her claim. He gestured about helplessly. “If they could do that, why haven’t they done it already?”
“Cotora wishes not to sink this ship. Perhaps she wishes to sail it or gift it to Digar. Or, she hunts until she is bored and then her tymis sinks us. I hear stories she does this before.”
“Then we have to talk to them!” he exclaimed. “It’s better than just waiting! Maybe if you tell her what we’re doing here—”
“I cannot change Cotora’s mind,” Rhona said. This time, her voice was thick with the dismay Elias had expected. “She does not listen to me. I am Gwydas, yes, but Eh’kaavi is small and I have no brothers or husband to avenge me. I cannot stop her.”
“We have to try!” Elias snarled, rising. His motion was so violent that Kyra looked up sharply from her pallet.
Rhona, however, merely smiled sadly.
“I try, Elias Sha’nijur,” she said. “I try with my final breath. But gods themselves will not stop Cotora. I say this because you must know, only. If there are gods you serve, I advise you honor them now. There is no tomorrow.”
***
It took a significant amount of arguing before Avans agreed to trim the sails. Even with the elven ship bearing down on them, the captain had balked at the notion of surrendering. In fact, it was only when Elias suggeste
d that abandoning their efforts might give the crew a chance to rest before the coming battle that Avans finally relented.
Privately, Elias doubted that a few minutes respite would make much of a difference. If the negotiations failed, they were all doomed anyway. Whether one or two of the men managed to fell an unlucky foe would hardly change the outcome. But he needed Avans to agree so he held his tongue as the captain marched the length of the ship, growling bloodthirsty inspiration to the terrified crew.
The reality of the Dark Dawn’s foe grew more apparent as the elven ship slowly drifted next to them. Not only did the elven vessel boast three masts to their two, but it towered imposingly over their side the nearer it drew. Its main deck aligned almost perfectly with the Dark Dawn’s quarterdeck, which meant that Elias did not catch even a glimpse of his prospective enemy until she leaned against the bulwark.
At first glance, Cotora was exactly what Elias had expected. Thin, raven-haired, and scowling, the elven captain’s gaze swept the Dark Dawn from bow to stern before settling on him. Or, more precisely, on the elven woman standing at his side.
Cotora cocked her head, her piercing eyes narrowing further.
“Ijal nos vevan, poruk’linain?” she called down.
Rhona bristled beside him. Elias glanced over, alarmed, as she lifted a fist and gestured hotly at the elven captain.
“Bial wei’no poruk’linain, kabsan!” she growled back. Jerking her head in Elias’ direction, she grinned venomously. “Tilse no sha’nijur lo Dan Tien!”
Poor though Elias’ understanding of the elven tongue was, he understood enough by context alone to watch the gears turning behind Cotora’s eyes. The elf’s gaze flitted between Rhona’s face to his several times over. Then, with a condescending sneer, she vanished from the vessel’s side. Her voice, cold and imperious, reached them easily as she shouted orders to her crew.
Elias tried several times to question Rhona, but each time the elf shushed him. Her large, pointed ears twitched as she listened. Then, at long last, she sighed and hung her head.
“What is it?” he demanded. “What did she say?”
“They board us,” Rhona said. “One of her officers sails the ship. I tell her you are an ambassador. She thinks to take you back to Eh’Fal. I believe the Gwydon decides whether to listen to you.”
“Well, that’s… not so bad,” he said slowly. “As long as I have you or Kyra to translate, maybe we can still make this work. You said this Digar fellow was important, right? Maybe we don’t need to sail all the way to Dan Tien.”
Rhona stared at him, her smile gentle with pity. And beneath her gaze, Elias couldn’t help but feel like a child. A child who had just said something foolish.
“What?” he asked. “What am I missing?”
“The crew,” Rhona said softly. “I think Cotora does not free them.”
“What do you mean? She’s going to take them prisoner?”
Her smile lingered. If anything, the look of pity had deepened.
“Them?” Rhona said. “Elias, we are all her prisoners.”
Chapter Eight
Elias knew that the elves’ half-hearted courtesy would not last long once he’d handed over his sword, but despite that knowledge, he had no choice but to allow himself to be disarmed. True to his suspicions, the instant the last of the crew’s weapons had been reluctantly forfeited, the elven officer ominously leveled his own blade at Elias’ sternum.
“Atan,” the elf spat.
Elias didn’t know the word, but its meaning clear enough. Sighing, he turned and allowed himself to be herded toward the mainmast where Avans and the crew congregated. The sole member to be spared this treatment was Rhona. The elf stood near the quarterdeck stairs, arguing loudly with a richly ornamented elf that he assumed was one of Cotora’s officers.
Judging by her tone and increasingly animated gestures, the conversation did not seem to be going well.
Kyra was at his side the very second he stepped inside the loose ring of elven captors. She didn’t speak, though her pale features and anxious eyes told more than words ever could. Taking his hand, she squeezed it.
He squeezed back.
“Do… do you think—” Kyra began. She fell silent instantly when the elven officer pushed past Rhona and barked an order.
Several elves stepped forward quickly and began binding the sailors’ hands with thick, knotted cords. Once, a number of the men began to shove and struggle, but a single, stern word from Avans and their combativeness ceased. Glaring bitterly at both the elves and their captain, the rest of the crew allowed themselves to be bound without protest.
Elias was strangely relieved. As disheartening as Cotora’s refusal to listen was, he was thankful that Avans had grasped the difference between imprisonment and slaughter. If he was able to convince Digar, he would likely be able to secure the crew’s freedom as well. That chance would disappear if the men waged a hopeless war.
He did not release Kyra’s hand until his turn came. Glaring haughtily with as much righteous indignation as he could muster, he held out his hands. The elf holding the ropes peered at him skeptically before shrugging and doing what he’d come to do.
“Kyra,” Elias growled as the elf turned to her. He resisted the urge to glance at her and kept his eyes locked vengefully on their captor. “Tell him that the primarch will hear of this.”
She stiffened perceptibly but did as he asked. No sooner were the words past her lips than the elf froze, glancing between her and Elias. Flustered, he glanced over his shoulder at the officer still arguing with Rhona. Then, shoulders hunched, the elf finished his knots and practically ran.
“What was that about?” Kyra whispered.
Elias shrugged, forcing a lopsided grin. “It was worth trying,” he whispered back.
The elves led them below deck in groups of twos and threes, prompting no small amount of protesting. It took another round of orders from Avans and several prodding blades before the grumbling subsided. Once begun, however, the work took only a few moments. Soon, far sooner than Elias had expected, he and Kyra were among the last of the crew remaining on deck.
“Eret, kabsan!” Rhona bellowed, stomping forward as a returning elf moved toward them. Turning from the elf to the ornamented officer, she launched into another torrent of impassioned words.
Elias glanced at Kyra but she had already leaned in to whisper.
“She says we’re, uh, some kind of royal? No, wait. Ministers, sorry. We’re ministers and deserve better… better something. Lodgings, maybe? That’s probably it.”
Elias nodded gratefully but said nothing. He continued to watch Rhona’s efforts, privately thanking whatever gods there might be that Kyra had insisted on tagging along. Without her, he would never have met Rhona. And without Rhona, who knew where he would be?
Actually, come to think of it, he knew very well where he’d likely be: dead or imprisoned.
Unfortunately, for all her persistence, Rhona’s efforts came to nothing. The elven officer shouted over her, gesturing hotly at both the Gwydas and his subordinates. Quickly, but with visible reluctance, two elves stepped forward. One grasped Elias’ shoulder, the other Kyra’s, and steered the both of them below.
Elias had spent remarkably little time below deck, despite the weeks they had spent at sea. As such, he was largely unprepared for the hot, humid air that greeted him when he stepped into the dim hold. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but the elves evidently did not share his difficulty. They shoved him onward, tripping and stumbling, and led him down a second set of stairs.
His vision had begun to return by the time they reached the bottom, but he hardly needed it to tell they were surrounded by the crew. The men hurled curses and abuse at the elves. It was easy to understand why. The men sat in tight circles, their bound wrists secured to any number of loadbearing beams. And judging by the pained grimaces worn by many, the elves had not been gentle in the process of securing th
em in the makeshift brig.
One of the elves murmured something and the other grunted in agreement. Elias briefly hoped that Kyra might translate, but there was no need. The elves led them past the mass of bodies to a quiet corner, far from the cursing that followed them. Once there, one of the elves produced another length of rope and bound their wrists to an appropriate beam. Unlike the crew, however, he left a significant amount of slack to the bindings, enough that both he and Kyra could actually pace.
“At’kinch, Sha’nijur,” the elf murmured. He offered an uncomfortable smile and, more astonishingly, a hint of a bow. “Ishnain no ishlain.”
Elias waited until the elves had gone before turning to Kyra.
“What did he say?” he asked.
Kyra sighed, testing the bonds around her wrists and sinking clumsily to the floor.
“It’s a sort of idiom,” she explained wearily. “Means ‘orders are orders.’”
Elias sighed as well.
“Yeah,” he said. “That sounds about right.”
It was several hours before Rhona came to see them. Elias knew someone was coming, of course, thanks to the sudden outpouring of curses and insults from the crew, but he was still surprised to see her. He stood quickly, startling Kyra who followed his example a second later.
Rhona was evidently startled by the reception she’d received and struggled to compose herself for a second before speaking.
“Apology,” she said softly. “I… I do not think Cotora brings you here. You are Sha’nijur. You deserve better.”
Elias shrugged. “It’s not your fault,” he assured her. “I get the impression that Cotora does whatever she wants.”
Averting her gaze, Rhona nodded slowly. “Yes. Cotora does. But I think now Cotora wants war. This cannot happen.”
Elias wanted to disagree but the words failed in his throat. Shrugging again, he looked at Kyra.
Ambassador (Conqueror of Isles Book 1) Page 6
