Tower Lord

  He had been flawless, she thought. Perfect in every way. Not like an act at all. A damaged man, noble in his humility, returning home after an epic of tribulation. The woman too, every inch the timid escaped slave. All gone the moment my brother died. And her rage when I killed Frentis, no acting there. Her thoughts lingered on the woman’s face, the grief and rage as the blood began to stream from her eyes. Unexpected, Lyrna decided. Frentis wasn’t supposed to die. Not part of the plan. Which begged another question. What else did she need him for? Or was it just the rage of a woman who loses her lover? The Mahlessa’s words came to her, as they often did as she pondered the mystery of it all. Three of these things . . . His sister . . . you wouldn’t want to meet her. Could it be? Had she survived an encounter with the third malicious agent the Mahlessa spoke of?

  A fresh spasm of pain clutched at her scalp, making her stifle a gasp. Perhaps survive was not the right word. A mountain of questions but no answers. No evidence. But I’ll have it, however many years it takes . . . However much blood I have to spill to get it.

  Her eyes were drawn to a movement off to her left. It was Fermin, leaning forward with a hand extended towards the deck, his finger moving from side to side as he smiled down at something between his feet. Lyrna followed his gaze, seeing a small black rat on the planking, staring up at the moving finger, its head matching the movement with exact precision, as if it were being pulled along by an invisible string.

  Lyrna’s chains made a small clanking sound as she leaned forward for a better view. Fermin’s head came up in a start, expression void of any humour now. His fingers spasmed and the rat scampered off into the shadows. He looked away as Lyrna continued to stare, the Mahlessa’s words now singing in her head like a triumphal bugle: Look to the beast charmer when chains bind you.

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  “So, my lord,” she asked Fermin the next morning, “what manner of thief were you?”

  For once he seemed reticent, reluctant to meet her gaze. “A poor one, given my capture.”

  “When you are . . . taken aloft,” she persisted. “You must have seen how many hands crew this ship.”

  His gaze met hers. “Why would that interest you, Mistress?”

  There was a rattle of chains as Iltis shifted behind her, as she hoped he would. “Do you wish to be a slave?” she asked him. “Used like this for all your days? What fate do you think awaits you in their empire?”

  “A better fate than being cast into the ocean. I’ll suck every cock they thrust at me and bare my arse to a thousand more. Shame is not my vice. But fear is. I intend to live, mistress of no name.” He turned away. “Scheme all you want, I’ll have none of it.”

  “Forget him,” Iltis said in a dismissive rumble. “A coward will be of no use to us in any case.”

  Lyrna turned to him. “Us, brother?”

  “Don’t play with me, woman. I see your eyes covering every corner of this hold. What have you seen?”

  She turned towards him, shuffling as close as she could, speaking softly, but still loud enough for Fermin to hear. “My family were merchants, as you know. We traded with Volarian ships. A ship this size will have a crew of perhaps forty men, fifty at most.”

  Iltis frowned. “So?”

  “There must be at least one hundred and fifty people in this hold. Odds of three to one, if we can loose them.”

  “Many will be too weak to fight, and half are women.”

  “Give a woman a good reason and she’ll fight a hundred men. And a weak man becomes strong when fired with fear and hatred.”

  The man beside Iltis stirred, raising his head. Iltis turned a hard stare on him. “Breathe a word of this and you’ll wake up with a broken neck.”

  The man shook his head, sitting up and shuffling closer. He was sturdy, though not so large as Iltis, with a prominent jaw and a scars on both cheeks marking him as either outlaw or soldier. “Get these chains off,” he said. “And I’ll rip the throats from a dozen of the fuckers with my bare hands.”

  Outlaw, Lyrna decided.

  Iltis regarded the earnest face of the outlaw in silence for a moment then turned back to Lyrna. “The overseer’s key. You have a way to get it?”

  No. “Yes. But we need to be patient. Wait for the right time. Speak to those around you, keep your words soft, but warn them to be ready.”

  “How do we know we can trust them all?” Iltis enquired. “Some may sell us for favoured treatment or a promise of freedom.”

  “We have no choice,” Lyrna said, glancing over her shoulder at Fermin, now huddled with his back to them, though she saw his fists were clenched. “Trust must be risked.”

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  The word was passed from captive to captive, questions whispered back and forth throughout the day. They were afraid, but none save for Fermin said no, and none sold them to the overseer. Still free at heart, Lyrna thought. Not yet moulded into slaves.

  She had questions relayed to the slender girl who was taken aloft most often. How many in the crew? How many are armed? The next time she was led to the steps her hair was pulled back from her face, her eyes still leaking tears, but lit with a determined light. Upon being returned to the hold her answers came back. Thirty crewmen. Fifteen guards, positioned about the hold entrance, working in shifts of five at a time.

  She waited until Iltis was asleep before speaking to Fermin again. He sat half-turned towards the hull, eyes closed, a slight frown on his brow, as if straining for some faint sound. Lyrna listened and picked up a distant, lilting drone.

  “Whale-song,” she said.

  Fermin’s eyebrows rose and a grim smile came to his lips. “Not for long.”

  Abruptly the whale-song ended and a moment later the hull reverberated with the echo of a crushing impact. “Red sharks,” said Fermin. “They’re always hungry.”

  “You can hear their hunger?”

  He turned back to her, expression closed once more.

  “I know what you are,” Lyrna said. “Beast charmer.”

  “And I know you’re not some merchant’s daughter. Did the overseer have it right? A rich man’s whore? I know you understood every word he said.”

  “Whores get paid. Slaves don’t.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “To do what you do. Steal. Or rather have your little friend steal for you.”

  “The overseer’s key.”

  “Quite so.”

  “We unshackle everyone and storm the ship. That’s your great plan?”

  “If you have another, I should very much like to hear it.”

  “I have a plan, of my own. You see it’s the master of this fine vessel who calls for me. He’s a man of considerable property, a large estate near Volar, a wing of his house given over to his collection of young men from all the corners of the world. I’ll be his first from the Realm, pampered and cared for whilst you’ll be squirting out babies every year until your womb dries.”

  “That’s your ambition? To be kept like a pet until you grow too old to interest him.”

  “I’ll be on my way long before then, don’t worry. A whole empire to explore, so many treasures to steal.”

  “Leaving everything behind? Your city, your mother?”

  She saw that one hit home, the twitch of his mouth speaking of a suppressed pain.

  “What of her?” Lyrna prodded. “Do you know what became of her when the city fell?”

  He rocked back and forth, hugging his knees and suddenly appearing very young. “No,” he said in a whisper.

  “You said you provided for her. That’s why you took to thieving, isn’t it? For her. Don’t you want to know if she still lives?”

  “How do we know anyone still lives back there? How do we know anyone remains free?”

  “I know it. And I think you do too.”

  “When the
City Guard caught me she bribed the lord of the dungeon to make sure I was fed. The King allows a few comforts in the dungeons now, if you can pay for them. At least, he did.” He closed his eyes, hugging his knees tighter. “She’s dead. I know it.”

  “With all your heart? Because with all my heart I know there are still free people in our Realm, and they are fighting whilst we languish here.”

  He opened his eyes and she saw tears shining. “You’re not a whore,” he said hoarsely. “No whore ever spoke like that.”

  “Help us. We’ll take this ship and sail back to the Realm. I will help you find her, you have my word.”

  He gritted his teeth, breath exhaling in a hiss. “I always used weasels,” he said after a moment. “Rats aren’t suited to thieving. I’ll need time before the bond is strong enough for such a complex task.”

  “How long?”

  “At least three days.”

  Three days. An unwelcome delay, but Volaria was still a long way off, and three more days of improved diet could only aid them when the time came. She nodded. “Thank you.”

  He gave a faint grin. “I hope there are some sailors amongst this lot, otherwise we’ll be running a great risk just to set ourselves adrift in a broad ocean.”

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  The rat dropped the berry in front of Fermin, sitting back and staring up with bright eyes, whiskers twitching. Fermin smiled fondly at the rodent and blinked, the rat scurrying off in a blur. It reappeared after only a few moments bearing another berry, adding it to the growing pile at Fermin’s feet.

  “Don’t like this,” Iltis whispered. His face was shadowed but Lyrna knew it was tense with suspicion. “Use of the Dark is a denial of the Faith.”

  Lyrna was tempted to point out that none of the original catechisms made any mention of the Dark and the strictures against it only appeared in Realm Law following the time of the Red Hand. But she doubted Iltis was the kind of man for whom reasoned discussion held much meaning. “We have no choice,” she whispered instead. “No other way to get the key.”

  “She’s right,” the scar-faced outlaw said. “I’d even give my soul to the Cumbraelin god to get out of this pit.”

  Iltis made a grunting noise, his bulky form hunching over in anger. “Heresy comes easy to the weak of Faith. Mine has never wavered.”

  “We don’t get that key, you’ll have years of slaving to test your precious Faith,” the outlaw replied provoking a lurching snarl from Iltis.

  “This isn’t helping,” Lyrna said.

  Iltis ground his teeth and relaxed back against the hull, lost to the shadows once more.

  “You understand your part in this?” Lyrna asked the outlaw.

  He nodded. “Get to the tiller, kill the helmsman. Three of the strongest men will be with me.”

  “Good.” She turned to Iltis. “Brother?”

  “Once the shackles are off, wait for the guards to come for the nightly inspection. Strangle them with our chains and take their weapons. Take five men and kill the others on deck. The overseer’s cabin is at the stern next to the master’s. Kill the overseer first, then the master.”

  “I’ll lead the others against the crew,” Lyrna said. “Try to herd them towards the port rail, keep them bottled up. We’ll need you to help finish them off, so be quick.”

  “We’ll be lucky if half of us are still breathing by the end,” the outlaw said.

  I’ll consider us fortunate if it’s a quarter, she thought. “I know. Do the others?”

  “They know.” He swallowed and forced a smile. “Better a free corpse than a living slave, eh?”

  ◆ ◆ ◆

  Fermin pronounced his rat ready the following night, the animal now so completely within his control it would sit in his upturned hands, staring ahead with an unnerving stillness. “He’s a clever one,” Fermin said. “Not weasel clever, but still smart enough for tonight’s escapade.”

  Lyrna felt a fresh wave of pain sweep over her head, making her grimace. The pain had changed over the last two days, becoming more concentrated in certain places, no doubt where the flames had seared the deepest into her flesh. Added to the pain was a hard ball of nausea in her gut. The Lonak had a word for it, Arakhin: the weakness before battle. “Then let’s be about it,” she said.

  Fermin lowered the rat to the deck where it promptly scampered towards the steps, hopping from one to the other until it was lost from view. Fermin reclined, eyes closed. Lyrna breathed slow and even as the moments stretched, trying to calm the sickness building in her belly, feeling the silence thicken around her as the others waited. She studied Fermin’s face as he continued to sit with his eyes closed, seeing the occasional twitch or frown and wondering what it meant. Does he see through its eyes? she wondered as a faint smile came to the thief’s lips.

  “He’s got it,” he whispered, making Lyrna’s heart leap. “That’s it, jump down, then back under the d—” His eyes flew open as a spasm of pain shook him from head to toe. He convulsed then doubled over, retching.

  “Fermin!” Lyrna called to him. “What is it? What happened?”

  The heavy fall of boots on the deck echoed throughout the hold, all eyes raised to track their progress. The footsteps halted, a pause, then something small splashed into the square of moonlit bilge water below the steps, something with black fur and a broken back.

  Fermin stopped vomiting, righting himself and staring at the planking on the hull, his brows deeply furrowed in concentration.

  The overseer descended the steps at a leisurely pace, the tip of his whip sliding over the wood as he made an unhurried entrance, standing in the moonlight and nudging the dead rat with his boot. “How very interesting,” he murmured in Volarian.

  Fermin gave a pained grunt, his breathing heavy, sweat shining on his skin as he continued to stare at the hull.

  “Magic,” the overseer said in Realm Tongue, raising his gaze. “One here, with magic. Who?” His whip uncoiled with a flick of his wrist, sliding across the planking like a snake. “All here, trade for one with magic.” He moved to the outlaw, staring into his eyes. “Understanding?”

  The outlaw was shaking with fear, a fear so absolute it seemed certain he was about to spill every secret. Instead he closed his eyes and shook his head. Better a free corpse than a living slave.

  The overseer shrugged and moved back, turning away, then twisting with cobralike speed, his whip moving too fast for the eye, the skin on the outlaw’s already scarred cheek splitting open as the crack reverberated throughout the hold.

  “Who?” the overseer said again, his eyes roving, the outlaw sobbing in pain.

  Fermin gave an audible gasp, sagging as yet more sweat streamed down his back, drawing the overseer’s eye. As he started towards him Lyrna jangled her chains, rising the bare few inches they permitted, speaking in Volarian. “It’s me! I have the magic!”

  The overseer’s gaze narrowed, a very small grin on his lips as he moved towards her. “Should have guessed,” he said in Volarian. “Rare to find one, but when I do it’s usually the smartest.” He held up the key on the chain about his neck. “Sent your little friend for this. Clever, it nearly worked. But now I’ll have to kill ten of these as an example. Not you though, you’re worth a thousand of them. But you do get to choose.”

  He moved back to the moonlit square, spreading his arms with a laugh. “So choose, you burnt bitch! Which of these do you want to watch d—”

  The ship lurched, throwing him from his feet, the planking on the hull behind splintering, water streaming through in miniature fountains. The overseer staggered forward, falling onto Iltis and the outlaw. For a moment he gaped up at the big brother, face blank with shock. Iltis brought his blocky head forward to connect with the overseer’s nose, bone breaking and blood streaming. The overseer sagged as the outlaw twisted, wrapping his legs around the Volarian’s midriff, holding
him in place as Iltis continued to bring his head down. More breaking bone, more blood.

  “The key!” Lyrna shouted.

  Iltis stared at her, blood streaming down his face, he blinked as the fury abated and understanding returned. With the outlaw’s help he rolled the overseer onto his back, fumbling for the key.

  “I can’t . . .” Fermin said in a faint drone of exhaustion. Lyrna turned to see him slumped, blood streaming from his nose and eyes. “I can’t stop him . . . now. You have to be quick.”

  “Got it!” Iltis said, pulling the key towards his manacles, stubby fingers attempting to manoeuvre it into the lock.

  Something impacted on the hull once more, the planking splintering further, more water gushing forth, the level rising about their feet. Iltis cursed as the key was jerked from his fingers, spinning in the air and landing at Lyrna’s feet. She crouched down, hands plunging into the water, searching, panic threatening to strip her reason away . . . There, smooth metal under her fingertips. She grasped it tight, holding it up to her manacles, forcing the tremble from her hands as she twisted the lock to meet it. Slow, don’t rush . . . The key slotted into the lock, turned and the manacles fell away.

  She stood, uncaring of the ache that burned in every muscle, surveying the few faces not hidden in shadow, seeing the terror and desperation, the pleading in every gaze. The steps are near, and this ship will sink before long . . .

  She freed Iltis first, then the outlaw. “Guard the steps!”

  “What about taking the ship?” the outlaw asked.

  Lyrna glanced at the splintered hull and moved on to the next captive, a woman about her own age, sobbing in gratitude. “Soon there won’t be any ship to take,” she said, helping the woman to her feet.

  She freed the next man in line and handed him the key. “Free the others. Hurry.”

  She went to Fermin, finding him near senseless with exhaustion, although the blood had stopped flowing. “Wake up!” She slapped him across the face. “Wake up, my lord!”

  Focus returned to his gaze and he groaned in protest as she hauled him upright. “What is it?” she said. “What did you do?”