Light of Eidon (Legends of the Guardian-King, Book 1) (19 page)

Again that wild impatience surged up in her. She had thought the voyage
here was agony, but it was nothing compared to this frustration of being
forced to wait in idleness and speculation while others acted somewhere out
of sight. Surely Kinlock was ashore by now. Perhaps even making contact
with his friends. Perhaps at this very moment he was discovering Abramm in
their possession and it would all end soon. Or perhaps not. Perhaps the
friends knew nothing. Perhaps …

She swallowed the rising emotion and wrenched herself back under control, lifting the scope to begin a deliberate search of the men on the beach,
studying each tiny figure as carefully as she could.

“He won’t be out there, milady,” Danarin said beside her. “It’s been two
days at least since he arrived-probably more.”

Gritting her teeth against the sharp remark that sprang to her tongue, she
continued studying the men, searching out the blond heads among them and
glad they were far away. “Do they bring them out there every day?”

“Pretty much. Especially this time of year. They’ll auction them off this
afternoon.”

“What about the slaves no one buys?” She did not know if there were
any, but it seemed a likely possibility.

He shifted beside her, a whisper of fabric on fabric and a clink of gold
chain. “Oh, they go out to the salt flats, I’d imagine. Or the galley ships.”

She glanced aside at the five black, long-prowed galleys bobbing at anchor
not a stone’s throw off the port bow. Narrower than Windbird across the
beam, each sported a tall, curving stern with a red awning stretched across its
quarterdeck. The foredeck stood bare to the sun, cargo lashed to the rails and
down the middle of the main deck. Along the sides of the hull, she could see
the slaves’ faces through the gaps from which the big oars protruded. With
the latter now lifted just above the water and those long, pointed prows, the
galleys looked like a flock of malevolent, winged sea serpents.

She swallowed the hot lump of anxiety that had risen in her throat.
Surely he wouldn’t be there. Anyone with eyes could see he’d never survive
as a galley slave. But would he do any better in the salt flats?

She swallowed again and returned to her study of the beach. We’ll just
have to find him in time, that’s all.

Oh, please let him be with the merchants. Or even the bureaucrats.

A crewman approached to report the not unexpected disappearance of
their stowaway, a boy they’d discovered some four days out of Springerlan.
No doubt more than a few of the men on board had gotten their start at sea
the same way. Abramm himself had attempted it once, shortly before he’d
entered the Mataio, only to be thwarted by his bodyguard’s last-minute intervention.

The odd thing about this stowaway was that for some reason he’d brought
along his dog-a huge, grizzled bloodhound. Perhaps it was his only friend.
She’d assumed the beast had been thrown overboard, but from what the
crewman was saying to Danarin now, she guessed not.

The man left with orders to call off the search, and Danarin sighed beside
her. “He was probably in the longboat when it went ashore for supplies. Hiding under the tarp.” He shook his head. “I hate it when they get off free like
this.”

“You don’t think he paid for his passage, sir?”

A caning and a few weeks’ hard work is nothing, milady. Certainly not
enough to discourage others from seeking to do likewise. And if we don’t
discourage them, they’ll be on us like a plague of rats.”

He had braced both elbows on the quarterdeck railing and was looking
up at Windbird’s three bared masts. He wore no blouse under the green vest,
and though his muscular arms had, in their first week at sea, been ravaged by
the sun, now they rippled coppery tan in the morning light. Gold armbands
gleamed a warm accent, and an emerald stud glinted in his right ear. Tendrils
of black hair blown free of his short seaman’s pigtail danced against the narrow beard that edged his jaw and mouth to undeniable advantage.

For all she disliked him, there were times looking at him made her shiver
with delight. The reaction annoyed her so deeply it usually sent her scurrying
to the big stern cabin that served as her quarters, where she might take herself
to task for her foolishness.

The man had hired on the very morning Windbird had sailed from Springerlan, replacing his predecessor, who’d broken a leg in a barroom brawl
the night before. That alone roused the suspicion he was the king’s man, but
when she coupled it with the ease with which they’d slipped out of Springerlan and the absence of any subsequent pursuit, her suspicion became near
certainty.

Kinlock accused her of making sharks out of dolphins, since men came
aboard under such circumstances all the time, but she didn’t care. She saw
the way Danarin worked himself into the captain’s good graces. She noted his
tactful manipulations and keen sensitivity to the reactions of others…. He’d
be a marvel at court. Probably was, or Raynen wouldn’t have sent him. It
gave her some small satisfaction to be alone among those he courted to realize it and resist. Even if some idiot part of her did insist on shivering when
she looked at him.

As if sensing that very shiver, he glanced at her now, his brown eyes laughing into her own. The smile broke across his tanned face, and she tore her
gaze away, hot cheeked, railing at herself all over again. She felt some bit of
satisfaction to see, out of the corner of her eye, his smile fade. He was still
looking at her, however, and she was on the verge of sweeping off to her cabin
when he spoke.

“You are very brave, milady, for all you are a mystery. I do not know many
women who would’ve dared what you’ve dared. Certainly not many Kiriathan women.”

She flushed the more under his praise, telling herself he was only trying
to manipulate her again and refusing to give any weight to the warm pleasure
his words sent rushing through her. Shrugging, she said, “I was going to Thilos
anyway.”

“Thilos, not Qarkeshan. Northern women don’t come to Qarkeshan anymore. Too many have disappeared.”

“So I’ve been told,” she said wryly, recalling the lengthy arguments she’d
had with Cooper, her retainer, over the matter. Cooper stood behind her now,
straddle-legged, armed, and alert. If she glanced at him, she would probably
be rewarded with an infuriating look of smugness.

“It’s said,” Danarin went on, “that many a black Brogai veil hides golden
hair and blue eyes these days.”

She snorted, as much for Cooper’s benefit as Danarin’s. “Rumors, sir. Nothing more.” She glanced at him with narrowed eyes. “Are you trying to
frighten me, Master Danarin?”

He drew back. “Why would I want to do that, milady?”

A good question, sir. Perhaps because you wish to discourage me?”

“Discourage you?” He smiled that bone-melting smile. “I doubt very
much that I could. Perhaps I seek only to caution you.” He glanced over his
shoulder at the nearby galleys, his meaning clear.

The smile faded and he drew himself up straighter, frowning. “Well.
Looks like our Esurhite neighbors are finally stirring.”

Mahogany-skinned men in dark tunics had been lounging under the deck
awning of the closest vessel for most of the morning. Now the emergence on
deck of a man in a long purple tunic brought them standing to attention as
he consulted with one of them. They seemed to be discussing Windbird, for
they were clearly looking at her, the midday sunlight flashing off the gold in
their ears. Now and again one would gesture in her direction, and finally the
man in purple drew out a telescope and aimed it at Carissa.

Startled by this blatant intrusion on her privacy, she fancied she could
almost see the man’s eye through the dark circle of the lens. Then Danarin
moved between them, blocking her view with his.

“Perhaps you would care to retire to your cabin now, milady?”

“Surely you don’t seriously-“

“We do lack a full crew at present. He apparently does not.”

“But he already knows I’m here, so what-“

“We don’t know what he knows, milady. Or what he thinks.” He paused,
dark eyes boring into her own. “Certainly the more opportunity he has to
study you, the greater will be his temptation.” He paused again. “You are a
very beautiful woman.”

The shiver ran through her again. No one had ever told her she was beautiful before. Not like this, anyway. There had been nothing dry and objective
in that declaration. Even now his eyes burned into her own, stirring up that
exasperating heat.

She swallowed, then stepped back to glance again at the Esurhite. He still
had the glass on them, as if he had known his patience would be rewarded.
She backed into the shelter of Danarin’s screening form, hoping the movement looked casual. He wouldn’t dare to attack Windbird here, would he?
Not in broad daylight with all these other vessels about.

But … it was said that galleys like these owned the southland seas. That
they prowled the mist-bound waters, boarding whatever ship they wished,
taking whatever they wished, all at the great Beltha’adi’s behest. If so, how
much power would Qarkeshanian authorities have over them?

A sense of acute vulnerability washed through her.

She lifted her chin, still unwilling that Danarin should see her unease.
“Perhaps you are right. It is nearly time for dinner, anyway.” It was on her
tongue to invite him to join her, a not irregular invitation, given their respective stations. She caught herself just in time, but he saw it all the same, dark
eyes laughing into her own. With a hmph, she caught up her skirts and fled
to her cabin, her man, Cooper, following silently.

To her surprise it was Cooper who served her meal a little while later.

“Where’s Doughty?” she demanded as he set the plate of boiled beef and
biscuit before her. “Why isn’t Doughty serving?”

“He’s ashore, milady,” Cooper said, standing tableside, army-erect, dark
eyes straight ahead. He wore his graying hair and beard cropped short, military style, and though he was well into his forties, he was still strong and
vigorous, a man whose life and duty had centered on the task of keeping her
safe since her earliest childhood. “Procuring supplies, I believe,” he added.
“Unless the captain’s got him looking for the prince, too.”

“Oh.” She pushed at the stringy meat with her fork. “I don’t suppose
there’s been any word or sign.”

“No, ma’am.” They were under orders to bring her word immediately if
there was, so this was no surprise.

`And the Esurhites?”

“Their master appears to have gone below.”

“Or possibly ashore.”

“I think not.”

She frowned at the meat and pushed it again.

“His men are keeping a close eye on us, milady. I would recommend you
not venture on deck until Windbird’s crew returns.”

She stifled a most unladylike curse and stabbed at the meat. “I can’t
believe I’ve come all the way to Qarkeshan only to be held prisoner in my
own cabin?”

“Better that than the inside of one of those galleys.”

She snorted bitterly. ‘As if that could be any worse than what I’ve already suffered at the hands of my dear husband.”

His dark brows drew together. “It could and it would. Bad as Rennalf
acted, he was restrained by the fact you are a princess of Kiriath.” He tilted
his head toward the port bulkhead. “Those men would see you as only a
slave, to use however they wish. I don’t think you even begin to comprehend
what that would mean.”

“Of course I comprehend it!”

He cocked a dubious brow. “So you did notice the women standing on
that beach today when you were sweeping it with the scope? Standing among
the men, every bit as bare?”

Heat flooded into her cheeks. She had seen them, just not really noticed
them. Bad enough to think of Abramm out there.

“I know what Rennalf did was inexcusable,” he murmured. “By the
Flames, I know it! But it was nothing compared to what would happen to you
in Esurhite hands.” He paused. `Are you aware the Brogai customarily share
their women with any who guest in their homes?”

Her entire face was flaming now, and she could no longer meet his eyes.

After a moment he said softly, “Is that why you’re doing all this? To get
away from him?”

It was the wrong thing to say. Instant anger burned away her embarrassment, and she rounded on him fiercely.

“Abramm has been sold into slavery, Cooper! How is it you keep forgetting that? How is it you keep forgetting that if I don’t free him, no one will?
It has nothing to do with Rennalf!” She leaned away from the table, frowning
up at him. “Why do you keep haranguing me about this? If you didn’t want
to save Abramm, too, why didn’t you go straight to the king when I first told
you my plans?”

He wasn’t looking at her anymore, his swarthy face gone gray, short
whiskers bristling over his jaw as he clenched his teeth. For a moment he
looked almost stricken; then the blood rushed back into his face and anger
knit his brow.

It was a low blow she’d dealt him and she knew it. By rights he should
have told the king-honor demanded it, and Cooper was nothing if not honorable. That he hadn’t clearly still played havoc with his conscience.

She laid a hand on the man’s arm, drawing his eyes back to her. “We are
going to rescue him, Coop. Kinlock will find him, and as soon as he does, we’ll head home and it will all have been worth it.”

If anything the scowl deepened and his face went darker. As you say,
milady.” He straightened his shoulders and returned his gaze to the stern window. “Will there be anything else?”

She studied him a moment, rankled anew by his prickliness. “Yes. I’d like
some more of my books. Peoples of the Southland, Gavilan’s History of Ophir,
oh, and The Song of Gaishar Murin. I haven’t read that one in a while.”

A crease formed between his brows. “Those are all packed away in the
hold, milady. It’ll take hours-“