Exiles of Forlorn (11 page)

“Lew, welcome.” He barely looked up as he ushered us to the table, where he stood, propping himself up on his arms and looming over a large piece of parchment unrolled over a thin animal skin. “Antioc, is it? I’m glad you came too. Would either of you care for some tea? I call it tea. What do your people call it?”

“
Un-uo
.” Sharkhart’s voice was surprisingly light, almost windy. I hadn’t ever expected to hear him speak, but in the event that he had I’d looked forward to something a little deeper, sinister even.

“Yes, that. Would either of you care for some?” He lifted an iron kettle from a reed pallet on the table. I nodded and Antioc gave him a “yes, sir.” Sharkhart silently and dispassionately retrieved two wooden cups, which Arn proceeded to fill and set before us.

Antioc and I took sips of the steaming black liquid slowly. I was immediately assaulted by its harsh, acidic bouquet. Rather like drinking muddy lamp oil. I could barely force the stuff down my throat before gasping. Sweat beaded on my forehead as it heated my core. Antioc seemed to take it better, swallowing and turning a little red in the cheeks. Our reactions earned a ghost of a grin from Sharkhart.

“It grows on you.” Arn finished his cup and filled another. “It would go well with sugar I think, if only we had some sugar. Lew, look at this.” His finger went to the page. It was a map of the colony and its immediate environs, crudely but effectively drawn with heavy black ink that must have cost a fortune; assuming they didn’t have some way of making it here. He gave me a few minutes to examine the map. The scale seemed to be one hand-span for an acre. “What do you see here?” He took a drink. “What do you see that marks the colony as unique, as compared to the surrounding environs?”

Oh, a test. Now I was really sweating.

“Elevation.” I pointed to the small numbers next to salamandering curves that ringed the land. The bumpy oval around the ink scratches that represented the colony were higher than any others on the map for several acres beyond its wall. They only began to climb again as the map crawled into the jungle, all the way up near the parchments tattered edge. “Those are measures of elevation. Strides above sea level. You built the colony on the highest ground.”

“Indeed. Seemed a fair choice, given the dangers. Unfortunately, it makes access to the sea a bit treacherous.” He pointed to the sketches on the map that represented the jagged rocks that dotted the inlet connecting Forlorn to the sea. As he did, I tried to place his accent. He was of Morment, of that much I was fairly sure. Mierdean, if my ear for accents was worth a damn. That was the capital of Morment, the home of our king. As such, most noble families had a home there. Was he noble born? Most certainly. That made my curiosity burn even hotter; albeit not enough to consume the fear of just flat out asking how I might know him.

“It does deter the seaborne pirates and slavers, at least.” He took another drink of
un-uo
. “The wall helps with threats from land, though only so much.” I caught him looking at me from the corner of his eyes. He wanted a reaction.

I understood at once. “You need a better wall.”

“Quite badly.” He tapped three positions on the map. “Taller, too. I would like the watches to be able to see trouble coming from as far away as possible before it gets to our gate.”

“Is this to gaurd against the gluttons?” I asked. “I imagine they would come by way of the trees. No elevation will pierce that canopy.”

“The gluttons aren’t the problem.” His jaw stiffened. “They’re tough against small groups that stray too far but too stupid and disorganized to conduct a raid.” He pointed up the eastern coast, along the beach. “Pirates called Scumdogs from Drullcove like to sneak down the White Road at night and kidnap our women. They sell them to slavers in Ket and Boxis. It’s the main reason we have the walls.”

Antioc and I exchanged shocked looks.

“It has not been made common knowledge,” explained Arn. “We don’t want a panic, and it’s been several months since the last incident. They took four women—two of them barely more than children.” His blue eyes narrowed to slits under a sharply curved brow. “It was their boldest raid. The three raids before that, they only took one or two. We barely noticed, just assumed they’d left of their own accord. That happens, on occasion, though rarely is it the women.”

“They came for the women? How?”

“They stole them in the night without a sound, then vanished like ghosts. They were fast, cunning, and professional.”

“You want me to build a better wall? How long before they come back?”

He took a breath before continuing. “They seem to come every eight months. Equal to the time it takes a slave barge to cross the Horand Sea, barter their cargo, and return.”

“How long has it been since the last raid?”

Arn paused again. “Almost seven months.”Arn put his hand on my shoulder, gave me a serious look and asked, “Can it be done?”

“Of course it can be done. My only query is why it hasn’t been done already.”

My smirk vanished when I saw Sharkhart’s cold, dark eyes on me. Arn’s reaction was considerably warmer, though far from jovial. He squeezed my shoulder. “You’re our first engineer. We had some builders before. Even a stonemason once. They had a go at it, but the task was beyond them.”

“Where would an engineer succeed where builders and masons have failed, sir?”

That earned another squeeze of the shoulder. “Not an engineer, Lew. You.” He walked me to a window and pulled back a shade of reeds. Sunlight poured in like floodwater. I shadowed my eyes and followed his finger to Threestep’s burial tower. Uller stood sentinel under it, exhausted, pink-skinned and sweating. I cracked a smile.

“You made that from a drawing. With things you found here. In a few hours. Our resources here are limited. We collect pearls from the oysters, turquoise from the sand and sell it to the merchants who bring the exiles. It goes almost entirely to food, grain, and fowl for eggs and meat. We can’t afford steel for weapons or tools. We’re slaves to our environment.” He pointed at me. “We need someone who can make something from nothing. We need you.”

I’d always wondered how it would feel to be needed. Now I knew.

It did not feel fair. Not fair at all.

9.

W
e left the Sand King’s yurt with strict instructions as to our conversations with others. We could talk about the wall; building such fortifications wasn’t inherently suspicious. If nothing else, we could point to the recent glutton encounter as motive for their construction. There was to be no mention of Scumdogs and slavers. To this, we swore an oath to the Daevas.

Of course, I interpreted our oath of secrecy to extend to our little circle of friends.

After we sent Threestep to the ashes, I revealed the details of our discussion to Reiwyn, Uller, and Blackfoot over a private dinner of rice and boiled eggs. Several nights a week we’d gather our food from the eating hall into fat, green leaves and carry them with filled waterskins to the edge of the lagoon.

“He had to know I’d tell them. Just as he had to know you’d accompany me to meet with him this morning.” I opened my hands as though that sealed the discussion. “Arn voiced no objection to
your
presence, so I can only deduce that he’d have reacted similarly if I’d brought any one of them.”

I’d always been a bit loose with oaths, but Antioc wasn’t fair with my interpretation. His brow furrowed. “I don’t think that makes sense.”

“It’s a small matter,” I said before tossing a bitter red berry into my mouth. “I’ve already told them. The only option for containment now is for you to kill them,” I said, flippantly, between chews.

“Please don’t kill us,” pleaded Blackfoot with a small voice.

Reiwyn laughed and rubbed his hand. “Lew is just being silly. Antioc isn’t going to kill any of us.”

Antioc stared at me through narrowed eyelids and muttered, “I may yet.”

At that, I laughed. I looked at the others. “Allay Antioc’s suspicions by assuring him this will go no further than us.” All eyes turned to Reiwyn.

“What?” Self-awareness left her wide-eyed and stupefied. “Who would I tell? Why would I tell?”

“Your boyfriend,” offered Blackfoot. We all let out little sighs of relief that he’d said it. He was the least likely of us to earn a throat cutting for audacity.

“Why would I tell him what goes on between us? Do you trust me so little?”

“Not that you would intentionally betray us,” said Uller, barely managing to contain a hint of seething jealousy in his voice. “Just that something might slip. During pillow talk . . .”

Reiwyn’s face turned red. Not the red of a blushing little virgin, but the red of a woman angered by dispersions upon her character. Her next words came through bar-locked teeth like wet wind. “There has been no pillow talk.”

“Only for want of a pillow on this island.” I realize I shouldn’t have said that. I shouldn’t have said anything. But there come times when an opportunity for jest presents that leaves one with no choice but to seize it. Wit, you see, comes with a high cost. “I thought surely his rank and title as chief of security in this place would afford him the luxury of a pillow.” I laughed. I was the only one.

“What about you, Uller?” She ignored me and focused on him. “How do we know you won’t tell your hedge wizard master?”

Uller forced a nervous laugh. “I barely understand a word he says, and suspect it is likewise for him, even if I
did
deign to reveal our secrets. And he is no hedge wizard.”

Oh, here we go.

“He was a court-witch to a powerful Psogan Lord in Wesden. I have learned a great many things from him. When I can tell what he’s saying.”

“If he’s so powerful, what’s he doing here?” I asked. “Couldn’t he have just blown up his enemies or turned them into wartrats or some such?”

Uller’s face scrunched up. “It doesn’t work that way, and even if it did, a spellcaster has a code of honor about such things.”

“What’d he do?” asked Blackfoot. The urchin’s affection for the pasty mage had grown. The pasty mage’s for him had not.

“I’m not entirely sure. I think he killed a rival Psogan, or was accused of it. Not directly, through a spell or a brewing of poison. He doesn’t like to talk about it, and like I said, he barely speaks Mormentish well enough for me to understand.”

“I’ve heard tales that Wesdentish witches can hear what echoes in the mind’s ear of those they look upon,” said Reiwyn. She wasn’t letting this go. “They have invisible ears to hear that which has already been heard, and invisible eyes to see that which has already been seen.”

“Old sailor superstitions,” spat Uller. “I’m sure he’s got some spell wrapped up in those old crusty scrolls of his that lets him read minds, but he’s never worked one on me.”

“How can you be sure?” asked Blackfoot. “If he has indisible ears and eyes—”

“InVISible . . .” Uller stopped before his voice pitched too high. He pinched the bridge of his nose and look to the sand at his feet. “He doesn’t have invisible eyes or ears. Even if he does, it’s a moot point now because Lew has already told us. The bell cannot be unrung. It’s not as though I can forget what I’ve been told.”

“It’s easy enough. When you’re around him, just don’t think,” offered Blackfoot. That brought a grin back to Reiwyn’s face, though not to Uller’s. It seemed obvious I should say something to calm everyone down, being the leader and all.

“Everyone relax. I trust all of you with my life, much less with some piddly secret which will probably be common knowledge among the colony within the week.” I took a drink of water from a skin and let that sink in before hitting the next part. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m not going to do it.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“What do you mean you’re not going to do it?” That was Antioc. As usual, he had no trouble challenging me, despite the structure of our arrangement.

“We’re not going to be here long enough to complete a wall. We’ve a limited window of time here. If we don’t act soon, winter will come and we’ll have to wait for the thaw. I’ve no intention of staying in this Daevas forsaken place
that
long.”

“How thoughtless and cold,” snipped Reiwyn. “This is your home now.”

“This is
not
my home, river woman.” I laughed at that, then grew stern at the end. “Nor will it ever become such. I’m a transient here. We all are, or have you forgotten?”

“I’ve not forgotten.” Her demeanor hardened. “But Xanas Muir has sat unmolested for centuries. Another winter will make little difference.”

“If it even takes that long,” added Antioc. “You built Threestep’s tower in less than a day. Arn has given you a month, and we have three before the winter comes.”

“Threestep’s tower was a paltry thing. It stood for three days before we sent it and him to ashes. The Sand King no doubt wishes these fortifications made of stronger stuff.”

“And it is beyond your ability to provide them in such time?”

I pointed at Antioc to let him know I got what he was doing there. “It is not beyond my ability. With motivated builders, I could have the wall up in half that time. It’d be a fine thing, as well. Magnificent, an awe-inspiring marvel of engineering acumen.”

Reiwyn and Uller rolled their eyes. They thought I couldn’t tell, but I could.

“That’s the point, though. As soon as his majesty sees it, he’ll set me about other tasks, like fabricating some manner of septic system with hollow reeds and windmills.” I gave Antioc a long look. “By the time all that is finished, the path will freeze over, and we will have to wait out the winter.”

I could tell that wasn’t deterring them. Maybe this would . . . 

“He will expect you to fight,” I said, tilting my head and trying my best to look sympathetic. “Have you not told me you’d had your fill of war?”

“This would not be war. Wars are begun by kings and fought by those they own. This would be self-defense. I have no qualms fighting for that.”

“Me neither,” added Reiwyn. Blackfoot nodded in agreement. Only Uller remained silent. Could it be he would become my only ally in this?