“Nothing makes for a clear sea like war,” the captain said, joining her at the prow during her customary evening vigil.
“I thought we might see some Alpiran ships at least,” she replied.
“They’ll all be in port for a good while yet, if they’re smart. War makes pirates of all sailors.” He moved to the figurehead carved into the prow, a snarling woman with improbably large breasts, extended fangs and clawlike hands reaching out towards the oncoming waves. “Know who this is?”
“I would guess it’s Skerva, stealer of souls, in her true form. She was sent by Margentis the Orca god to punish men for their crimes against the sea. It’s said she walks amongst us in the guise of a comely maiden, seeking out the most valiant of men so she can feast on their souls.”
He traced a hand over Skerva’s wooden shoulder. “Have you ever forgotten anything?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“You make my crew nervous, the more fanciful wonder if you aren’t her, trapped somehow between your two forms, waiting for the moment to strike.”
“Wouldn’t that require the presence of valiant men upon whom to slake my unnatural hunger?”
She saw him conceal a smile beneath his beard before he looked out to sea. “Your friend doesn’t help.”
The swell was high but she could still make out the shark’s fin knifing through the waves off the port bow. “That is truly something I can’t explain,” she said honestly.
“The crew bring word of what those other land-bound whisper in the hold. They talk of a beast charmer.”
Fermin’s smile before the waters claimed him . . . Remember your promise, my Queen. “He died to free us,” she said. “Called the shark somehow. Perhaps that’s why it follows, an echo of that calling. Such things are outside my knowledge.”
The captain snorted. “Finally, a flaw.” His mirth subsided quickly, his expression completely serious. “The Isles are less than a week away.”
“Where the Ship Lords await. I’ll keep my bargain. They’ll find me very convincing, I promise.”
“The Ship Lords are one thing, the Shield is another.”
The Shield of the Isles. Her brother’s spies had brought ample word of him, famed swordsman and pirate, given charge of the defence of the Isles. “He’s unlikely to believe me?”
“It’s not whether he believes that matters, it’s whether he cares.” He gestured at the deck and the rigging. “The Sea Sabre is his. He oversaw her birth in the yards. Every plank, nail and rope has his hand upon it, and there’s plenty of his blood in the deck too. For years we hunted the waves with her, took more gold and cargo than any ship ever born in the Isles. Yet here I am in command of her whilst he skulks on a wave-blasted rock. If his hand had been on her tiller we should have been home by now. And I doubt you’d’ve taken him in twenty moves.”
“Fifteen, I was being kind. Why does he skulk, this great captain of yours?”
Belorath turned back to the sea, voice soft with regret. “Because it’s a hard thing for a great man to fail, even when the failure is in securing his own death.”
“‘The predicted slave yield is estimated at twenty-five thousand,’” Lyrna recited. “‘This is low in ratio to the overall population, but the expected high cull rate must be considered. The true value of the Serpent’s Den lies in its ports and any ships our forces can capture, the islanders being uncivilised savages with surprisingly well developed skills in this area.’”
The assembled Ship Lords sat in silence as she spoke, most staring in dumb shock. Others, like the man seated in the middle of their line, with growing rage. A wiry man with the aspect of a fox, his gloved hands clenched repeatedly as she spoke on.
“‘The Serpent’s Den is known to retain a fleet in home waters for defensive purposes and resistance from this quarter can be expected to be fierce. A feinting strategy is therefore recommended, one division engaging the enemy to draw them away from the islands whilst another lands the invasion force. See table seven for suggestions on the makeup of the land forces . . .’”
The wiry man held up a hand and Lyrna fell silent. “Belorath,” the Ship Lord said to the captain. “You vouch for this woman’s veracity?”
“I do, Lord Ell-Nurin.”
The Ship Lord turned back to Lyrna. “You have prepared a full translation, I believe?”
“I have, my lord.” She came forward and handed him the bundle of parchment.
“What an accomplished hand you have,” Ell-Nurin observed, scanning the first page. “For a merchant’s daughter.”
“My father relied on me to pen his correspondence, his own hands being victim to the bone ague.”
“I am well acquainted with the merchants of Varinshold. Unlike most of my countrymen I was never a pirate and always found a welcome there, provided my hold was full of fresh tea of course. Tell me, what was your father’s name? Perhaps I knew him.”
“Traver Hultin, my lord. He dealt mostly in silks.” A real merchant with a real daughter, one of many to beg her father’s favour over the years.
“I’ve heard the name,” Ell-Nurin said. “And yours, lady?”
“Corla, my lord. Merely a mistress, not a lady.”
“Quite so. You wish to return to the Realm, I believe?”
“I do, my lord. As do those with whom I escaped.”
“The Isles has never welshed on a bargain.” He nodded at the captain. “See to it when we’re done here. For now, Mistress, please leave us to discuss these matters in private.”
She bowed and went to the chamber door, catching only a few words before they closed behind her. “You sent word to him?” Ell-Nurin asked.
“A boat was sent as soon as I arrived, my lord . . .”
The others were waiting on the quay, all dressed in a mismatched variety of Meldenean clothing and looking much like the pirates who had brought them here. They all rose as she approached, hope and wary expectation bright in their eyes.
“The captain will arrange a ship for us,” she said. “We should be on our way come the next tide.”
Harvin gave a whoop of relief, hugging Benten about the shoulders whilst Orena gave the first smile Lyrna had seen on her lips. Even Iltis seemed on the verge of a grin.
“Why?” said a small voice, and Lyrna turned to find Murel standing apart from the group, eyes downcast.
“What?” Orena asked her.
“Why go back?”
“It’s our home,” Harvin said.
“My home burned down with my parents inside,” Murel responded. “What’s there for me now?”
“The Realm is invaded,” Lyrna said. “Our people need our help.”
“What help can I give?” the girl asked. “I can’t fight, have no skills beyond needlework, and I was never even much good at that.”
“I saw you claw a man’s eyes out on the ship,” Harvin pointed out. “Seems to me you fight well enough.”
“She has a point,” Orena said. “All that awaits us in the Realm is war and death, and I’ve seen more than enough of both.”
“So now what?” Iltis replied. “You’ll just wait here for the Volarian fleet to arrive?”
“There are other ports,” Murel said. “The Alpiran Empire, the Far West.”
“You forget something,” Iltis said in a harsh tone, his expression bordering on anger. “We owe this woman a debt. All of us would now be resting in the shark’s belly but for her.”
“And I’m grateful,” Murel said, voice slightly choked as she reached for Lyrna’s hand. “I really am. But I’m just a girl, and I’ve been hurt enough.”
Queen of the Unified Realm, Lyrna thought. Unable to persuade five beggared subjects to risk themselves in her service. Watching Murel’s sniffling, she remembered her first sight of her, the veil of hair over her face as they led her aloft, her whimpered sobs. “I’m sorry,” she said, squeezing the girl’s hand. “I will not ask any of you to come, you must all make your own choice. But I will sail for the Realm, alone or not.”
“Not without me,” Iltis stated. “I’ve not killed enough Volarians yet. Not by far.”
“I’m with you, my lady,” Benten said. “My father will be expecting me. Can’t handle the nets so well by himself any more.” From the catch in his voice she knew he was talking about a dead man.
Iltis turned to Harvin. “What about you, outlaw? Got guts enough to fight as well as steal?”
“You saw my guts on the ship, brother,” Harvin replied with a dark glower before turning to Lyrna with apologetic eyes, reaching for Orena’s hand. “But I have . . . a responsibility now.”
Seems I don’t see everything after all, Lyrna thought.
“You don’t have to go,” Murel said, still clutching Lyrna’s hand. “Come with us. With you we could do anything, go anywhere . . .” She trailed off, eyes widening as she noticed something over Lyrna’s shoulder.
