Children of Earth and Sky (12 page)

Drago says, not looking back, “And the artist fellow?”

Marin considers it.

“Not our problem,” he says.

—

PERO LET
HIS SERVANT
share his cabin. He wasn't some well-bred merchant prince like Marin Djivo or those on the Council of Twelve. He wasn't going to act like one. Tomo snored, it emerged, shouted out a couple of times, tossed on his pallet, but Pero had friends who were worse.

It seemed that he himself was all right at sea. No sickness.

He slept well into the mornings as they went south down the coast. Didn't hurry to be out of bed, there was nothing for him to do on deck. And so it was that he was awakened at dawn on the third day by urgent shouting from above, as Senjani pirates boarded them in the first pale light.

D
anica had made it clear from the start. She would come with her bow and arrows—and her dog. She would never go anywhere without the dog. Even on a raid. Even boarding a merchant ship, as they were doing this moment, off the coast of Batiara.

Yes, she'd told them, Tico would be fine at sea. There were often animals on merchant ships. Yes, she knew about sea air and salt and protecting bowstrings. She would do what needed doing. And in her view every raiding party would be well served by having someone who knew how to handle a bow. At sea, as by land. She had said that to the raid captains, when they'd summoned her to ask what she wanted as a reward for what she'd done in the bay at night.

She'd told them. If ever there was a time to ask again, it was the day after she'd brought a Seressini boat to the strand with dead men aboard.

Danica knew that if she was worth having on this raid—or any other—it was because of what she brought to a fighting party with her arrows and her eyesight. Maybe her knives, though others were good with those.

Until they'd actually set out, after the two war galleys had turned and gone home, she'd been unable to entirely believe they'd let her come. She had been sure permission would be revoked at some cruel final moment, right in the harbour, even, either because the clerics proclaimed it unnatural, or because some raiders didn't want a woman among them.

Many didn't. Some had been explicit as to what they thought a better use of her might be.

On the other hand, as she'd pointed out—sweetly at first, then less so—none of them had killed seven Seressinis in the bay, saving the boats from being set on fire in the dark, and exposing the spy in their midst. When he had achieved all those things, she'd said to one of the raiders, a Miho family member, loud and vulgar, he might be allowed to come calling at her door to discuss other matters. She'd evaluate him then, she said, and decide.

There had been laughter. It hadn't been a private exchange.

You may make an enemy
, her grandfather had said in her mind.

I know. Did I do wrong, zadek? Is he dangerous?

He's a fool. It is all right. The others will honour your pride.

It was probably true. That was what happened in Senjan.

Silently, she'd said,
We're too much guided by pride, aren't we?

What else is there to be guided by?
he'd replied.

She'd thought about that a few times since.

Could pride alone carry you forward and up as you scrambled aboard a merchant ship flying the Dubravae flag? There was her cold, hard need for vengeance, but this raid wasn't a part of that. Dubrava wasn't her enemy. These were first steps on a journey.

Scaling the side of the ship wasn't difficult, even with the bow and quiver. (She'd changed her bowstring in the dark.) Tico was faster than any of them, a leap to an anchor chain, then along that to the deck as if he'd been doing this all his life. Danica reached the rail, pulled herself over, stood on the deck in the grey light. Most of the raiders were there before her. She needed to learn to be
quicker, she told herself. The crew had surrendered already, there was no resistance. Some of the Senjani had already gone below, to see what was being carried.

She hoped no one could see how frightened she was. A merchant ship from Dubrava wasn't going to fight them, but she knew—every one of them did—that they weren't supposed to board and rob a Jaddite ship running from Seressa to Dubrava. It would be hard to make a case that this was part of any war against infidels.

Not their fault that they'd been locked on their strand by Seressa, unable to even trade with the islands. If you starved people, you left them no choice, right?

That was what their leader, a man named Hrant Bunic, had said yesterday evening when they'd seen the sail and begun following it. Senjani boats were shallow-bottomed, low to the sea, hard to spot as they approached. Good at escaping into shallows, even up rivers when they needed to.

It was early in the year for a Dubravae ship to have reached Seressa and be heading home. If they'd caught it earlier, coming north, Bunic said, they'd have reaped a harvest of goods from Asharite lands, and had a claim to those—as heroes of the border. The story they always told. And believed, mostly, Danica thought. Now, it was going to be Dubrava-bought cargo from Seressa, which meant Jaddite merchants selling to Jaddite buyers, which meant they shouldn't be taking it.

With luck, maybe some Kindath goods
, her grandfather said.
There is a district of them in Seressa.

And we war on the Kindath?

She knew he was trying to calm her. She'd taken up a position towards the mainmast with two others, Tico beside them. The other two held swords. Danica had an arrow to her bowstring, but was holding the bow casually. There ought to be no need for violence. So Bunic had said, and her grandfather had said the same in her head.

The Kindath?
Depends who you listen to. They deny Jad, after all. And besides, after those war galleys you can take Seressini cargo and claim it as a toll for what they did. Bunic probably will.

The ship's captain, a broad-shouldered man with a black beard, was facing Bunic now. His expression in the brightening light was somewhere between anger and grim resignation.

“Early in spring for Senjani on this side of the water,” he said, almost conversationally.

“Took a chance,” Hrant Bunic replied, also lightly. “We're in some need, as you'll likely know. Early this way for the
Ingacia
, too.” Bunic smiled briefly. “From Khatib? Wintered there? You made it back quickly then.”

“We did. I don't think I know you.”

“I don't think you do,” Bunic replied. “You'll forgive us if we check to see if there's anything from Jad-denying heretics below?”

“There isn't,” said another man, approaching from behind the captain. He was extremely tall, a neat beard, golden hair under a hat, a polished voice and manner. “There is nothing but Jaddite cargo. Check it and leave. Or take my word for it. I'm Marin Djivo. This is my ship. You have no business being aboard, and every cleric in the world will say as much.” This one was controlling anger, Danica thought.

“Not our clerics,” Bunic said. “Ours were hungry this winter and spring. Seressa was hanging islanders who traded with us.”

“We heard that. We aren't Seressini. You don't hurt them if you steal from us. We've paid them for what we're carrying.”

“And you'll trade east with the Osmanlis, denying the god with every coin you pocket.”

Their usual argument in Senjan. Danica had never paid much attention to Hrant Bunic before. She knew he was a leader of many raiding parties, said to be calm and respected. She was impressed with him just now.

The tall man laughed. “Ah. I have a devout man on my ship,” he said.

“We all are,” said Bunic quietly. “We are Jad's warriors on the border.”

“Then go inland!” snapped Marin Djivo.

Tico growled, Danica gestured him to silence. Marin Djivo glanced at them, then back to Bunic.

“Fight east if the khalif's armies bring war. Do glorious battle for Jad and the emperor and Patriarch and leave honest citizens in peace! You don't need more enemies! And no thief can name himself a hero while boarding another man's ship. No one believes your lies about heroism.”

“Bold talk for a man facing swords.”

“Pah! I'll fight you alone to end this foolishness.”

“What? To the death?” Bunic's tone was mocking.

“If you like.”

There was a rippling of sound along the deck.

Bunic laughed. “A swordsman? Schooled in your youth by a rich man's fencing master?”

The tall man smiled. He tossed his hat away. “Can this be? A Senjani raid leader afraid of a merchant?”

Stop this now!
her grandfather said abruptly.
This is no fight.

Danica didn't understand, but she made herself move forward from the mast. She took off her own cap, shook out her hair. Everyone could see it now, and know she was a woman. “I'll fight you, rich man's son! Keep your sword, I have two knives. Just tell me where you'd like the killing blade to enter.”

She was afraid of what Bunic might say, only relaxed when she heard him laugh again. “Yes. Fight one of our women, Gosparko Djivo! If you want to battle for your cargo, go ahead. You are all insured against raiders and storms. You think we don't
know
that?”

“I have no idea what the level of ignorance is in Senjan,” Marin Djivo said icily. He was staring at Danica. “I am sure your girl can throw knives extremely well—or she wouldn't be here.”

Danica was trying to breathe normally. What if he had accepted the challenge, what if the moment had forced him to? People could be trapped by pride.

Then she saw the merchant's mouth quirk. He said, in a different tone, “I've been scarred by women before, as it happens. Different reasons, but a wound's a wound.”

There was laughter along the deck of the
Blessed Ingacia
. A change in the mood. Relief. No one, she realized, had wanted a fight, with what might follow. It was brighter now, birds wheeling and diving as the sun rose.

Well done.
Her grandfather's silent voice.

I'm not sure what I did.

Saved a few deaths, it might be.

That merchant's?

Maybe after. If our men went wild. But Bunic dead first, I think. That pretty man can wield a blade or he'd not have challenged.

He'd beat a raid leader?
She was startled.

Swords, one to one? Very likely. And if he killed our leader, then—

His voice in her head broke off. He was seeing what she saw.

What followed happened at speed. It was uncertain who might have stopped it, or how. Her own eventual action was a response, not a forestalling.

It was her first raid, after all.

—

“LOOK WHAT I FOUND!
”

Marin turns and sees that the speaker, pushing someone before him, is one of the raiders. He is lean and long-nosed, hair shaggy like a wolfhound. And he has a hand gripping Leonora Miucci's elbow, thrusting her onto the deck through the hatch not far from where Marin stands. She wears only a light-blue night robe.
Her hair is unbound, which makes her look terribly vulnerable.

It is important, he realizes, to control anger now. He feels shame, though, which can engender fury. This is his ship, the woman is a guest. He is aware that Drago, behind him, will be feeling a murderous rage. Ships' captains take pirates personally; being boarded is an affront. But this is an old dance and they know the steps. The Senjani want money and goods. No one is looking for violence. This is a transaction for the raiders. They are conducting business, much as he does in the market in Seressa or their factors do in Khatib.

Nonetheless. This is also theft, and an assault on
his
ship, and he likes the Miucci woman, even if he is almost certain she's a spy. She is clever, attentive to her husband, attractive.

She looks more angry than afraid, he sees with renewed admiration. It cannot be pleasant having a man like that forcing her up here, barely clad. He is still gripping her arm.

There are two women on his deck now, impressive in different ways. The tall Senjani girl holds her bow with relaxed assurance. He has no doubt she can use it. The leaders of Senjan don't play games in picking their raiding parties, there is too much at stake. And Marin does know—everyone knows—what the Seressinis tried to do to Senjan this spring. There will be anger on their part as well.

A need to be careful, accordingly. He gives Drago a meaningful glance over his shoulder. He turns back and says, “It would be kinder to release her. No one is going anywhere.”

“Kinder!” mocks the man who has dragged Leonora Miucci from below deck. “We are
kind
to Seressinis now?”

“I am from Mylasia,” she says coldly, her voice suddenly as aristocratic as her bearing. With a twist she tries—and fails—to remove herself from the raider's grasp. Marin, fighting anger, is about to speak again when he sees the Senjani leader nod at his man.

With a shrug, the raider lets her go.

Partly the effect of her voice, Marin guesses. Men will deny it, but there is instinctive deference to the obviously well-bred.

Or they kill them. Or demand an extravagant ransom. That is how the world works. And ransom is what this is now about.

“Ah! Do forgive us, esteemed signora! Mylasia, is it?” The man beside Leonora Miucci rasps the words like a woodcutter's saw. He spits on the deck. “Will we split hairs like lawyers?”

“Be quiet, Kukar.”

The raid leader is experienced, Marin can see it. He will want a fair return from this boarding—but not so much as to arouse fury in Dubrava. Then he'll be gone, north and east in their light, swift boats to their own waters and walls.

But a ransom is now in play for the woman. It might have been better if she hadn't used such an elegant voice, he thinks. He wonders why she did, after days of sounding much less high-born. It is interesting that she can do it, too.

She steps away from the one called Kukar, as if proximity offends. “If your quarrel is with Seressa I will not do. Sorry to disappoint.”

The man grins. He looks her up and down. He is enjoying himself. “Haven't disappointed me yet, girl. We find other uses for the ones not ransomed, back home.”

“Kukar!” The raider leader says the name again. But his man steps over and grips Leonora once more, on the arm above her elbow, higher, more intimately.

That one is vicious
, Marin thinks. Some of them will be. Theirs is not a life conducive to civility. Hardship and fighting and faith, mostly. He looks at the leader again, sees distaste. Some do think of themselves as beleaguered heroes in Senjan. It might be amusing, except that their courage is well known, and they do fight the Osmanlis for the emperor, or on behalf of farmers and villagers on the border all the time.
And
they had sent men to defend
Sarantium before it fell, unlike most places in the western world. Including Seressa. Including Dubrava.