Adversaries Together (18 page)

“
I’m no one’s cargo.” Kira
was indignant.

“
Yes you are,” the man’s
tone changed to one of humoring a child, “You were the cargo of
your paladin at first, then I took you. I have disappeared you as I
was paid to do and now will bring you to those who are going to
fill my coffers with even more coin.”

“
And me?” Roth spoke but
the man never turned back to him, he simply got closer to Kira. He
looked her up and down, his eyes unblinking, he sniffed her, and
Kira had to fight from retching.

“
No. Just you.” He flicked
his hand dismissively and the guards grabbed Roth by the arms with
such speed that Kira barely realized what was going on. Roth tried
to wrest himself free, to kick out at the captors but there were
too many. Soon they had his feet held tight and his head locked in
their arms. A different man walked over to Roth and slowly pulled a
needle from his sleeve making sure Roth saw him do so and then
spiked it into Roth’s thigh. They raised Roth up above the
quarterdeck railing and pitched him back. Kira screamed as she
watched them throw Roth overboard. The leader grabbed her upper arm
tighter than she had ever been held before, with more sure violence
than she had every felt.

“
Now you are alone. Mine
alone.” He hissed.

The Stony Shore,
45
^th
of Lammas

Reg couldn’t have been less interested in
mending the fence. After finding and then herding the stray sheep
back, he was tired and annoyed. This would be the fifth time he had
to repair his fence in the last week. The sheep weren’t
responsible; he was, for buying such a decrepit homestead. Well,
not so decrepit. The house was fine but the fields and fences were
in complete disrepair, and Colm was too young to be in charge of
this alone.

Besides
, Reg thought,
the boy’s mind
wandered. He’d probably come home leaving more gaps than when he
had gone out.

He knew he’d need to walk the entire line of
the fence looking to rebuild and repair it. Yet it seemed as though
he could never get it all done, somehow the sheep kept finding all
the weak spots, all the breaks. He was just barely keeping pace,
and being harried by an inanimate object and sheep was infuriating.
Today he’d headed out at dawn to work on the fence, but it had
turned into an all morning and afternoon trek to find three
meandering ewes. Bringing the animals back to the fold had left him
with only enough time to repair the spot where they had loosed. Now
the sun was lowing, painting the sky a soft amber.

He had driven the post deep and now had just
locked in the third and final bar. He stepped back and looked at
his handiwork. It was well done but it certainly stood out, the
fresh looking wood seemed a bright umber flanked by the rest of the
fence in its deep decay gray hue. Reg tossed his hammer into his
canvas satchel; it clanked as it struck his other tools. He leaned
on the newly patched fence to test it and to rest. There were
moments when living along the Stony Shore seemed a dream to Reg.
Even with all the work, it was so much lovelier than the sad stone
village where he had grown up. The Novosar we as cold as the rocks
they farmed and never thought to raise their heads up beyond their
hovels. But here, Reg felt different—anonymous still, but wider,
able to take in so much more of the world. He gazed at the
Siracenes rising up in front of him, then turned his head to look
south over the vast, quiet Novostos Sea as it blended into the
horizon.

The five acres of fencing snaked around the
hills of the craggy coastline, a hoary boundary. Reg was fairly
certain he had bitten off more than he could chew, not just the
fence mending for the day, but the whole homestead. He had known he
was not a farmer and had reasoned that shepherding would suit
him.

At least I’ve broken my
back breaking even
, he thought as he moved
through the pastures to his house.

Arriving back at the cabin, he didn’t hear or
see Colm anywhere. More importantly, he didn’t smell anything. The
lack of food awaiting him triggered a visceral reaction; he felt
his stomach give an angry churn. Reg shook his head; Colm should’ve
had the stew already made. He went to go poke his head into the
barn to look for the boy yet saw nothing but his horses, the old
mares Kia and Lo. He strolled over to the edge of his property,
which looked out over the Novostos before descending to the beach.
Reg spied Colm down on the shore more than a few spans out into the
sand revealed by the low tide. The boy had a bucket and rake, he
must’ve been clamming but Reg was still annoyed that their meal
wouldn’t be ready until dark. The boy seemed preoccupied though and
Reg strained to see what he was doing standing still staring at
some bit of salvage. Reg squinted, raised his hand to shade his
eyes, and realized Colm wasn’t inspecting some bit of wood but
poking a body.

Rikonen,
49
^th
of Lammas

Wynne could see these weren’t mere traders,
but they weren’t quite corsairs either. These men were something
else—seafarers certainly but not marines though definitely
mercenaries. The girl was clearly cowering. Whatever these men had
done to her to keep her in line, to keep her from trying to run off
it had been more than enough. She stood at the center of three with
her shoulders hunched in, her head down but her eyes darting all
around; she was jittery, leery. They had met The Blockade,
delivered men and supplies, then found a way to get this cadre
through to the Alder Council. These were survivalists,
opportunistic and capricious. He knew the argument always made was
that such avaricious men could be relied upon, you knew exactly
where their loyalty lied and it was with the most coin. Yet, Wynne
knew that was no kind of loyalty, it was merely a bit in the mouth
of a wild beast.

In front of the girl were two more men, the
ship captain and his first mate. The captain had gauze peeking
through from under the collar of his blackened leather jerkin,
which stood out from the others by having metal studs and a crimson
bandana around his neck. His first mate was dressed the most simply
of all of them, a long sleeved black wool tunic, except that across
his chest was a belt on the back of which were several fist-sized
pouches. His face was older than the rest, not stern just more
weathered. The captain had the swagger free swords always started
out with; he was still in his adventuring stage of life. Maybe, if
he made it through a few more adventures, he’d live to be a
braggart and die a bore.

“
I’m not quite sure I
follow your reasoning, Captain Salda.” The Prime Alder said
suspiciously.

“
We have made sure that The
Cathedral’s envoys have failed in their mission. They do not
suspect your involvement in the least. In fact, they have no idea
that any outside intervention has happened.”

“
How so?” Another Alder
asked.

“
We planted one of ours on
a suicide mission as the paladin was sent to Bandra—who has since
killed the crusader and pinned responsibility on a free ranger
accompanying. The Cathedral now believes that this free ranger
bandit assaulted their envoys, then tried to ransom them. Anyone to
say contrary is now dead.”

“
How did you convince one
of yours to do this?” Wynne asked.

“
None of your concern. You
only need to know, I’ve erased my tracks better than anyone could
have imagined. I’ve made your little plan that much more secure.
And for that, I believe I deserve…a bonus.” Asa waved his hand in a
casual manner as though having just stated an irrevocable
truth.

“
The woman looks rough.” A
third Alder added.

“
She was more than a bit
factious, but we broke her of that.”

“
And how did you do
that?”

“
I doubt you good Alders
are interested; just know my methods have made her
pliant.”

“
I doubt that.” Wynne
locked eyes with Asa, “In fact, I suspect that your methods have
turned her into a stunned mess. I suspect that you’re presenting us
not with The Cathedral’s envoy but with a bullied, beaten, and
raped shell of a woman.”

Asa clenched his jaw and spoke through his
teeth, “I brought you what you asked for. What you paid for.”

“
No, you didn’t.” Wynne was
nonchalant in his dismissal.

“
Yes, I did. I brought you
The Cathedral’s envoy. I killed off its guardian. I made sure that
The Cathedral knew nothing of your scheme. And you owe me. You all
owe me!”

“
You seem fairly outraged
for a smuggler.” Wynne knew this kind of man, he would bellow and
moan, but in the end, he would sulk away with his pittance. If
Wynne had it his way, Asa would be thrown into the deepest pit to
rot.

“
I am…”

“
Our fellow Alder has
spoken out of turn, Captain Salda.” The Prime Alder neither looked
at Wynne nor at the captain but simply motioned for something to be
brought forward as he gazed through the group.

“
Here is your compensation
as agreed upon prior.” A small chest was put at the feet of the
first mate and opened; it was filled with aurei. The mate knelt and
slowly sifted his hand through it. He looked up at the captain and
nodded.

“
And the
additional?”

“
There will be no further
coin granted you.” The pirates began to grumble but the Prime Alder
continued, “You have gone beyond what was asked of you and it would
be opprobrious for us to deny that. However your treatment of the
envoy is contemptible.” The captain was stewing and it looked as
though as he was tensed and about to fly into a rage.

The civic guardsmen had their hands on their
swords when the Prime Alders spoke again, “You will be granted what
supplies you need and want from our stores, you will then be
granted leave.” The Alders stood to leave.

“
Supplies? That is my
reward! This is hardly worth my effort.”

“
You are welcome to express
your sentiments to the Silvincians on your way out.” As the Prime
Alder left, he nodded at Wynne who then gestured at the civic
guards. In a calm but definitive manner, they drew their swords and
lowered their pikes to pin the pirates in place before they could
draw their own weapons. Wynne stepped forward and brushed passed
Asa; he took the girl’s hands in his own and gently unbound her.
She shivered but didn’t resist, he then lead her away. Once he had
left the room, the civics raised their weapons and withdrew. A door
at the far end of the hall opened. The pirates stood
still.

“
Take,” Asa growled and
then after a deep sigh, “Take all that you can carry and then more,
leave them with as little as possible.” The pirates nodded, grabbed
the chest, and left through the door. The first mate
lingered.

“
That will hardly satisfy
the men.”

“
When we get back aboard
the tender, once we’ve loaded it up with
these…supplies…”

The first mate nodded, “I’ll take care of
it,” and followed the men out. Asa stood for a few moments longer
clenching and unclenching his gloved fist in a slow build-up to a
deep brawl. Asa turned, his fury clear as he kicked the already
open door several times until it threw a few splinters then he
disappeared down the hall after his men. A moment later, Wynne
stepped forward from the shadows gazing after him, just behind him
was the Prime Alder. Or, at least, the man who had stood as the
Prime Alder.

“
How do we know he won’t go
to The Blockade?” He asked his tone now clearly
deferential.

“
Because he’s a coward.”
Wynne said flatly.

Bandra,
49
^th
of Lammas

The binders weren’t uncomfortable, but
Goshen twisted his wrists as some kind of tick and that was causing
them to rub his skin raw. To either side of the paladin stood three
armed acolytes, which seemed unnecessary to his mind since he was
stripped down to his small clothes. Goshen stood nearly naked,
upright but not defiant, rather casually proud. His chest, arms,
and thighs were quite white, untanned and hairless, riddled with
scars. There was still a bandage over the wound he had suffered in
the lowlands, but now he looked healthy and clean.

The acolytes stood in hooded gray rough spun
hemp robes that darkened their faces, each holding in one hand a
silver pike. Their countenance had always been unnerving to
strangers and natives alike. The hall was huge, an echoing expanse,
with the mosaic floor as the only extravagance, the tiny tiles were
brightly colored—cerulean blue and emerald green. The walls were
blank, lifeless gray stone into which was cut thin long slits that
passed as windows. At the fore of the hall was a plain altar, too
low to be a stage but the seven lecterns that lined it certainly
gave that suggestion.

Hands bound in front of him, ankles shackled
and linked by a short chain that only afforded shuffling steps, and
wearing a collar from which two narrow chains lead to the belts of
the nearest acolytes, Goshen was moved to the center of the hall
before the empty altar. Doors creaked open on either side of the
altar and obscured figures emerged taking their place behind each
lectern. The two acolytes on the outside of Goshen stepped toward
the walls and seemed to release some rope which then drew up
curtains that had covered the larger windows above the altar. Light
poured into the hall, down directly upon the lecterns as the
shadowy figures stepped up to reveal themselves at each. They wore
finely woven robes, bright white with a sort of iridescent sheen
embroidered with gold at the collar and sleeves. These were the
justiciars, Goshen realized, the clergy that would be his judges
and jury over this inquisition.