Chapter Sixteen

Midafternoon, as the Bashair approached Chathburh, Én���nish was on deck with the rest of her companions. All six anmaglâhk stayed out of the crew’s way and scanned the approaching port for any large ship bearing painted Numanese letters for the Cloud Queen. Dänvârfij had led all of them to believe their prey would still be in this port and unknowingly waiting to be captured.

Hungry for any hint of the quarry that had eluded them much too long, Én’nish leaned far over the rail. She anticipated pulling her blades for such a purpose and was equally eager to watch Rhysís put one arrow and another into Brot’ân’duivé’s chest. There was only one thing she wanted more—the blood of Léshil on her blade for the loved one he had taken from her.

Disguised in human clothing, she was not likely to be spotted from a distance. Yet as the ship made port and docked, she stepped back from the rail and peered around in dismay.

“It is large,” Tavithê said, voicing Én’nish’s thoughts, as they both took in the sprawling harbor.

Numerous piers had clearly been built over many years, and not with much planning other than to fit in one more. Én’nish began counting ships but soon gave up.

“We have to disembark and search,” Tavithê added.

“No,” Fréthfâre said, leaning hard on her walking staff. “Eywodan, go and find the harbormaster. See what you can learn first.”

As soon as the ramp was lowered, Eywodan headed off down the pier and vanished into the crowd. A somewhat uncomfortable silence followed.

Tension between Fréthfâre and Dänvârfij had grown, though Én’nish blamed the latter for their failures. Dänvârfij was too cautious, too hesitant to shed blood. They should have taken this ship the first day out of the isle. Had they done so, they might have caught the Cloud Queen long before now.

Only Fréthfâre had the strength of spirit to lead this team. But so far Dänvârfij remained the one to give orders and make tactical decisions, if not all strategic ones.

Én’nish often wished Fréthfâre would simply take control, but perhaps it no longer mattered if they could trap their quarry by tonight.

“Help me with my arm,” Rhysís said to her.

She tried not to show pleasure at his request. For much of this journey she had barely noticed him. That had changed somehow. He had taken an arrow in the shoulder of his bow arm back in Calm Seatt. Though the wound had healed, his arm needed strengthening. He had taken to holding it out, and she would grip it, and then he would try to bend it and lift her.

Stepping close, she grasped his forearm.

“Tighter,” he said.

Én’nish learned Rhysís’s one weakness among all his skills: he needed to take care of someone. For the better part of their journey to this land, Wy’lanvi, the youngest member of the team, had fulfilled that need almost as a younger brother.

In Calm Seatt, Brot’ân’duivé had killed Wy’lanvi, and Rhysís had taken this hard.

Én’nish understood the anguish of loss, and she tightened her grip on Rhysís’s arm.

Shortly after Wy’lanvi’s death, Rhysís had shifted his need to care for someone to her. At first she had not known what to think of this. He was never overt, but he took notice of her extra duties in caring for Fréthfâre. He tried to lighten her burdens in small ways.

Én’nish had never valued kindness, had even learned to distrust it, for there had been so little of it in her life. But coming from Rhysís, she did not mind it so much.

“Plant your feet more firmly,” Tavithê growled at her good-naturedly. “Make him work harder... or perhaps I should be the one to dangle from his weak limb?”

“I do not think so,” Rhysís answered with a slight smile.

Tavithê was wiry but muscular, by far the best of them in hand-to-hand combat. It seemed both strange and oddly comforting that they joked with each other while Eywodan located their quarry. Humor was another challenging thing to Én’nish, but again, with these two companions, she had come to neither despise nor distrust it.

Dänvârfij and Fréthfâre stood apart and separate, waiting in silence.

Én’nish was not tense. They were within reach of the half-dead monster, Magiere; her murderous consort, Léshil; and the traitorous Brot’ân’duivé. Soon the first two would be suffering and the last would be dead—finally.

They passed the time in this manner, though at each effort, Rhysís barely lifted Én’nish’s feet off the deck, but he managed it five times in a row. As her feet touched down a sixth time, Eywodan came striding up the ramp. In her hunger, Én’nish tightened her grip on Rhysís’s arm, and she did not wait for her superiors to ask.

“Where?” she blurted out. “Where are they docked?”

Eywodan hesitated.

“What?” Dänvârfij nearly barked.

Eywodan shook his head. “We missed them by less than half a day. The Cloud Queen sailed this morning.”

Those words did not register over the roar of pounding blood in Én’nish’s ears. When they did, she wanted to shriek in fury. She kept silent, swallowing the pain and frustration, and then found Rhysís frowning at her—or rather at her biting grip on his arm—and she let go.

This was all Dänvârfij’s fault for not letting them take the ship.

Dänvârfij’s jaw muscle clenched, and Fréthfâre smoldered with visible anger. But it was Rhysís’s expression that kept Én’nish grounded. She could only describe it as... dark. Normally a stout supporter of Dänvârfij, he now glared at her.

He wanted the traitor’s blood as much as Én’nish wanted Léshil’s. They both sought payment for the loss of someone cherished.

“We take the ship?” he said flatly, only half questioning. “As soon as we are out of harbor?”

Dänvârfij dropped her head in brief contemplation. “Yes.”

* * *

The following morning the Bashair left harbor, resuming its journey south.

Dänvârfij stood on deck with her team spread out to strategic positions and awaiting her command to act. Only Fréthfâre remained below in one of their cabins, and Dänvârfij knew how that grated on the crippled ex-Covârleasa. But it could not be helped; she would be less than useless up here.

Dänvârfij maintained her calm disinterest, though she was well aware how the others felt—that they should have taken the ship before now. They did not understand how difficult it would be once they did so. There were not enough of them to sail this vessel, even if all of them had known what was needed. And only one of them had such skill. Revenge clouded their reason.

All Dänvârfij’s instincts and experience told her this choice was wrong, that waiting would be better, but she could not put it off any longer. Rhysís, Én’nish, and even the good-natured Tavithê had made their positions clear. They had lost too many comrades to Brot’ân’duivé. They had been humiliated in being outmaneuvered by the monster and her half-blood consort. They were failing in their purpose given by Most Aged Father.

Still, questions plagued Dänvârfij. Eywodan was the only one who also hesitated at this impending action. He stood silently near the ship’s prow, and she strolled casually along the port rail to join him. He had experience with sailing vessels, as had some others originally assigned to the team, but they were all dead now. Perhaps that also had been a calculated choice by the traitor.

“If we leave half the crew alive,” she said quietly, “but find we cannot trust them to assist us, can you bring this ship into a dock with only our help?”

Eywodan did not answer at first, and then, “No.”

This concerned Dänvârfij greatly. It was one thing to manipulate a captain into serving their needs and entirely another to force a crew to obey. Her team could kill two-thirds of the men and lock up the others with little effort. That would be over in moments, but what then?

She could terrify enough of the remaining crew into service moment by moment, but they were loyal to Captain Samara. That created an unknown variable. Killing the captain might intimidate them into submission, but for only so long. Keeping the captain as a hostage might prolong their obedience, but eventually they would try to free him. Either way, her control would eventually falter, and going by Eywodan’s word, there were not enough of her own, skilled or not, to handle this ship.

“Hold off and wait,” she whispered. “I am going to speak with the captain.”

Eywodan cocked his head with a quizzical lift of one eyebrow but then nodded. As he flashed subtle hand signals to the others, she headed off down the deck’s center. Rhysís frowned as she passed, but she ignored him.

Shortly after leaving the harbor, Samara had gone below. She made her way down through the narrow passages to his cabin and knocked softly. Beyond the door, he called out a single word in Sumanese that she did not understand. Taking it as an invitation, she opened the door.

His cabin was tiny, and he sat at a built-in desk shelf that lowered from the hull wall on two braided silk cords. He did not hide his surprise at the sight of her.

“Pardon,” she said quickly. “May I enter?”

“Of course. Is something wrong?”

She stepped in and closed the door. He was a slender man with dusky skin and dark eyes.

“Nothing,” she said, and then purposefully faltered, displaying all the hesitancy of someone pressed to a hard choice. Depending on what he told her in the next few moments, she might have to kill him.

“I have not told you, but we are trying to”—she struggled for the correct term—“catch up with another ship. We hoped to do so in Chathburh... but missed it.”

He shook his head. “I do not understand.”

“We have family aboard a ship called Cloud Queen. We were... to board that ship but missed it at the isle.”

He relaxed at that and stood up. “You should have told me sooner.” Walking to a map on the wall, he asked, “What kind of ship is the Cloud Queen?”

“Very large... for large cargo.”

“Do you know by how long we missed it?”

“A day... maybe more.”

Samara turned back to his desk and spread out one roll of canvas to reveal another map. He tapped one point on it. “We are here, just south of Chathburh. The next port for a vessel of that make and size would be Drist.” Looking to her, he pursed his lips. “Normally I advise passengers to not disembark there, for it is an unlawful place. But a large cargo vessel has to sail farther out from shore, in deeper water. I keep the Bashair closer to shore, and she is swifter. We should pass this other vessel by tomorrow at the latest. We will make Drist well before she does.”

Samara paused again, and this time, taking a deep breath, he folded his arms. “But I won’t keep my ship there long. If you want to wait for your family, you will have to find lodgings... and I do not advise that in a place like Drist.”

Dänvârfij nodded, suppressed any visible relief, and even tried to smile.

“We will manage. And thank you.”

But her thoughts were turning as she left. If the Bashair overtook the Cloud Queen and reached Drist first, there was no reason to seize this ship yet. And if Drist was the lawless place Samara described, so much the more in favor of her purpose.

* * *

On deck near the aftcastle, Én’nish grew restless. The plan was to kill and toss overboard anyone in the open and then silently work their way down through all entrances, until the remaining crew below were cornered and locked in. They could then decide how many to keep alive to man the vessel.

Too many days of inaction—other than caring for Fréthfâre—had left her half-mad to do something. She had bitten back a hiss when Eywodan had signaled everyone to wait as Dänvârfij walked off below, alone.

Én’nish looked to Rhysís, standing at the opposite rail near the forward mast. He glanced more than once toward the aft, where Dänvârfij had vanished, and then shook his head slightly. He kept clenching the hand of his recovering arm.

Én’nish was thankful when Dänvârfij reemerged, and set herself, ready to pull her blades. She picked out the closest sailor checking rigging near the rearward mast, and she looked for the next signal.

Dänvârfij stopped, barely beyond the rearward entrance to below. She leveled her left hand at her side, palm down, and slowly swept it outward away from her thigh.

Én’nish clenched all over.

Why had Dänvârfij called off the attack and ordered them to go below?

Tavithê straightened where he leaned against the forward mast, sauntered idly toward Dänvârfij, and headed below. But, like Én’nish, Rhysís stood his place and stared at Dänvârfij. Only then did Eywodan walk away from the prow.

Rhysís did not move, and neither did Én’nish.

Eywodan traversed the far rail and came up behind Rhysís to settle, leaning on the rail with his elbows as he looked out to sea. A slow turn of his head brought his gaze around to fix on Rhysís’s back, as if he might pierce his comrade with only his eyes. As Eywodan shifted, his eyes turned on Én’nish with equal warning.

Rhysís lowered his head and only half looked back, as he was well aware that Eywodan stood behind him. With a slow breath, he headed after Tavithê and never once looked at Dänvârfij.

Still Eywodan watched Én’nish—and did not move until she did. Unlike Rhysís, Én’nish never flinched from looking Dänvârfij in the eyes as she passed.

* * *

Dänvârfij ignored Én’nish’s glare and did not even follow the young one’s path below. Instead, she stood waiting as Eywodan drew near. They had no one except for him to manage this vessel. With Samara’s assurance of overtaking the Cloud Queen, seizing the ship was not the expedient strategy.

Likely Fréthfâre would hear a jaded and inaccurate account before Dänvârfij even reached the cabin. That was acceptable—this time. In correcting the facts, Dänvârfij would put Én’nish in her place and thereby warn Rhysís against further insubordination. Dissension was unacceptable in their purpose.

Eywodan came up beside her. Glancing about the deck, he cocked his eyebrow again.

“Am I to assume you have something better in mind?” he asked.

Dänvârfij was grateful for his show of support but did not say so. This was expected of all who shared the purpose given to a team’s leader, but she gave him a nod of respect.

“Yes,” she answered.

“Should I come with you to report to Fréthfâre?”

“No, watch the crew... and anyone else who comes on deck.”

Eywodan nodded and wandered off. He settled where Rhysís had stood stubbornly a moment ago and leaned against the rail. Dänvârfij turned to head below.

What she did now was best done alone, for authority. There would be no further open defiance, regardless of anyone’s rightful desire for revenge... even her own.

Дата добавления: 2015-10-16