Dark Empress (43 page)

Asima smiled inwardly as the true value of her situation dawned on her.

Lords and officials, both Imperial and Pelasian, would practically deify her if she could deliver them Samir into captivity. Moreover she had seen Lassos; knew its occupants, its layout and military strength, and even the secret method of navigation through the reefs. When she reached M’Dahz with Samir and that knowledge, she would find herself in probably the strongest bargaining position of her life.

She realised that she was smiling openly as she noticed Samir watching her with interest.

“Something funny Asima?”

She laughed lightly.

“Care to share with me how you chased those ships off?” she asked with a cheeky grin.

“I think I’ll hold on to that for a while. Never know when I might need a little trick or two of my own.”

“Then yes, there is something funny, but I alone shall laugh at it.”

Samir shrugged.

“As you wish. For now, however, I think you ought to go below and catch up on a bit more sleep. The moon’s almost down and dawn won’t be far off. I’ll want you fully alert and ready to lend a hand when daylight strikes.”

Asima shook her head.

“I haul ropes for no one, Samir.”

“Ha. I realise that. In the morning, the Empress will be barely recognisable and we’ll have Imperial clothing, colours and name. You will be a wealthy passenger on her way to M’Dahz; it’s basically true anyway, but I need you to play the noblewoman. Some of the people we will be dealing with in the ports on the way are more inclined to give us favourable deals if they think it will curry favour with a courtier of note.”

Asima nodded thoughtfully.

“Then I shall need to be attired and addressed appropriately, of course.”

“Of course. So get some rest. For the next couple of weeks, you are a rich passenger on board the Spirit of Redemption.”

In which Ghassan goes home.

It had been a strange journey, Ghassan sighed, as he stepped down from the Pelasian daram; strange but quick. From their initial beaching near Eagle Rock, they had found the local Pelasian fishermen to be extremely helpful and accommodating. The first three days had seen the sailors escorted by one fisherman or another between islands, the locals going out of their way to help and delivering the refugees to their destination before going about their ordinary daily business.

Then, on the fourth day, they had all been surprised to see the next settlement in the chain that led them home. Arhab was somewhat different from the other fishing towns and villages they had seen. This was a new settlement, only a few years old and purpose-built as a shipyard for the navy of the local Satrap, whom they learned was a man named Khalad, and who shared the dual distinctions of being the controller of the most land at the Pelasian court, ruling a sizeable portion of the coast as well as the entire archipelago, while also holding the exalted position of commander of the Royal fleet at Akkad.

In the spirit of cooperation between the two governments, the Pelasian admiral in command of the Arhab shipyard immediately had one of their newest daram put at the disposal of Ghassan and his men, to ferry them wherever they wished to go.

While the repeated aid of helpful fishermen had brought them a surprising distance in only three days, the powerful military daram of the Pelasian navy was capable of astounding speed. Ghassan had almost forgotten the awful situation into which they were heading as he spent the next two days strolling around the ship and investigating it; comparing it to his own lost vessel. If anything, this new Pelasian warship would be faster than his had been, though less effective in direct battle. He was suitably impressed by both ship and crew and had found that he was beginning to enjoy himself a little for a time.

Then, however, real life had impressed itself on him once more this morning when he had been called up on deck by the captain, to see the smudge that was M’Dahz on the horizon.

He had gathered his men on deck and given them his instructions. While the crew settled in to wait in one of the military bunkhouses of the docks, he would report to the local governor. They had finally docked mid-morning and, with no small amount of trepidation, Ghassan had descended the gang plank.

M’Dahz hadn’t seemed to change much. It had done, when he had been growing up, though. What he’d remembered from his childhood as a happy, noisy, busy place had become quiet, depressed and almost dead in the years of the rule of Ma’ahd. He’d been sure M’Dahz had changed fully, never to recover.

Yet in the short time the town had been once more controlled by the factors of the Empire, the failing settlement had experienced a rebirth. Clearly hope had never died and, with the removal of the oppressive ruler, M’Dahz had begun to flower once more. People who had fled to Calphoris and lived had returned, as had traders from the desert and overseas. The port bustled and was filled with voices in a dozen accents. Bright carpets and hangings were in evidence in the streets once more and many of the buildings had been given a fresh coat of white.

And yet all this positive attitude that seemed to flood out of the very stone of M’Dahz could do little to lighten Ghassan’s mood. Taking a deep breath, he turned and cast one long look at his crew, some of whom had been veteran sailors on board the Wind of God when he had come aboard as a boy. He couldn’t fight off the impression that he had failed them all.

With a sigh, he strode through the organised chaos of the dock, between coiled ropes, lobster pots, crates and junk, toward the main street that climbed the hill to the top of the town. Even with his uniform dirty and torn and showing signs of the awful events it had witnessed, the people of M’Dahz parted as he passed, many nodding their respect to him, an act that merely heightened his unhappiness.

He passed through the main square where they had burned Pelasian flags so long ago, crossing diagonally and continuing up the slope as it steepened. The searing sun was hidden in these streets by the age old means of stringing blankets and rugs across between the upper storeys.

His heart sank like an anchor in the sea of his soul as he reached the end of the long street and strode out at a military march into the plaza before the governor’s compound. Despite their childhood vow to climb the roofs of these buildings, Ghassan had never stepped foot inside the compound yet, the closest being when he had collected Asima a week or more ago. Even then, he’d only spent an hour or two in the town.

The thought of his childhood friend… love?... Darkened his mood further if that were at all possible. Grinding his teeth, he approached the gate. Two white-uniformed guards stepped forward, their spears and shields reflecting the brilliant sunlight and creating random spots of dazzling white that danced around the shadows as they moved.

“Captain Ghassan of the Wind of God to see the governor.”

“You have an appointment?” asked one of the soldiers, his northern accent thick.

“No, but it is imperative that I see him urgently and, I fear, he will want to see me.”

The guard nodded and then conferred with his companion in his own language for a moment before turning back.

“Wait here.”

Ghassan nodded and stood silently, his gaze wandering over the buildings both inside the compound and out as he waited for what seemed an eternity. The white-clad guard effectively ignored him, standing stiff and proud by the gate.

With relief, perhaps five minutes later, Ghassan saw the guard emerge from a door on the far side of the compound and gesture, calling out. The guard in front of him gestured.

“You go in now.”

Ghassan saluted and marched across the compound. He had always hoped to see the inside of this place and now he found he couldn’t wait to get out of it. The closer he came to his meeting with the governor, the more convinced he became of the bleakness of the fate that awaited him. The new local governor in M’Dahz had seemed very straight and humourless at their last, brief meeting. Ghassan’s future career, livelihood, and even life, may well depend upon the decision or recommendation of this man. Ghassan realised he didn’t know the political structure enough to know how much power this lesser governor had when compared with that of the Provincial governor in Calphoris or his military commanders.

His heart pounding, Ghassan reached the doorway and was ushered inside by the guard, who escorted him in silence up one of the flights of stairs that framed the main hall.

The governor’s door was open and, as they approached, the white-clad guard gestured to him to enter. Making a futile gesture to tame the tangle of black curls on his head and straighten his jacket, Ghassan cleared his throat and entered the room.

The occupant was a tall and well dressed man with a long nose and piercing eyes, a foreigner, sent from Velutio to take control of M’Dahz. He also had a dangerous look. Ghassan swallowed nervously.

“Sir.” He came to attention and saluted.

The governor turned and stood against his desk, crossing his legs as he leaned back and folding his arms.

“Captain. I presume the news you bring is not good?”

Ghassan shook his head and had to fight for the words, momentarily wishing he’d taken Samir up on his offer. Duty must be done, though.

“I beg to report, my lord, the loss of the Wind of God and a small portion of her crew. Most of the men returned with me and await further instructions at the docks.”

The governor tapped his finger on his lips.

“I felt certain you had not made it to Velutio and back in this short time. Pray tell me what happened to the most renowned vessel in the Calphorian fleet and where your charge, the lady Asima, is at this time?”

Ghassan swallowed again. There was an edge to the man’s voice that spoke volumes, regardless of his almost casual words.

“Regretfully, sir, we fell prey to pirates.”

He winced. This was a moment of defining character, he realised. Did he take on the full responsibility himself? The situation had been unfortunate and largely beyond his control. The truth was less noble and considerably less believable. But then, Asima deserved anything that life threw at her now… or that Ghassan threw.

“The lady Asima, in an effort to prevent us achieving our mission, sabotaged the ship and left us unable to manoeuvre when the pirates appeared. We were not in a position to take them on, sir.”

“And may I ask if you identified your attackers?”

Ghassan sighed.

“Yes, sir. It was captain Samir of the Dark Empress.”

The governor nodded knowingly.

“I’m sure you realise just how irregular all of this appears, captain Ghassan. I would normally have to decide between disciplinary courses of action to take against you for the loss of a ship and an important passenger. However, given that both said passenger and the captain of your attackers are old acquaintances of yours, other questions are raised and I fear that we have now surpassed my jurisdiction.”

Ghassan nodded professionally.

“I can see how this must appear, my lord…”

“Be silent!” the governor hissed. “You will be very lucky to escape this debacle with your head on your shoulders, captain. At any rate, I will pass along my recommendation to my superiors in Calphoris that you be dishonourably discharged from the force without pay or benefits and possibly banished from the province.”

Ghassan shook slightly, trying to hold himself straight.

“Sir…”

“That is all, captain Ghassan and be grateful that I am a merciful man. The lord who trained me in Velutio would have recommended execution for such a failure and given the dubious circumstances surrounding it.”

Ghassan straightened and saluted.

“Yessir.”

The governor glared at him.

“You have family in M’Dahz I believe? A home here? I’m sure I’ve seen it in the records.”

Ghassan blinked for a moment, unsure of the answer.

“There is a house that belonged to my mother if it still stands, sir. None of my family survived the occupation.”

“Very well. We’ll have the address on file, no doubt. Go there and stay until you are ordered otherwise. I will send a courier to Calphoris with the news and ask for the Marshal’s recommendation. When it is given, I will send for you.”

“Sir.”

“And do not think about leaving the city. Your name and description will be given to the army and the port authorities. I am releasing you on your honour on the understanding that you are still currently a serving officer and that no decision has yet been made. Stay out of trouble until you are sent for.”

Ghassan nodded and saluted.

“Now go.”

With a final salute, Ghassan turned on his heel and strode from the room. Without pausing or looking back, he marched down the stairs and across the hall; out through the doors and across the compound, into the plaza.

Those occupants of M’Dahz he passed shied out of the way of his fierce gaze and gritted teeth. Depression and despair had given way to something else as Ghassan left the compound: angry determination and a cold certainty.