WINDWEEPER (30 page)

"I want to die. Alel, please let me die."

Then it was there. That dark shadow. It wavered for just a moment outside his line of vision. When he turned his head to look, he saw blue eyes peering back at him from the darkness.

"Let me die," the shadow whispered. "I can take no more."

Galen opened his mouth and screamed.

Captain Holm van de Lar watched the tall man as he spent his gold freely, unflinchingly, unwisely. The good sea captain sat with his booted feet propped up on a table, silently toasting the vast amount of ale the tall, dark-haired man was consuming.

A slight smile lingered on Holm's sea-weathered face. In the space of two hours, the dark man's five companions had either drank themselves into stupors, or else were asleep beneath the table at which the tall man sat drinking, his brown eyes staring into his ale cup. The man didn't seem to notice he had been left alone to drink, a task he seemed to be relishing with no great enjoyment.

Sensing himself being stared at, the tall man turned and glowered at Holm, but Holm simply raised his tankard and took a leisurely drink, all the while staring at the man who had developed a fierce scowl on his handsome face. Another hour passed. Holm continued to watch the man swilling ale as though there was no tomorrow. He smiled as the man turned to glare.

"Quit it."

"Quit what?" Holm replied in a friendly tone.

"Staring."

"I wasn't staring at you, my friend, but rather admiring the ease with which you are consuming your ale." Holm sat down his tankard. "I don't believe I have ever seen your equal, Milord. I meant no offense." He nodded at the man's snoring companions. "I would be numbered among them if I were to try matching you drink for drink."

Looking at his friends, the man grinned, his lopsided smile endearing. "Not an upright bunch, are we?"

"Only you could be classified as such, Milord."

"None of us are sober," the man quipped. He pushed a drunk off his table, his dark eyes following the man's roll to the floor. "Nighty-night, Heil!" he whispered. He looked at Holm and wagged his brows. "Never could hold his liquor."

"How about you, Milord? Have you had your fill or may I buy you another?"

The man turned a suspicious frown to the captain. "Why would you want to?"

"I admire your talent." Holm shrugged his broad shoulders in the black tunic of his service uniform. "And I find it intolerable drinking alone, don't you?"

Getting unsteadily to his feet, the man grabbed up his empty tankard and walked with exaggerated precision to the captain's table. He gingerly seated himself, watching as Holm adjusted his massive body to his chair.

"How long have you been ashore?" the man asked, trying to focus on Holm's wide face. The man was dwarfing the rail back chair, sitting in such a way it was hard to believe the spindly thing could hold his bulk. "How much do you weigh, anyway?"

Holm chuckled, motioning for the tavern wench to bring another round. "I just returned from a lengthy journey around the cape, and I don't weigh enough to shatter this little chair, Milord, so don't worry."

"Wasn't in the least damn bit worried." The man brought up and frowned. He turned it upside down and shook it. "Fool thing's got a hole in it."

"You got a hollow leg, is all," the tavern wench accused as she sat another tankard. "I don't know where you put it."

The man chuckled. "Many a lass has asked herself that same question when I screwed her!"

She snorted. "Full of yourself, aren't you, Milord?"

His grin turned vicious. "Do you want to be full of me?"

"For thirty gold pieces, I just might."

He choked, spewed ale on the table, and turned a stunned face to her. "I've never paid for it in my life!"

Her saucy lips twitched. "Just drink up, Milord. If you can hold anymore!"

He glared at her. "I'll piss it out. What are you worried about?"

She put a work-reddened hand on her more-than-ample hips. "Don't make no nevermind to me, so long's you don't piss on my floor!"

Seeing the man fumbling with the buttons on his breeches, Holm tapped the man on the shoulder. "I captained the
Serenian Star
her last time out," he said to get the man's attention.

Something in the dark way the captain spoke made the man look at his new companion. He took his hands from his buttons, glanced at the serving wench with a look of disdain that warned her he'd mess her floor if she bothered him again, then turned his close scrutiny to Holm.

"I usually don't captain that hell-ship. I am registered for the
Boreas Queen
."

"Cargo ship," the man said, nodding. "I know her." He took up his tankard, started to drink, then stopped. Locking his gaze with Holm's, he sat forward. "The
Serenian Star
, you say?"

"Aye."

"That's the ship that took the coffins to sea. Do you know who I am?"

"You're Lord Brelan Saur, one of the King's sons." Holm brought the cup to his lips, peering at Saur over the rim. "Prince Conar's sworn enemy, I'm told." He took a swig of the buttered ale.

Brelan squinted. "And who are you?"

"You don't remember me, do you, Lord Brelan? I used to captain the
Windswept
. I took you and the little princes sailing many a time. You learned to rig a sail on a trip up to Virago…?"

A glimmer of a smile touched Brelan's lips. "Was that the time I pushed Coni overboard and he nearly froze to death before you got him back on board?"

Holm locked his gaze with Brelan's. "It was."

"By the gods but it was cold up there in the North Boreal." Brelan chuckled. He noticed Holm's expressionless face. "You whipped my ass that day."

"I did."

"I deserved it."

"You did."

Saur drained his tankard and sat back in the chair. "You were rather fond of him, weren't you?" He caught the tavern wench's eye and pointed to his empty mug.

Holm leaned his elbows on the table. "I greatly admired and respected your brother. The only reason I took out the
Serenian Star
, the reason I swapped my good lady-ship for another, is so I could be the one to lay His Grace to rest. He loved the sea." His face softened. "He will be missed."

"Not by everyone."

"I have heard there are those who are glad the young prince is gone. Are you one of them?" Holm held Brelan's stare.

"I didn't want the man dead."

"Just out of your life, eh?"

Brelan looked into his mug. "Something like that." He didn't even look at the girl as she sat another tankard before him.

Captain van de Lar drained his mug. He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms over his chest, his gaze intent on Brelan. "I have a question. One I hope you can answer…a real puzzler."

Brelan ground his teeth. "I have no desire to discuss Conar, if that's what you have in mind. Let him rest in peace."

"Is that what you want for him? Peace?"

"Don't you think he deserves it after what the Tribunal put him through?"

"Do you?"

Saur glowered. "I said I don't want to discuss him!"

"Let's talk about the edict under which I set sail, then." Holm cocked his head to one side. "An edict that made no sense to me."

"What edict?" Brelan had difficulty focusing on the man's unfriendly face.

"The edict that was to be opened only after we reached the harbor at Haelstrom Point."

"You were to drop the coffins into the sea near Virago. What of it?" Brelan blinked to try to clear his vision.

"Well, now, you see, that's what everybody thinks, Lord Brelan. We were told to drop them coffins at the reef near the entrance to the Viragonian harbor, so the whirlpool there could suck them into the ocean's depths. That was how my orders read when I sailed from this very harbor."

"So?"

"But before that, I was to open a special edict that came from High Priest Kaileel Tohre. Once you clear Haelstrom Point, you have to sail through a narrow channel to reach the Viragonian harbor at Baybridge. Once there, a tug has to turn you about so you'll be heading back down the channel and out to the Boreal Sea. That special edict of Tohre's was to be opened only after I was in the channel, beyond the lock, sitting there at the Haelstrom Point lighthouse buoy. Once you reach that point, there ain't no turning back 'til the tug takes you. You can't back out of that channel, and until the lock opens, you can't head on up the channel. You see what I'm saying?"

Brelan couldn't have cared less.

"Well, I got into that position and I opened that edict, and when I did, I grew curious." He nodded his head as though agreeing with himself. "I grew damned curious."

Brelan felt the hairs on back of his neck moving. "What did it say?"

Holm looked around, insuring himself no one was overly interested in their conversation. The wench was warming her fanny in front of the massive stone fireplace, her skirts rucked up in back; the barman was nodding beside his taps; one or two patrons were staring off into space, their eyes glazed with heavy drinking. The others were asleep, passed out, or dead. "We were told not to drop all them coffins at the reef near Baybridge." Holm lowered his voice. "We were to drop six there but the seventh we weren't." He watched the puzzled frown forming on Saur's flushed face.

"What are you saying?" Brelan was none the best for the large amount of ale circulating throughout his system.

"That seventh coffin was taken someplace else."

"Where?"

For a long time, Holm regarded him silently. The man was definitely beyond sobriety, much the less for wear, but Holm van de Lar had something on his mind that had been nagging at him and this man was the only source available who might put his worries to rest.

"How sober are you, Lord Brelan?"

"Sober enough!"

"Sober enough to listen carefully?"

Brelan emphatically nodded his head. "You betcha!"

Not really sure he should finish what he started, Holm nevertheless took a chance that Lord Brelan Saur was half the man his brother had been. But he wanted to be sure. "Can you be trusted?"

Brelan glared at the captain. "No one has ever dared to questioned my honor before, sir!"

"I ain't questioning your bloody honor, man! I asked if you could be trusted!"

"Trust me with what?"

Holm put his hand on Brelan's arm as the man was about to take a drink. "Pay attention!" he snarled, gaining Brelan's total attentiveness. "I got real suspicious about that edict, so I opened"—his face turned dark—"I opened that coffin."

Brelan flinched. "Why did you do that?"

Holm made an ugly snort. "Like I told you. I was curious. The seventh coffin was supposed to be left at the lighthouse before we cleared the lock into that narrow tunnel."

"But why did you open it?"

"To make damned sure the corpse was dead!" Holm's grip on Brelan's arm turned fierce. "It made no sense to leave a coffin when the rest of them was going someplace else."

A pained look crossed Brelan's face. "Was he…?"

"Dead, you mean? Aye, Lord Brelan, he was." He waited until his companion focused before he continued. "Here's my question. Seven coffins left Boreas to be dropped at that reef. That's what the Tribunal wants everyone to believe. Now, why do you think that is?"

Brelan yanked his arm from Holm's grip. "How the hell should I know? And why would I care? Why the hell are you telling me this?"

"Maybe you got the answer to my question."

Quaffing down his ale, bored with the man, and now just a little more than afraid for a reason he couldn't name, Brelan pushed back his chair to leave. Holm shot out a vise-like hand, gripped his arm, and dragged him down. He sat with a thud, a stinging pain roaring through his tailbone. "Damn your eyes, man! That hurt!"

The captain glared. Piercing blue eyes regarded Brelan with ill-concealed impatience and something akin to dislike. The hooked nose that made the captain's face seem both reckless and ruthless, bobbed up and down as he nodded.

"I got your attention again, Lord Saur?" he asked, hissing his question like a viper prepared to strike. The callused hand effectively clamped on Brelan's arm pinned the younger, slimmer man to the table and enlisted his full regard. Holm van de Lar gave him a look that would have quelled the fiercest warrior. "Who do you suppose was in that seventh coffin we left at Haelstrom?"

"I don't give a damn!" Brelan whispered savagely. "And if you don't let go of my arm, you'll draw back a stump!" He put his hand on the dagger strapped to his thigh.

Holm jerked Brelan's arm. "Do you know what ships drop anchor at Haelstrom Point? That's where the
Borstal
and the
Barracoon
pick up prisoners destined for the prison colony at Ghurn."

"So what?" Brelan bellowed. "Get your hand off my—" He tried to wrest his arm free, pushing at the strong fingers with his free hand. "Damn it, let go, I said!"

"When we got there, there was another prison ship anchored. One that you don't
ever
see at Haelstrom Point," Holm explained, ignoring Brelan's attempt to get loose.

Brelan slammed down his hand on the encroaching fingers, but the captain didn't bat an eye. His gaze was intent on Brelan's sweaty face. "What the hell do you want me to say?"

"That hell-ship was in the harbor waiting for us, Lord Saur. There were no other prisoners. They were there just to pick up that coffin. Why do you think that was?" Holm let Brelan jerk his arm away.

"I don't give a rat's ass. I care even less why you took the damned seventh one to Haelstrom, or even why you dared to open the bloody thing! And as for that ship picking up the damned bloody coffin, that concerns me even less than the piss I am royally in need of pissing!" He stood on wavering legs and steadied himself by taking a firm grip on the table's edge. He leaned toward Holm. "Why don't you ask Tohre why he sent a dead man to Ghurn colony?"

"The
Vortex
don't go to Ghurn, Lord Brelan."

"You just said…" Brelan wasn't sure what the man had said, but whatever it had been, he obviously hadn't paid sufficient attention to it, for the big man bounded from his chair, towering, and grasped Saur's shirt in two meaty, ham-like fists. Brelan found himself dangling in midair as the captain shook him like a wet dishrag.

"I told you the
Vortex
don't ever drop anchor at Haelstrom Point! No one knows where that black piece of shit docks, because the only time you see it is when it runs between Idal and Hydrea to pick up prisoners! If the
Vortex
picks up a prisoner whose papers read Ghurn colony, you can bet that ain't where the unlucky fellow is going. If he were, he'd have been put on the
Barracoon
or the
Borstal
. The Tribunal don't want anyone to know the real destination of its prisoners that sail the
Vortex
, Lord Brelan, sir; but every sea captain in the Seven Kingdoms knows where that ship winds up!"