Covenants (9 page)

"Are you threatening me?”

"He doesn't have to," Jeff said, once more getting between us. "You think the captain doesn't know exactly what's going on? He's assigned you to the horse detail. Stupid, Ryson."

"Shoveling muck, huh?" I eyed Ryson, glad I was upwind. "Been helping Slevoic deliver more messages?" He didn't say anything and I shrugged. "Your funeral.”

"Yeah," Jeff said, "but you're working on your own, Rabbit.”

I said nothing for a moment; then, untangling myself from Jeff, I turned back to the railing and leaned against it. "I grew up with folk like Laurel," I said. 'To me he's as normal as porridge for breakfast. Tree sprites too. Honor Ash Faena strides the Weald that includes my parents' farm. When I was a kid she'd let me tag along." I stared out over the water. "You think I went off the deep end? Imagine your family and friends dead, mutilated, and adorning our holy sites. Or made into chairs for us to sit on.” There was more silence; then Jeffen and Ryson joined me at the railing.

"You know I've fought bandits with you for close to five years, and this is the most that you've ever said about yourself that wasn't just 'I'm just a farm boy' stuff," Jeff remarked.

I blinked at him.

"It's like you're always watching, always holding back," Jeff said. "Even so, I'm thinking we're pretty good mates but then I find out that I don't know the half of it."

"I've talked about my family before—" I began.

"Only when you had to," Jeff said, "and then only as little as you could get away with." He turned his head to me. "Then this magical shows up and all kinds of stuff starts coming out—Lord this and degrees that—"

"It doesn't matter," I tried again.

"Doesn't it?" Jeff asked. "The magical thinks so, Lord Rabbit ibn Chause e Flavan."

I opened my mouth but nothing came out.

"It has made me wonder how good a mate you really are—"

"Jeff—”

"—and what else you think unnecessary to tell me." Jeff's eyes were angry. "Or don't trust me with.” I opened my mouth again, and caught sight of Ryson standing silent next to Jeffen, all ears. I sighed. "I suppose if I told you to go away, you'd just find someplace to hide and listen."

Ryson gave me an innocent look.

Jeffen, also watching Ryson, laughed, the anger leaking out of his face. "You are going to weasel one time too many, lad." At Ryson's shrug, he laughed again and relaxed enough to also lean against the railing, his eyes scanning the river. "I grew up in a town a little northwest of here. We used to come to Gresh during Festival."

"See, I didn't know that," I said.

"You never asked," Jeffen said.

That was true, I hadn't.

"This is as far south as I've ever been." Jeffen watched a punt go skimming by. "I've been talking to the lads in the Road patrol. Most are southies and I was trying to get a feel for what it's like down there.”

"What did they say?" I asked, interested in spite of myself.

"It's much more civilized than the northern marches."

Jeff smiled at my sound of derision. "I also asked them how the cat would be received." His face became thoughtful.

"They said they didn't know. That in the south everyone thinks that magicals are just make-believe," he said.

"So I've heard," I murmured.

"My family thinks the same, even though we're in the wild north," Jeff said. 'To us, trees are supposed to be chopped down and made into stuff, or burned as fuel, and animals are either wild and hunted, or they're domestic and food." He looked at me. "Now you and the cat say different, and maybe it is, but do you think that people are going to change their minds just on your say-so?"

I actually hadn't thought that far ahead.

"Even if they see what you're saying is true, do you think they'll accept it? When it means that you can stand up and call them murderers?"

I sighed. "I don't know, Jeff."

"The captain's right, Rabbit. Sometimes you just don't think."

Each day was warmer than the last as we sailed down the Banson, and we were soon packing away our cloaks and underwoolens. As we approached the civilized south, forest gave way to cultivated fields, fortified manors and keeps were replaced by genteel country estates, trade towns appeared along the river's edge, and in the distance we could see the tantalizing colored roof tiles of inns, taverns and other places of interest along the King's Road.

Jeffen and I declared a truce of sorts, as we were under the constant eye of both Suiden and Groskin.

We'd seen their remedy for feuding troopers and neither of us wanted to join Ryson in cleaning the boat's horse stalls. I did brood over what Jeff had said, though, just in case we were able to argue in private. I wanted to prove that none of it was my fault.

We were breaking our journey in Dornel, a city on the river midway between Gresh and Iversly.

"We have to stop there, gracious sir," the boat's captain told Suiden, "as it's a checkpoint for river traffic."

He smiled, his braided mustaches bracketing his mouth and chin. "It's a nuisance, but it keeps us river rats honest. Somewhat.”

Captain Suiden passed this on to the Gresh church elder that evening during dinner. "I'm taking advantage of the scheduled stop to report to the Dornel garrison commander. If you also wish to call on anyone, Doyen Allwyn, we'll have time."

Doyen Allwyn nodded and murmured thanks. It was a strange melding of army officers, a Border ambassador, and doyen, all guests at the boat's captain's table. Everyone spoke with exquisite politeness, and at times my eyes crossed with the effort of trying not to yawn. I had tried to get out of eating in the impromptu officers' mess, but Suiden let me know that I was to be present and seated before the dinner bell stopped ringing. He wanted to make sure that Doyen Allwyn's lasting impression of me would be of an earnest but dull dinner companion, not the wild-eyed man who shrieked murder at him.

We reached Dornel on our eighth day from Gresh. Captain Suiden stood next to me as the boat approached the city. "I've always enjoyed Dornel," he said. "It isn't as pretentious as Gresh, and it doesn't overwhelm like Iversly.”

"Yes, sir." I could see faint markings on his dark face in the light reflected off the water—then, for a brief moment, long, tightly woven braids, brilliant clothes, jewels and gold earrings overlay his staid haircut and drab uniform. And beyond that—I remembered one of Dragoness Moraina's male offspring, an impressive ice dragon whose silver white scales shimmered in the sun with hints of blues, greens, purples.

But he was nothing to the obsidian dragon I now saw: green-eyed, dark outspread wings shot with gold, full of red fire and black smoke. In one massive five-taloned hand he held a delicate teacup without breaking it. I shook my head and the captain was himself again. There was a faint metallic taste in my mouth as I felt my heart begin to pound. Oh, bloody hell.

"Are you all right, Lieutenant?”

"Yes, sir," I said. I reminded myself to breathe. "The sun is a little bright.”

"I see." Captain Suiden looked back over the water at the city. "When we leave the boat, Rabbit, you will stay with me at all times."

"Sir?”

"You aren't to wander off by yourself, Lieutenant. I want to always be able to see you. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir."

"You don't understand, do you?"

"No, sir.”

Suiden casually turned around and watched the deck around us. "Ambassador Laurel isn't the only missile being catapulted at the Royal Court." He saw my frown and sighed. "You, Rabbit. Remember, ibn Chause e Flavan?”

Oh, yeah. I shoved what I had just seen aside and concentrated on the captain. "Yes, sir.”

"While you were stationed at Freston, you were far enough removed not to matter in kingdom politics.

Now you're landing in the middle."

"Does it matter that I don't want to be a lord, sir?"

"Don't be naive.”

"Yes, sir." I sighed this time. A couple of weeks ago I was worried because we couldn't find our way out of the mountains. It now seemed such a small thing.

"Connected to two powerful Houses, you'd make a tempting target to their enemies, Lieutenant. Or perhaps even their allies.”

Enlightenment could happen even without infernal illumined questions. "Laurel didn't share my tent for his protection, he was guarding me.”

Suiden gave a faint smile. "Not so naive, after all." His smile faded. "Governor Hoelt asked for you upon her arrival at the station—you were more important than the very large cat standing on his two hind legs before her. Now the governor may have just wanted to curry favor, but since she found out you were there from Ryson, sent out on the sly by Slevoic, I tend to think not.” We were coming up to the docks and I could see the sailors readying the mooring lines.

"I'm not minded to have anything happen to you, Lieutenant.”

I was silent for a moment. "Why didn't Doyen Allwyn or Major Verne know who I was at first, sir?"

"Because they weren't told."

"But they knew to come to the way station.”

"Information was leaked from the governor's office, Lieutenant. Remember how unhappy she was when they arrived?”

"Yes, sir." I nodded, remembering the look of frustration on Governor Hoelt's face.

The ship gently bumped against the pier, and sailors swarmed, making fast.

"Though she must've thought Festival had come early when you started screaming bloody murder at the doyen."

I did not scream, I thought.

"All right, a loud shout.”

Startled, I looked Suiden who was faintly smiling again as his green eyes glinted at me. "Uh, yes, sir.”

Custom officials were waiting to inspect our ship after we had docked, coming on board as soon as the gangplank was in place. They cast superior looks at the provincials from the northern marches, only to do double takes so fast that I could hear the snaps as their heads whipped back around. They clumped together on the deck as we left the ship, rubbing their necks and staring at the Faena.

I saw firsthand the unpretentiousness of Dornel. As we left to call on the city's garrison commander, we passed people pushing wheelbarrows up the dock to our ship. Some were ordinary folk while others wore livery and had other signs of service to the rich and mighty.

"Manure, Lieutenant Rabbit," Captain Javes said, riding beside me.

"Pardon, sir?”

Javes waved a hand at the line. "They are here for the horse manure on our ship.” Captain Suiden had decided that, as we were horse soldiers, we should ride to the garrison. I looked down at my mount, wondering what was so special about his droppings that people would line up for them.

"They use it for gardens and other shrubbery," Javes said.

"Well, yes. Of course, sir. But surely the city has plenty of its own.”

"The people of Dornel firmly believe in waste not, want not.”

"Ha, ha, sir.”

Javes' mouth tightened against a smile for a moment. "They feel it's better to shovel it on their flowers and vegetables than throw it in the river. After all, the fish have no use for it. A very neat and thrifty people.” I cast a glance back at the ship. Ryson was going to be very busy.

"They're self-sufficient too," Groskin said from in back of us, where he rode next to Slevoic. "Enough is grown within the city's walls to feed all the residents." We entered Dornel proper via the Rivergate, the wide-eyed guards thrusting people aside to let us through. "There are even underground cisterns that fill up when the river runs high during the spring melt," Groskin continued. "Sluice gates draw off the surplus to other reservoirs. The city has a plentiful supply of fresh water at all times.”

"Why make themselves so siege-proof?" Laurel asked, walking beside Suiden's horse in front. He ignored the gasps and cries of those who pressed away from him.

"There used to be pirates who raided along this stretch of the Banson, sir," Groskin said.

"Didn't you say, Lieutenant, that the raiding had started again?" Suiden asked.

Groskin frowned. "Yes, sir." He saw my questioning look. "My family is from around here, Rabbit, and they've written that pirate sightings and raids have become almost commonplace in the last few years.”

Laurel looked around. "I see no signs of attacks here, honored lieutenant.” Groskin shrugged as he also looked around. "For some reason this time around they haven't tried Dornel itself, but my father says that he has a friend whose cousin's son's wife's brother was in a settlement that the pirates laid siege to not far from here."

"So deep in the kingdom?" Laurel asked.

"Yes, sir," Groskin said. "The garrison troops and river patrols are sent out to search for them, but they disappear like magic—uh, mysteriously, Ambassador."

There was a bubble around us as we rode through the streets of Dornel and the commotion that started at the gate followed us into the city. Folk would look up, casual at first, then more intent as they realized that Laurel was not wearing a costume. And he wasn't our prisoner. And he carried a really big stick. He smiled at something the captain said, his canines gleaming white. The bubble widened to include most of the street, and I wasn't surprised a little later when mounted soldiers appeared ahead of us, bristling with things that had sharp edges.

"I think we should halt here and make no sudden moves," Captain Suiden said, reining in his horse. We did likewise and waited for the men to approach.

"Lieutenant Jaxtir of the Dornel garrison, Dornel Patrol." The lead soldier raised his helm's visor and saluted. The men behind him kept theirs lowered and weapons out.

"Captain Suiden of the Freston garrison." Suiden saluted back. "Is there a problem, Lieutenant?”

"Yes, sir. What is that?" Lieutenant Jaxtir pointed at Laurel.

"He is Ambassador Laurel. I'm sure your commander has received orders regarding his journey to Iversly."

"They said nothing about it coming in my city."

"You're privy to your commander's dispatches?”

Lieutenant Jaxtir shifted his shield. "He shared them with his staff."