Guild Wars: Sea of Sorrows (45 page)

The Krytan soldiers loaded Cobiah and the others into a rowboat the size of a fishing vessel and sailed them from the
Nomad II
under heavy guard. They pulled up
against the galleon’s starboard wale under the watchful eye of more than twenty riflemen with guns pointed and ready to fire. Instead of a gangplank or a rope ladder, the
Balthazar’s Trident
had two elementalists dressed in gold and green standing at an opening in the gunwale railing. One of them raised his voice as the rowboat took hold of tossed lines from the
Balthazar’s Trident
, chanting a spell upon a box of slat boards. The wind wrapped itself around each plank, rolling them out of the box to balance solidly upon the air. One by one, they moved past each other over the side of the ship, creating the firm shape of a curling staircase.

Prince Edair, seemingly unimpressed, bounded up it eagerly, calling greetings to his men aboard the ship. “Today,” he proclaimed, puffing up as all eyes turned toward him, “is a day that will go down in history! Today, Kryta brings to justice the thieves who have defied her. With the blessings of our patron, Balthazar, we have captured the leader of these traitorous pirates. Behold, Cobiah Marriner!” Prince Edair balanced on the edge of the ship’s dock, pointing down at the rowboat while those around him cheered loudly, taunting Cobiah and waving their hats in the air. “Next,” Edair said, raising his voice as the ribaldry faded, “we shall make right the indignity done to our fair nation.

“Today, Cobiah Marriner! Tomorrow, Lion’s Arch!”

Whatever the prince’s other failings may be,
Cobiah griped silently,
the boy’s father clearly taught him how to galvanize his followers.

The sailors on the massive galleon repeated the chant, firing their guns in the air and whooping in celebration. Edair grasped the railing and leaned over the side of the ship. “Take the traitors to the royal stateroom.” His anticipatory grin turned Cobiah’s stomach. “Tell Mercer to
ready his bag of tricks. We need more information about the city defenses before we give orders to attack.”

“I’ll handle the transfer, Your Highness.” A woman in red, her body molded by a formfitting, coat-like leather bodice over a tight pair of pants, moved through the crowd to the prince’s side. The scarf tied about her waist swayed as she gave a bow, brilliant blue eyes peering out beneath a curl of shoulder-length scarlet hair. One paler lock flashed at her brow, glinting like the brightly colored warning of a poisonous fish. “All will be as you command.” The prince smiled and nodded, and the two exchanged quiet words that Cobiah could not overhear.

“Snow Leopard, clever and wise spirit, shield my eyes,” Bronn said. He sat in the rowboat beside Cobiah, staring up at the woman in frank appreciation. “Kill me if you must, boys, but don’t leave me alone with a seductress like that! Hedda’d never let me out of her sight again.”

The woman inclined her head once more, and the prince smiled. Prince Edair turned away and strode among his swaggering crew, delighting in their admiration, as the red-garbed woman gave a signal to the soldiers on the rowboat. Obeying with alacrity, the Krytans grabbed all five prisoners—Cobiah, Isaye, Tenzin, and the two norn—and began to force them up the magical stairway onto the galleon.

While the Krytans were figuring out the various difficulties of getting recalcitrant norn up a tightly wound spiral, Cobiah took stock of his surroundings. The
Balthazar’s Trident
was the largest ship he’d ever set foot on by far. She was heavily crewed and carried nearly as many combat-trained marines as she did crew. He saw at least two elementalists, though he suspected there were more aboard, and several of those following Edair across the deck wore armor much like Osh Moran had once worn:
magic-wielding guardians, Cobiah suspected, as his old friend had been.

Cobiah could figure out everyone aboard except the woman giving them orders. At first glance, she looked like a plaything, someone the prince might have brought along for personal entertainment during the long nights of the blockade. Listening to her iron-in-satin voice, watching the way the marines leapt to follow her orders without question, Cobiah knew that this woman was no one’s toy. An adviser, perhaps? A cousin of the royal line? She seemed distinctly out of place, yet the prince had all but deferred to her suggestions. Cobiah stared at her, trying to reach a conclusion as to her purpose and abilities.

A sharp elbow thumped into Cobiah’s rib cage, forcing the breath from his body in a pained exhalation and drawing his attention sharply away from the woman in red. When he looked, Isaye was glaring at him. “If you have to hit me . . . hit the other . . . side,” Cobiah wheezed, his still-healing dagger wound throbbing with new pain. He’d been lucky not to tear it open again during the battle on the
Nomad II
. Then again, he hadn’t made it close enough to Edair to start a fight.

Isaye grabbed his shirt in her manacled hands, surreptitiously pulling it up and noting the bandages underneath. “You’re
wounded
?” Isaye blinked, shocked. “What on Melandru’s green earth were you doing out here if you’re hurt? Are you insane? You might have ripped it open again. An enemy could find out and use it against you. The wound could have gone septic—”

“My wife needed me.” Cobiah met her gaze evenly. “How could I not come?”

Unspoken implications hung in the silence between them. Breath catching in her throat, Isaye regarded him
more gently. “Scamp.” Nevertheless, a smile teased the corners of her lips, and she looked away before it caught hold.

Once all five prisoners were on the deck of the galleon, the soldiers herded them through a double-doored hatch in the deck and down a short flight of stairs toward one of the lower holds. Judging by the size of the
Balthazar’s Trident
, there were at least three levels within the ship’s body. At least one of them, Cobiah guessed, was solely for housing all the marines. At the end of a long wooden hallway stood a door guarded by two soldiers who were not wearing the standard gold-and-green uniform. Instead, their clothing was simple, a matching dark blue and silver, uniform in coloration but diverse in fabric and pattern. Their dress looked more functional than showy; tied tight with laces, the fabric was kept close to their bodies so it would not hamper movement, and both men carried swords with well-worn hilts. Guards, then, not footmen.

Cobiah hadn’t heard the woman in red walking behind them, and he jumped when her voice seemed to appear as if out of thin air. “His Highness will be interrogating the prisoners in the stateroom.” She stepped through the group of captives confidently, completely unconcerned that anyone might make an attempt to do her harm. The two guardsmen, one pale and one dark, stood straighter as she approached. Unlike the Seraph, they seemed perfectly comfortable with her presence, watching the woman in red with the ease of long familiarity. Still, she was clearly in charge.

To the pale-haired guard: “Kaj, go to the prince’s quarters. He’ll undoubtedly ask to see his prize, and I want you there for protection.” To the dark-haired one: “Glenn, see that the brig is prepared for five and be sure there’s food
and water available. Regardless of their current situation, these people are our guests.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The door wardens snapped to attention, eyes bright with respect.

“Keep your eyes open. The Shining Blade will be expected to help me ensure good behavior while our new friends are aboard.” There was a subtle implication in her words, and both guards seemed to relax in their stances. The woman flicked her eyes over the prisoners, not caring if they overheard. “I will be protecting the prince personally.”

“Yes, Exemplar.” The two young men gave her courteous salutes and quickly began their tasks.

The Shining Blade? Cobiah struggled to identify the reference. At last, he remembered something Isaye had mentioned years ago: the Shining Blade were an elite branch of the military in Kryta. It was said they were complete fanatics, willing and even eager to die at the king’s command. If so, and if she was one of them, why was this woman treating the prince’s captives so well?

The broad door opened, and the woman in red stepped into the room without another word. The marines shoved the prisoners after, not caring if they stumbled or fell flat as they entered a large audience hall. The stateroom within was enormous, easily the largest hall Cobiah had ever seen within a ship. Wide, red-carpeted stairs flowed down from the main doorway to a ballroom floor, and to either side of the entryway, a shelflike balcony wrapped around the body of the room. The ceiling had been painted to look like a night sky, with glittering, enchanted stars illuminating the upper area, while lanterns hung in tidy rows along the edge of the balcony to bring a warm glow to the lower part of the room. Marveling at the opulence, Cobiah picked his way
down the stairs in the wake of the woman in red, trying not to scuff the magnificent Elonian rug. The wall opposite the staircase held six large stained-glass windows, each patterned after one of the human gods, the whole looking down over a stagelike dais. On that dais stood a massive golden throne.

He was so overwhelmed by his surroundings that it took Cobiah a moment to realize there were people in the room. Indeed, there were at least fifty, all dressed in exquisite and expensive clothing, hair done in elaborate braids and decorative twists, their faces painted with the hauteur of nobility. Cobiah’s eyes widened as he realized he must have been walking through the crème de la crème of Divinity’s Reach. Although a few of them wore weapons, most were decorative, bejeweled—and had probably never been drawn. The music of stringed instruments faded and died to a hushed silence, broken only by soft, titillated whispers through the crowd.

Each step felt like it took an hour. The crowd parted, their eyes raking over him, hiding murmurs and smothering laughter behind their hands. Cobiah felt his face grow warm with humiliation; here he was in ripped breeches and an untucked linen shirt, bearing the obvious stains of sail and brawl, walking among people whose silken skirts and golden coronets were worth as much as his entire manor. An old anger pricked within his chest. He passed a table laden with punch and fluffy pastries, his stomach rebelling at the oversweet smell. These privileged idiots were dancing and feasting, playing politics while Lion’s Arch starved.

A herald at the front of the room sounded his trumpet, and the nobles quickly turned toward the dais, sinking into curtsies and bows. As Cobiah watched, Prince Edair, newly changed from his soldierly uniform into
clothing more suited for a royal ball, strode into the room across the dais followed by three more blue-garbed Shining Blade. The crowd burst into polite applause at the sight of their prince, loudly admiring the pattern on the sleeves of his golden doublet, the deep color of a purple shirt made of rare Canthan silk, or the immaculate shine of his high black boots. Apparently, extravagance was in. Personally, Cobiah thought Edair looked like a dancing peony.

Turning away from the stage, Cobiah used the time to count his opponents. Two Shining Blade at the door. Three more onstage. Perhaps twenty Seraph marines standing guard around the room and, of course, the woman in red. Grymm noticed him glancing around and gave the commodore a tense smile. Isaye caught him as well, but her reaction was less approving. She kicked his ankle surreptitiously, saying, “They
will
kill us.”

Edair took the time to pause and speak with a few of his supporters at the edge of the stage. He smiled and shook hands, exchanging pleasantries with the nobility while the prisoners waited in a clump at the center of the room.

“What is Edair
doing
?” Tenzin stared at the prince in frank disapproval.

“Making an ass of himself, it seems,” Bronn grunted disparagingly. “Is that man seriously wearing
silk
to a
war
?” The norn spat on the floor derisively, causing nearby courtiers to shrink away and stare in disgust.

Cobiah shook his head. “No. He’s humiliating us. Deliberately. Letting the nobles stare their fill at his ‘prisoners of war’ . . . all the better to inflate his pride.”

After a few more minutes, Edair made a great show of draping himself onto the throne. “Bring the traitors closer. If they tell me all I want to know, I may choose to be
merciful,” he said in a tone that was anything but. The Seraph escort dragged the prisoners to the front of the room, lining them up in a row before the dais. The exemplar climbed the dais, her red leather coat brushing the edge of the stairs, but paused before she reached the throne. She took up a position there, her eyes resting thoughtfully on Cobiah. Aware that he was the focus of her steady contemplation, Cobiah felt his neck heat and his cheeks color, and he turned away. He was too old to fall for such an obvious ruse.

“Very well, then.” Edair straightened the five-pointed crown on his head and fixed a stern glare at the captives. “You will tell me the best methods of attacking Lion’s Arch from land and sea. Where the defenses are positioned and a summary of their capacities.” Glancing at the woman in red, he finished graciously, “I will use the information to seize the city with as few casualties as possible. Your people will be spared and even allowed to leave. But they cannot remain in Lion’s Arch unless they submit to Krytan rule.” A smattering of polite applause rippled through the assembled crowd.

Before any of the others could answer, Isaye stepped forward to address the prince. “Prince Edair,” she began. “I served your father loyally for nearly eight years. He trusted me. Until a few days ago, you trusted me as well. I ask you to trust me now.” She stood, tall and proud, her dark hair tumbling down her back and the sober look of conscience weighing on her features. Although still in irons, Isaye had the bearing of a noble, her shoulders back, her chin held high as she looked Prince Edair in the eye. “I was there when your father forbade you to attack Lion’s Arch. I was the one who convinced him that attacking the city would not be worth the losses Kryta would take. Moreover, I helped your father
understand the duty this city performs, for Kryta and for Tyria itself.