Impossible Things (27 page)

‘Yes. The Emperor’s nephew has been kidnapped by Lady Samara. She appears to have captured the ship he was travelling on. The boy is three. The Emperor is understandably distressed. He requests your advice on how to deal with her.’

Ishtaer froze. ‘Samara?’

She looked like she was about to faint. Kael grabbed her arm without thinking. ‘Are you all right?’

Ishtaer shook herself free. ‘Yes. I’m fine.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Very well. When do we leave?’

She felt almost preternaturally calm. This morning when she woke up beside the man who had caused her to be sold into slavery, Ishtaer thought she couldn’t be any more shocked. Now she found herself packing for a trip of indeterminate length, calmly sorting prescriptions and preparations for the castle inhabitants and watching Eirenn write down instructions for Mags.

‘If Marta goes into labour before we return Mags should know what to do. And if there are complications send for old Moa from the village. Valtar’s mother. She told me at Midwinter she’s delivered twins and breech births and once performed a Caesarian. She can probably handle whatever happens.’

Eirenn dutifully wrote it down and Ishtaer closed her eyes and selected another jar from the shelf.

‘Do you know you’re doing that with your eyes closed?’

‘Yes. I don’t know what anything looks like. Now, this is for Smed’s hip. He should have no more than one teaspoon daily, no matter how bad it gets. More could set off his heart problem. Tell Mags that, under no circumstances should he have more.’

‘I’m sure she can handle this,’ Eirenn said. ‘She’s looked after things in the absence of a Healer before.’

‘I know,’ said Ishtaer. ‘I just need to … do something. Occupy my mind. Feel in control.’

‘Got it,’ said Eirenn. He turned and looked at her from under his fringe of dark hair. He was a very handsome boy, she realised – and she also acknowledged that he wasn’t a boy, any more than she was a girl.

And she was far too numb inside to think about it in terms any less dispassionate.

‘Are you sure you’re okay? I mean, you’ve had a pretty big shock. Two of them in fact.’

‘I’m fine,’ Ishtaer said automatically.

‘Fine? ’Cos we’re going off to fight the woman who had you starved and beaten for years.’

She shot him a glance. It still felt strange to be able to do so.

‘What do you know about that?’

‘Only what I’ve worked out. The state you were in. You were a skeleton when I met you. And you were terrified of everything.’

Ishtaer stared at the wall past his head. It was white. It held a chart of human anatomy. It was flanked by shelves of jars and drawers. It was a wall she’d walked past countless times and yet had no idea what it looked like.

‘Whatever you’ve imagined,’ she said, ‘it will be worse. Much, much worse. I promise you.’

They left the next day, after the
Grey Ghost
had been carefully brought out of her winter berth and refitted overnight. Most of the castle seemed to think they were insane, but Aquilinia assured them their journey would not be troubled by bad weather.

‘Keep close to the coast,’ she said. ‘The icebergs rarely form there. I foresee no storms. Provisions can be taken on board in Ilanium. Just take what is necessary for the journey.’

‘Are you not coming?’ Ishtaer asked as she stepped into the row boat and Aquilinia remained on shore.

‘No. His Lordship has engaged me on a further task. I will meet you in Ilanium. Take care, my lady.’

She curtseyed and Ishtaer did the same, and then the boat was being rowed towards the pirate ship with the human skin on its hull, away from Skjultfjell, away from Durran and Garik who leapt up and down waving, away from the only safety she’d ever known.

She stood at the rail, watching Skjultfjell disappear behind the cat’s-paw rocks that shielded the harbour from the sea. Kael watched with her, and when there was nothing but rock to see, he said, ‘Is it how you imagined?’

She glanced up at him. ‘Skjultfjell? I’m not sure I did imagine it. I didn’t expect it would be so hidden from view, though.’

‘That’s deliberate. Back when it was just a longhouse it was turf-roofed and set into the depression at the top of the hill. Until my great-grandfather built the lower courtyard all you could see of the whole place was an arrow slit or two, carefully disguised as a depression in the rock. The harbour seemed to shelter nothing more than a small fishing village.’

‘Very … defensive.’ She stared at the rocks. ‘You’re the lord of all Krulland, aren’t you?’

‘I am.’

‘Don’t you want a big castle to show off to people? Why do you hide?’

He frowned, affronted. ‘I don’t hide. Lord Krull doesn’t hide. I adopt a defensive position.’

‘You hide,’ she said, turning to face him. ‘You hide your castle and you hide your family. Have your sons ever left Skjultfjell? Have they even been as far as Utgangen?’

‘I told you,’ he said, riled now, ‘they’re targets. I can’t risk someone using them to hurt me.’

Your child will die to save you.

‘So you pretend to the world that they don’t even exist? You never listed them in the Book of Names. Mags told me your mother is still alive and living in a city the other side of Krulland. With your sister. And her children. And you haven’t seen them since they left Skjultfjell. You’ve never even met your niece and nephew.’

‘They’re targets too! If my enemies knew who my mother was—’

‘And what about me?’

Her question cut him off and he stared down at her, dark hair whipping across those pale eyes.

‘You said you didn’t want to possess me. If you married me would you keep me locked up in Skjultfjell?’

Every instinct in him screamed that yes, he damn well should, lock her away from anyone who ever wanted to hurt her. But every part of him knew he couldn’t.

‘We had this conversation—’

‘Would you? Can I fight for myself, is that why I’m allowed out?’

‘Well, yes of course you can, and the boys are just children—’

‘Not forever. They’ll grow up and want to know why they can’t join your Horde and learn to fight and leave the castle and visit the world. What if they’re Chosen? In a few years they could manifest marks of their own. Then what will you do?’

‘I don’t bloody know, Ishtaer, stop asking me questions like this!’

She tilted her head and gave him a knowing look. It irritated him beyond belief.

That was his excuse for saying what he said next.

‘What does it have to do with you anyway? They’re my sons, not yours.’

The shutters dropped down across her face and she stepped back. Damn, damn!

‘I mean,’ he caught her arm as she turned away, ‘I didn’t mean that. If you married me—’

Ishtaer shook herself free. ‘Whatever makes you think I’d marry you?’ she said coolly, and walked away.

For five days the journey was uneventful. They sailed down the coast of Krulland and across the channel to the Ilania mainland, suffering no worse than a thunderstorm. Ishtaer stayed on deck throughout, and Kael realised she was actually sleeping up there as well, in a hammock, and not in the cabin he’d given her. He’d have protested that it was too cold, but right now he didn’t need reminding about Ishtaer and her feelings on ships’ cabins.

Two days away from Ilanium the lookout spied a small boat with a curved prow and square sail. Nobody thought anything of it, until another boat joined it, and another.

And then a huge warship with two sails and three banks of oars and a prow shaped like a battering ram suddenly appeared from behind a small island off the north coast of Ilanium.

‘What the
hell
is that?’ said Eirenn, eyes wide.

Kael stared at the thing. ‘A trireme.’ At the kid’s expression, he added, ‘Old-fashioned galley. Three rows of oars. Fast in a straight line but hell over long distances. Unfortunately,’ he added, unsheathing his sword and taking the stairs to the main deck two at a time, ‘also terrific at ramming other ships.’

‘Ramming? Did you say ramming? They’re going to ram us?’

‘Hard starboard! Battle stations!’ Kael yelled, his crew already ahead of him. ‘Archers ready!’

‘But, hold on, how do you know they’re going to ram us? They might just … be sailing in that direction.’

‘At that speed? Starboard, I said! Leave the cannons, we need to be head on! Face the buggers! We show them our side they’ll tear a hole in it!’

He raced past the crew on the deck, nodding at Verak and leaping up to the quarterdeck where Ishtaer stood clutching Brutus’s collar, her eyes wide, her face drip white.

‘Ishtaer. Ish! Get the dog below decks. Do it! He’ll be no damn use if it comes to fighting.’

She was staring past him at the rapidly approaching galley.

‘Ishtaer, can you hear me?’

She pointed. ‘The sail,’ she said. ‘Look at the sail.’

He glanced back impatiently. ‘What about it?’ Now the ship was a little closer he could see the design on the largest sail. A stylised S.

He whipped his head back to Ishtaer, who pushed back her sleeve and showed him her arm, where the same design had been branded into her skin.

‘It can’t be,’ he said.

‘It is. That’s how they got the boy, isn’t it?’ He looked back at the boat. No one used galleys any more; they were slower than sailing ships and had a much smaller capacity for cargo. Where the hell had Samara got hers from? And who was crewing it?

‘Burn them,’ Kael said, turning to give the order to locate the carefully packed devil’s fire.

‘No! What if the Emperor’s nephew is being held on that ship?’

‘Two days from Ilanium? Why would they hang around?’

‘They’re here for some reason.’

‘Yeah, to stop us following.’

Kael looked at Ishtaer, her colour returning, her hand on her sword hilt. She looked brave and terrified all at the same time.

‘Right,’ he said. ‘Cannons ready!’ he yelled. ‘We go alongside and broadside them! Prepare for boarding!’ To Ishtaer he said, ‘You coming?’

She squared her shoulders and handed Brutus’s collar to Eirenn. ‘Of course.’

Samara’s ship swerved too late to ram them, and Kael’s archers took out quite a few men on deck. Ishtaer scanned the sailors, trying to catch a glimpse of a dark-haired woman, but if Samara was on board then she was well hidden.

Beside her, Eirenn fired off another volley of arrows. He was phenomenally quick and deadly accurate. She saw at least three men fall to his shots.

‘I’ll have to get practising with my new bow,’ she said, attempting to conceal her jangling nerves.

‘Sure, in a week you’ll probably out-shoot me,’ Eirenn said, taking a fourth man in the throat.

‘Stick to the sword for now,’ Kael said on her other side. A grapple hook lodged in the rail by his hand. He casually severed the rope with a single swipe. ‘You’re lethal close up.’

She wore no armour but the mail shirt she’d hurriedly pulled on. There had been no time to lace up a coif so she, like most of the men on board, was bareheaded. At her hip rode the sword she’d taken from Kael’s armoury when she first arrived at Skjultfjell. It wasn’t a magnificent jewelled longsword like Kael’s, but it was strong and sharp and that was all that mattered.

Her heart was beating like a drum.

Below her, cannons were firing at the trireme, but the other ship lay so much lower in the water that they didn’t do much good. Men from the trireme had begun to leap towards the
Grey Ghost
, shimmying up ropes and diving in through the gunwales when the cannons rocked back. She heard the yells and clash of steel from below. Brutus was locked in Kael’s cabin, where no doubt he was going insane.

If she thought about that, she didn’t have to think about the fight on her hands or the very real possibility that Samara was mere feet away from her.

Beside her, Kael swung around and swore. ‘Here we go,’ he said, and his hand very briefly touched her shoulder before he leapt off towards the enemy soldiers starting to pour onto the deck.

Ishtaer gripped her sword tight and raised it to fight. She never saw the blow that hit the back of her head.

Kael was rather enjoying himself.

It had been a while since he’d had a good knock-down fight. These soldiers didn’t fight politely or wait their turn to come at him one-on-one. They fought dirty, attacking like a swarm, hacking and slicing like madmen. Like, Kael thought with a fierce grin, he fought too.

He took out three before he had a chance to glance around for Ishtaer. He didn’t see her. Eirenn was there, bow abandoned, fighting hand-to-hand with some brute twice his size. As Kael watched, the lad darted away from a heavy sword-thrust, spun on his wooden leg, and used the momentum to slice his sword deep into his enemy. The man screamed and fell.

Kael grinned at Eirenn, and Eirenn grinned back.

Ishtaer woke in darkness and for a hideous, panicked moment thought she’d gone blind again. But no, there was light filtering in through a badly-fitting door, enough to illuminate the small chamber she was held in. Her wrists were manacled to a chain attached to the wall. Her sword was gone.

She was chained in the belly of the enemy boat.

The volcano rose up to meet her, rock burning her fingers as she held on.

And held on.

And began to climb.

Anger replaced panic. This whole raid had been planned against the ship, against her! Samara had sent this ship to find her and capture her and – what? Bring her back to the New Lands? Starve and beat and torture her again?

The rumble of cannon fire filtered down. Dust fell from the wooden ceiling. The walls trembled and rocked. Ishtaer looked around her for escape, for weapons, but there was nothing. Only one door, out of reach, and the chain that held her to the wall.

The heavy chain.

She glanced up. It was not attached to the wall, but ran through a metal ring securely bolted to the old, hard wood.

She twisted, planted her feet against the wall, and pulled hard. The metal groaned. Her wrists burned. The wood would not give. She kicked hard against the wall and threw her whole body weight into it, every ounce of strength she had, but the metal had been bolted on so long ago it was practically part of the wood now.

Sobbing with frustration, she slumped against the wall. Her wrists were attached to either end of a long chain. If she could just get one hand free, she could pull the chain through the loop and be free of the wall.

Ishtaer looked at her hands, at the edge of her Warrior mark on the right and the delicate Healer mark on the left.

The right hand was the stronger. Left it would be.

She braced herself, and dragged the thick manacle slowly towards her fingers, taking skin with it, feeling her bones crack one by one.

Kael yanked his sword free from a fat man who’d tried to cut off his head and kicked the body away. The fighting was dying down now. There were far fewer men on deck, and the noise from below was getting less and less. The enemy, realising they were both outnumbered and outclassed, were shrinking back.

In fact, when he turned around there was no one left to fight. Three men up against the ship’s rail. Two raised their hands in surrender. The third leapt overboard.

‘Verak! Round ’em up. Tie ’em in the bilges. We’ll let the Emperor decide what to do with them.’

Eirenn limped over beside him. He had a cut on his face but didn’t seem badly hurt. In fact, he looked exhilarated. ‘We won?’

‘Aye lad, we won. Were you in any doubt?’

Eirenn grinned. ‘I’ve never won a fight before.’

‘You were never on my side before.’ He clapped Eirenn on the shoulder. ‘Not over yet, though. We’ve still to secure their ship. Have you seen Ishtaer?’

Eirenn shook his head. ‘Bit busy trying to stop people killing me.’ He glanced around the deck. ‘She’s probably gone below. Brutus is probably going mental.’

Kael frowned. Ishtaer hated going below decks. Even the great cabin, accessed directly from the deck, was too confined for her.

‘She’ll be fine,’ Eirenn said, reading his face. ‘She’s a better fighter than I am. Than probably anyone else on the ship except you.’

‘Yeah, I know she’ll be fine,’ said Kael. ‘I’m just going to look for her …’

She leaned against the wall, breathing hard, her hand a mass of throbbing agony. Flesh shredded, bones pulped, blood pouring over her.

Ishtaer forced herself to concentrate on stemming the blood. She couldn’t heal it fully, not now. She had to get out first. She still had one good hand. And the chain would make a decent weapon until she could get a sword.

She was about to try the door when voices came from the other side of it.

‘… it’s her. How many other women have that mark on their face?’

‘Reckon she’s awake yet?’

‘Maybe. Maybe not. We can still have fun with her if she’s out cold.’

‘Will Ladyship mind?’

‘Nah, she told us to enjoy her.’

The last words came to Ishtaer through a red fog. The pain in her hand vanished, and every beat of her heart pumped fresh rage into her blood. Her right hand went up, gathering the chain with its loose, bloody manacle into a weapon to be swung.

When the door opened, she attacked.

She wasn’t in the captain’s cabin with her dog, who had shredded the bedclothes and nearly bit Kael’s hand off when he opened the door.

‘Where is she, boy? Where’s Ishtaer?’

Brutus whined anxiously. Wolf or not, he behaved like a damn dog.

‘Help me find her,’ he said to Brutus, who might have understood or might not, but he bounded up onto the deck, sniffing at pools of blood, growling at enemy soldiers. Kael followed, but Ishtaer was nowhere to be seen.

He dragged Brutus away and down the companionway, shouting Ishtaer’s name. ‘Have you seen her?’ he asked every one of his own men. No one had.

She wasn’t on the spar deck. She wasn’t on the gun deck. She wasn’t on the berth deck. Kael started to panic.