Valda sighed. “I might have had I not already harbored my own doubts about Erkric. But even then, I must speak with care. It is far too easy to say, ‘He is evil.’ Does a man who was so kind to us all when we were young, who has always worked so tirelessly, wake up one morning and decide henceforth he will turn to evil?”
Signi said, “I believe I know your thrust. Did not someone among the Sartorans write that there is no human more dangerous than he or she who is most devoted to an ideal?”
“I have so read,” Valda said, drawing a deep breath. “Yet are we not devoted to Ydrasal? I would amend it to say, ‘those who will justify any means to serve their ideal.’ Ideals are seldom evil—outside of Norsunder—and who can say what their justification is? But Erkric’s ideal is no longer Ydrasal, which demands balance with all things; it has become the ascendance of the Venn, at any cost.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Rainorec.”
Rainorec—the doom of the Venn—did not always mean the same thing to everyone. Many felt that Rainorec lay in a shady future, perhaps the result of prideful but weak leaders being overcome by evil enemies; most ordinary folk regarded it as a term of disapprobation for adults, much as “naughty” is used for chiding children. Valda’s mage circle believed that no doom was worse than that suffered by one too high, who held too much power, because the powerful, in falling, took everyone under their command with them.
Signi bowed her head, palms together in assent.
Valda touched the stone. “Durasnir, for example, hates Erkric, yet would defend his actions before the king saying— and believing—none more loyal to Ydrasal.”
“I agree.” Signi considered. “Tell me more about Ramis.”
Valda set aside the mirror. “I asked how I was to see more than I saw already. Ramis said if I truly followed Ydrasal then I must witness in that place I showed you. It has taken me months to master first the magic, then to learn how to stay undetected in the realm of the spirit. I was protected by our circle in the homeland. One of us cannot manage alone. Even so, it takes us all at least a day to recover after such a session.”
“Realm of the spirit,” Signi repeated in a whisper almost without sound. “How do we contend with people who talk so easily about such things, who speak of waiting for centuries? ”
“We do not. We must contrive with what we know.” Valda brushed her hands over her face again, as if to wipe away the memory of what she had endured. “Erkric was thrust back here, in Jaro; he was unconscious, the servants spoke of blood.” She touched her ears and nose. “I came away through the means I had learned.”
Signi said, “Will he get such magic?”
“It is clear he was there before. You saw what I saw on this visit: do you not think he will go again, when he can, no matter the cost, until he gains what he desires?”
“Yes. But does such magic exist outside of Norsunder? There is no reference to it in our own archive, and I have seen nothing that indicates the Sartoran Mage Council has access to such spells.”
“In the historical record there are references. It belongs to the ancient days, because it was systematically destroyed after what the Sartorans call the Fall.”
“Can we act against the Dag? The intent of such spells is against all we do!”
“And yet Prince Rajnir has agreed to magical experiments. He is convinced such magic will achieve the king’s will. Erkric uses the prince’s anger. He will experiment on Count Wafri first, the prospect of which delights Rajnir. The Dag has,” she said softly, “promised Rajnir Sartor, by subjugating Iasca Leror by magic after the invasion. The Marlovan warriors can be sent east to take new land for the Venn, and no one will be able to stop them.”
Signi felt chill down to her bones.
“And Rajnir rejoices. He craves a brilliant success that will reinstate him in the grace of the king.”
Signi gripped her forearms close against her body. "Then... you cannot believe the Dag means to control Rajnir?”
“Why do you think the Sartoran Mage Council destroyed all evidence of such magic, long ago—before we even learned it in the Land of the Venn? Aside from the questions of what the Old Sartorans could or could not do by nature, what human being now can master that much power and not be warped by it? The gaining of power becomes, in a succession of small decisions, an end in itself— always for the right reasons.”
Signi made a swift gesture evocative of desire. “At last, it is sufficient just to want. And so you must gain proof that the Dag . . . walks the path of Rainorec?” She knew it was weakness, but she could not bring herself to give voice to the words: that if Erkric sought to assure victory over the Marlovans with the aid of Norsundrian magic, the next step along that path would be to subjugate Rajnir to his will so that, if the prince was brought to the throne of the Venn to replace the king, in effect Erkric would be king, with so much power no one could resist him.
Valda bowed her head. “That is my task. We have direful work before us because the need is dire. I cannot stand before the throne and accuse the Dag without proof. In the meantime, you must find allies on that ship, without mentioning the cause, because when I give you the sign, you must act.” She looked old and afraid.
Signi said, “The sign will be orders that separate us from the patrol?”
“Yes. It might be a month, more likely longer. But when your Bluewing Seeker is alone on the water, wherever it is sent, you must act at once.”
Valda made the sign of peace, returned by Signi. They knew this was probably the last time they would see one another.
Each day as the sun rose a little earlier Jeje had wondered which dawn would bring Inda back.
She had come to expect that, if he arrived at all, it would be at the head of a mighty fleet or with some sort of parade suitable more to a king than to a not-quite-pirate’s exile.
But it was a quiet arrival, exactly a year and two days after they’d parted. A messenger appeared in Fleet House, waving significantly at Jeje before scampering upstairs to where Chim was busy with some captains.
That look was enough. Jeje’s heart thumped, and her hands shook as she straightened her work area.
So she was ready when Chim came downstairs, summoning her with a beetle-browed glance. The messenger ran out, and before long the familiar tall, stout, gray-eyed Guild Mistress Perran emerged from the cooperage and joined them.
The three of them met Inda on the way to a cotton weaver’s shop, where Chim was certain they could be assured of privacy. Inda paid the child handsomely. She grinned again at Jeje—she was one of the trainees, as were her mother and uncle—then vanished into the crowd.
Jeje studied Inda. Strange how you don’t see someone for a year, and though you recognize him instantly, he looks different. Older. The planes of Inda’s face were sharp, the boy long gone. Yet his sudden smile when he saw Jeje recalled the fellow rat of their days on the Pim ships. It was a sweet smile, an odd thing in so wary a face.
She did not yet know how glad he was to see her. More than glad. Gone forever was the blithe assumption of loyalty. Wafri had destroyed that. But each encounter with one of his friends who appeared when and where they had promised to be was as strong as any healing spell to his heart: first Mutt, and then Dasta and Tcholan, with the new fleet they’d been building up, all waiting for him at the Smuggler’s Cove off Danai Harbor.
She scrutinized him again. He moved with the sailor’s rolling gait, almost a swagger, his long, four-strand sailor’s queue swinging. He wore his sun-bleached, much-mended unlaced fighting shirt under a long vest, despite the heat. Jeje knew he was fully armed.
She fell in step beside him, then laughed inside. It had never occurred to her how short Inda was compared to most mainlanders, though she still had to look up at him, being a full hand shorter.
They followed Chim up narrow stairs. The hot summer air was thick with the smell of spiced cabbage mixed with the aroma of too many people in rain-soaked clothing. Thunder rumbled in the distance; until thi
s morning there had been no rain for days. Dust seemed to hang suspended in the air.
The waiting Guild Fleet members and six captains all murmured greetings, studying the famed Elgar the Fox with a mixture of reactions. They sat along the walls on crates and barrels, leaving the single plank bench for Inda and those who accompanied him.
“Are ye ready?” Fleet Master Chim asked Inda as soon as they sat down.
“No,” Inda said.
Guild Mistress Perran gasped, then glanced Jeje’s way.
“I’ve spent a year watching. Sometimes running,” Inda said, the last part wry.
He looked older and tougher partly because he had a new scar, this one on the other side of his face. A long one, too, vanishing into his hair. Jeje shuddered. Hard as they’d drilled, those were only drills. Inda’s presence made violence imminent again.
Guild Mistress Perran, who had come to like and trust the gruff Jeje, felt her mouth go dry; Chim thought of the Venn threats and subsequent royal decrees, the spies, inter-guild wrangling, dwindling funds, and, worst of all, interrupted trade, but said only, “Why?”
“They communicate by magic,” Inda said. “I want some of those scroll-cases they use.”
Chim and Perran saw their question mirrored. She said, “I know what you mean, but I’ve never actually seen them. Only aristocrats can afford them. The harbormaster has one, but it goes with the job, not with the person. Maybe in Sartor they are common, but that is a long journey, as you know.”
“And costly. Damn costly,” Chim scolded, his worries about vanishing funds goading him.
For an answer Inda stuck his hand inside his vest, brought out a heavy cloth bag, and tossed it into Chim’s lap with a flick as though getting rid of something repugnant.
The gnarled old fingers stiffly undid the tie, and the contents spilled out onto the worn wooden floor. The Bren officials gasped when they saw the rich glitter of gemstones. Not ordinary gemstones, they saw at once. These were rare, rich, first quality in color, purity, and cut. A king’s ransom. A kingdom’s.
Perran looked up accusingly. “You are a pirate.”
“They came from . . . a pirate,” Inda said.
Jeje wondered what he had been about to say; Chim and Perran were too busy gauging the gems to notice the pause.
“Ah.” Perran glanced up, with a knowing air. “Then you did clear the Fire Islands of pirates? All the eastern traders have complained about how bold they’d gotten since the disappearance of the Brotherhood. Rumor put you there, but no one knew for certain.”
Inda turned up a hand. “Needed clearing. Now. The Venn always know where their fleets are, so in effect they are twice as fast as us. We have to send a messenger and then wait for response. Their messages go instantly.”
“You are sure.”
“Saw one used.” Inda touched the new scar with absent fingers, then leaned back. “Any news here?” He glanced Jeje’s way, and she knew he was thinking about Tau’s absence.
“The Venn sniffed something out, somewhere,” Chim said. “We’re not blamin’ ye—and if they blame yez for clearin’ the Fire Islands, they are stupider than we thought. But still. Threats to us—we can only travel down the strait within close sight o’ land, and only in singles, doubles if small craft. Threats t’ the guilds. Spies. Which is why we’re here, and not at Fleet House. Thank ye for sending a messenger, ” he added.
“It’s not news that they’re after me,” Inda said.
Perran said, “We hoped you would be ready. Clear orders for action would resolve a lot of the problems that have beset us since winter and the resumption of the drills with no launch prospect in sight.”
Inda said, “If we go now, we’ll be slaughtered. We’re going to need a hundred capital ships. Their core fleet is eighty-one warships, and each of those has attendant scouts and raiders. And that’s just Rajnir’s fleet. The king has far more up north and could send them at any time.”
Chim whistled.
Perran glanced his way, kneaded her fingers, then said as briskly as she could, “I understand. Perhaps the magic communications, if they are something that we can locate and learn to use, would aid us now. The magic would summon our trade ships when needed.”
Chim fingered his beard. “Hm. So. Yes.”
Jeje, who knew him pretty well, recognized when he was serious and when he was trying to provoke by the language he spoke in. When he mixed his serious Sartoran with his broken Dock Talk, he was in a muddle. Like now. “We could in fact send out the ships we’ve collected, with our trained ‘defenders’ hired to actually defend. Make some money. Keep our owners happy. Get experience on Jeje’s trainees. Guild-owned ships bein’, ye might say, one thing, and owner-run ships another. Hum. Hum! Yes.” He nodded.
“Then I’ll get back to sea while the winds are good,” Inda said. “And, short of a message, you’ll hear from me again in a year.”
Another year. Jeje clenched her jaw against complaint. She followed the others out of the hot little room and down the worn stairs.
While Chim’s and Perran’s voices faded into the distance, she became aware of a step at her side.
Inda said, “Where’s Tau?”
“At the theater.”
Inda frowned. “The what?”
“It’s a building where they act out plays.”
Inda wiped his brow, then shook his head. “Oh, yes. I heard about those last summer.”
“I saw my first one here. I guess it’s common enough in Sartor’s royal city and Alsayas in Colend. Maybe other places. The players don’t travel about. Instead, people come to them. Anyone who has the door price can come, once the court has seen each new thing.”
Inda waggled a hand. “Tau?”
“I’m getting there. See, they don’t only perform old ones, they write new ones, and furthermore, they put sneaky things in. Jokes about foreign rulers, or current unpopular people in court, and the like. You go to the playhouse to hear all the real news,” she finished. “Tau, being Tau, is the favorite of the first-ranking woman player. She holds a kind of court after the new plays—there’s one a month during the winter season—and everybody of any importance, land or sea, tries to get invited. They go, they drink, and they talk. Especially to the prince, who’s on our side. So we get all the news, while Tau hands ’round the wine and makes them all laugh.”
Inda whistled.
“So first thing: Tau hasn’t heard anything but rumor about Ramis of the Knife. Anyone who’s heard of him has nothing but rumor to pass on. Each wilder than the last.” She added dryly, “Apparently the crown princess had decided he doesn’t exist, and that Prince Kavna cannot spend any more money sending messengers to discover anything about him.”
Inda grunted. “Go on.”
“We train every morning, he and I. We do Fox’s hand drills, which we haven’t taught the others. But he went to sleep a few moments before your messenger came, and we’re used to trading news, so I didn’t want to wake him. I’ll tell him anything you want me to say.”
“Tell him that Dasta and Mutt were more successful than I’d thought. They met me at Smugglers’ Cove with a good size fleet, but it’s not nearly enough. Dhalshev is also recruiting for us, Dasta said—but again it’s not enough, not to face the entire Venn fleet. It’s going to take at least a year—more—everyone working together to build the kind of fleet that can take on the Venn.”
Inda stopped right there in the street, forcing annoyed pedestrians to thread around them, and looked into her face. “You’re unhappy.”
“Not just me. Tau is as well, despite all the things I told you. We were hoping to soon be at sea,” she finished in a rush.
Inda sighed, looked down, then up. “I’m sorry. But we can’t be careless. I was. And got myself caught once, up north of The Fangs on the Ymar side. I’d be dead if it wasn’t for Fox.” A brief grin. “Escaped and made a mess of things.”
Jeje made a face, uncomfortable, though she could not define why. “I hope
that means you made the mess on them.”
“Yes. But they did for me first.” Inda went on before she could ask any questions. “There’s a big war going on much farther north. Kingdoms allied against the Venn. My immediate goal now is to finish charting the north coast of the strait. Which has little travel on it. Now I know why, if the Venn are handing out orders against sailing down the middle like we used to. My other immediate goal is to capture one of those mages, which means taking a Venn ship,” he finished. “Not a capital ship. Don’t think I could. They rarely sail alone, and they’re bigger than our biggest ships. With their magic connections, they can sail far ahead or behind, out of sight of any others—but one magic message and they sail fast to one another’s aid. They have mages, and the mages have those communications as well as their navigation spells.” His expression was bleak.
Jeje said gruffly, “It’s that bad, eh?”
“But I’ve got one thing in my favor: I’ve got good charts of the northeastern coast of the strait. I need to chart the west, if I can—and find me a sea dag.” Then he did a surprising thing—he bent and kissed her softly on the brow. “You could have been gone, and I would not have blamed either of you. But you were here.” His voice went husky; to Jeje’s surprise—and discomfort—Inda’s eyes gleamed with a liquid sheen. He scrubbed his knuckles over his eyelids. “I don’t know why I do that. It happened when I saw Mutt and the others, too.” He stuck his hand in his vest and pulled out another, thinner bag. “That’s for you two—it’s the last of my take from Ghost Island. I won’t need it now. I figured you had to be low, if you’ve been hiring ships and people. Use it however you see fit.”
“We were indeed getting low. We have a huge pay list now.” Then she had to ask. “That new scar. Ship action?”
A shake of the head. “I mentioned I was caught. By a local lord, supposedly an ally of Prince Rajnir. The little shit liked playing with his prisoners.” When she flipped up the back of her hand in the general direction of Ymar he chuckled. “Fox came for me. On our way out, we decided we might as well make a suitable gesture—that mess I mentioned.” He cocked his head, listening.