Exiles of Forlorn (10 page)

“I’m no wizard.” The smile was gone as he finished filling his lavender sack. We stood together. He was taller than me, almost as tall as Antioc. He slung the strap of his bag over his shoulder. “These are my notes, research, tomes of interest . . .”

“Oh, ashes!” That came from a crackly little voice below both our heads. We looked down together and beheld a filthy child with soot-stained feet. “You haven’t gots anything in that pretty sack but books n’ papers?”

Uller winced at the little urchin. “What business is it of yours what I’ve got in my sack?”

“I been following you since the pier thinkin’ a fancy sack like that has to have something special in it. You wasted my whole day.” He pointed a filthy little finger at me. “I’d have been fairer off to follow this one.”

I gave him a confused look. “I don’t even have a pretty sack.”

“No but you’re dressed better.”

“Why were you following me?” Uller cut in. “Were you planning to rob me?”

“Was gonna. Not now though. Since you ain’t got nothing valuable in there.”

That got me to laugh.

“Nothing valuable?” Uller faced him with a scowl. “These books, these notes, they hold the sum total of my understanding of the composition of the Universe. Only a black-footed little heathen like you would find them lacking in value.”

“You ain’t gotta be a boar about it!” The urchin stomped one of his sooty feet. “I didn’t say they wasn’t valuable, they just weren’t valuable to me. What good’s a book to a man who cain’t read?”

“Oh, well . . .” Uller’s pale cheeks flushed as he looked penitently at his own feet. “I guess I should have known. Wait, you’ve been following me since the pier? How have I not seen you?”

“I’m good at not being seen.”

Uller crooked an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe. I have a greatly attuned sense of observation, and it seems unlikely you’d have been pattering about without me having some inclination of your presence.”

“Greyly atturned? I’ve been standing here watching you two hens peck for the last four minutes.” He put his hands on his hips and gave us a crooked smile. “It ain’t hard to padfoot upon a man if he’s got his eyes in the sky and his head up his bum.”

I was about to say that the black-footed little heathen had him there when I caught a glimpse of raven hair flowing further up the deck. She drifted like a swan on the water around the corner of a cabin. If I didn’t pursue immediately, I might lose her again. I excused them to their blossoming camaraderie and scampered down the deck toward the object of my desire. But when I reached the place I’d seen her, she was gone. Slippery little minx, it was as if she knew she was being—

“Why are you following me?” said the voice of the girl with the dagger to my throat.

I held as still as possible at the end of her blade. “Following? I’m just a humble passerby . . .”

“Jetsam!”

I had no idea what that meant.

“You’ve had your eyes upon me since I set boots on this junker. I make way for aft deck and you come about on my stern with all the grace of a crippled bear. Why?”

“I . . . what?”

She grabbed my arm and pushed me at blade’s edge against the cabin wall. Her body pressed closer, pinning me to the salt-worn wood. My nostrils were at once filled with her scent. Flowery without being weak, female without being gentle. That was to say nothing of her skin, what I could feel of it was soft and taut, like a doll, but ribbed by lines of muscles and tattoos. How could something so beautiful be so powerful and intimidating?

“Why are you following me?” The words came out as a hiss between her teeth.

“I confess to the watching, but the following is mere serendipity. I just happened to be going this way.”

“Fine. Why were you watching me?”

I made my lips curl into what I hoped was my most charming of smiles. “You’re simply too lovely to ignore, madam. My name is Lew; what’s yours?”

She narrowed her bright blue eyes and made a narrow slit of her plump lips. It was a look from her I would come to know well in the coming weeks. It did get her to lighten up on the blade. For about a second.

“I’m not the only woman on this ship.”

“No, you’re not, but you are by far the lovlie─”

“Stow that flotsam! How do I know you’re not a pirate hunter come to seek the bounty on me?”

I crooked an eyebrow. “You’re a pirate?” I felt a sting on my throat as the blade crossed a line in my neck. “I didn’t know you were a pirate, I just knew you were pretty.” Where the Daevas was Antioc? This was exactly the sort of thing he was supposed to prevent. “Let’s think about this rationally: were I a bounty hunter in search of prey, wouldn’t I be better at stalking you?”

She gave me a pensive stare. Her guard withdrew a bit. “You make a compelling point, Lew. You’re far too cumbersome in the step to be a pirate hunter.” Her eyes tilted to the side a bit. “Unlike your man here.” I followed her eyes to the side and found Antioc looming like a big, sweaty tower. “He was almost quiet enough to get close enough to stop me from cutting your throat.”

“I am more than close enough. Say the word and I break her neck, Lew.”

“You want to gamble on that, big one?”

“No,” I interjected. It was my throat at stake. “He does not. We do not. This is all just a misunderstanding.”

“He looks strong, your man.”

“I prefer you not call him that.”

“But is he fast? Fast enough to cross the stride and break my neck before I slice into yours?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Antioc. Doesn’t matter? How possibly could my neck not matter? It was my neck he was sworn to protect. “Either way it will be the last thing you do, river pirate.”

At least
he
knew she was a pirate. Somehow . . . 

“Then come at me, fighter.” She said it to him but looked at me. “Let’s see how it rolls out.” That was the first time I saw her grin. My river pirate had no doubts. The unsure look on Antioc’s face gave me little doubt as well.

“Let’s reconsider all this.” Sweat ran down my brow and dripped from my nose. “No one really wants to see how all this ‘rolls out.’”

“Says you,” came a familiar, scratchy little voice. Beyond Antioc, in the shadow of a mast, stood the urchin and my new friend from Magespire.

Uller nodded slowly. “I put odds on the pretty one.”

“He’s not so pretty.”

“I was talking about—”

“I’m not a bounty hunter!” The edge pressed closer. I couldn’t tell if it was sweat or blood running down the blade as it glided slowly across my throat. Antioc looked as if to advance, but I stopped him with a pair of wide, almost shaking eyes. “What can I say to convince you I’m not a bounty hunter?”

“Oh, he’s no bounty hunter.” Uller waved his hand.

“How do you know?” She wouldn’t take her eyes off me.

“He’s a noble. Or he was. No noble would ever lower himself to collecting bounties.”

Her eyes became slits. “How do you know he’s not just pretending to be a noble? He could have bought those clothes. Or stolen them.”

Uller chuckled. “Fair enough, but only a noble would have had private tutors to speak
Old Balorahn
; or even know what the
Tolkirk Sagas
were.”

“You know he knows of these things?”

“Indeed.” I nodded as hard as I could without incurring the wrath of her dagger. “We had a lengthy discussion about them before I started following you.”

She grinned and withdrew the blade. I relaxed and grabbed my throat, feeling for cuts. None found, I let out a deep sigh as she slipped the short, thin blade back under her dress. Antioc stepped closer, but I stopped him with a nod. He kept his fingers tight, like handfuls of tense little snakes.

“I thought you said you weren’t following me?”

“That was a lie. How by all the Daevas did you get a blade past the searches?”

She stepped back and put her hands on her hips. “There are some places on a girl’s body that give even the most stalwart of searchers pause to tread.” She looked at Antioc. “What’s your man’s name?”

“Antioc,” I answered. “I thought I asked you not to call him that. You still haven’t given us—”

“Reiwyn.” She tossed the name from her mouth like she never gave its sound a moment’s thought. Its melody was captivating, but her attention was on Antioc. “You knew I was a river pirate? How?”

“Your tattoos. I fought river pirates at Breakneck Bend.”

She nodded. “That was old Snarltooth’s fleet.”

“I boarded Captain Snarltooth’s ship personally.” He pointed to a scar on his arm. “Took a crossbow bolt here.” He lifted his shirt and showed a long, thin mark across his muscular belly. “Saber strike here. Didn’t even notice until the fighting was done.”

“You tangled with the crew of the
Intolerable Shadow
and lived? You must be as tough as you look.”

A creeping grin ruined Antioc’s countenance. “Tougher.”

She grinned and ran her eyes over his meaty arms and chest. “I bet.”

“Well, Madam Reiwyn, it is certainly a pleasure to meet you.” Best I take back the reigns. I gave her a courtly bow, hoping she’d be impressed. She did not seem to be. “I am Lew. This would be Uller.”

“Uller Unthergoren of Magespire.” He stepped forward and gave his own courtly bow. “Former First Apprentice of the Great Cortis the Undaunted of the Arcane College of Magespire. At your service, Madam Reiwyn.” I saw a familiar glimmer in his eye, one I thought likely to be seen in my own were I to chance upon a mirror. The river pirate seemed as impressed with his bow as mine.

And so it began.

“It’s just Reiwyn. No madam.” She leaned over and met eyes with the short urchin, smiling. “And what are you called?” Her voice took on a slight squeak, like my sisters’ did when they talked to a colt or puppy.

“I’m called a lot of things, pendin’ on the hour and the day.”

“Well, what are you called today?”

His grin doubled in size. “Blackfoot.”

Uller covered his face and deflated with a sigh. It was all I could do to stifle a laugh.

8.

T
he Sand King’s yurt was the biggest residence in the colony. I figured he thought he was important, so he got the biggest house. It was one big room like most of the others. This one had heavy boards elevated from the ground on stakes for the floor. In the middle of the hut sat a rough table flanked by hewn chairs made of bamboo and palm wood. An open trap in the ceiling offered daylight. Nights were likely illuminated by the numerous homespun candles lying around in halved coconut shells.

There were two small living areas in the room. One was so full of books it looked like there would be no room for sleeping. That one no doubt belonged to the Sand King. I imagined Uller would be happy to get a look at some of those worn tomes. The other living area was full of bones and animal hides. That must have been where Sharkhart slept. I hadn’t realized they shared a yurt until then. I guess they really were inseparable, much like Antioc and me; he’d accompanied me despite my insistence that only I had been invited. He gave some clapwad about my safety.

Really, I think he just wanted to show off his new toy. Antioc had taken the rock he’d found in the riverbed, and subsequently brained a glutton with, and lashed it to the end of the wood club he’d taken off the dead body of the same. It had been a short weapon for the giant, but even without the addition of the stone head it almost required two hands for Antioc to wield. The shaft he’d wrapped with a leather strap, which he could unfurl a bit and use as a sling to carry the weapon when he wasn’t using it to crush things.

“Impressive,” I’d said when he showed it to me that morning. “You’ve managed to improve upon not only the rock, but the club as well. You should apply for a royal patent before someone else muddles one of these things together.” I sounded only slightly sardonic when I said it, so Antioc either didn’t notice or pretended not to. Same result either way.

“It’ll crush a skull.” Antioc ran his hands over the wood to the tight coils of rope and sinew at the end. “That’s enough.”

“I thought you fought with a spear?”

“Only in formation.” He spun the weapon about his arms and shoulders with surprising alacrity. I stepped back instinctively as the stone head whooshed through the air. “When I was sent out as a skirmisher, I always favored a war hammer.” He finished up his flourishes with a step forward and a downward swing. The stone head stopped in the air at the end of the club, his big hands turning red from the grip at the other. That he could swing such a hefty weapon was impressive; stopping in mid-swing like that, without losing his balance, his legs and back holding their combined weight, was even more so. It brought a series of “oohs” and “ahhs” from the more easily impressed colonists who’d stopped to watch him. Antioc grinned.

“Done showing off your big stick?”

“I think so.”

“His majesty awaits.” I gestured to the big straw-thatched yurt at the end of the rutted path. Off we went.

“I thought we’d had done with you mocking my stone.” He didn’t look at me as he spoke. I don’t think his feelings were hurt, but then how would I possibly know? “You even apologized for it.”

“Indeed. That was before I knew you intended to mount it on a cudgel.”

“What difference does the mounting make?”

“It makes it a whole new device, separate from the rock alone, and therefore must stand merit against fresh derision.”

“It will exceed merit, and you’ll be humbled into retraction.”

“We shall see.”

Arn’s yurt was one of the only ones elevated on poles, and therefore required a short set of stairs leading up to the entrance. It also had a deck that surrounded the eastern edge. It served as a stage on the occasions that the Sand King needed to address the colony. When we reached the stairs, Antioc let me take the first steps.

We were met at the entry by Sharkhart. The red-skinned savage gave us both a blank look before lifting the hide flap. We stepped in. Our feet made the wood floors creak, more so under Antioc. Sharkhart slipped in behind us, though his bare feet made little noise despite his size. We had a few seconds to survey the contents of the Sand King’s royal abode before we were met by the man himself.