The Usurper's Crown (44 page)

Eliisa smiled. Now, it only remained to see which ship was his. The captain, whoever he might be, would surely not be averse to a little extra money, and another pair of hands in the galley.

Munching the last of her meal, Eliisa followed the foreigner through the crowds. He knew well the ways of below-market, and crossed the center of the square nearest the god house where the crowds were thinner. On market days, beggars with their bowls were permitted to cluster around the sides of the god house to see what charity was to be had. They smelled even more strongly than the stalls of the spice merchants in the heat. As she passed, Eliisa caught the eye of one of the god house keeper’s assistants, who frowned at her. Ducking her head, Eliisa fished one of her remaining pennies out of her girdle and tossed it into one of the brass bowls that waited at the foot of the stairs. Supposedly, it not only garnered the good will of the gods as a charitable act, but it was good luck. Eliisa was not so sure of herself that she was ready to turn down a little extra luck.

Eliisa followed her guide to the edge of town where the canals emptied into the bay. The world took on the smell of fish. Because it was summer, the docks were a forest of masts and sails. Tiny fishing boats bobbed between huge, sharp-keeled, oceangoing vessels. It was to one of these that her guide went. Eliisa marked the ship. It had a scratched, black hull, but the knotwork paint was bright and the wind nets hanging from its sides were whole and stout, and might even have been woven by an actual sorcerer. It was a prosperous ship, and Eliisa smiled. The voyage aboard that craft might even be fun, or at least comfortable.

“Now, then, my girl,” said a voice behind her. “You’re going to come along and explain yourself. I’ve many a question to put to you.”

Eliisa’s throat closed and she turned. Behind her stood a soldier. He did not wear the gray-and-red livery of Cameracost’s lord master. He wore the bright blue and gold of the Imperial House Guard.

“I don’t have to go anywhere with you,” she snapped, trying to keep the tremor from her voice. “I have my papers. I am free.”

“You’re not, and you do,” replied the soldier, darting his eyes sideways so that Eliisa could not help but turn her head to see the two other guards waiting at the end of the dock. “Come, my girl. You’re wanted.”

“But why? They let me go!”

“That’s not for me to say or you to ask.” His hand closed lightly around her elbow, with the clear implication that he could hold her much harder should she decide to struggle.

Eliisa’s mouth hardened, and she knew there was something she could do about this, but she did not move. Instead, she remained quiet while the soldier, an over sergeant, by the braid on his cuffs and the brass buttons on his kaftan, walked her back to the pair of under sergeants that waited for them.

“Next time, my girl, if you want to stay hidden, do not pay off the local gods in imperial coin.”

Eliisa’s mouth went dry. “What do they want me for?” she asked. The over sergeant had not released her and she had to step smartly to keep up as the under sergeants marched them over the bridge and between the long tables where the fishermen unloaded and scaled their catch. The cobbles were slick with blood and the smell made Eliisa’s head spin even worse than her sudden capture did. Despite that, she could not help but note the dark hair and features of the fishers, which told her they were probably all from the island of Tuukos, as her mother had been.

A bent man struggling under a yoke of buckets filled with fish heads and guts staggered into the road. One of the under sergeants reached out to cuff the old man and the blow knocked him off balance. The man sprawled onto the street, pouring guts and scales all across the soldiers’ boots. He mumbled his apologies, and tried to scramble out of the way, but slipped in his own mess so that one of the under sergeants tripped over the yoke and hit the ground beside him, cursing.

“Under Sergeant!” shouted the soldier beside her, and his grip on Eliisa loosened, just a little.

Eliisa twisted hard and threw herself sideways. The sudden motion startled the soldier and Eliisa yanked herself free and ran, skidding on the slick cobbles but keeping her feet. She had more experience on wet slates than the house guard. They must not catch her. They must not. She only barely knew why, but they must not.

Eliisa dodged between the tables, tossing one over as she passed, earning shouts and curses from the fishers working there as she splashed fish all across the muddy street.

Then, a fresh set of hands grabbed her. Before she could think to struggle, they shoved her into a pile of empty pickling barrels. A fishy-smelling tarp dropped over Eliisa and the barrels, cutting off all light. But by then she was recovered enough to think to hold quite still. Outside, something was piled atop her shelter, pressing the canvas down until it rested against her skull.

Boots ran by. Voices shouted and argued. Someone brushed her canvas and Eliisa bit down hard on her lip. She tried to breathe quietly in the choking, fish-scented darkness. The sounds outside faded away, but she still did not move. The heat sent rivulets of sweat trickling down her cheeks and neck, but she didn’t dare shift herself to wipe them away. Her right foot went to sleep.

Just as she thought she would surely faint from the heat and lack of air, a corner of the canvas peeled back to let in painfully bright light and the silhouette of a human head.

“Come out, Daughter,” said a man’s voice, and Eliisa started. He was speaking in the language of Tuukos. No one had spoken that to her since she was five or six. Since her mother had signed her into service. It was like hearing a voice from a dream.

Stiff, and blinking hard, Eliisa crawled out of her stinking shelter. As she straightened up, she saw how badly she had lost track of time. The sun had already sunk behind the tallest houses, and the shadows lengthened across the water, turning the bright green bay to somber gray. Eliisa’s hand flew to her mouth as her eyes sought out the water level as measured against the dock pilings. The tide had turned. Her ship might have already sailed.

“Calm yourself, Daughter,” said a lithe little man at her side. It was only by the bright red cuffs on his rough, woolen smock that she recognized him as the man with the yoke who had tripped up the soldiers. She had thought him old, but now that he stood upright she saw he had not yet even reached his middle years. He added something more which she could not understand.

“I’m sorry, Father.” She tried to answer him in Tuukosov, but her tongue fumbled the words badly. “I don’t understand anymore.”

A woman nearby with a face like an old apricot spat and muttered something angrily. The only word Eliisa caught was “Isavaltans.”

“Never mind, Daughter.” The man spoke slowly, as to a child, and patted her arm with his thick, calloused hand. “What did your parents name you?”

“Eliisa.”

“Well, Eliisa, and it’s no good you standing here in the street. You had best come along with us.”

“Thank you, Father, but I must …”

“That ship you were so intent on is still there,” he said kindly, but firmly. “You’d best come with us.”

Eliisa swallowed her next words. The stubby woman frowned hard at her, and she remembered she should not be questioning her elders. So, she just nodded. She was too tired to do otherwise. Besides, she had to get somewhere she could be alone, and take her girdle off. It was important, but she couldn’t remember why. Thinking in Tuukosov seemed to push the Isavaltan words out of her head.

“Good,” said the little man. “And I am Finon. The woman there is Ilta. We’ll see you safe, stowed among your own for the night.”

“Then, my girl,” said Ilta, taking her arm even more firmly than the over sergeant had and steering her toward the docks, “you can tell us what the House Guard wanted with you.”

“I don’t know,” answered Eliisa stubbornly. “I was let go. I’ve got the paper. It’s sealed. I can go anywhere in the oblast.”

“And where in the oblast would you be going on that tall ship?” mused Finon.

“That’s my business,” snapped Eliisa in Isavaltan. Ilta pinched her elbow hard. “Hey!”

“Mind your manners, girl. You’ve Isavaltan blood in you by the look of you. If it shows stronger than your clean blood, we may just hand you back to them.”

Eliisa swallowed. Here it came. Half-blood. Mother wouldn’t have given her over else.

“Now, then, Ilta,” said Finon, his dark eyes glittering. “She’s still wearing the patterns, isn’t she? Still knows her name, doesn’t she? Give her time to remember herself. How long have you been with them, Daughter?”

Them. The Isavaltans, with their bright hair and pale eyes. Demons who came out to the Holy Island and slaughtered the people and tried to drive out the True Ways by killing every sorcerer of the pure blood they could find. She’d heard all the stories when she was a child, and had held them close, even after Mother signed her away. “I was six when I was sold.”

“Huh. Your Blood Father should have starved himself first,” said Ilta.

“He was a soldier, Mother said,” muttered Eliisa to the cobbles. “Isavaltan.”

She didn’t have to say any more. They understood how she had come into the world. Ilta spat again.

The warm summer darkness swiftly enclosed the bay. Ilta and Finon walked her past the tall ships and the tugs and the Isavaltan fishing boats, to a cluster of boats the like of which she hadn’t seen in years. They had square sterns and dark, square sails. Each was painted red, black and green with lettering stretched out and run together until it looked like knotwork, but each pattern was really a spell written out for the individual craft, taken from its name and blessed, if not painted, by a sorcerer.

Guttering lanterns hung from spars. The boats had been tied together in a cluster, and Eliisa knew there would be planks stretched between them to make walking from one to the other easier. The tiny fleet was, for the time being, a tiny village huddled in the shadows and hoping the Isavaltans would not take notice of it tonight.

Finon led them to one of the boats. By the lantern light, Eliisa could see that it was painted bright green all over. That meant this was the headman’s boat. Eliisa swallowed and hoped she could remember her manners. It would not do to anger these people. They knew knives and darkness. She could vanish so easily down here. Why had she agreed to come?

Because you had no choice
, she reminded herself sharply as she tried to reassemble her nerve.

Eliisa had lost the trick of the boats along with most of her blood’s tongue, so she was forced to scramble clumsily over the side, even though Finon extended his hands to help her. The boat’s deck was wide and its gear tidily stowed. Voices drifted down from the bow. Up by the galley, a pair of lanterns showed a gathering of solemn men and women, their heads together as they conferred. Finon removed his round cap and stepped forward, not seeming to notice the rocking motion of the deck. The gathering parted to reveal a young man sitting on a carved bench. Eliisa sucked in a breath. There was only one reason so young a man would be sitting when so many elders were standing. He was not a headman. He was a sorcerer.

Her heart sank within her and Eliisa tried to hang back, but it was far too late. Ilta was already pulling her forward, and Finon had raised his hand in salute to the sorcerer.

“We’ve rescued this daughter of the Holy Island from the guard,” he said, speaking slowly for Eliisa’s benefit. “With your blessing, I’ll take her to my boat for sanctuary.”

Ilta pushed Eliisa forward. The sorcerer looked young, but he could have been any age. Sorcerers lived two and three times as long as a normal man. His thick black hair swept back from his high forehead, and his black eyes glittered in the lamplight. Here was one who knew his own power. As his gaze raked her from head to foot, Eliisa also knew that his power, at least here among these people, was considerable.

“Who taught you to tie your girdle in such a fashion, Little Sister?” the sorcerer asked. He had a smooth voice. It was easier to understand him than either Finon or Ilta.

Eliisa started to shrug, but caught herself. “My mother, I suppose, Honored Brother,” she said, remembering to speak softly and keep her eyes cast down. Looking too long upon a sorcerer was bad luck, they said. They could draw your soul out through your eyes.

“Did your mother have power then?”

“No, Honored Brother.”

“Strange she should know that knot to teach you. It is a spell knot. Much in favor among the Isavaltans.”

Reflexively, Eliisa covered the knot with her hand, shrinking back as she did. “I did not know, Honored Brother. Perhaps I learned it in the scullery. I was there a long time.”

“That could very well be,” said the sorcerer. “There’s many a scrap of knowledge in such a place.” He put his hand under her chin and tilted it up so she could see he smiled at her, and Eliisa felt herself relax a little.

A moment later, she heard fabric tearing, and her girdle thudded to the deck. Pain stabbed her heart and the whole world swam in front of her eyes as the spell snapped in two, and Eliisa vanished.

Medeoan stared at the knife in the sorcerer’s hand. All around her, the Tuukosov had gone completely silent. The sorcerer stepped back, but made no move to sheathe his knife.

“Or perhaps, that knowledge has been too well remembered.”

There were no shouts, only mutters in the language she could not understand now that Eliisa had left her. Ilta, the woman who had been just barely willing to give one of her own the benefit of the doubt, raised her hand and would have brought it down against Medeoan’s face, but the sorcerer stopped her with a sharp gesture.

“Who are you?” he asked in Isavaltan.

Medeoan lifted her chin. “I thank you for saving me from the guard. I wish no quarrel, or trouble. I want only to be on my way.”

“That was not a question I asked,” said the sorcerer. He still had the knife out, and yet he also held back his countrymen with his word. “Answer me truthfully, for you know that I can have the truth at any time.”

“I am taking myself away from my husband’s home,” said Medeoan. “He wants me back. Surely you do not need to know any more than that. You do not want to be able to give answers to the guard.”