Assassin's Rise (3 page)

Everything in the cabin
was either bolted- or tied down, and Roland nodded satisfied when
he saw a pallet bed in the gloom.

“Help me put him on the
bed,” said Roland and together they lifted the unconscious man.

“Light the lantern,” he
ordered.

While the girl
complied, Roland took a small dagger from the leather satchel
hooked to his belt. Starting at the sleeves, he sliced though the
thin material of the man’s shirt. “Once I’ve treated him he will
have to stay in this bed,” said Roland. “Is there a spare blanket
or sheet?”

“Yes, a sheet,” she
said, wincing as she saw the First Mate’s arm in the lantern light.
Roland handed her the dagger.

“Please cut a spare
sheet into strips,” he told her.

“What do you plan on
doing?” she asked wide-eyed.

“I’ll push the bone
back into place and wrap his arm. We’ll also need to tie him to the
bed to stop movement. It’s not ideal, but in this storm I can’t do
much more.”

“Are you a Healer?” she
asked as she set about cutting up a sheet.

“Not yet, but I hope to
be.”

Roland prodded the
First Mate’s arm, feeling along the bulging skin. The bone had
snapped between elbow and shoulder. It felt like a clean break. He
was grateful that the man was unconscious. If not, setting the bone
would have been impossible. The pain would have made him thrash
around even if it was involuntarily.

“Have you done this
before?” the girl asked and paled as she watched Roland gripping
the First Mate by the elbow.

“No,” said Roland and
turned his head so he faced her. He smiled nervously. “But I’ve
read about it in one of my master’s books.”

He faced forward, held
his breath and wrenched the bone back into place. The First Mate
groaned and sweat beaded his face. Roland curled his left hand
around the break, making sure that the bone would not slip out of
place. “Sheet,” he said.

“My name’s Carla,” she
said and handed him a strip.

“Roland,” he replied
and gripped one end of the strip underneath his thump. “Thank you
for helping me, Carla,” he said while he wrapped the arm. It had
turned a sickly, bluish colour. Roland hoped that there were no
bone fragments, or that the muscles were not damaged severely. As a
sailor and First Mate, it would be difficult for the man if his arm
did not fully heal.

“No, I should thank
you. I’ve known Jase since he started working for Sea Uncle.”

“The Captain is your
uncle?”

“My father’s a
fisherman. He and the Captain have been friends since before I was
born, but we are not related by blood, no.”

“So that’s why you can
move so easily during the storm!”

She laughed. “I grew up
on my father’s fishing boat. But you did not do so bad yourself,
Roland.”

“That should do it,”
said Roland while studying his handiwork. “Once the storm lets up I
will properly splint his arm, but it will have to do for now.”

The ship lurched and he
pressed down on Jase’s chest, keeping him steady. “Better hand me
the rest of those strips so I can tie him down,” he said.

Together they tied the
First Mate to the bed. Roland carefully held the broken arm against
Jase’s side, also tying it down. Once finished he sat on the floor,
closing his eyes. Carla pressed a wooden cup into his hand.

“Water,” she said. He
smiled his thanks and drank deeply.

Carla sat on the floor
across from him, her back leaning against the bed. As the ship
swayed, she gently moved in unison with it. Roland studied her
under half-closed eyelids.

Her red hair was damp
and clung to her face. Her skin was milk white, her lips rose pink.
He thought she looked beautiful.

“Do you always stay
with the Swallow?” he asked, trying to think of something to
say.

“No, I’m getting off in
Darma. Father asked Sea Uncle to take me.”

“Are you to visit
family?”

“My Uncle,” she said
and wiped a strand of hair from her face. “My real Uncle that is.
He’s a Goldsmith and I wish to learn from him.”

“You will be making
jewellery then?”

“He once helped me to
forge a small brooch when I was still a little girl. I’ve never
forgotten the feeling of shaping something that will bring joy to
other people.” She smiled shyly. “You probably think it’s silly of
me.”

“Not at all. I feel the
same way. When I treat someone it’s a great joy when they get
better.”

“Are you going to the
academia then?” she asked.

Roland nodded.

“You are not of noble
blood, are you?”

Roland thought he saw a
moment of distaste flashing in her eyes. “No. My master has a
friend that has dealings with Academia Amlor. He persuaded them to
give me a chance.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re
not one of them.”

“You don’t like
nobles?”

“What’s there to
like?”

Roland shrugged, not
knowing what to say. Life at the village meant he never had any
dealings with nobles.

*

The storm broke the
following morning, as quick and as complete as when it had started.
Roland immediately woke as it passed. After battling against nature
for five days his body felt strange not bracing. His muscles ached
from the constant strain and the Swallow, too, groaned as her
timbers settled after the punishment she had endured.

For a moment, he was
confused not seeing the familiar hold and then he remembered the
previous night. Something was pressed up against him and as he
turned his head, his eyes focused on Carla’s face resting against
his shoulder. He had fallen asleep sitting with his back against
the wall and she must have snuggled up against him. If not for the
need to check up on Jase, he would have happily stayed like that
forever.

He nudged her over
gently, trying to lay her down but she opened her eyes. They were
large and deep green. For just a moment, they narrowed, and then
they softened. “Morning,” she said. “Sorry for sleeping against
you, but last night was freezing.”

Roland was not sure
whether he was happy or disappointed with her explanation.
“Morning,” he said gruffly and stood. He went over to Jase. At
first, he thought the First Mate was still unconscious and he felt
a prickle of fear, and then he heard the sailor snoring softly.

Carla studied Roland as
he examined his patient. He was tall, broad of shoulder and slender
of hip. He wore his dark hair long, and it was tied together at the
nape of his neck with a rawhide string. He did not look like the
usual Healer to her. He looked more like a swordsman, although he
had impressed her with the way he had taken charge the previous
night. He turned his head and faced her. His eyes were dark brown,
almost black. The intensity of them both excited and frightened
her.

“I’ll leave him to
sleep while I search for something to splint his arm,” said Roland.
He felt proud about the way he had treated the sailor. His
breathing and heartbeat were normal, and the hand of his broken arm
had a healthy colour. Although you had only treated him for a
broken arm, he reminded himself, caught between diffidence and
pride. He left the cabin and stepped onto the deck. The sky was
without cloud, the sun a welcome sight after the raging storm.

Rage was still on deck,
barking out orders to the sailors. Roland quickly counted. There
were ten men, and their bare feet slapped on the wooden deck as
they rushed to check the Swallow for any damage. Rage saw Roland
and waved to him.

“Why don’t you tell us
your name, lad,” he called walking over.

“Roland Belanu,”
answered Roland.

Sailors clapped him on
the back as they moved past him. “We’ll have a little drink before
the day’s out,” one of them said with a gap-toothed grin, tipping
his hand to his mouth.

“Told the lads you and
Carla helped Jase last night,” said Rage. “Better not take them up
on that drink, though. You’ll end up as dumb as they.”

Sailors chuckled and
Rage grinned before asking Roland, “How’s Jase’s arm?”

“I still need something
to splint his arm. I could not do much last night.”

“Nonsense. If not for
you, my arm would’ve had ’bout as much use as a priest in a
whorehouse,” called a voice from behind Roland. Jase stood in the
cabin door, a bit pale but otherwise steady. A ragged cheer went up
as he stepped onto the deck. “Better go back to sailing school,
laddie,” and, “You should hold the wheel like you did that hussy
the other night,” was the general consensus among the crew.

Jase turned bright red.
“I’ll throw you bastards to the sharks. Brins, get up that rigging
and check the sail. I can see a bloody great tear from over here.
If you don’t fix’t within the hour, you can look forward to being a
pig farmer!” he shouted amidst the laughter.

“Well I’m glad to see
you’re in good spirits,” said Rage.

“Sorry ’bout yesterday,
Captain. It was careless of me.”

“So long as you don’t
die on me. Keep an eye on the lads for a couple of hours,” said
Rage, and Roland realised that the man had battled the storm with
hardly any sleep for the past five days.

“Thank you, Captain,”
said Jase, knowing it meant he was still trusted.

*

Pushed ahead by the
storm, the Swallow sailed into Darma harbour two days earlier than
scheduled. The First Mate’s arm was well on its way to full
recovery and Roland had unofficially become a part of the crew. As
the ship birthed, Rage promised him that saving one of his lads
meant that Roland could count on the Swallow whenever he
needed.

The rest of the
passengers hurriedly disembarked, grateful to be back on land.
Roland and Carla first stood on the gangplank, parting with the
crew. Farewells finished, Carla ran down the plank and stepped onto
the side, waiting for Roland. She had offered to lead him to the
academia.

Roland hesitated as he
stepped down the gangplank, his senses reeling as he tried to take
in the enormity of Darma. It felt like he would be swallowed by the
city if he took another step. He saw Carla watching him with a
bemused look and he hurried down, a sheepish grin on his face.

Roland quickly lost all
sense of direction in the maze of streets and alleys. The village
he had left behind was an open haven under the broad sky; no matter
where you found yourself there was always a landmark to pick out in
the distance. Here he felt like a mole burrowing underneath the
dirt: hemmed in on all sides by walls that looked the same. He
could barely see past the next turn; stone buildings and people
blocked his view in every which way.

He tried listening to
Carla as she explained the layout of the city and pointed to
different buildings, exclaiming with an animated expression about
how this place had good, cheap food and how that place would be
better to avoid, all the time nimbly navigating her way through the
throng of people, raising her voice above the constant chatter of
the citizens and hooves striking cobbled stone.

Roland felt like he was
losing his mind.

Each area they passed
through seemed to hold an entirely new breed of human. From men and
women dressed in rags, shouting abuse at one another, pulling at
his shirt and begging for coin, to soldiers in uniform marching
down streets, their backs straight and their heads held high, to
women dressed more flamboyantly than the most colourful birds he
had ever seen, surrounded by tough looking men with hands on
daggers giving him hard stares. Men dressed almost as outlandishly
as the women strolled down the streets with their hands clasped
behind their backs, pausing every so often to seemingly study the
area, the rest of the populace bowing low as they passed and then
quickly scurrying out of the way.

Dirty children weaved
in and out through the bustle, and Roland heard a man shouting:
“Thief!” and saw him giving chase to a trio of pint-sized boys. A
small girl appeared out of nowhere and dropped to all fours in
front of the red-faced victim. The man’s thigh struck her on the
hip and he went head over heels. Roland winced as the impact
ploughed the girl into the ground, but she picked herself up,
dusted her tattered dress and sprinted away giggling in a
high-pitched voice that could shatter crystal. The rest of the
citizens seemed oblivious to what was going on; the street urchins
moved as though they were invisible. Roland shook his head. From
what he saw, it looked like the children were the most
organized.

The crowds gradually
thinned out as they moved along until Roland could pick out
individual faces in the streets. His ears were ringing from the
noise they had left behind, and he felt grateful for the break in
chaos. Carla stopped and pointed ahead.

“The Duke’s Palace,”
she said.

Roland craned his neck
as his eyes followed the palace spires upward. A thick stone wall
cordoned the royal residence, and watchtowers rested on top of the
broad wall at regular intervals, sunlight glinting of polished
armour inside. Through an open, massive, double-door gate he saw
rich gardens; fountains with statues of nude women and dolphins,
eagles and bears dotted the green lawns, spraying water into the
air. The area was most likely build over natural springs, thought
Roland. Two soldiers wearing high-plumed helmets stood on either
side of the gate, spears in hand.

Carla giggled at
Roland’s expression and said, “If you think this is grand, I wonder
what you will do if you ever see Allander.”

“Allander?”

“Where the King’s
Castle is, of course. Darma is only the second biggest city in
Calvana. I’ve never been to Allander myself, but I’ve heard the
city is build with marble and gold ...”

“A golden city,” said
Roland unbelievingly. He was sure Carla was making sport of him,
but it did not bother him overly much. He enjoyed listening to
her.