Treason's Shore (88 page)

Erkric looked up from the Tree candelabra, which she kept burning.

“Nine candles, Vra Durasnir?” he asked. He looked old and worn, but his pouchy eyes were both aware and very angry.

Her gaze slid from his to the Durasnir Tree. “Nine seemed sufficient when the king himself goes sailing,” she said evenly. She would never tell him the truth: that she lit nine every morning, hoping that their light would somehow add brightness to Fulla’s path in the same way that Signi Sofar’s face had reflected brightness when she raised her eyes to the Great Tree at her trial.

Erkric’s gaze was that of an angry man, but his manner was not angry. He smiled, humorless but complacent. Uneasy, off balance, Brun said, “Would you care for refreshment? I can ring for spice-milk, or anything you like.”

“Your hospitality is most welcome.” He gestured in peace mode. “But my time is limited. The king sent me by magic transfer to see to state affairs both big and small. I have dealt with the large ones, and now it is time for the small, the most pleasant saved for last. It seems that he wishes to form a group of promising youths from the Houses, to be trained during our triumphant journey. He has chosen your son Halvir, as a future Oneli commander. Halvir will form part of the king’s household on the royal ship.”

Royal ship. He did not say the
Cormorant
, Fulla’s flagship
.

Brun’s heart gave one sharp lurch, then thumped against her breastbone. “Halvir is only ten, just beginning his studies. He—he is not ready for so great a responsibility—”

“He will have tutors aboard ship,” Erkric countered smoothly. “I am prepared to depart now. He only needs a few things to wear, otherwise everything will be provided.”

Erkric is taking Halvir
. His complacence was now comprehensible. Brun knew Halvir was in danger, and she also knew there was absolutely nothing she could do. Erkric had caught her by surprise so that she could not send the boy away and make excuses.

And Fulla could not have warned her, if he even knew. Erkric had control of every means of magical communication.

“I will fetch him.” The words seemed to scrape her dry, constricted throat. Knowing that whatever she said would be remembered by this evil man, and maybe even visited upon the boy, she forced an obeisance, and the formal words, “The king does honor to our House.” Though the words were such a mockery she nearly choked.

Outside the door she leaned against the wall, and for one overwhelming moment she wished to be with Fulla on the tower again, only this time she would let him escape and jump after him herself. Life had become a succession of horrors, and now the worst: the evil one was taking Halvir.

No. Not the worst. Where there is life, there must be hope. You counseled Fulla to take courage. It is now your turn. Do not prove yourself to be a hypocrite
.

She straightened her spine and forced her trembling legs to take her down the back stair to her son’s rooms, bright with mosaics depicting dragons at play, and animals rarely seen in this part of the world. Ancient runes glinted, gold-painted, around the walls just under the patterned ceiling, bright in the light of the crystal globes full of gathered sunlight: Brun did not subject her children to a window.

Halvir knelt at his table, busy with paint pots. His tutor—a young scribe on his first assignment—was in the act of hanging up a painting to dry. They looked up in surprise, their voices colliding, “Vra?” “Mama?”

She walked forward. Made her mouth form a semblance of a smile at the tutor. “Scribe Niart, would you bid Halvir’s chamber thrall to pack his clothing? His winter gear . . . hold. Is it not summer down there at this time? Summer gear.”

Niart made his bow and left.

Brun put her hands on either side of Halvir’s face. His wide eyes, so blue like Fulla’s, raised to hers in question. She gazed hungrily at his sweet young face, his brow like Brun’s own mother’s, mouth and chin just beginning to emerge from the roundness of childhood with Fulla’s strength. No rancor in that face, no slyness. Intelligent and good.

So Vatta had been, dead at sixteen.

Her eyes shuttered but the tears came anyway, and Halvir said, “Mama?”

She firmed her lips, and her voice. “The king has sent for you. You—and boys from other Houses will go to the Oneli—”

“I get to go a-viking?”

“Perhaps. Halvir, listen. Drenskar requires you always tell the truth.”

He resisted the impulse to kick the rug with his toes. Why was he being jawed now? Hadn’t he heard that at least ninety-nine times a day since he was born?

His mother bent, her hands sliding down to his shoulders to hold him steady, her lips just above his hair, her voice soft, quick, and trembling. “These days . . . when one wishes to survive . . . it is wise to offer the truth only to those you trust. Answer with as little truth as duty requires where you do not trust.”

Halvir sighed. “I
know,
Mama. Will I get to see the king?”

“You will indeed.” Erkric spoke from the doorway.

Brun forced herself not to jump, but her fingers tightened on Halvir’s shoulders, making him wince. It was such a trespass, to enter the private chambers unasked. But who could deny the Dag of all the Venn?

Halvir kept himself from running around and yelling for joy only because he’d been taught to behave in the presence of strangers.

“Would you like to attend the king?” Dag Erkric asked, his smile broad.

Halvir recognized the Dag of all the Venn. He was tall, and old, and people acted afraid of him. He knew his parents didn’t like him, but he didn’t know why. But the throb in his shoulders from his mother’s tightened fingers, her tense face, the big smile below eyes that didn’t smile, all warned Halvir to be careful. More grown-up stuff he just didn’t understand.

Halvir bowed, hands in peace mode. “Yes, O Dag,” he said.

The Dag gestured for Halvir to follow. When the travel bag of clothes was brought by the silent chamber thrall, the Dag said, “Can you carry that yourself?”

“Of course! I’m strong,” Halvir protested, and clutched the bag against his body. He looked up in triumph at his mother, who mouthed the word “Remember!”

Then magic ripped Halvir out of the world and stuffed him back in.

He staggered and dropped the bag. “Leave it, Halvir,” the Dag said. “The chamber thralls will see to it. Come within and meet King Rajnir. We’ll show you your chambers. And as soon as word reaches us of the success at Bren or Nelsaiam, you and I and the king will take sail.”

Chapter Eighteen

T
HE change in the winds sped the Fox Banner Fleet the last distance to the narrowest point in the strait. As expected, they were spotted by lurking fishers, both of whom were identified. So Inda and Fox were pleased when they raised all sail and raced off to report to the waiting allies.

The
Death
and its consorts arrived on a summery early morning within sight of the outermost of the gigantic rock teeth called The Fangs, white-splashed with guano as a hundred varieties of sea birds circled in dizzying patterns overhead. This rock was at the southwest ernmost reach of The Fangs, just above the border between Chwahirsland and Danara. Not far beyond, two small ships had been stationed as sentinels; when the Fox Banner Fleet hove to on the horizon, signals went out in all directions, spyglasses winked and gleamed in the strong light, sails jerked up and filled in the summer breezes as ships began to converge.

Inda stood at the rail, staring out at a whale blowing a spout in the distance, the sun sparking rainbows through the spray. The scuttles were open all over the ship; from belowdeck came the voices of a pair of mids who should have been working. Inda was thrown back in memory to his mid days when he heard them arguing over whether the spouting was a pattern indicating communication, or art, or just fun.

Fox sauntered up and leaned on the rail next to Inda. “You want to sail around and inspect?”

The voices below stopped. Brisk sounds of cleaning commenced.

Inda said, “No. Let’em see me here. Me on the
Death,
like we planned. Get that fixed good in their minds.”

“You’re still determined on this idiocy?”

Inda sighed, staring down at the foaming wake. “We’ll talk up our line and the inverted arrow. Get a count of what we have.”

Fox turned away to instruct the youngster tending the signals, then returned, and while everyone was busy, said in a low voice, “I think Nelsaiam has fallen. If I’m reading the lights correctly, the Venn lost about eighteen—no telling what size—and somewhere around fifty of them have not moved since the last ting. I’d call that severe damage, if nothing more.”

“I wonder how many Nelsaiam sent against them.”

“I tried to get a sense of it, but couldn’t. Maybe if I’d been reading them longer, or more frequently. My assumption about speed designating raiders might also be wrong.”

Inda half raised a hand. “We learned plenty.”

Fox lifted a shoulder, then said, “Barend just wrote demanding another sighting. When did he turn so faint-hearted?”

Inda grinned. “Maybe he thinks Ramis will come hunting his blood if he loses the
Knife
to some random raider out shirking duty. We didn’t send enough hands with him to fight two ships, just to sail them.”

“True. Well, I’m off to do his sighting, then roll up the mirror chart and hide it before the first of your visitors arrives.” Fox sauntered away, and a few moments later Inda heard his voice making some pungent observations about the set of the topsails before he vanished back into the cabin.

Inda raised his glass, sweeping it slowly over the hazy, glinting waters, as though he could cause more ships to spring into view just by will.
I hope there are a lot more than I’m seeing
.

By midday the haze had lifted, and the captains’ flagships rocked on a sparkling blue sea under a bright summer sky, flags jerking up and down foremasts by exasperated crews as the strait captains signaled back and forth about who had precedence.

The
Vixen,
its distinctive tall, curved mainsail belled taut, reached the
Death
first. Just after the scout hove up under the
Death
’s lee, Nugget yelled up, “Inda! Inda! Look who’s here!”

Inda shot up on deck. Fox, who was now at the wheel where he could watch everything, snorted in a mix of amusement and irritation when a tall, splendid man appeared behind the folding mainsail, golden hair burnished in the sun.

“Tau!” Inda yelled as Taumad leaped across to the mainchains and vaulted over the rail moments later. “I didn’t know you were coming. I thought you were doing trade talk in Bren for Evred.”

“My envoy days are done. Or nearly. But we’ll discuss that later.”

Inda was so glad to see Tau again he heard one word in three. Fox considered that “or nearly” but said nothing.

“Then if you’re mine, you can go back to being my eyes and ears. Like you were before. Explain these alliance people to me.” Inda’s scarred face reddened, taking everyone by surprise as he added, “And you have to remind me when I’m slurping my soup.”

Tau laughed and extended a hand toward the ships out on the clear sea-green water, some having raised sail to approach, others in the process of booming down captains’ gigs and boats. The
Vixen
had moved downwind, and Nugget was just climbing up the side of
Cocodu
.

“You’re Inda the Fox,” Tau said. “If you slurp soup, they all will slurp soup if they think it will make them win. Here they come to satisfy themselves that you still exist.”

Inda turned from Tau to Jeje and back. “You’ve been here a few days, right? What am I coming into, here?”

Jeje said, “The weirdest is Thog. The nastiest is that Deliyeth. She looks, and acts, like she expects us to squat and piss on her deck.”

Inda sighed. “Then that’s where you go first, Tau. See if you can win over Deliyeth. So we don’t have any north coast allies?”