Scimitar War (15 page)

“Tainted blood…” Cynthia’s head was too full of the fermented juice to think clearly. “I don’t know anything about tainted blood. I might be able to drown her, if she came down the mountain to the ocean, but—” She choked on her words. “I don’t know if I could even do that. This is Camilla!”

“Well, she’s alive, anyway,” Feldrin said with a frown, “but I don’t see what you can do to save her either. We could at least let Norris know where she is; he’s probably worried outta his head. Of course, that’s assumin’ this admiral lets us talk to anybody and don’t just clap us in irons as soon as we touch shore.”

“Joslan ain’t what you’d be callin’ even-tempered,” Tipos said with chagrin, “but when Count Norris came back for Miss Cammy, de admiral threatened to arrest him, but de count, he threatened right back. Said he’d ruin de man’s career if he didn’t let him look down in de dungeons, and I be damned if dat admiral didn’t back down. He might not listen to reason, but an honest-to-Odea threat got his attention.”

“I don’t think we should threaten him,” Cynthia said, rubbing her eyes in fatigue and frustration.

“Maybe not, but it sounds to me like he’s not an idiot when he’s faced with somethin’ he can’t fight.” Feldrin arched his heavy brows. “We’ll have to be careful, but I think we should show him we won’t let him walk all over us. Surrenderin’ don’t mean givin’ up everythin’.”

“I guess even surrendering isn’t going to be easy. Thank you, Tipos.”

“Now all we gotta figure out is what to do with
Orin’s Pride
,” Feldrin said, draining the last of his juice and laying aside the cup. “From the sound of it, the good admiral likes to confiscate ships, and I don’t fancy havin’ him arrest Horace and the few crew I’ve got left.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Cynthia admitted, biting her lip again. “I suppose we could leave her here, though she really does need a shipyard. I assumed you’d want her hauled at Plume, but it sounds like the yard there is pretty much destroyed.”

“She needs a yard, that’s sure,” Feldrin said. Then a faint smile creased his mouth. “How about we hire Chula to take her to Southaven? It’ll do him good! Tipos, Paska and little Koybur can go, too, and the Keelsons can do the work.”

“What about Horace? Couldn’t he take her?”

“He could, but Horace never wanted to be captain, and he and Chula get along fine. He won’t have a problem with it, and it’s just up to Southaven. And that gets Tipos and Paska outta the way in case this admiral decides to come snoopin’.”

“I got a better idea, if ye don’t mind me sayin’.”

Dura stood behind them, the sound of her approach masked by the soft sand and the loud natives. She looked none too comfortable in her sailcloth tunic, but it was her expression that caught Cynthia’s attention. Her face was set in hard lines, and her eyes were pinched in grief.

“What’s that, Dura?” Cynthia asked, making room for the dwarf woman to sit. Dura shook her head. Her broad shoulders heaved with a sigh, then straightened as she crossed her arms.

“Let me do some refittin’ on the
Pride
here, then I’ll go with Chula up to Ghelfan’s yard and give her a proper haul out. I’ve gotta tell the crew there what happened to him anyway, and it’s the best yard on the whole coast. We’ll fix her up spit and polish, and keep her out o’ the hands o’ them imperial types. The place is kinda hard ta find if you don’t know where it is, and the emperor’s navy might be expectin’ you ta go ta Southaven, considerin’ it’s yer hometown.”

“Sounds like a plan, Dura,” Feldrin said, nodding his thanks to the dwarf. “I still owe you a case of Northumberland single malt fer that repair on her mainmast. It held up under what I’d call more’n adverse conditions.”

“Right, then. You two can take
Flothrindel
back to Plume easy enough.” Dura sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “She’s a tight li’l smack, crafted by the master’s own hand, don’cha know.”

“We’ll take good care of her, Dura,” Cynthia promised.

“Aye, well, good enough then. I’ll git started on the
Pride
first thing, but right now I think I’m gonna git blind drunk, so if you’ll excuse me.” Dura turned on her heel and stalked off without another word.

Cynthia watched her go, and added Dura’s sorrow to the burden of guilt that weighed so heavy on her shoulders. A huge arm settled around her, and she leaned into Feldrin’s embrace, wondering if their newly fledged family would weather this storm.

≈

“There are two potential culprits, in my view, Admiral,” Upton said, handing over a carefully drafted report. “The use of magic to steal
Flothrindel
might mean that Cynthia Flaxal is back, and used her seamage skills to rescue her friends. The other possibility is that the same cannibals we suspected in the first murder have some kind of shaman among their number, and they chose to take the smack back to their home island, taking captives along for reasons of their own.”

“You really think the seamage would risk coming here?” Joslan glanced at the report, then back up at the spymaster when he did not reply immediately.

“No, sir, I do not. We had not imprisoned her friends, and if she took them, why not others?” He frowned. There were still too many unanswered questions. “Unfortunately we have a dearth of physical evidence, and no eyewitnesses to corroborate either supposition.”

“You are the emperor’s Master of Security,” Joslan said with a suppressed sneer. Upton longed to cut that smirk off and feed it to him, but suppressed the grim fantasy. “Surely you must have some suggestion as to how we resolve these crimes.”

“Not without deploying ships to find the smack, which you’ve already refused to do, Admiral.” He shrugged. “The culprit, whoever it is, is no longer on this island. I’ll stake my life on that.”

“Well, with a murderer on the loose, you’re doing that very thing, Master Upton, and you’re throwing in the lives of my men along with yours.” He dropped the report and pursed his lips in distaste. “I don’t care for this at all!”

“I can give you but one consolation, Admiral.”

“And what is that?”

“We’re all in this together, and misery loves company.” Upton executed a short bow, turned on his heel and left the room. He’d had more than enough of Admiral Joslan for one day, and he felt sure that the feeling was mutual.

≈

The setting sun stained the clouds above the cannibal village with a glow the color of blood. Camilla thought the color appropriate as she sat on the rough seat the cannibals had made for her, waiting for them to bring her sacrifice. The seat was not comfortable, but as with the color of the sky, it was appropriate, fashioned from lashed-together human bones. Throughout the day, she had overheard enough to grasp the impetus behind the earlier attack. Some had believed her blood-red gown to be the source of her power, and that she would be vulnerable without it. Now they knew better.

Two stout warriors approached, dragging their chosen sacrifice between them. Camilla looked upon it with dismay and disgust. The girl, perhaps ten years old, was thin and terrified, too young even to have had her teeth filed into points. Tears streaked her dark cheeks as she struggled vainly in their grasp.

“Please, no!” the girl cried in horror. “Do not feed on me, Blood Demon! Please!”

“Quiet!” snapped one of her captors, cuffing the girl hard. She sagged in their grasp, shaking in fear.

“Why this one?” Camilla asked as she stood and stepped down to them. She lifted the girl’s chin. Her lip was split from the blow, and bled freely. Camilla could hear the girl’s heart beating fast against her ribs, like the wings of a caged bird.

“Her people are dead,” one of the warriors said. “Killed by the flat-tooth people when we attacked the island that smokes. She has no one to protect her. She is nothing. Food.” He grinned, bearing his pointed teeth. There was no humor in it.

Camilla stepped closer. The girl tried to shrink away, but the two men held her fast, their strong fingers pressing hard into the tender flesh. Camilla brushed the girl’s wet cheek with her palm, felt her shudder with terror. The hunger rose in Camilla like a building storm. She smelled the girl’s blood, and her appetite surged. Slowly, she touched the bloody lip, then brought the wetted fingertip to her mouth, tasting the salty mixture of tears and blood.

“Please, no,” the sacrifice whispered, sniffing back more tears.

“Shhh.” Camilla smiled and leaned close, so close that her cheek brushed the girl’s, her lips near her ear. The girl’s pulse pounded not an inch from her teeth. “They are wrong,” she whispered just loud enough for the girl to hear. “You are not without protection. And I do not feed upon children.”

“Wha—”

Camilla lashed out before the word left the girl’s lips. Claws sprang from her fingertips as they reached the smiling warrior’s throat, piercing his soft flesh. She squeezed, stifling his strangled gasp, and stood straight, jerking the girl free of the other man’s shocked grip. She glared at him and he backed away, staring at her in horror.

“Do not bring me children!” she commanded, pitching her voice to carry. “I am not interested in the blood of the weak, but only the strong.” She grinned at the man struggling in her grasp, bared her teeth and let the hunger have its way.

Chapter 10

The Right Thing

“Father!” Tim burst into Norris’ suite without knocking, breathing hard, his face flushed. “Father,
Flothrindel
is coming back!”

Norris’ blackbrew cup clattered into its saucer, and Huffington saw the color drain from his master’s face. The count bolted to his feet, his breakfast forgotten.

“
Flothrindel
? Are you sure, Tim?”

Tim nodded. “Yes, sir. I asked Tawah to keep a lookout on the peak, and he saw her at first light, well to the south and heading straight here.”

“Was he able to see who was aboard? Is it Camilla?” the count asked, but before Tim could answer, Huffington put a hand on his master’s arm.

“Milord, it wouldn’t be possible to tell from the peak who was aboard,” he said, adding as the count’s face fell, “but this does give us an advantage.” He nodded respectfully to Tim; the boy was sharp to have foreseen the need of a lookout. “The lookout likely spotted the boat even before the patrol ships. Whoever is aboard her must have news of Lady Camilla. We must meet them at the pier to ensure that they don’t blurt out anything that contradicts our story.”

“Yes.” The count nodded and reached for his jacket, though his hand trembled. “If it comes out that we withheld information, there’ll be all Nine Hells to pay.”

“Exactly, milord,” Huffington said. “And even if they know nothing of the letter, we don’t want Lady Camilla’s…condition…to be known before we have time to devise a plan.”

“Right! If Joslan finds out the truth, he’ll find a way to destroy her.”

“If we could learn who is aboard
Flothrindel
before she lands, milord, we could fine-tune our approach.”

“I can do that!” Tim said, flashing a grin. “If I go out to the beach, I’ll see them make the corner into the channel. I can make it back before they even make the harbor.”

“Excellent! Milord, if we arrange to be near the great hall when the Admiral gets word of the boat’s arrival, we can naturally follow him to the pier.”

The count nodded and struggled into his coat. It struck Huffington once again that his master, so cool in the face of a diplomatic adversary, even facing emperors, kings and sultans, was so strongly affected by matters of the heart. He laid a calming hand on the man’s shoulder, and looked to Tim. “We must watch what we say, Tim. Don’t let on that we know more than we should.”

“I won’t!” Tim said in an insulted tone. “I better go.”

Huffington’s appraising gaze followed the boy as he dashed out of the room. “He’s a good lad, milord, quite capable for his age.”

“You have no idea, Huffington,” Norris said with a tight smile. “Sometimes it frightens me, the things that he knows. He could give
you
a run for your money in some regards.”

Huffington considered that. Norris knew his capabilities very well, and his son had undoubtedly learned much from his time among the pirates. He would have to start thinking of Tim as a potentially valuable asset. As this situation played out, they would need every asset they could get.

“Very good, milord. Shall we have a casual stroll and wait for the admiral to receive news of
Flothrindel’s
arrival?”

“Yes, Huffington. That’s a fine suggestion.” Count Norris straightened his jacket and headed for the door, his loyal man following faithfully behind.

≈

“Ahoy the smack! Identify yourselves!”

“Captain Feldrin Brelak and Cynthia Flaxal Brelak, Seamage of the Shattered Isles, come to meet with Admiral Joslan of His Majesty’s Imperial Navy!” Feldrin bellowed back. Cynthia saw the deck officer’s face blanch.

“Reduce sail,” the officer ordered, “and do not deviate from your course!”

“Ah, hells,” muttered Feldrin as a dozen ballistae nosed out of the warship’s ports, pointing right at them. He glanced at his peg leg, testimony to the accuracy and effectiveness of the Imperial Navy’s artillery, and slacked the jib and mainsail sheets, spilling wind and slowing their pace.

Cynthia laid a calming hand on his leg, though her own stomach was tied in nervous knots. She watched as signal flags fluttered like parade pennants, and far ahead a speedy sailing launch raced toward the island. A minute later, they had acquired an escort of heavier, slower sailing launches each bristling with marine archers.

“Don’t suppose we should tell ‘em that if they all fire at once, they’re more likely to shoot each other than us,” Feldrin joked grimly, putting the tiller hard over to turn into the channel.

“No, we shouldn’t,” Cynthia said as she adjusted the sails accordingly. “And I don’t think we should go in armed.” She nodded pointedly to the boarding axes at his belt. “We’re more likely to get hurt by a nervous soldier if we’re carrying weapons.”

“Fine.” He removed his weapons and stowed them in one of the cockpit lockers. “But I think yer the one who’s gonna be makin’ ‘em nervous, Cyn, not me.”

Feldrin reached out to scratch
Flothrindel
’s aft stay for good-luck, his other hand steady on the tiller as he guided the little smack along the channel between the towering mangroves.

The wind slacked, as it always did between the tall trees, and the launches doused their sails and switched to oars. The smack was sprightly enough to continue sailing, albeit slowly. The water barely rippled with their passage, and Cynthia fidgeted. This time it was Feldrin who laid a calming hand.

“Relax, lass,” he said softly. “Remember what we discussed. It’d likely make ‘em as nervous as long-tailed cats in a room full of rockin’ chairs if you use yer powers to push us along. We’ll get there soon enough.”

“Well, we’re together, anyway,” she said, then raised an eyebrow. “Which reminds me…” Cynthia went below to fetch Kloe from comfortable nook. With a couple of wraps and knots, she fashioned a cloth halter across one shoulder the way Paska had shown her, and tucked the baby inside, leaving both of her hands free. She ordered Mouse into the halter with the baby—the seasprite had picked up on their moods and was fidgety. He sulked but complied. She climbed back up into the cockpit and smiled. “There. Now we’re
all
together.”

Feldrin smiled back at her and pulled the tiller to starboard as they nosed out of the mangrove channel into Scimitar Bay. Then his face fell, and she looked up. Dismay gripped her heart in a vise as she gazed at all that remained of her home.

“Bloody hells,” Feldrin murmured, his eyes wide and jaw slack as they eased past the first of two warships anchored in the bay. More weapons were trained upon them, but neither of them noticed.