Daughter of Blood (13 page)

The hay beneath Tercel's manger stirred, then immediately stilled. Both horses turned toward the movement, their ears pricked at an identical angle of interest. Definitely not darkspawn, Kalan thought, surveying the narrow gap, but something—or someone—small. Suspicion hardened closer to certainty as he recalled Orth's observation about the 'spawn being good at hiding. Keeping his voice even, Kalan switched to Derai. “There's nowhere left for you to go, so give yourself up or we'll beat the straw. Be wise, Faro: show yourself.”

The hay beneath the manger whispered, then rustled, and finally heaved aside. Faro stood, his expression a mix of fear, defiance, and a sullenness that matched Orth's. “Vermin!” the Sword warrior snarled. “I told you!”

“Even if it's a Grayharbor louse rather than darkspawn,” Tawrin added smoothly. “Hiding with Khar's horses, though . . . That suggests he smuggled the boy on board.”

“For his own good reasons, no doubt.” Kelyr's tone implied that Kalan's motivation could only be dark.

Under the circumstances, Kalan reflected grimly, their insinuations must seem plausible. Yet Che'Ryl-g-Raham was shaking her head with a certainty that surprised him.

“I'm confident Khar knew nothing of this until now.” Her gaze traveled from Kalan to the Sword warriors as she
signaled Temorn to let Malar rise. “Stowaways are ship's business, but regardless, passengers do not take any shipboard matter into their own hands. You're all confined to quarters until I say otherwise. You, Faro, must come with me.”

The Sword warriors all began protesting, both against her assessment of Kalan's involvement and being confined to quarters. Faro shot forward and flung his arms around Kalan's knees, clinging to him like a spar in a storm. “Don't let them steal me,” he begged. “If you tell them I'm yours, they can't take me away.”

“He is right, Kalan-hamar.”
The voice from Kalan's dream whispered in his mind.
“Stowaways are ship's business, but if you claim him as yours then he becomes Blood business, even on a Sea House ship.”

How would a Grayharbor brat know that? Kalan wondered. However extensive the dealings between the Sea House and the port town, he doubted that level of lore was common knowledge, if known at all. He was also reasonably sure that no harm would come to the boy at Che'Ryl-g-Raham's hands. Most likely, Faro would just be shipped back to Grayharbor. On the other hand, Kalan could not be certain of that. He also felt responsible, because he should have made sure Faro's future was settled before leaving Grayharbor, not left the business to others. Remembering the boy's warning against the Sea Keepers, Kalan could only imagine the desperation that had led him to stow away—and now surrendered to what had begun to feel like the inevitable. “I didn't smuggle him on board,” he told Che'Ryl-g-Raham, “but now he's here, I feel a duty toward him. By your leave, Navigator, I claim Faro as mine: the House of Blood's responsibility from now on, not yours or the ship's.”

“By my leave,” she said, as though examining the words. When she smiled, her expression held as much steel as humor. “I think you already know that you don't need my leave.” She held his gaze, her own impossible to read, then nodded. “So be it. Faro is yours, Khar of House Blood, to do with as you will, subject to the laws of the Derai.”

Said like that, the formal words were a judgment—but both Orth and Kelyr protested at once. The giant's shout was pure outrage: “A Haarth louse can't be taken into the Derai!”

Kelyr was cooler. “With respect, Navigator, I question your wisdom regarding Khar, as well as his right to sponsor anyone. Let alone”—his lip curled—“introducing Grayharbor dregs into an honorable House.”

Che'Ryl-g-Raham's brows rose. “You question my judgment, do you, Kelyr of House Swords? On the ship whose name I bear?”

Kelyr swallowed, but he must, Kalan thought, be a brave man in his way. “With all proper respect for you and your ship, Navigator, but this Khar—He bears a Blood name and wears their harness, yet he has not only come from the Southern Realms, along with horses of the kind we don't use on the Wall, but speaks to them in some southern tongue. You all heard him, just now. Also,” the Sword warrior's tone suggested this was the most compelling reason for misgiving, “he shows a most un-Bloodlike kindness for vermin like this boy.”

Kalan's heart thudded, wondering if he was about to fail in his mission without even setting foot on the Wall of Night. Che'Ryl-g-Raham's expression, however, was dry rather than doubting. “I've observed the kindness. But neither Khar, nor you and your comrades, are the first Derai to have sought return passage from the Southern Realms in recent years. Nor is there any law that precludes outsiders dwelling among the Derai. The Earl of Night himself has an outsider minstrel, and had an outsider consort, too, before she was murdered.”

Malar looked as though he would like to spit again, but Kelyr shook his head, his expression dark. “Yet who
is
he, Navigator? Khar of House Blood, yes: but what is his lineage? Who are his clan and kin?” Now he spoke directly to Kalan. “What device should be blazoned on that Blood harness of yours?”

It was a fair question, one any Derai should be able to answer. Faro's upturned face was worried now, as if realizing that a failure to respond satisfactorily would place him
back in Sea House hands. Kalan hesitated, because giving his family name and lineage might avoid immediate disaster, but would only result in a worse fate if he tried to enter Blood territory under his true colors. Yet a lie would not only stain his honor in both Derai and Emerian eyes, but could easily be investigated and proven false.

“See,” Kelyr said, and Kalan saw triumph in all the Sword faces, a counter to the flicker of doubt in Che'Ryl-g-Raham's expression, and the trouble in Temorn's, standing behind her.

“We know who he is. We recognize the lineage he brings back into the ranks of the Derai.” For a moment Kalan thought it was the dream voice, clear and inflectionless, that had spoken aloud—but Che'Ryl-g-Raham and the marines were looking toward Laer and the Luck, standing by the aft ladder. Laer's face was almost as impassive as the Luck's emotionless countenance, but the marines' dumbfounded expressions confirmed that it was she who had spoken, not the weatherworker. The Sword warriors just stared, puzzled and hostile at the same time.

The Luck pressed her palms together in the ancient salute she had made to Kalan two dawns before. “Honor to you and to your House, scion of Blood, son of the line of Tavaral, the Faithkeeper, of the fellowship of the Storm Spears. Light and safety on your road to the Red Keep.”

S
torm Spear, Storm Spear, Storm Spear . . .
Hours later, when Kalan lay awake in the cabin that was rightly Temorn's, as the ship's captain of marines—but given over to him now that Faro must be accommodated as well—the whisper still seemed to echo through the ship. The reference to the fellowship had obviously meant something positive to the ship's crew, since they treated the Luck's greeting as both settling Kelyr's challenge and sufficient explanation for Kalan's reluctance to identify himself. But I'll undo everything she achieved, he thought now, if I ask questions—the largest of which has to be why she intervened at all.

He was aware, too, that the Luck had never used his name, only spoken in epithets: scion, son, warrior . . . In fact, she had not actually said he was a Storm Spear. Her words could equally well have meant that Tavaral had been of the fellowship of the Storm Spears. Everyone present had just assumed she meant Kalan. And I keep saying
she,
he reflected, when what the Luck said was
we
. Probably, she had been referring to herself and the weatherworker . . . Regardless, Kalan
was
a scion of the House of Blood, and his clan name, before his exile, had been Tavar. So it was possible his family line went back to a Tavaral, somewhere in the mists of Derai history.
But he had never heard of the Storm Spears before, let alone being one himself—which brought him back to the mystery of what the Luck had been about.

Frowning, Kalan watched the darkness beyond the cabin's porthole until the sky began to gray and Faro stirred in the hammock Temorn had slung for him. Earlier, the boy had tossed and turned, crying out warnings in his sleep. As well he might, Kalan thought, given his second encounter with the Sword warriors. For now, though, Faro's expression was peaceful, and although his limbs twitched again, he did not wake.

Kalan shook his head, but let his thoughts drift into the rhythm of the sea until the ship's bell rang the change of watch. Boots tramped overhead, followed by a clatter down the nearest companionway, and Kalan swung to his feet as brisk footsteps started toward his cabin. He was already opening the door as the marine outside raised her hand to knock.

Rin, he reminded himself. Like Temorn, she had been with Che'Ryl-g-Raham that first day on the Grayharbor dock. Briefly, she glanced past him into the cabin, before stepping back. “The navigator requests that you take breakfast with her in the great cabin, at your earliest convenience.” Rin kept her voice low. “I'm to stand watch here while you're away.”

“W
hatever the Sword warriors may say about Matters of Kin and Blood, they were effectively banished into the Southern Realms.” Che'Ryl-g-Raham spoke starkly, one hand resting on the charts that littered the main table in her great cabin. “They betrayed the honor of Earl and House, letting darkspawn slay the Keep of Bells' priests they were supposed to be escorting.” Her lips pursed. “The report we heard named Orth as the ringleader in that endeavor.”

An account that fits, Kalan thought, with their oath breaking in Emer. But Che'Ryl-g-Raham had resumed speaking. “Although you would say Wallspawn these days, in the House of Blood.” Her manner was noncommittal. “The official Red Keep line is that the Swarm is a myth designed to keep us from the pleasanter realms of Haarth.” The Sword
warriors had alluded to the same thing, Kalan recalled, although clearly it was not a view they shared. But then Blood was the rearguard of the warrior Houses, while Swords was the farthest forward of all the Derai Houses except Night and Stars. “Not,” Che'Ryl-g-Raham said, “that one would expect a Storm Spear to share that view.”

Wouldn't you? Kalan thought. Inwardly, he cursed his ignorance, particularly since the navigator's intent gaze belied her neutral manner—although she let the pause when he might have answered pass. “We shouldn't let the food get cold,” she said instead, and joined him at the cabin's smaller table. They both sat, and she lifted the cover off the tureen between them. “Please, eat.”

The dish, Kalan thought, savoring the first hot mouthful, was remarkably good, with eggs and some kind of grain mixed in with smoked fish. As he ate, he studied his surroundings: not just the size of the cabin or the line of square windows along the ship's stern, but the mellow woodwork and a star chart engraved in silver along one wall. His eyes kept returning to the chart, impressed by the detail but puzzled because all the constellations were unfamiliar. Eventually, Che'Ryl-g-Raham's gaze followed his. “Do you recognize them?”

Kalan hesitated before shaking his head, thinking it might be a test. But the navigator just nodded and gestured for him to take more food. “Star maps are our business, I suppose, not that of the warrior kind.”

“Was there a reason you thought I might know them?” Kalan asked, refilling his plate.

Che'Ryl-g-Raham was studying the chart. “There's a memorial with twelve sides in the Sea Keep, located at the entrance to the Temple quarter.” Her dark gaze flicked back to his. “Each side depicts a distinctive pattern of stars, none of which belong to this world. They chart every star system we've traversed in our war with the Swarm until we came through the Great Gate, and may even extend back to the beginnings of the Derai. I commissioned the engraving when I was made navigator. To remind me,” she finished gravely, “of that possibility.”

From the stars we came.
As navigator, Che'Ryl-g-Raham would be more attuned than most to that tradition. Kalan studied her openly and wondered what she saw in return: a travelworn Blood warrior, or someone more mysterious, the Luck's Storm Spear . . . Every question he asked her was a risk, but then again, the heralds would say risk was the logical extension of being alive. And he needed information. “I'm still puzzled,” he said, “why you thought I might recognize these stars.”

Che'Ryl-g-Raham set her empty plate aside. “The monument commemorates the Sea House navigators that charted the route through the Great Gate, together with those who aided them, including the rearguard that held the Swarm at bay until all our ancestors had passed through. Names from every House in the Alliance are engraved upon its stone.” She paused, her expression unrevealing. “But all the Blood names are from one fellowship, that of the Storm Spears.”

The Great Gate, Kalan thought, which saved the Derai but almost destroyed Haarth. He was still Derai enough to feel awe—accompanied by unease as he wondered whether the Storm Spears had fought solely as elite warriors or been a military order that employed the old powers. A great many warrior orders had, of course, before the Betrayal and the Oath. But if the Storm Spears were one of them, then the Luck had just increased his danger, since even a historical association with the old powers would alienate many in the House of Blood.

“I was not aware of the memorial,” he said, hoping it explained his frown. “I would like to see it, though.”

“Would you?” Che'Ryl-g-Raham continued to study him. “I like puzzles, Khar, but I am also a navigator of the Sea House, which means I value truth more.”

Sometimes, Kalan decided, the only path forward
was
truth, or at least as much of it as safety and his adherence to Malian's cause allowed. “I've been away from the Wall for some time and I have never visited the Sea Keep before, which is why I don't know your memorial.” He paused, thinking what else he dared reveal. “While your Luck's greeting
honors me, I do not know if there are any others she would salute as Storm Spear, either on the Derai Wall or among the realms of Haarth.” Kalan wanted to spread his hands, a gesture that sought exculpation for all he had not said, and could not, but held himself still. “The reason I'm traveling to the Red Keep now is to compete in the Bride of Blood's Honor Contest.”

“All truth, I don't doubt.” Che'Ryl-g-Raham was dry. “While remaining as full of gaps as facts, I feel sure of that, too.” She rose and opened a drawer, removing a package stitched into waterproof cloth. Recognizing it, Kalan's brows drew together.

“I gave that to Rayn.”

“Rayn's business, and the loyalties that stem from that, lie with the Sea House.” Returning to the table, she placed the package down. “I gave him money to fulfill his agreement with you regarding its contents. But a rank-and-file—by his appearance—Blood warrior carrying items that once belonged to the highest nobility of Emer is more than a private puzzle. Rayn judged that it might not only affect my ship, but also my House and possibly our wider Alliance.”

Kalan maintained his outward calm. The Luck had acknowledged him, and whatever reservations she might harbor, Che'Ryl-g-Raham was raising the package privately. “What do you judge?” he asked.

Her smile was edged. “By
my
leave, you said last night, and now ask what
I
judge, as if that were the beginning and end of the matter. So perhaps you are just another thickheaded Blood warrior, after all.” She folded her arms, regarding him with a mix of mockery and steel. “But if you can answer
my
puzzle, Khar of Blood, I'll let you keep your secrets.”

You may like puzzles, Kalan thought, but if you agree with Rayn, why give me the chance to keep my own counsel—unless that's part of your riddle, too? He frowned, considering both his visions and recent events. The Luck
had
to be the key, he decided. She had not only spoken to him—when Temorn had been adamant, that day in Grayharbor, that she would not—but her voice was uncannily similar to
the one in his second dream of the Sea Keep fleet. He was also remembering the way both navigator and ship had the same name, and what Che'Ryl-g-Raham had said to Orth, that first day in Grayharbor: “The ship decides who quits its decks, no one else.”

Not the navigator, he thought now, or any member of the crew: the
ship
. “We,” the Luck had said as well. “
We
know who he is.” The voice in his dream, though, had said something more:
“
We remember everything.”

It was obvious once you looked at the puzzle pieces the right way—but Kalan still felt shaken, his emotions a turmoil of excitement and wonder.
“And now I,”
he said silently, knowing that no amount of wards, however deeply layered, would prevent the one he addressed from hearing his mindspeech,
“know who
you
are.”

“Well?” Che'Ryl-g-Raham demanded softly. “Do you understand, Storm Spear?”

Her dark gaze was intent, and Kalan guessed that she had already read the emotions he could not keep from his face. “The Ship's Luck spoke, but it was the ship that vouched for me.” He waited for her nod. “That's also how you knew that Faro was no darkspawn and I had nothing to do with his being on board.”

She nodded again. “It's not possible to stow away on a Sea House ship.
Che'Ryl-g-Raham
allowed the boy to board and concealed his presence until now, even from me. Ship's business,” she added, although the twist to her lips suggested she was not happy about the course this particular affair had taken. “Which is now Blood—or at least Storm Spear—business.”

The implication of that, at least, was clear. The ship—or ships, Kalan was not yet sure on that point—wanted Faro with him. He grimaced, and her mockery glimmered again.

“Look on the bright side. When the Luck spoke, she didn't just answer Kelyr's challenge. Effectively, the ship has sponsored you.” Che'Ryl-g-Raham laughed, only a little grimly, at his expression. “Believe me, I was taken by surprise, too.”

“So what does sponsorship mean?” This time Kalan
did open his hands. “Consider me just another thickheaded Blood warrior who is well and truly out of his depth.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” she said. “But think of the sponsorship as a form of guest friendship, at the very highest level of our House.” She must have seen him swallow, because her mockery returned. “Oh yes, Sea Count and High Priest level. So when we send our embassy to this Red Keep contest, you and Faro will be able to travel in their company.”

Which means a far safer journey, Kalan reflected, including not having to watch my back trail for the Sword warriors. Yet he was surprised as well. “Will Sea really send an envoy to honor the new Bride, when the Earl of Night's first wife, the one he set aside, was blood kin to your Count?”

Che'Ryl-g-Raham's last glint of mockery vanished. “We have not forgotten Lady Nerion or her wrongs, but this union between Blood and Night is too large for any allied House to overlook. Whatever the circumstances, Sea will pay its respects.” She hesitated. “Laer said to warn you that the Red Keep may not welcome the return of a Storm Spear. Our envoy should be able to advise you further, since it's the sort of thing ambassadors know about.”

Kalan frowned, his misgivings about the Storm Spear designation returning. “I can't just ask Laer what he meant?”

“You can try.” She shrugged. “But weatherworkers have their own ways, and holding sensible conversations isn't always one of them. Personally, I'd save my breath for bending our envoy's ear.”

She seemed convinced the envoy would be forthcoming, which Kalan found encouraging. And although he might have to wait for the embassy to depart, the delay would allow him to see the Great Gate memorial and more of the Sea House fleet, a reflection that returned his focus to the dream ships.
We remember everything,
they had told him, but what Kalan recalled now was the damage to almost every vessel. Fear touched him, chill as winter. “What happens if a ship is lost? Can it be replaced?”

“I see you really do understand.” Che'Ryl-g-Raham's gaze was on the gray heave of ocean beyond the cabin's square
windows. “If both ship and crew are entirely lost, and there is no one to carry even a spark of the ship's essence back to the Sea Keep, to be rekindled within a new vessel, then yes, the whole of what our fleet is diminishes.” Her somber gaze swung back to him. “But the fleet cannot stay in port. For House and Keep and the Derai Alliance itself, the ships must sail.”