The Barrow (41 page)

And so Stjepan pulled out a sheet of parchment from one of his satchels, and wrote out a long paragraph taking full responsibility for the wrongful death of the High Priest Rodrick Urgoar and exonerating Lord Arduin of any role in the act, and signed it
Stjepan of An-Athair, son of Byron and Argante, and Servant to the High King
. And then Coogan and Cynyr signed it as witnesses. He offered to let Erim witness it, but she couldn't read or make her mark, so she shook her head and declined. He gave the parchment to Lord Arduin, who seemed satisfied, and Arduin rolled it up and slipped it inside his cuirass, between the metal of the armor and the quilted padding beneath it. Coogan and Cynyr said goodbye to them, then, embracing Stjepan and Gilgwyr as old friends, and her as a newer one. “Keep close to our Stjepan,” Coogan said to her with a twinkle in his eye. “Don't let him out of your sight. But keep away from that one, or you might find yourself being pimped out to a boatload of horny rivermen eager to try the ass of a young city lad,” he said, indicating Gilgwyr. “Rivermen are just like sailors, they'll fuck anything that moves, and Gilgwyr won't hesitate to make some pennies off your hard work.”

“I am shocked at your low estimate of me, brother,” Gilgwyr said, stricken. “I'm sure I can get six shillings a go for Erim's tight little ass, at the least.”

“Aye, I think I can do that,” she responded, blushing a bit and trying to look horrified. “Stick to Stjepan, that is.”

“We always knew Stjepan had picked you right. If you make it back alive, we'll make you an honorary member of the Lords,” Cynyr said with a laugh. “There's even a whole ceremony and everything.” She wasn't sure she liked the way he said
ceremony
. They bowed to her, and she to them, and off they went, putting spurs to horses and heading north.

The riverboats were soon ready, money changed hands with the stevedores and a bored duty officer who finally wandered over to see what they were doing, and then they cast off from the docks. They'd barely put a mile between them and the docks when Erim spotted the glint of sun on steel on the low hills behind the town. She whistled to get Stjepan's attention, and they watched as a stream of horsemen came pouring over the hill from the east, banners snapping in the air. Stjepan reached into his satchel and pulled out his spyglass, a small side benefit of being a cartographer at the Court. He trained it on the incoming banners.

“The Lord Constable's banner, the banner of Lord Captain Conrad of the Inquisition, Captain Clodias of the City Watch . . . but not the Duke,” said Stjepan under his breath. “Well, that's something, at least.”

He handed the spyglass to Erim and she brought it to her eye, checking off the banners in view. “Nope, no Duke,” she said.

“Just'n time, eh, Black-Heart?” came the captain's voice behind them. She glanced over her shoulder to see Wynram behind them, looking at the same scene.

“Aye, Master Wynram,” said Stjepan, more loudly. “Our thanks that your crew loaded us so quickly.”

“Tweren't a thing,” said Wynram, with a satisfied
hrum
deep in his throat.

Behind them they heard a commotion; the squire Herefort had finally died. Weeping and fearful resignation swept through the members of the household that were on the
River King's Crown
, and even the veteran knights seemed to lose heart at the news. Erim suspected that this was the first time that most of them probably understood what kind of trouble they were in; there'd been fear and danger in the night, but they'd been running hot and scared and angry then, and now one of them had actually died, and in the cold light of day. The household quietly debated what to do; landing at Vesslos with a youth dead from wounds would undoubtedly attract attention of a sort they didn't want, and so Arduin made the decision that his body should be slipped into the river. Not the funeral pyre that should have been proper, but a close second for an Aurian, so that it might eventually find its way to their ancestor, Heth. The knights led the household in a round of prayers to the Divine King while his body was wrapped in clean white linens found in one of the hastily packed trunks.

Erim could hear the Abenbrayer crew near her whispering their own prayers for the young man even though they didn't know him; Erim guessed that a death on board their ship was not something they would let pass unobserved, but they were careful not to let the folk of Araswell hear them. Their prayers were a variation she'd heard before:

Geniché, Earth Mother, First Mother,
one of your sons lies dead.
Set Djara's daughters as his Guide,
let Seedré light his path in the Great Dark
as he approaches the Throne of Judgment.
Let his ancestors know he is coming,
that they may defend him against his accusers.
The sacred river brings him to you.
Yhera Abenbraea, guide him by the hand,
and take him to Heth's Halls in the Deep.
Let him not be lost in the journey.

Followers of the Old Religion, then
, she thought, which made sense given their Athairi blood and river work.
They'll believe the ship's been polluted by death, now; not a thing they're frightened by, but they'll perform rites to purify it the moment it gets to port and has been emptied of its Divine King passengers.

And then the body of Herefort Hrum was ceremoniously slipped over the side and into the water.

Stjepan and Erim watched his body float for a bit and then disappear beneath the choppy surface of the river. Arduin stood at the railings at a distance from everyone else, looking out onto the water for a while by himself; and then he turned and went down into the hold where his sister had been hidden with most of her handmaidens.

“That was a pretty story you told Arduin back on the docks,” Erim said quietly after watching Arduin disappear below. Fatigue was weighing heavily on her eyelids, and she decided to go find a place to take a quick nap soon, but she still felt she had to say something to Stjepan. “Dark and gloomy, but with just enough hope that he doesn't just jump in the river and drown himself.”

“A story I very much hope comes true,” said Stjepan, casually studying the morning sun on the water.

“A man like Arduin's never been on the wrong side of the Inquisition,” said Erim. “He doesn't really know how they operate. He thinks he knows, but he doesn't. What they'll do to Annwyn if they find her. What they'll do to his household.”

“No. No, he doesn't have a clue,” said Stjepan, looking at her with a bleak expression full of anger. “But remember why we're here. We're here to follow a map.” He looked back out over the water. “So one thing at a time. Getting out of the city was the easy part. The hard part's about to start.”

I think I'm figuring out why everyone calls you Black-Heart
, she thought.

Annwyn roused herself from slumber, and wondered where she was. The light was dim; there was a low lantern gently swaying overhead, and sunlight streaming in somewhere nearby. She stared at the lantern and its movements, could feel the room swaying as well, and she smelt water and brine.
This is different; the hold of a ship, then.
She couldn't remember if she had ever been on a ship before. She thought she had, but why and where? Being Aurian, her family always took the road over the bridge at Tauria when traveling to and from their ancestral halls and the capital, and at the bridge they would visit with its Lord, Garin Liefring, or his seneschal. Or had they taken a riverboat once when there was some sort of trouble with the bridge? She couldn't remember.

She looked around her; she was in a slightly separated part of the hold below decks, not quite a room exactly, but there was a partial wall and some wooden pillars that obscured the rest of the hold from where she lay. Odds and ends hung from the walls and ceiling, and tilted with the tossing and turning of the ship. She'd been placed on top of a small mound of cloth and burlap sacks and covered with a fox fur blanket; whatever was in the sacks was reasonably soft. Around her she saw a few of her handmaidens, sleeping fitfully on whatever soft place they could find. There were the two youngest and newest handmaidens in their household, Henriette and Ilona, both the daughters of respected tenants. Helga and Elisa slept nearby as well along with their children: Helga's youngest, her three-year old son Odwen, and Elisa's one-year old daughter Elisabeta. Several of the kitchen maids and other women from the household slept nearby with their young children. She did not see Frallas or Silbeta, or Malia at first, until she realized that Malia was sleeping on the floor of the hold right below her perch.

She looked down at her chief handmaiden's profile, studying it. Malia looked exhausted and disheveled; they all did. She wondered a bit at the ties that bound them all together, and at the fact that once again she had managed to plummet the household of her father and family into scandal and tragedy. She was too exhausted to feel anything but a kind of detached introspection, incapable even of feeling sad for herself or angry or piteous.

Malia stirred, perhaps sensing the gaze of her mistress upon her. Her eyes opened, and blinked in confusion until they found Annwyn's blue eyes looking down at her. Malia roused herself quickly.

“My Lady, are you all right?” she asked quietly, trying not to wake the others.

Annwyn gave her a nod. “Are we at sea?” she whispered hoarsely.

“No, my Lady,” said Malia, shaking her head as she settled on her haunches by Annwyn's makeshift bed. “Else we'd probably all be drowned by now and in the grasp of Heth. We are on the Abenbrae, where the Sea God's curse against your kin does not reach, sailing upriver to Vesslos. Are you thirsty or hungry?”

Annwyn was about to wave her off, when she suddenly realized that she was both. In fact, she was starving. She couldn't remember when she last ate. “Yes, please, some food and drink,” she whispered with a small smile.

“Wait here, my Lady, I'll see what I can find,” Malia said, and she stood wearily and warily, testing her balance in the gently rocking hold. She wandered off and disappeared into the rest of the ship.

Annwyn closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing for a while, trying to calm her fluttering stomach and nerves. She felt a slight twinge of nausea at the root of her stomach and in the back of her throat, but she couldn't tell if it was seasickness from the rocking of the riverboat
hoy
, or if it was simply her body telling her that it was desperately in need of nourishment. She was not sure if it was appropriate yet to have an opinion on sailing and ships, but she was decidedly leaning toward being against such journeys in the future.

Malia returned, bearing a small basket and a glass. A handsome youth was with her, all black leather and disheveled, bed-headed swagger, carrying a large, heavy jug of water, which the youth poured into the glass held by Malia. As Annwyn contemplated the newcomer, she decided that handsome was not so much the correct word as
pretty
.

“I do not think I know you, sir,” she said. “Are you part of the crew of this ship?”

“No, my Lady,” the youth said in a low, husky voice. “My name is Erim, I am a companion to Stjepan Black-Heart.”

“Ah,” said Annwyn. Her eyes fell on a brace of hilts at the youth's side.
A street-fighting ruffian and duelist, then, by the looks of it.
She took a sip from the proffered glass of water, and the water tasted sweet and wonderful to her parched lips and throat. She eyed Erim as she drank, and the youth seemed to grow uncomfortable.

“Please forgive the intrusion, my Lady, but your handmaiden appeared to need some help with the water jug, and the rest of your household is asleep at the moment,” Erim said, and turned to go with a short bow.

“Wait,” said Annwyn. She took another sip of water. “How long will we be on this ship?” She tried to remember the last time she'd talked to a man that wasn't a member of her father's household, or one of their regular suppliers or tenants.

“Shouldn't be more than another hour, maybe two,” said Erim. “I only just awoke myself after a short nap, and I, uh, spoke to a few of the crew. We've got a strong tailwind and the tide is with us, so we've been moving pretty fast. We'll be in Vesslos before you know it.”

“And we'll be headed to Araswell after that, then,” Annwyn said. “To my father's castle.”

Erim stared at her for a moment, as though the youth didn't know what to say. Both Malia and Annwyn looked at Erim, puzzled.

“Ah,” said Erim finally. “Perhaps . . . perhaps you should speak to your Lord brother when he awakens.”

“Why?” asked Annwyn, her eyes wide. “What do you mean?”

“It is not my place to say, but . . .” Erim started then paused. “But . . . I believe the general agreement was that you would not be safe there, my Lady. You'll really have to speak to either your Lord brother or to Black-Hea—to Master Stjepan.”

“Of course,” Annwyn said with a dry smile. “Thank you, Master Erim.” Relieved, Erim bowed again and slipped back out of the secluded shelter.