Dangerous Waters (43 page)

Nadrua Town, Pastamar Province, in the Kingdom of Solura

9th of Slekinar (Soluran calendar)

C
ORRAIN HAD NO
idea what Kusint was saying to the sailing barge’s captain. More and more, the Forest youth had to be reminded to speak in Tormalin. It wasn’t as if he only spoke in Soluran. He slipped as readily into the Forest tongue whenever they encountered one of his own folk, and the further they travelled upstream, the more of the Folk they met. Which was doubtless very nice for Kusint but Corrain was getting sick and tired of not knowing what was being said around him.

Kusint’s conversation continued and Corrain itched with frustration. Thankfully that was the only thing causing him irritation. Solurans might live in thatched wooden buildings that looked more like barns than houses but they kept their homes and themselves scrupulously clean. Every cabin’s floor on this sailing barge was freshly strewn with rushes, each footfall stirring fleabane and other unknown herbs mingled with the long leaves.

Corrain longed for the familiar smell of meadowsweet. How much longer before he could go back home? What would he find there? The stench of burning after a season of corsair raids?

It should be Aldabreshin galleys burning, for as long as their masters were fool enough to go looking for water along the Caladhrian coast. If fat old Arigo’s resolve held firm without Corrain to give him some backbone. If Captain Mersed of Tallat had the wits and the troopers to set more such traps and successfully spring them. If he managed to persuade other captains in neighbouring baronies to adopt such tactics.

Or would Corrain return to find more Halferan villages looted and smouldering? To meet with accusing stares, before everyone from Lady Zurenne down looked past him, searching for the help he had promised to bring.

He broke into a pause in the exchanges between Kusint and the sail barge captain. ‘So where are we, and what happens now?’

‘This is Nadrua,’ Kusint said, unnecessarily, to Corrain’s mind. He’d already told him that morning that they’d be stopping at this town to offload the barge’s cargo of grain before loading up with marten pelts, deer horn, pine resin and other such Forest goods destined for the Soluran coast.

‘The Mare’s Tail joins the main flow of the Great River here,’ the Forest youth continued.

‘The Mare’s Tail?’ Corrain interrupted.

Kusint grinned. ‘That’s the name of the waterfall up in the mountains where Solura’s kings yield their claim on the land. The river that bears the same name cuts almost due south and since Resdonar and Pastamar provinces were settled, it’s been the easternmost border of Solura in these reaches. It’s navigable up to—’

‘Pastamar?’ That had caught Corrain’s attention. ‘You said—?’

Kusint nodded. ‘I’ll ask around and we’ll see what scents we can find. So let’s pay Captain Waire and say our farewells.’

‘The price as agreed?’ Corrain asked quickly.

‘Of course.’ Kusint’s brow wrinkled. ‘Why—?’

‘Never mind.’ Corrain headed for the ladder down to the cabins, to fetch his gear and their coffer of coin.

It was securely wedged under his bunk. He hadn’t been too worried about it being stolen on board. Where could a thief run? Besides, the lock was a Mountain crafted puzzle which no pick would easily defeat. An expensive rarity in Caladhria, such things were readily purchased in Solura and Corrain and Kusint had the only keys around their necks.

But it had crossed Corrain’s mind that their captain might demand more than the price he’d first quoted before he would let them disembark unmolested. Every Caladhrian trooper had heard the stories of such sharp practise among the boatmen along the River Rel and around the Gulf of Peorle.

He laid the coffer on the bunk, unlocked it and counted out the silver they had settled on. No need to run any foolish risks by opening it up on deck. He was relieved to see the cost of their passage wouldn’t deplete their funds too much. He and Kusint had worked every day of this voyage, even if they could only offer unskilled muscle.

Corrain had been glad of the toil. It stopped him brooding on the possible disasters that might be unfolding at home. But now the time had come to go and find a wizard to put paid to such threats to Halferan once and for all. The sooner the better. It was already midday.

He put the pouch of counted coin in his pocket, hefted his own travelling bag onto one shoulder, Kusint’s on the other, and took the coffer in both hands.

Back up on deck, he handed the silver over to the captain, still in amiable conversation with Kusint.

‘Thank you. We’re truly grateful,’ Corrain said, looking intently into the captain’s eyes. The man spoke no Tormalin. ‘Make sure he understands, will you?’

At first, when Kusint had told him this broad, flat-bottomed barge was the boat they’d be taking upstream, Corrain had very nearly refused to board. Surely they’d be quicker walking? Before the end of that first day, he’d realised his error.

The barge’s dramatic expanse of rusty-red sails had swelled readily in the winds that rippled across the burgeoning crops of Solura’s rich farmland. For the first handful of days anyway. Then Corrain had woken to find both banks of the river were thick with trees and not merely coppices supplying the Soluran hamlets and farms with firewood, tool handles and wattles. Mature timber came right down to the water, fit for building sea-going ships or supporting the roofs of halls far greater than Halferan’s own.

The barge hadn’t slowed. Corrain hadn’t reckoned on the deftness of the crew. With five separate sails on the massive main mast and the stubby mizzen towards the stern they could capture every fickle breath dancing through the branches.

Corrain found being so enclosed horribly oppressive. Looking eastwards as they worked their way upstream he had studied the unbroken woodland. He saw no wisp of smoke, no scars from felling, no sign of the people whom Kusint assured him lived and loved and thrived behind that brown and green paling running along the bank.

As they quit the barge however, Corrain could see a goodly number of copper-haired men and women along the wharves or in small boats criss-crossing the turbulent water. They wore clothing no different to the Solurans and, like them, evidently considered the vast river as no more than a minor obstacle.

Kusint concluded his farewells and the captain chuckled, tossing the purse in his hand before walking away to supervise some lads who were working the hoist to haul a sack of grain from the fore-hold.

‘Let’s find an inn,’ Kusint said briskly.

As the youth led the way into the town, Corrain spotted a few Forest Folk in well-worn leather garb with bone and feather adornments. He guessed they were denizens of remoter woodland than this. He wasn’t about to ask, lest he make himself look foolish.

‘This will do.’ Kusint pushed a door open.

Corrain was taken unawares. This didn’t look like any tavern to him, more an ordinary dwelling with a holly bush planted in an old half-barrel outside. But inside, he found a taproom with barrels racked behind a sturdy deal counter, tables, stools and benches and a lively crowd slaking their thirst after a morning’s work.

Kusint headed for a corner table. ‘You wait here with the gear while I go and ask around.’ He dumped his bag by a stool and went over to the counter, leaving Corrain with no option but to set his own bag down. He put the coin coffer securely between his feet and scanned the gathering for any lingering glances in their direction.

Thankfully, no one was taking any undue interest insofar as he could tell. Corrain hoped it would stay that way. The last thing he needed was someone picking a quarrel for entertainment. Every man in Solura seemed to wear a sword, from spotty-faced striplings to dotards needing their other hand for their walking stick.

Kusint returned with two pewter tankards of ale. Corrain drank deep and very nearly spat the whole mouthful out again. He forced himself to swallow before glaring at Kusint. ‘That’s not fruit in there.’

‘Fruit for flavour? No, not so far from the coast.’ Kusint grinned. ‘Hereabouts the local brewers toss evergreen twigs into their tuns.’

Corrain looked into his ale. Was the Forest lad teasing him? He wasn’t entirely sure. Kusint’s spirits had been rising with each successive dawn as they travelled north.

He looked up from the tankard. ‘What now?’

‘I go and see if I can get word of any wizard staying in the town.’ Kusint finished his ale with every appearance of enjoyment. ‘Stay here, and try not to look eager for female company,’ he added as he got to his feet.

‘What manner of fool do you think I am?’ Corrain curbed his annoyance. Slapping the youth would definitely attract unwanted attention.

Kusint shrugged and walked away. Not for the first time, Corrain wondered exactly what stories the youth had heard during their brief stay in Halferan. Well, those gossiping stable hands and scullery maids could choke on their words, when he came back to make good for his follies and misdeeds.

Besides, even if he felt inclined to dalliance, which he didn’t, how exactly was he supposed to go dallying when he didn’t speak the language? As their walk from the wharves had proved, he couldn’t reliably find a tavern in this place, never mind a brothel.

Corrain took another swallow of ale. He had yet to get the measure of Soluran women. Most went openly armed, if only with a long dagger belted over their skirts. A good number wore breeches and boots, not only those crewing the river’s boats or those vast rafts of logs. No one seemed inclined to remark on what would have been scandalous attire in Caladhria.

He’d made the mistake of mentioning that to Kusint. The youth had begun reminiscing about the female mercenaries whom he’d met fighting in Lescar’s civil war. Such women would hardly favour skirts for battle, he’d pointed out, or when fighting off the unwanted advances that were a common hazard of their lives. As though Corrain had never heard of such a thing. He scowled into the tankard. Of course he had heard plenty of stories from other captains when he’d accompanied Lord Halferan to the quarterly parliaments.

So what did it mean, seeing so many women dressed like that hereabouts? Was life in Solura so perilous? Didn’t this mighty river supposedly defend the Kingdom from whatever threats lurked in the Great Forest? What threats might those be?

He had no way of knowing, nor even of asking. So he must sit here and stay out of trouble, nursing this tankard of peculiar ale until Kusint returned. He lifted the tankard again, before setting it down untasted. Finish it and he’d lose his excuse for keeping this table. He didn’t even know how to ask for a refill.

As he had put the tankard down, the broken chain dangling from his manacle had scraped noisily across the scarred wood of the table. Corrain slid the manacle as far up his wrist as he could and tucked the chain back up his shirt sleeve. He really didn’t want someone coming over, curious for an explanation. At least plenty of the Soluran men wore their hair long.

How long would it be before Kusint returned? If they couldn’t find the ally they sought, was there any point in Corrain returning to Halferan? He picked at the splinters around a gouge in the table, determined to resist that dispiriting conclusion.

He was still searching for some alternative strategy when Kusint reappeared at his shoulder.

‘Good news.’ He dropped onto the stool beside Corrain’s own and reached for the tankard. ‘You’re not drinking that?’

Corrain shook his head, so Kusint drained it.

‘Well? Have you found a wizard?’

‘Not in the town,’ Kusint raised an apologetic hand, ‘but three passed through here two days after the Solstice.’

‘Where?’ Enduring this enforced idleness, Corrain had also calculated the date. According to a civilised almanac, it was already the seventh day of Aft-Summer. Saedrin save them all. So much time was slipping through his fingers.

‘I said there were far too few Mountain Men to be seen.’ Kusint leaned forward, his grin conspiratorial.

‘You said they’re either fighting off the Mandarkin or fighting among themselves.’ Corrain readily recalled their conversations as the sail barge slid through the dusk, golden reflections of its lanterns slipping away astern.

‘There are Mandarkin in the hills across the river.’ Kusint brandished the empty tankard to summon another drink from the tapster.

‘You’re certain?’ Corrain demanded. As Kusint had predicted, they’d had no luck asking for news of a wizard at any of their halts upstream.

Kusint’s freckled hand gripped his forearm. ‘Lord Pastiss sent a detachment of his own mercenaries across the river escorting three wizards from the Order of Fornet.’

‘Seven days ago?’ Corrain stared at the knots in the tabletop and considered the vastness of the Forest. ‘How will we ever find them?’

Kusint looked quizzically at him. ‘With a handful of men-at-arms leaving here yesterday to take them fresh supplies I’d say we can follow their trail.’

He might as well have slapped Corrain in the face. Had he betrayed his self-doubt so plainly, for this lad half a generation his junior to humour him?

‘Three wizards, you say?’ Corrain looked up. ‘Then we should be able to persuade one of them to come south.’

One face of a rune always landed right side up. He clung desperately to that hope.

‘With your silver tongue and that box of coin? Let’s hope so.’ Kusint accepted a refill from a serving maid with a jug.

He said something that made her laugh and flipped a silver coin into the air. She caught it and sauntered off with a distinct swing of her hips.

Corrain ignored her. ‘Where can we buy horses and gear? Can we get across the river without swimming for it? What can you tell me of these wizards?’

‘Equipping ourselves for a hunting trip and buying a ferry crossing will be easy enough.’ Kusint sampled the fresh ale and nodded approvingly. ‘As to these wizards, they’re of the Order’s most junior rank—’

‘Will they be at liberty to come with us then, if we can persuade them?’ Fresh misgiving assailed Corrain.

Kusint nodded, confident. ‘Such mages are always looking to prove themselves. I spoke to the ferryman who took them to the far bank. From what he overheard, they’re hoping for a chance to show their worth to Lord Pastiss. Then they’ll be invited to profess their loyalty to him in person, not merely through their Order. Until then, they can hire out their skills to whoever is willing to pay, as long as what’s asked of them doesn’t challenge their duty to the Order,’ he qualified.