Chapter 24. Port Holovarus
The so-called winged wolves of Maijha Minor are not wolves, nor are they quadropedavia—creatures with four legs and two wings. They are sometimes called blood bats, and this is perhaps more accurate, as they do live exclusively on blood. The creatures can grow nearly as tall as a shelt’s waist, and they have a long fifth toe, which folds upwards when they are running along the ground. A thick flap of skin connects this toe to a point near their hips, forming a “wing.” Although they prefer to glide for short distances, they are capable of true flight, via a double-jointed shoulder that allows them to lock the wing in place. They can speak, but have no shelts as far back as history and their own legends record. They are shy and secretive and usually live in large colonies in the cliffs of Maijha Minor.
—Gwain, The Non-grishnards of Wefrivain
They arrived in Port Holovarus on the fourth morning after the storm. The little bay looked smaller than Gerard remembered it—the castle, just visible on the hilltop, grayer. He doubted that the port had ever seen a ship the size of the Fang. Peasants in their fishing boats stood to gawk as Farell maneuvered in around the reef. Gerard knew almost all of them. He doubted he could avoid being recognized, so he didn’t try.
They anchored well out from the shallow edges of the bay and waited. Several of the fishing boats came up cautiously to learn the identity of their visitor. It didn’t take long for an official sloop to put off from the pier and come gliding over the water towards them. Gerard could feel a knot in his belly. He’d never wanted to come back here. He glanced at Silveo up on the quarterdeck. This is a fine way to repay me for saving the ship!
The knot in his belly turned to ice when he saw the first shelt over the side. Jaleel.
“Gerard!” cried the other. “Come home at last, have you? With your tail between your legs, I hope.”
Gerard said nothing. His hand was itching for his sword.
“I hope you didn’t bring that whore with you,” continued Jaleel. He was a little shorter than Gerard with the same large dark eyes, but lighter hair.
Silveo came strolling down from the quarterdeck at that moment, wearing his most dangerous smile. “I don’t usually let shelts call me that on my own ship,” he said cheerfully. “In fact, come to think of it, I use shelts who call me that as fishing weights.”
Gerard glanced at him. For Silveo to willingly own an insult intended for Thessalyn made him feel absurdly grateful.
Jaleel blanched. “S-sir,” he stammered, “I didn’t mean— I meant—”
“You doubtless have confused us with another ship,” continued Silveo. “As anxious as you may be for whores, we are not that kind of merchant. In fact, we’re not a merchant at all. As any fool who didn’t grow up in a wyvern-forsaken backwater could see, this is the Fang of the Temple Sea Watch, and we are in need of supplies. Please go tell your harbormaster that my quartermaster will wait upon him shortly, and if your king isn’t a complete fool, he might think of inviting us to dinner. Now get off my ship.”
Jaleel tried again to apologize, but Silveo had already turned and stalked away. “Is he still talking?” he said loudly to Farell. “Someone go toss him overboard.”
The sloop departed in some haste, and Gerard watched them sail away. Silveo was grinning from ear to ear. “Your brother?” he asked Gerard.
“My brother,” said Gerard with a faint smile.
“Charming.” Silveo was positively gleeful. “Did you see the color he turned when I came down on deck?”
“I saw,” said Gerard, who was beginning to realize that Silveo’s purpose in coming here might not have been to torment him after all.
“Is your father anything like you at all, Gerard?”
Gerard thought for a moment. “He looks like me.”
Alsair piped up behind him. “Yeah, but you’re not a total bastard.”
“A good point,” said Silveo.
It was all Gerard could do to keep from gaping. You just said something to Alsair! You never say anything to Alsair! Gerard licked his lips. “My father only thinks in terms of what’s good for Holovarus. Usually that means cowries, but sometimes other things. Public relations, appearances—”
“Marriages,” supplied Silveo.
Gerard nodded.
“Good enough. He’ll invite us to dinner. He’ll have to. It would look terrible otherwise.” Silveo walked off to his cabin humming.
The Guild of the Cowry Catchers, Book 1: Embers Page 30
