Scimitar Sun (38 page)

“Does the Emperor’s domain include all the lands under the seas as well as those above, milord Count?” Camilla countered, her tone just as flat. She nodded to the server to take away her untouched breakfast; the food had long gone cold while they traded words. In fact, it was very near time for lunch, and from the lax postures and disconsolate expressions of everyone at the table, they had long since given up hope of any kind of a rational discussion. Camilla sighed. “As I told you during your
first
visit, bringing warships into the mer’s territory, and especially dropping anchors onto the coral reef, is a direct provocation. You very well may have sealed your own fate.”

“My
fate
, Lady Camilla, is to make the wishes of His Majesty, Tynean Tsing the Third, known to Cynthia Flaxal, and then, barring any difficulties with her, to open diplomatic relations with the merfolk.” He sipped his blackbrew, and frowned with distaste; it was cold. “If the mer are so easily offended that they become violent simply because we damage a bit of
rock
with our anchors, we will instruct them that violence against His Majesty’s Navy is not an acceptable means of negotiation.”

“Are you
trying
to start a war with the mer?” she asked.

“That’s exactly what he wants!” Dura muttered around a mouthful of cold meat and cheese; her appetite seemed the only one to remain undiminished. “And not just wi’ the merfolk, methinks.”

“Of course not!” he snapped. He scowled at Dura, then sat back and jerked his waistcoat straight, gathering his composure. “We are
trying
to make His Majesty’s wishes known to you and, when she arrives, Mistress Flaxal. If we reach an accord with her, then we will attempt to reason with the mer, which will require that the seamage act as intermediary.”

“Milord Count,” Camilla sat ramrod straight, glaring at him across the table, “If a race of flying creatures descended from the sky to drop great metal hooks into the midst of the city of Tsing, what type of peaceful agreement do you think His Majesty would be willing to reach?”

“We do not require an
agreement
with the mer, nor with Mistress Flaxal, or you, for that matter! What we require is capitulation to His Majesty’s wishes. If you do not find
that
palatable, you will find the consequences to be much less so.”

“Please, Count Norris, Camilla,” Ghelfan pleaded, exhaustion edging his musical voice. “This discussion, if one might stretch one’s imagination to call it that, is getting us nowhere. Perhaps it would be best if we were to simply wait for Cynthia’s return, then renew these nego — ”

“Miss Cammy! Miss Cammy!” a shrill voice called from the hall just before the great doors were thrust open. Tim raced into the great hall, his face alight, his arms waving in excitement. “It’s happening! It’s happening just like Mistress said it would!” He raced up to her without so much as glancing at the rest of the table, while Camilla put her forehead in one hand and shook her head.

“Please, Tim, this is not the time to — ”

The count’s chair clattered over backward and he shot to his feet, his eyes wide in shock and his face as pale as the linen tablecloth.

“What is the meaning of this!” He stumbled back a step and nearly fell over his upended chair. His accusing glare raked the table settling upon Camilla and Ghelfan.

“Milord Count?” Lieutenant Garris said, staring up at the stricken man. “Are you quite all right?”

“I’m sorry, milord Count, Tim is just excited about — ”

“Oh! I’m sorry!” Tim turned to face the count and nodded politely. “My apologies, Father. I didn’t mean to — ” His voice faded with a squeak of astonishment.

“Timothy?” the count whispered, his own voice trembling. “Can it really…”

Everyone in the room stared at the boy, then at Count Norris.

Tim finally broke the silence.

“Papa!” he cried, launching himself at the stunned count and flinging his arms around the man’s waist. He pressed his tear-streaked face against the count’s embroidered waistcoat.”Papa! Papa!”

“Timothy? Is it really you?” Norris’ arms slowly encircled the boy, his hands trembling in the long, sun-streaked hair. It had been more than three years…three years that he thought his son dead. He tightened his grasp as if the boy might once again be taken from him. “How in the name of…” His voice trailed off as his eyes beseeched first Camilla, then Ghelfan for an answer.

“Well, stick a pickle up my nose and call me a gnome,” Dura muttered, standing slowly. “
He’s
the lad’s
father
?”

“So it would seem,” Ghelfan said, grinning and pushing himself to his feet.

“I don’t believe it,” Camilla said, looking from one face to another around the table. She waved to one of the servers. “I need something stronger than blackbrew, please. Something a
lot
stronger.”

The server nodded and dashed off to the kitchen, grinning.

“How can you be here?” Norris finally managed, thrusting the tearful boy to arms length, kneeling before him to peer at his tanned face. “What happened to your mother? And your sister, Samantha! Where is she? What happened to the ship?”

“Bloodwind!” the boy blurted and his eyes widened with unbidden remembrance. “Bloodwind took the ship, and he hanged all the crew and the captain, too! A man took Mama away — just took her! Then Miss
Straff
left us, and we were all
alone
!”

“We? You and who else, Timothy?” Norris asked. “Who was with you?”

“Me and Sam!” he shrieked, tears flooding from his panicked eyes. “He made us
pirates
, Papa! Real pirates! Then Miss
Straff
tried to get away, and he told us to whip her! And we
did
! We whipped her! Sam and me both!”

“Pirates?” Norris looked up at Camilla, his eyes pleading for explanation. “What in the name of — ”

“Bloodwind often took children, Count Norris,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. She sniffed back tears as the server returned with a bottle of brandy and several small glasses. She took one in a trembling hand and sipped. “He would…
indoctrinate
them, take them in and convince them that they were pirates, that he was their only family.” She knocked back the rest of her glass and sighed. “He nearly did the same to me.”

“But what happened to Samantha? And my wife?” He looked back into the boy’s eyes. “Timothy, tell me where Samantha and your mother are!”

“Moma’s
gone
! I never saw her again, Papa. I don’t know where she is.” He sniffed loudly, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “Sam’s…I don’t know what happened to Sam, Papa. I never saw her after the battle. I think maybe she was on one of the ships that burnt.”

“One of the what?” The count’s voice cracked at the last, his face flushing. “Burnt?”

“Many of the pirate lord’s ships were burnt when Captain Brelak attacked Bloodwind’s fortress here,” Ghelfan said, leaning over the table to pass the stunned count a glass of brandy. “They employed an incendiary device that was quite effective. Only three of Bloodwind’s ships escaped the fires; one of those was wrecked on the reef and another foundered in the harbor.”

Norris took the glass and collapsed into his chair, staring at them one after another, then into the glass. Realizing what was in his hand, he quaffed it in a single swallow, then pulled his son close again. His world had been turned upside-down. He glanced up and slowly remembered where he was, in the stronghold of the seamage. A cold ball of anger formed in his gut.

“Why was my son not returned to me? Why is he being held here — “

Ghelfan interceded immediately. “Many children were orphaned here when Bloodwind’s empire collapsed. And some, like Tim, could provide no information on their families or where they were from. Cynthia Flaxal has provided a home for those who wished to stay.”

“It’s true, Papa!” Tim said, tugging on his sleeve. “She took care of us. I couldn’t remember…I didn’t even know my name, Papa!”

The count looked at his son, hale and healthy and obviously well-cared for, and his anger melted.

“Milord Count,” the naval lieutenant said, clearing his throat before trying again. “Milord, it warms my heart to see you have found your long-lost son, but you can’t let this affect our efforts here. We must speak with Mistress Flaxal, and reach an — ”

“Oh, shut the hell up, Garris!” Norris snapped, glaring daggers at the man. “We can’t very well speak with Cynthia Flaxal until she returns, so just stand down! Send all but one longboat back to the ships. I’m staying here.” His eyes returned to Tim’s and his face broke into a helpless smile. “With my son.”

“We’d be more than happy to accommodate you here, milord Count,” Camilla said, standing and smiling at the two. “I’ll have some space cleared in the old wing for your troops if…”

Her voice trailed off as the room began to darken. Then her eyes widened and she said, “By Odea, I’d almost forgotten!”

“That’s what I came to tell you, Miss Cammy!” Tim said, grasping his father’s hand and dragging him to his feet. “It’s happening just like Mistress Flaxal said it would! Come see!”

“Come see what?” Norris asked. His wits were very nearly at their end, and he was in no condition for another surprise.

“The eclipse,” Ghelfan said, joining the group as they moved at Tim’s urging out the great doors and toward the keep’s main entrance. “That is why Mistress Flaxal is not here, milord Count. She’s at Fire Island for the eclipse, to usher a boy through his trials as a pyromage.”

“A pyromage?” he asked dubiously as they exited onto the keep’s outer steps to gaze into the sky.

The entire population of natives and all of the emperor’s sailors and marines were standing with their necks craned back to observe the spectacle. Norris looked up, shading his eyes, and his mouth fell open. There was no refuting the evidence his eyes beheld; it looked as if a great bite had been taken out of the sun.

≈

Solidified lava rock warmed Edan’s feet through the soles of his shoes as he scrabbled up the steep incline, pausing only briefly to catch his breath. He’d been climbing since dawn, and the lip of the caldera was now only a few hundred yards up the slope. He looked back and marveled at how high he’d come; the ship looked like a toy floating in a bath, the royal-blue water seeming placid around it from this distance.

“Eee! Eeek!” Flicker cried, jerking at his collar and pointing upslope. Every time he stopped she had a fit, urging him on.

“I’m coming, Flick. Don’t worry.” He pulled the cork from the water bottle slung over his shoulder and drank. It was already more than half empty. He shrugged and climbed on, pushing down on his knees with every step. He half-chuckled as he realized how well his incessant climbing of stairs in the lighthouse, fetching this or that for the lightkeeper, had prepared him for this trek. Even so, his thighs ached, and the heat of midday sun, combined with the heat radiating up from the rock beneath his feet, sent trickles of sweat down his ribs.

He could almost feel the volcano beneath him as a living thing: magma flowing like hot blood in channels throughout the mountain, the heat-induced expansions and contractions of the rock and sulfurous off-gassing like foul breaths from deeply embedded lungs, the little earthquakes like shivers along the mountain’s spine. All this activity had left the slopes riddled with cracks, and footing was treacherous. One misstep would end his trials before they began. He stumbled and caught himself, his hand touching the rock reflexively. He drew it back, inhaling sharply; it was already hot enough to burn. He smiled grimly and pressed on, for the first time in his life thankful for the deep scars on his feet and legs; though he knew that the soles of his feet must already be blistered, he felt little pain. With a final heave and grunt, he mounted the crest of the caldera’s rim and looked down into hell.

Seething pools of magma glowed starkly orange against the black rock that formed a shallow depression at the mountain’s peak. The surface of the pools ceaselessly churned and bubbled, spewing out tiny showers of molten rock that hit the ground and cooled through the spectrum from yellow-white to orange to red, finally darkening to a searing crimson. Smoke and hot, noxious gasses vented out of the dark rock that surrounded the pools. Flicker chirped excitedly and pointed to the pools, and Edan could see that she longed desperately to go for a swim. Strangely, the scene induced in him no fear, only awe at its magnificence and a desire to go closer.

“Beautiful, isn’t it, Flick?” He grinned and started to pick his way down the rocks. He had feared that the interior of the caldera would be impassable, but the slope into the bowl was less steep than what he’d already ascended, and it was only another hundred yards or so down to level ground. He’d gone about fifty feet when Flicker let out a shriek so piercing that he reflexively blocked his ears with his hands.

He looked at her, but her attention was no longer on the smoldering volcano. Instead, she stared at the sun, her eyes flaring yellow-white, her finger pointing at the darkness that had begun to edge across the disc of fire.

“It’s begun!” Edan studied the distance he had left to go. “We’ve still got time, Flick. It won’t be full eclipse for another quarter hour. Relax.”

But Flicker would not relax. She grabbed his collar with both hands, the flames of her hair licking at his chin, though he hardly felt the additional heat. She tugged him forward, chirping all the while.

“Okay! Okay, I’m coming,” Edan said, increasing his pace as the sky darkened overhead.

≈

“Oh, this can’t be good,” Horace said, shading his eyes and staring up at the dimming sun.

“Aye,” Johansen agreed. “That’s sure enough a bad omen if I ever seen one.”

“That is
not
a bad omen!” Cynthia snapped, glaring at the men. “It’s an eclipse; the moon is moving between us and the sun, that’s all.”

The crew continued to mutter and make warding signs against evil, but Cynthia ignored them, just as she ignored Mouse as he fluttered around her head, chattering a blue streak and pointing at the sun. She watched Feldrin, who trained the ship’s best glass on the peak of the smoldering mountain.