The Quartered Sea (50 page)

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"She's essentially the same ship as the
Starfarer
." The master of the Elbasan shipyard tucked his thumbs behind his wide leather belt and rocked back on his heels, watching the activity down on the pier through satisfied eyes. "She's not as new or as pretty, but the
Silver Vixen
is as good a ship as ever came out of these yards."

Jelena swept a worried gaze from bow to stern, noting four different crews of carpenters and twice that many assorted trades she couldn't identify. "Will she be ready in time?"

"Count on it, Majesty. The upper harbor took the brunt of the assault—kigh hardly touched us. By the time you get a crew on her, she'll be ready to sail."

"Good."

The master shipwright peered sideways, past the queen and her consort at the front of the royal party to—surprise, surprise—the Bardic Captain. Although the latter wasn't looking too good, he still hoped Her Majesty had kicked the sanctimonious old coot right in his tunemaking ass before accepting him back into her good graces. "I hear there're more bards going this time," he said.

"Three. Karlene, Evicka, and Jurgis," Kovar answered without taking his eyes off the ship. Everyone in Shkoder knew what bards were going and how well they Sang; the yardmaster was deliberately digging at him, making him pay for his earlier stubborn stupidity. He wasn't the first, and he wouldn't be the last. Kovar accepted such mild censure, half wishing for stronger accusations to help allay his feelings of guilt. "Karlene Sings a strong air and fire and a stronger water. Evicka and Jurgis both Sing a strong air and water.

They'll be picking up Jurgis at Fort Kazpar; he's got to come down the coast."

All three bards had been trained under Liene. The bards he'd trained, the younger bards, would have gone if he'd asked, but none of them had volunteered. He had a lot more than Benedikt to pay for.

"Isn't Evicka the bard with no legs?"

That pulled Kovar's attention off his failings. "The loss of her legs hasn't affected her voice," he said coldly.

"Never suggested it had." The yard master rocked back on his heels again. "Was thinking she was a wise choice, actually.
Vixen'll
be a bit crammed for space, and she'll take up less room."

Kovar narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but there was nothing in the other man's face to suggest he'd intended anything more than he'd said. Still…

The Bardic Captain Sang a quick series of notes—not even quite a tune, to the kigh—who sped down and back. "It appears we have three volunteers who won't take no for an answer."

"And not the first time," the yardmaster muttered. "We could hardly fill the
Starfarer
, but it seems like everybody wants to go rescue young Benedikt."

Nobody mentioned, although everyone thought, of how the difference could only be a result of bardic support.

The first day, the line of potential sailors had stretched from the pier, along the shore, past the lumberyard, and almost to the gate. Fortunately for Hanicka i'Dasa, the
Vixen's
beleaguered mate, nine out of ten volunteers were completely unsuitable.

The numbers had dropped off as positions were filled, but as the royal party approached the disturbance, it became clear suitability was still an issue.

It was just as clear that the two men and the woman at the front of the line were not going to take their rejection without a fight.

"But if you'd just listen…"

"To you and to everyone else?" The mate sighed and shook her head. "Look, I appreciate that you want to help, but you know nothing of…" Her eyes widened. "Majesty!" The table rocked as she surged to her feet and made a wild grab for her inkwell.

"Majesty?" The younger of the two men stepped forward. "We're from Janinton, Majesty, and we want to help rescue Benedikt."

"Janinton?" The queen stared at nothing for a moment then refocused on the anxious face before her. "That's in Bicaz, isn't it?"

The young man looked relieved. "Yes, Majesty, it is."

"But that's days from the sea."

"Yes, Majesty, it is." The mate's tone suggested everything could be explained by that statement. "None of them ever even saw the sea before they got to Elbasan. They've no experience at all."

"We were chosen because we're the best archers in our village, Majesty." The young woman stepped forward as well, her chin high and the line of her jaw determined. "You'll need those who can fight once the sea's been crossed. And we're not stupid. We can learn what we need to so we're pulling our own weight on the ship."

"Archers." Jelena's brows drew in unhappily. "How did you hear there'd be fighting?"

"Stasya, Majesty. She'd Walked from Ohrid to check on the village 'cause of the First Quarter floods. "And Stasya says there'll be fighting?"

"She said that's what the kigh said, Majesty." Jelena glanced at Kovar who shook his head.

"They didn't say it to me, Majesty, but that doesn't mean they didn't say it."

"Majesty?" The final member of the trio joined his companions in front of the queen. "Benedikt saved Janinton, he saved our village. He put himself between us and a flood out of the mountains, between us and a rushing wall of ice-cold water filled with crushing debris. He risked his life to save our homes, our land, our lives. He stood there all day and Sang himself hoarse, and not one drop of water got past him. We owe him, we all owe him, everything we are. Please, Majesty, let us help."

Jelena felt Otavas' hand rest lightly on her shoulder. She looked from face to face, then turned toward the mate. "Find a place for them," she said.

"But, Majesty…"

"I said no, Magda, and I meant it." Jelena dropped into a chair and rubbed her eyes. "I've asked the Healers' Hall to provide two volunteers for the voyage, but you're still the only healer in Shkoder who heals the fifth kigh and you're simply too precious a resource to risk. You can't go, and that's final."

"I felt Benedikt's pain in the kigh, Jelena. He needs me."

"And he can have you as soon as they bring him back, but you're not going." Most of her face still hidden behind her hands, she sighed. "What would I do if I lost you, too?"

"No, Tadeus."

"It's because I'm blind, isn't it?"

Kovar sighed and set both palms flat on his desk. "Tadeus, not only do you not Sing water but you've never been to sea, and," he continued quickly before the other bard could comment, "although you still Sing a strong air, you don't have the range you once did."

Even the scarf over Tadeus' eyes looked indignant. "So it's because I'm old."

"Yes." Kovar spun his chair around to look out the window, to the west, to the sea, to Benedikt. "But I know how you feel."

"Oh?"

"I can't go either."

Otavas stepped through the double doors, indicated Bannon should stay where he was, and crossed the balcony to his side. Of late, when the ex-assassin couldn't be found, this was where he was, staring toward the west.
Although, couldn't be found isn't entirely accurate
, Otavas mused, settling against the railing,
since I always know exactly where he is
.

"Sorry. Yes, I know." Leaning on his left elbow, he reached out with his right hand and turned Bannon toward him—knowing his touch was one of two, or maybe three, that wouldn't provoke old instincts. "Why haven't you asked me?"

Bannon closed his eyes for an instant and when he opened them again, the misery on his face hit the prince like a physical blow. "How could I?" he whispered. "The risk is so great—if you let me go and something happens, who will guard your back? If I go to him, I leave you unprotected."

Another man might have mentioned that Shkoder was not at war and the only dangers the consort might encounter could easily be taken care of by someone less specialized but Otavas knew Bannon's protection was only another word for Bannon's love, so he smiled and tightened his grip. "You went to him the moment you knew he was alive. There's only one way I'm going to get you back. I've already told Captain Juzef of the
Vixen
that you'll be sailing with him."

"Highness, I…" Bannon's mouth worked, but no sound emerged. Spinning back toward the west, he slammed his fists, one after the other and then both at once, into the railing.

Chapter Fourteen

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PERCHED on a bale of rope, Evicka waved at the distant figures of Broken Islanders gathered on the western arm, then dropped to the deck and palm-walked forward to the bow. "So here we are," she declared, heaving herself up onto a barrel so that she could see over the rail. "Sailing due west into unknown seas."

"Southwest," Karlene pointed out. She waved a hand toward the distant horizon off the starboard side of the ship. "That's west."

"Bardic license. Sailing vaguely southwest just doesn't start the chorus off right."

"It's the unknown seas part that concerns me," Jurgis admitted, not turning from his place by the rail. "The world seems to be bigger than we thought it was, and Benedikt could be anywhere."

"The kigh know where he is." Karlene knew she sounded more definite than she felt. Both the other bards knew it, too, but she hoped they'd been able to fool the crew. They'd all sent air kigh out to find Benedikt and all received identical answers—he was too far away. Only the water kigh could get them close enough to find him, but none of them knew if the water kigh would cooperate. So far they'd been less than helpful.

"What happens if we can't get an answer out in deep water?" Jurgis asked, finally turning and tucking a strand of pale blond hair behind his ear.

Karlene shrugged. "We keep sailing southwest until we get an answer."

"But we don't know how far south or west is far enough. We could sail right by him."

"Pessimist," Evicka grinned. Her companions both had that north-coast, sun-kissed look she preferred in a bedmate and she had every intention of taking the opportunities offered by long nights at sea. Yes, it was a terrible thing that the
Starfarer
was lost. Yes, it was a terrible thing that Benedikt had been so badly hurt. But she had no intention of dwelling on either. Bad things happened—who knew that better than she did?—but life went on.

Spreading her arms, she tucked one stump under a strap on the barrel top to help her keep her balance on the pitching ship and dramatically declaimed, "We are bards of Shkoder, and we do not abandon one of our…"