Ice Forged (The Ascendant Kingdoms Saga) (4 page)

“Stared Yadin in the face and spit in his eye, we did.” Piran chuckled.

“Shut up, Piran.” Blaine was sore all over. He had long ago grown used to the hard work of hauling in nets. Last night’s battle with the sea had left him battered and numb with cold. Storm crests had broken across the deck with the force of body blows. Blaine’s shoulders, knees, and elbows ached after bracing himself all night long. From how stiffly his shipmates moved, Blaine guessed that they felt much the same. Many men were bruised and bleeding where the waves had thrown them into the railings or slammed them against the deck. And yet, despite the worst the storm had to offer, they were still alive and afloat.

Captain Darden came around the ship’s wheel, where he had lashed himself through the storm. His dark, heavy brows and full beard made his scowling face look as ominous as the thunderheads that had just cleared from the sky.

“Muster on deck! I need a head count.”

In the end, only two of the
Pathi
’s crew were missing, and miraculously, the ship had taken no damage other than the loss of its main mast. That alone was enough to present problems. The
Pathi
had been at sea for four weeks, nearly at the end of its six-week voyage. They were at the edge of their range, far out from the coastline, and even farther from any other ports.

Blaine and the others waited as the captain took out his sun board and calculated their position. Captain Darden’s expression braced Blaine for bad news even before the man spoke.

“The storm took us off course and farther out to sea than our usual fishing sites,” Darden said. “If we’re lucky, maybe one of our sister ships will find us and tow us back to port. If not—” He shrugged, but they did not need him to finish the sentence.
Far from home without their mast, the sea would finish what it started.

“It’s his fault!” the red-haired man, Isdane, shouted. He pointed at Piran. “He mocked the gods. Mocked Yadin himself. Dared the Sea God to take us.”

Piran’s face was pure innocence. He spread his hands and shrugged. “Just a figure of speech.”

Isdane launched himself at Piran, a massive bull at full charge. Piran was faster, and sidestepped the big man, narrowly eluding his grasp.

“Piran!” Blaine spotted two of Isdane’s friends just as they bent to rush Piran. Blaine stepped up beside Piran as the crowded deck erupted in shouts. One of the men threw a punch that connected hard with Piran’s jaw, but Piran returned a sharp jab that sent the man sprawling. Blaine intercepted the second man, landing his fist squarely in the center of the man’s face, breaking his nose.

Before the fight could go further, strong hands seized Piran, Blaine, and Isdane and hauled them back. Captain Darden stepped in between Piran and Isdane.

“That’s entirely enough.” Darden fixed them with an icy glare. “We’ve got all the problems we need without this.”

“But I heard him. He mocked the gods!”

Darden looked at Isdane wearily. “I suspect the Sea God has more sense than to take offense from the likes of Piran Rowse.” He turned back to Blaine and Piran. “Get below, and stay there. Any more trouble and I’ll have you whipped.”

Blaine and Piran followed Isdane and his friends down the narrow stairs in silence. But when they reached the hold, Isdane started toward Piran again. “It’s your fault we’re going to die out here.”

Blaine shouldered his way between the two men, and shoved
Isdane backward into his friends, hard enough to make them step back a pace. “Shut up, fool. Dying’s not certain, but whipping is, and I’ve got a mind to hang on to my skin.”

Isdane glared at Piran, and Blaine stood his ground between them, hands on hips. “We’ve got water enough for at least another week, and herring enough for the rest of our lives. There’s no reason for the other ships not to come looking for us; Commander Prokief’ll have their hides if they cost him a boat and a cargo of fish. He won’t be satisfied unless they bring us back or show wreckage to prove we sank. And in the meantime, mark my words, Captain Darden will have us fishing. I’ve got no desire to haul in nets with a striped back, or to have a bath of seawater after a flogging.”

Behind him, he heard Piran open his mouth to comment, and turned. “Your mouth started this. Drop it.”

Blaine could feel the heat from both men’s gaze, but he did not back down. Finally, Piran gave a creative curse and walked away. Isdane shot Piran a murderous look, then turned to his friends. “Let it go, boys. We can always jump the sorry son of a bitch when we get back to port.”

Isdane and the others retreated to one side of the hold. Blaine found Piran leaning against one of the support poles that held their hammocks. “On the whole, that went rather well,” Piran observed.

Blaine swung a punch that caught Piran on the side of his jaw.

Piran’s eyes went wide. “Hey, what was that for?”

“You could have gotten both of us thrown overboard to appease Yadin.”

“You don’t believe in the gods.”

“No,” Blaine replied, “but sailors are as superstitious as they come, and if anyone other than Isdane starts thinking you’re a
jyng
, the captain’s likely to toss you over you just to keep the peace.”

Piran’s mouth set in a hard line, but he made no retort and Blaine relaxed. “Hey, it could be worse,” Blaine said. “Darden could have decided to split you open and read your entrails for omens.”

“Don’t give him any ideas. He doesn’t like me.”

“I wonder why.”

Piran fell silent for a moment. “Do you think we’ll really die out here?”

Blaine shrugged. “Velant’s a death sentence. The only real question is what… or who… carries it out.”

Piran raised an eyebrow and looked at him. “You really don’t care, do you?”

Blaine turned away, tugging at the knots of his hammock. “No, I really don’t.”

G
ET ON YOUR FEET, YOU LAZY ASS. WE’RE BEING
rescued.” Piran rocked Blaine’s hammock hard enough that he nearly fell to the floor. Blaine struggled to clear his head. “The captain spotted a couple of
ventjers
on the horizon this morning. They must have been looking for us.”
Ventjers
were smaller boats sent out from Velant to offload the gibbed herring and resupply the herring busses. With the
ventjers
, the busses could remain at sea for weeks at a time before returning to port.

“A whole team of
ventjers
aren’t going to be able to tow us back to port,” Blaine replied.

“There are three more busses with them. I wager they’ll figure out a way to get us back.”

Blaine grimaced. “You’ll wager just about anything, with anyone.”

“Can’t help it; I’m a betting man.”

It took three days to make it back to Skalgerston Bay, Edgeland’s main port. Since both the port city and the port itself shared the same name, colonists often referred to the village as Bay-town, though none of the maps reflected that name. Blaine
stood on deck as the
Pathi
was towed in. Along the waterfront were a collection of low log buildings. Some were warehouses to store gibbed and fresh-caught fish on ice. A few were taverns and brothels for the sailors who found their way to Velant’s gods-forsaken port. Skalgerston Bay had a short row of shops where soldiers and convicts could purchase crockery, farming tools, and a few other necessities and luxuries from Donderath.

Behind the buildings of Skalgerston Bay lay the rest of Edgeland, the island at the top of the world. Blaine had heard the rumors that a few hardy trappers had found more remote shores, even farther to the north, but it was difficult to imagine that anything could be farther from civilization. Most of Edgeland was miles-thick ice and jagged rocky peaks. A narrow fringe of stony soil bordered the sea. On that fringe, guards and convicts scratched out their survival in the prison colony.

From the deck, Blaine could see some of the homestead farms in the distance. Edgeland’s poor soil could still yield potatoes, turnips, and carrots, along with a few bitter native fruits and enough rye, barley, and hops to fuel a profitable—and illegal—trade in home-brewed ale and strong whiskey. Small herds of sheep, goats, and dairy cows, along with chickens and pigs, all sent from Donderath, augmented the fish served at every meal. Prokief’s warden-mages, when not using their magic to keep the convicts in line, used their power and the heat of Edgeland’s underground hot springs to grow more succulent plants, specialties reserved for the commander and his chosen favorites.

Blaine hoisted his sack of clothing and personal items onto his back and lifted the small barrel of gibbed fish he and every other fisherman had earned as part of their pay for the fishing run. Piran was right behind him, juggling his own sack and barrel, as they made their way down the gangplank.

“Show your Tickets, if you have them,” the guard said in a monotone as Blaine and Piran reached the bottom. Blaine dug his Ticket of Leave out of the oilskin pouch that he wore on a leather strap around his neck. New convicts in Velant were housed in the sprawling barracks inside the stockade, under the constant eye of Commander Prokief’s motley soldiers. Those that survived three years in the harsh conditions could earn both a meager stipend for their labor and the coveted Ticket of Leave. For the male convicts, “surviving” meant living through time in the brutal labor gangs of the ruby and copper mines. For the female prisoners, it was enduring the attention of the guards and the backbreaking work of the laundry.

With a Ticket of Leave, a “seasoned” convict could live outside the stockade. Ticket-holders became colonists, able to engage in a trade, offer merchandise for sale, and go about their business. It was a cruel illusion of freedom. Every Ticket-bearer could lay claim to a three-acre homestead. The promise of the offer paled once the homesteader tried to plow the frozen, rocky ground. Those looking to earn coin could sign on with the herring fleet or find work with a trapper or merchant.

“Looking forward to getting home?” Piran asked as he and Blaine paid a coin to the wagon master who would take them out of Skalgerston Bay and out to the homesteads.

Blaine shrugged. “I’m looking forward to drying out, and eating something other than that godsdamned fish.”

By the time they reached the homesteads, it should have been night, though the winter sun remained low on the horizon. At the first rise in the road, the plume of smoke coming from a cabin’s chimney was visible.

“Home sweet home,” Piran said, slapping Blaine on the back. They climbed down from the wagon, shouldering their barrels of fish and their sacks of clothing.

A tall, lanky man was splitting wood in front of the cabin. He stopped when he made out two figures headed his way, and weighed the ax in his hands until Blaine and Piran were close enough to recognize. Then he sank the ax into the stump he was using as a chopping block and grinned broadly.

“Mick! Piran! Welcome back!” Dawe Killick pushed a strand of dark hair out of his eyes. Killick had a hawk-like nose and piercing blue eyes. His long-fingered hands, now calloused from hard work in Velant, retained the nimbleness of his original craft of silversmithing. He smiled broadly as Blaine and Piran approached, and he welcomed them with a handshake and a slap on the back. “You brought fish?”

Blaine groaned. “Of course. And this time out, we nearly became fish food.” He and Piran set down their barrels. “The stories can wait until we’ve had something to eat.”

“Food should be ready inside. I’ll help you move the barrels into the shed.” He looked skeptically at Blaine. “Rough seas?”

“Happy to be back on dry land, that’s for sure,” Blaine replied. “Is everyone well?”

Killick opened his mouth to reply, but the door to the cabin burst open and a woman stood framed in the doorway. “Mick and Piran! Thank the gods you’re home.” A petite red-haired woman bounded down the stairs. Kestel Falke wore the same homespun woolen garb as most of the other Ticketed prisoners, but as Blaine saw her stride toward them, the sashay in her walk betrayed her former occupation as a sought-after courtesan. She had green eyes that sparkled with wit and humor, and a figure that stood out even under her nondescript woolen dress. At the moment, someone might think her pretty but unremarkable. Her cheek had a smudge of cinders and her face was flushed from the hot stove. Yet Blaine had seen Kestel when she bothered to dress up for one of the local festivals, and even with
the rough clothing and homemade cosmetics available in Edgeland, she could transform herself into a head-turning beauty. He could only guess just how beautiful she had been at court, clad in silks and velvets and adorned with diamonds and gold from her wealthy paramours.

Kestel greeted both Blaine and Piran with hugs, then linked her arms through theirs and walked them into the cabin with Dawe behind them.

“Did you miss us?” Blaine teased.

Kestel tossed her hair with mock seductiveness. “Not in the least,” she joked. “Dawe and Verran don’t make as much mess as the two of you.”

Blaine gave Kestel a good-natured squeeze. “Ah, but everyone thinks we’re the luckiest four men in Edgeland, sharing a house with you.”