Treason's Shore (112 page)

“Free strait,” Chim said. “Means we guarantee peace as a group, sorry and sodden as we are as an alliance. We have to learn sometime. But one thing we all agree on: no more overlords.” Chim pointed through the scuttle. “What that means right now is, I go off this here vessel either with a piece o’ paper, in which case everybody smiles and breaks out the eats, or else I go off and pick up me boarding blade.” He switched from Sartoran to Dock Talk. “And yez loose yer boys and girls against us. Yez haveta cut me down first, and Kavna next. Cuz I ain’t gonna stand aside.”

Chim wiped his sweaty hands down his trousers, acutely aware of the creak of wood, the wash of water down the hull, the distant cry of the mate on watch demanding an adjustment to sail trim, as he watched Inda hunched there, elbows on the table, forehead bumping his clasped fists.

Then Inda gave a long sigh, straightened up, and pulled a copy of the treaty from among the charts on the table. He read slowly, “
There shall be no power dominant in the strait. Any who claim dominance will be declared treaty-breakers, and the rest of the signatories have the right to rise against said treaty-breakers
. That’s really aimed at me, isn’t it?”

Chim’s mouth worked, his chin lifted. “Or the Chwahir. Or Nelsaiam, across the way. Deliyeth is supposed to go north to them, everyone agreed. Did you know that?”

“No. No one told me.”

“Then she goes to Llyenthur. I guess you can speak for the Idayagans, eh?” Chim’s gaze was acute. His voice lowered to a rumble. “Reason I’m here instead o’ Kavna, I’d like to be assured there won’t be no cost to you. Not after all you did for us. Because unless I miss my guess, and I know I didn’t, you’d be goin’ direct against your king. And nobody has ever talked about Marlovan mercy. So what,” he persisted, “is the personal cost to you for this here treaty?”

Inda looked away, then back. “Nothing I haven’t required men without number to pay.”

The Dei Treaty was written out fair before the ships passed the inner island.

Along the harbor stood warriors in burnt orange, but they were not armed for war. They were an Honor Guard.

Tap, went the locket.

Kavna, proud, happy, tired, introduced to Inda his sister, Queen Kliessin, who was impressive in glittering gems and brocade. She was amazed to find the infamous Elgar the Fox a fellow younger than she, and about her height, who dressed like an old deckhand, one arm in a sling. The only proof she had that he was really Elgar the Fox was the ruby earrings at his ears—and the deference everyone gave him, though she would swear he did not even notice. His one good hand brushed occasionally against his chest as he stood there where the royal pier adjoined the wharf, looking weary and absent while the signatories signed then made self-conscious speeches (hoping someone was writing them down) in celebration of a true Historic Moment.

Now intensely curious, Queen Kliessin said, “Commander Algraveer. To celebrate this occasion, please honor me with your presence at a banquet.”

Kavna said cheerfully, “They’ve been cooking for days, Inda. I found out all your favorite dishes from Lorm.”

“No,” Inda said, his gaze bleak.
Tap,
went the locket. “I have to set sail for home.”

He was rowed back to his ship as snow began to fall.

On the ebb of the tide the Fox Banner Fleet set sail, the deck crews busy and everyone else below. Inda was far forward, on the bow, curtained by soft white snow as he stared down into the dark waters. When the locket tapped again, he yanked it from around his neck and flung it far out into the sea.

Chapter Thirty-two

A
S far as the world knew, Elgar the Fox sailed east to fight pirates infesting the west coast of Halia off The Narrows.

It would actually be true—for the red-haired Elgar.

Fox enjoyed fighting pirates. So he would do it for a time, building a navy for his homeland. Not because he cared a whit for that homeland, but someday he would return, and he wanted a child of his to be able to get a foothold in the life of the kingdom again. He had his own work to do, a private project already begun in the black-and-gold bound book he kept locked in a private cabinet.

Until then he would equip and train a navy: as the more independent of the Fox Banner Fleet tired of regular patrols and returned to Freedom, or moved on, he’d replace them with Iascans and any Marlovans who felt no lure of the plains.

Much as he would have liked to keep Inda by his side, there was no stopping him. Or defending him in Iasca Leror’s royal city—Fox knew his own presence would just about guarantee Evred Montrei-Vayir’s ire. Though he did not say anything to Inda, he hoped his own cooperative spirit would in some measure mitigate what he knew lay ahead.

And so it was just Barend and Inda who disembarked from Jeje’s
Vixen
on the Tradheval coast of Idayago at the beginning of spring. Overhead curved a sky of pure deep blue, the air cold after sleet had blown through. No one was around to witness the quiet farewells. “Fox says you’re not staying with the navy. Where will you go?” Inda asked, after giving Jeje a hard, lingering hug.

Jeje shrugged, her mind on the tide. “Oh, I’m staying with the fleet. I just don’t want to be part of any navy. I’ll help Fox fight pirates until I can’t stand his tongue anymore, then I’m going back to Freedom Isles. Promised Dhalshev I would. I like fighting pirates. It’s good work. I also like Freedom.” She grinned. “Come see us soon as you can.”

Inda remembered what Dhalshev had told him about convincing Jeje to be his replacement. He turned to Tau. “What shall I tell them? Will you be back?”

Tau could not speak for a long moment. He had fought a silent battle alongside Inda, but because he was powerless to help, he would not burden Inda with the intensity of his regret.

“Kiss Hadand for me,” Tau said, his voice husky.

Inda lifted his dunnage, Barend hefted his, and they began trudging up the beach toward the newly rebuilt castle they could see on the rise behind the harbor, a little way north of their stretch of beach.

Jeje’s grin vanished as she and Tau pushed the boat back into the last of the ebb. They worked in silence to step the mast, Jeje frowning back occasionally. Finally, when they were midway between shore and ship, she said, “That hug. It felt like . . . like forever. Did he say anything like that to you?”

Tau seemed absorbed in the exact set of the sail. She was just beginning to feel irked when he gave her a quick smile. “No,” he said. “Want the tiller?”

Cama’s outer perimeter riders spotted the two shabby sailors not long after they’d trudged up the long, white, marshy beach to the road.

“We’re here to see the Jarl,” Inda said.

The riders betrayed surprise at hearing accent-free Marlovan from sailors, but no questions were asked. They carried the two back to the castle, where Cama had been spending the winter in order to get to know his newborn son. His expression, when he recognized the arrivals, went from surprise and delight to a narrow, considering gaze.

That night they sat in Cama’s private room. His wife Starand—unaware of the identity of the two weather-worn sailors her husband had welcomed, stalked away to her own concerns—though that would not stop her, in later days, from bragging out of her husband’s hearing of the night she had entertained so famous a pair. Cama’s First Runner, who recognized them as fast as Cama had, quietly saw to it that no one came near.

Over food and spiced wine, at Cama’s encouragement, Inda began with his sea journey and the naval battle. Cama frowned in concentration as Inda used game markers to illustrate marine strategy and tactics, as he always had an interest in the craft of war. But his interest intensified as Inda came to the matter of most import: his refusal to carry out his subsequent orders.

Inda’s narrative was hopelessly tangled, plunging into the past as he attempted to define political motivations. Cama said little, as was his way. Finally Inda’s voice hoarsened, and he shook his head. “And so I gave the orders for Fox to cruise the strait, and our coast as well. But he won’t interfere with harbor affairs beyond our border.”

Cama looked grim. “And so you came back.”

Inda shook his head. “I had to. I brought the treaty I signed in Evred’s name. If he wants to flog me to death as a traitor, well, that will be bad, but at least it’ll be over. I can’t be an exile again, for the rest of my life.”

Cama’s breath spewed out. “Inda, what do you expect Evred to do? You disobeyed an order. Not just one made in private, but sworn before Convocation.”

“I know.”

“And so your sense of honor requires that Evred put you to death? Do you have any idea what the cost of that will be, and you think going off to one of your pirate hideouts would be worse?”

Inda rubbed his hand over his face. “All the honors Sponge gave me. I made an oath. I can’t throw it all over, like it doesn’t mean anything.”

Cama hesitated, his one eye flicking Barend’s way.

Barend stretched, uttering a dry laugh. “The King of Ymar, and Prince Kavna, and that lord fellow all told me in private they were going to name these waters the Elgar Strait, now that the Venn are gone.”

“That’ll last a month,” Inda retorted, unimpressed.

Cama wondered why Barend had said that, then dismissed it as irrelevant. It was plain that Inda still did not know about Evred’s personal devotion, and the world still seemed to be colluding to hide it from Inda’s finding out. Here he was, the bloodiest-handed commander left standing after years of war. Yet he was in some ways still the boy they’d all bunked with in the scrub barracks under Master Gand’s stern eye, nearly twenty years ago.

“I’ll have to send a Runner to Evred,” Cama said finally, giving up.

Inda held up his scarred hand, the knuckles gnarled. A gold ring glinted on one finger, disconcertingly fine. “You may as well spare the man and the horse. Evred always knows where I am.”