Oathen (3 page)

Meena grinned, putting a hand on Sanych’s
shoulder and propelling her past the murmuring Hands. “Just some
old friends.”

“Does it
look like I’m attacking Salience Harbor to you?” Rhona m’Kora
demanded, hands on her hips below the edge of her brass
breastplate. She glared down at the furious harbormaster from her
place at her ship’s rail. The harbormaster, grimy-turbaned and
average in height, was backed by three dozen armed soldiers, and
three boats containing more soldiers floated nearby, but her stare
pinned him as if he were a sloppy seaman who had spilled his grog
on her boots.

The man stroked his full mustache doubtfully.
“You’re the first pirate to get into Salience in three hundred and
fifty years, girl. I should kill you simply on
principle.”

Rhona brushed that argument aside with an
irritable wave of her hand. Her curly dark red hair and the coppery
cordage braids at her temples blazed in the yellow glow of the
harbor ceiling fungus. “Don’t you see the sigil on my prow?
Clearly, it’s an agonbloom jellyfish.” She waited for the Hyndi men
to recognize and fear the symbol of her power, but their faces
remained irritatingly blank. “Of Clan Agonbloom, First Clan of the
Southern Sea Clans? Gods above and below…never mind.” She sighed
and tipped her head in condescension. “It means I’m not even from
around here, and therefore have no interest in stealing from you. I
wouldn’t know where to fence the goods, and I certainly don’t want
to annoy the local Clans. I’m just here for—”

“Rhona!” Geret called, jogging down the
unfinished dock with a slender, black-braided man she recognized as
Salvor Thelios, Geret’s noble rival, and another with shaggy brown
hair whom she didn’t know. They each carried a large
pack.

“For him,” finished Rhona, a happy grin
widening across her face. She gazed down at Geret and his
companions as they pushed through the mass of militiamen and
stopped next to the harbormaster.

“We’re ready,” Geret told her.

“Ah, shiny. Ladder!” she ordered, turning her
head. A heavily knotted rope came flying toward Geret. He dropped
his pack and caught it awkwardly, then looked up toward the
ship.

Two other Clansfolk were holding the other
end, waiting to haul Geret aboard. Geret waved a greeting to the
one with the brown wavy hair.

Ruel Menihuna, Rhona’s cousin, jauntily
returned his salute and called out, “Jump, Geret!”

Salvor said, “I should go over first,” but
Geret had already picked up his pack and slung it over his
shoulder.

“Best hurry then,” Geret said, gripping the
rope and leaping off the dock. The Clansmen pulled hard, running
across the deck, and Geret flew through the air, landing against
the hull with his toes. The pirates pulled him up to the deck, and
he paused at the rail. “Permission to come aboard?” he asked,
grinning down at Rhona.

“Granted, good prince,” she responded, and he
leaped down to the deck beside her.

“If they don’t throw that rope back for me
right now,” she heard Salvor growl.

“They surely won’t leave without your friend
Meena,” the brown-haired man said.

“By the hearth, you men are mad,” the
harbormaster interjected. “Sailing off with Sea Pirates of your own
free will! I’ve never seen such an eager death wish in all my days.
And you will be sailing off with them,” the man added,
glaring.

“We understand, Harbormaster,” the man
replied, noting the man’s concern. “We’ll not darken your shores
again.”

The man grunted. “One way or the other,” he
said ominously.

Ruel tossed the rope back to Salvor, and then
to the third man. Once they were aboard and another sailor had seen
to their packs, Salvor asked, “Now we wait?”

“Hopefully not for long,” Rhona grumped,
glaring over her shoulder at the harbormaster, who had taken to
loudly insulting the Clans. “That man will burst a vein and they’ll
find a way to blame us, as usual. The other ships can only keep the
sentries busy for so long.” She turned to the unfamiliar man with
an air of distraction. “Who’re you, then?”

Geret answered her. “We call him Gryme. His
real name could get him killed here in Salience.”

“Good thing we’re leaving it, then,” she
replied, giving Gryme a saucy smile. His return smile was brief and
distracted.

Geret frowned and stepped closer to Rhona, so
he could lower his voice and still be heard over the harbormaster’s
insults. “How many ships did you bring with you, Rhona?”

“Seven.”

“You’ve challenged your mother already?” he
asked, blinking in surprise.

The young captain threw back her head and
laughed, her coppery braids dancing against her cheeks. “No, my
mother is still the Prime of Clan Agonbloom, free and fair. I just
couldn’t help but feel that I hadn’t completed my Age Quest
properly, even though you released Ruel and I from trailing after
you on those deeps-damned horses.”

“But we were in the middle of a riot—” Geret
began.

“Aye, I remember. But we’re supposed to help
finish the tasks of those we encounter ashore, and your task wasn’t
yet complete when you reached Yaren Fel.”

“Shanal’s pretty far away, and you’re already
out of home waters,” Geret said. “You sure you’re up for
this?”

“Sweet prince,” Rhona said, “my hometown is
several dozen horizons in all directions. When I shop, it can take
weeks to get to market. When I take vacation, I have to learn a new
language so I can properly threaten the locals. Shanal may seem far
to you, but for us, it’s just a bit more exercise than usual, with
slightly different scenery.”

“So how did you get these ships, then?” Salvor
asked.

“I didn’t challenge my mother. Just her best
captains.” The young pirate’s cheek dimpled as she grinned. “Those
I bested in single combat became mine to command.”

Gryme’s eyes widened. “You bested seven pirate
captains, all by yourself?” He looked at her slim arms and short
stature.

She gave the Jualan a cocky grin. “Just six,
and it took me two weeks of Spring Trading just to find all the
ships I wanted. This beauty,” she patted the rail, “was my reward
for success in my quest.”

“That quest you haven’t quite finished yet?”
Salvor asked with a half-smile.

Rhona slitted her eyes at him. “You, Vinten,
should tread lightly with a Clan captain when you’re standing on
her planks. We hold power of life and death over all crew and
passengers.”

Salvor sketched a courtly bow. “I will
endeavor to do so, my lady.”

“Bah, too flowery,” Rhona said, giving him a
gentle shove. “Geret, now, he’s more earthy. That makes him pretty
shiny—considering how I usually feel about dirt.” She turned and
planted a kiss on Geret’s cheek.

Gryme’s eyebrows shot up, and Salvor rolled
his eyes, while Geret merely grinned and shuffled his feet. A few
of the crew whistled and hooted, and Rhona chuckled.

“A care, Geret,” Ruel murmured from behind.
“Jualans aren’t the only ones who desire claims.”

Geret turned to ask what that meant, but a
voice from below the rail drew his attention.

“A-hail the
Princeling
!” Meena’s voice
resounded. The Hyndi insults halted; the harbor workers watched
with interest and trepidation as a woman who wore the same
breastplate as the pirate girl, yet spoke with an entirely
different accent, made her way to the caravel. Ruel tossed the rope
down for her and Sanych, who each carried a pack.

“Princeling?” Geret queried. “Does she mean
me?”

“Didn’t I mention?” Rhona said. “I christened
my ship
Princeling
, as a sign of my determination to find
you.” Her mischievous dimple reappeared.

Behind them, Ruel helped Sanych over the rail
and took her pack for her, then turned and commented, “Among other
notions she’s had about you.”

The crew laughed, and Rhona pursed her lips
and squinted at Ruel. “That’s enough out of you, Slave. You can go
below. And take some of your friends with you,” she added,
gesturing to the laughing crew.

Ruel exhaled through his nose, then gestured
for several of the Clansfolk to come below with him; they all
disappeared below deck.

“Raise anchor!” Rhona hollered, as she strode
to the short ladder that led up to the ship’s aft castle. Once on
the higher deck, she commandeered her ship’s wheel in strong
hands.

“What’s this?” the harbormaster bellowed. “You
can’t leave without our help; that’s how Salience works. The wind
only blows in, not out. And I’m afraid there’s a hefty fee for the
aid of our rowing tugs. Or did you plan on flying over the water
like a lightning-haired storm sprite?” The sailors behind him
laughed derisively.

Rhona was unperturbed, however. Her sailors
scurried about, making the
Princeling
ready for the open
sea.

Long, slender wooden oars sprouted from low on
the
Princeling
’s sides. They dipped down into the harbor
water and swept back, finding their rhythm and carrying the caravel
away from the unfinished dock.

Rhona turned her head and called back to the
harbormaster. “I don’t know what sort of sorry excuse for Clan you
have out here, but where I come from, our raiding parties don’t
stop at the rivers’ mouths!”

The
Princeling
rowed out of Salience
Harbor, leaving behind the angry curses of dozens of harbormen and
militia. Just as the ship was angling into the narrow channel,
Rhona called one last order.

A moment later, everyone in the two-mile-wide
harbor cavern flinched as the
Princeling
fired a cannonball
into the yellow dimness of the cavern on his port side. Its
explosion scarred the glowing fungus on the curve of the wall,
leaving a rough blackness in the shape of a starburst.

Rhona’s laughter rolled back to the men on the
dock. “Don’t forget me, now!”

~~~

Snow blanketed the ground outside the rough
shutters that blocked the windows. Bailik pried one of them open a
sliver and eyed the whitened fields, waiting for warm weather and
seed. As happy as he was to be above ground, the monochromatic
landscape wasn’t very cheering. He couldn’t recall such heavy
snowfall in his lifetime; it felt like spring would never come.
Between that and the persistently blue moon that shone down when
the snow clouds let it, he felt like he was trapped in one of the
morality tales his grandmother had told him as a child.
Except
I’m not the evil lord,
he reasoned.
I just work for
him.

For now.

Bailik’s eyes flicked to the concealed slot in
one corner of his floor; he itched to retrieve and use its
contents. Being so close to one of Shanal’s many concentrated
pockets of magic lent this area extra attributes; among other
things, those outside had difficulty piercing its influence with
seeking spells, and those inside had an easier time detecting such
spells. Those two conditions had made it a little easier to rebel
against the Hand of Power. Without the farmhouse’s natural
shielding, Bailik knew he’d already have been discovered and
killed.

The Hand of Power did not tolerate deception,
unless it was his own. Holding a vial of magic-laden blood that
hadn’t been shared with Oolat was one of Dzur i’Oth’s greatest
crimes.

The vial had lain there, in stasis, for many
months, while Bailik bided his time. But he’d become increasingly
impatient for his chance to use its magical properties and take
control of the cult. This was his third trip from the Dragon Temple
to this room in as many weeks.

It struck him as ironic that, during Bailik’s
raid that fateful night, the spellcaster he’d killed to retrieve
this blood had been considered somewhat useless by his allies.
Although, Bailik had to admit, the man had been easy to capture,
despite feeling the full effect of his magic. Still, the key was in
the timing of its use, not in its strength or weakness.

Bailik’s smile faded, and he turned from the
window, stalking toward the corner of the room. Between his
faltering patience and his growing paranoia that Onix Oolat was
somehow aware of the vial’s existence, he knew he dared not leave
the vial here any longer.

Releasing the spell that masked the hiding
spot, he lifted the stone and retrieved the dusty vial. Its
contents sloshed brightly. Biting the cork, he wrenched it free and
downed the contents in a few gulps, grimacing at the iron taste.
With a black zag of lightning, he destroyed the vial and sent its
powder out through the shutters and into the snow.

Minutes later, a faint awareness of his new
ability manifested in his consciousness. Now the only person who
could give away his secret was himself.

The
Princeling
slipped out to sea. The wind filled her sails
with a series of deep canvas snaps. Ruel and the others below
shipped the oars and returned to the upper deck.

Meena stood in the aft castle, raised above
the main deck, and looked back through a spyglass. Suddenly she
turned and called for Kemsil. He bolted up the steep wooden stairs
to her side, and she handed the instrument to him, pointing to the
top of the thousand-foot cliff.