Oathen (18 page)

“I see.”

She turned. “Do you?”

“I seem to recall that the prince I was sent
out here to watch over has sailed away with lawless pirates toward
a realm filled with evil magics, and he didn’t bother to ask
whether I minded.”

Anjoya lowered her gaze and smiled. “You do
see. At least you don’t think you’re in love with
Geret.”

“No. Though it’s possible that Sanych elTiera
holds that opinion for herself.”

“Really now. I thought that was somewhat
forbidden in your culture.”

“It is.”

“Poor girl. She should have fallen for one of
the local Hyndi lads.”

Runcan grinned. “She might have, if one of
them had constantly loitered around her library door, offering to
help out with her favorite project.”

She smiled. “Geret has a hard time with
subtle, I notice.”

“Indeed. Unlike Kemsil, who managed to play
two games at once upon the moment of our meeting. The man would do
well in Vinten politics.”

“If he lives,” Anjoya added in a faint
voice.

Gasps caught their attention: Ha’Hril was in
sight.

The crowd alternated between a low buzz of
speculation and silence as the
Shoon
made its way closer to
the volcano. A steady, pale plume of ash rose from the island,
whose body seemed lost in a haze of dim mist.

Closer still, the watching crowd could make
out a spire of rock rising from the island.

A body pressed close to Anjoya; she looked
over to see Soli, eyes smudged from crying, peering toward the
island.

“You came after all,” she said to the young
woman.

“My family was there. They probably still are,
somewhere.”

Anjoya put her arm around Soli, and together
they watched the island draw closer. Though its entire surface was
a monochromatic buff color, and all sign of the endless toothspice
plantations had been erased, many who had claimed that the island
was intact began crowing that they had been right all along.
Relieved sighs spread across the deck.

Then the
Shoon
passed the mountain’s
spire, and the eastern side of Ha’Hril came into view.

Or rather, it didn’t.

The eastern half of Heren Garil Sa was gone.
The ash plume rose from open vents all along the sheer cliff face.
Where its eastern foothills used to be—where Meena had once dug out
a mysterious dark orb—there now existed a massive new crater which
had consumed all the land above it and eastward to the sea. The
whole eastern lobe of the island had been obliterated, leaving an
ash-soaked, round bay in its place.

No one spoke as the ship sailed past.
Ha’Lakkon’s distant dock area was unrecognizable; the entire
coastline was smothered in enormous drifts of ash. Grimy waves
slapped against newly formed sandbars a mile out from the island’s
shores, forcing the
Shoon
to slow.

As the
Shoon
and its gawking passengers
left the devastated island behind, Anjoya found herself far more
shaken than she’d anticipated. She turned to Runcan, feeling tears
of helplessness on her cheeks.

“What if Kemsil’s fate is just too large to
escape?”

~~~

A few days after the successful attack against
Swordfish, Sanych was sitting at Rhona’s table, staring unseeingly
at the open book before her, when Geret opened the door. She
slapped it shut, nearly knocking over the inkwell, then blushed.
“You startled me.”

“Sorry. I just came down to get something for
Rhona. I’ll be out of your way in a moment.” He slipped behind her
chair and through the red silk curtains.

Sanych huddled at the desk as he rummaged
around. She sighed despondently as he began to pass by on his way
to the door.
Is it wrong to want to be more than just an
advisor, when I know nothing can come of it?

“Sanych?” He paused by her side and frowned in
concern. “What is it?”

“Aye, what is it?” Rhona asked from the
doorway. She was clad in a black leather vest over a pale blue
blouse and linen pantaloons, having set aside her captain’s
breastplate once they cleared the isles of
Nadoth vri Fron
.
“Does it take the both of you to fetch me a ribbon for tying my
hair back?”

Geret gave Sanych a small warning glance, then
headed toward the door.

“I didn’t mean to keep you waiting, Rhona,”
Sanych said, scooping the book off the table. “I was just offering
this book to Geret to read. I’ve found it scintillating, and I
thought he might enjoy it too.”

Rhona took the book from her and flicked
through some of the pages, then checked the covers.

“Did you think I’d damage such a priceless old
book?” Sanych asked her. “It’s my job to care for books, in case
you forgot.”

Rhona eyed her, then glanced down at the
slender tome. “Fine,” she said, handing the book to Geret. “But I
don’t think he’ll get so bored that he needs a book to entertain
him anytime soon.”

“Actually, Rhona,” Geret said, smoothing the
book’s cover, “I love to read.” He met Sanych’s eyes. “Anything
personally recommended to me by an Archivist of the Temple of
Knowledge has got to be good.”

Sanych felt a warmth spread inside her chest.
She didn’t even mind that Rhona had Geret tie the ribbon into her
hair right then and there.

~~~

Geret didn’t find a free moment to open the
book Sanych had given him until the next day. Its cover read
A
Treatise on Bog Farming in Braltre and Its Surrounds, by Lord
Falsager, Year 937
. He settled himself next to the castle rail
in a rare ray of sunshine and began to read the old inked script,
though the wind was cold and threatened to skip ahead several pages
at a time.

After an hour, he’d learned more about bog
farming than he ever wanted to know. He was put in mind of his
endless days of reading boring agricultural reports for Imorlar
back in Highnave.

Thus did the bitter melon harvest
prosper, following the new implementation I recommended. Geret,
what are you doing with Rhona?

Geret blinked. He looked at the script again.
It still asked him the same question, though in slightly darker ink
than the previous sentence. The handwriting was nearly identical as
well. Recalling that Sanych had been raised in a temple that
dedicated itself to preserving and copying texts from around the
globe, Geret found himself grinning like a giddy fool.
A secret
message in plain sight!
He sobered quickly, though
. She
wrote in a hundred and fifty-odd year old book just to ask me a
question. It must have been very important to her. Was there more
to her kiss on the beach than I realized? Or is she just acting out
of advisorly concern?

He read on.

Is she threatening you? Reply on
this page and give me the book. I’ll destroy the page afterward. No
one cares about Lord Falsager’s opinion of himself
anyway.

He slapped the cover shut in surprise. Now
she’s destroying pages! The urge to bolt below deck and scribble a
reply was nearly overwhelming. He knew she deserved an explanation,
but he’d been reluctant to approach her due to Salvor’s warning,
and even more cautious after seeing the way Rhona acted when Sanych
was around.

Rhona had been trying to isolate him from his
friends ever since she’d claimed him. Leave it to Sanych to reach
out to him with books. He grinned again, holding the book close,
and felt his spirits lift.

~~~

“Thanks for the book, Sanych,” Geret said,
handing it to her after breakfast the next day. “It was
scintillating, just like you said. It makes me want to take up bog
farming myself.”

Sanych took the small book and stepped out of
the way as the others left the cabin and the crew on dish duty came
in to take away the plates and cutlery. “I’ll check it over to make
sure you haven’t damaged it. Would you like me to pick another for
you later? Rhona has good taste in stolen books.” She grinned at
the pirate, who was watching them.

“Sure, if you see something I’d like,” Geret
replied.

Rhona stepped close and took Geret by the
hand. “See if you can find a romantic tale in there, Sanych.”
Turning to Geret, she added, “Maybe you can read it to me tonight
by candle light.”

Geret cleared his throat and mumbled something
in reply.

“I’ll see what I can find,” Sanych muttered,
turning toward Rhona’s writing desk.

Rhona led Geret out, and Sanych impatiently
waited until the room was clear before sitting down and giving the
book her attention. She flipped to the page she’d written on and
found Geret’s reply.

I’m sorry I haven’t talked to you
lately. Rhona’s claim has made her possessive, and I don’t want her
to stab any more books next to your head. I have to play the pet
until Shanal. Clan ways are very different than ours. If I reject
her after her public claim, her crew might mutiny and turn away
from Shanal. I can’t let that happen. But I’m still Vinten. You
know what that means.

“Yes, I do,” she whispered. Since Vinten law
prohibited a prince from marrying anyone but royalty, there was no
way he intended to run off with a pirate wench. She sighed in
relief and reached for her small dagger. Cutting the page free of
the book, she held its corner to a candle flame and watched it burn
to ash. “I’m so sorry about this,” she apologized to the crumpled
black page. “Well, I’m a little sorry.”

The
Harbinger
’s sails snapped and bellied full of fresh
wind, propelling her after the fleeing galleon. It was only a
matter of time now, and Marela m’Kora, Prime of Clan Agonbloom,
laughed eagerly as she adjusted the ship’s wheel. The sun glinted
brightly off her brass breastplate. The thrill of the chase made
her blood thrum like nothing else on the ocean.

Her quarry realized it couldn’t outrun a Clan
ship; a flag of surrender ran up its mainmast and the galleon drew
in its sails. Marela ordered the
Harbinger
’s crew to pull
alongside the other vessel’s starboard rail. She thumped down the
stairs from the galleon’s aft castle to the main deck, where her
crew milled eagerly, grapnels in hand, ready to draw the victim
close enough to pillage.

While her crew catcalled and taunted the
frightened crew and passengers, Marela studied the ship. Low in the
water and broad abeam, she’d been made to transport goods over long
distances, yet she was crammed with human cargo. Understanding
dawned.
These must be more of the refugees from the eruption and
its massive waves.
The ripples had passed harmlessly beneath
Marela’s ships, but she’d seen the damage they’d done to the coasts
of Kazhbor. These passengers must be carrying only what they had
salvaged from the wreckage of their lives.

Shiny. This might be my most efficient haul
of swag in years
. Marela ordered the crew to draw the galleon
close with the grapnels, and dozens of ropes and metal hooks flew
through the air.

As the ships drew closer, the galleon’s
captain stepped forward from the huddled masses of humanity on his
deck, taking initiative for his crew and passengers. When he spoke,
however, Marela didn’t recognize the language.

“Oh, gods above and below,” she growled,
slapping the flat of her short sword against the
Harbinger
’s
railing. “Doesn’t anyone speak Versal on this blood-crusty
tub?”

“I do,” came a mild voice.

Dozens of heads turned to look. A slender man
with light red hair stepped forward. His clothing, while fine, had
seen cleaner days. A woman with long, dark, curly hair touched his
arm, looking worried.

“Good. Tell me what your captain said,” the
pirate ordered, pointing at the nervous captain with her
blade.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t oblige you, madam. I
do not speak Kauna’kanan.”

“Kauna’kanan?”

“Captain Naizmin begs for their lives, honored
lady,” said the woman with the curly hair.

“Shiny. I always approve of competence,”
Marela replied, giving her a crisp nod. “Tell him he can have their
lives. I’m not wearing a red bloodquest sash today, am I?” Without
waiting for a reply, she ordered her crew aboard the captured
vessel. As the curly-haired woman related Marela’s words to the
Kauna’kanan captain, Clansfolk swarmed over the joined rails and
began looting the ship and stealing from the passengers, who
protested and wept.

Marela hopped onto the
Shoon
’s deck and
approached the redheaded man and his companion. “I don’t think
this,” she said, waving her blade toward the crew’s actions, “needs
to be translated.”

“I’m sure you’re more familiar with raiding
procedure than I am,” the man allowed, though disapproval pinched
his nostrils white.

Marela barked a laugh. “That’s the spirit.”
She eyed the woman’s long hair in appreciation. “Lovely hair you
have. If I could wear it, I’d take it. Unless you’d like to join my
Ladies,” she said, gesturing up and behind her. The woman’s eyes
lit on the long-haired skulls that clacked gently atop the
Harbinger
’s masts, and she gasped and took a step
back.