empress of storms (14 page)

“What’s the weather supposed to be like?” Matthias asked.

Schrader tipped up his hands. “It’ll get colder the higher we go, and we may get some rain. But snow is unlikely at this time of year, thank the gods.”

“I can’t imagine being trapped by a snowstorm in the pass is very enjoyable,” Danaë offered. 

“No, your majesty, that it is not. But it’s why this trip was scheduled for late summer, to guarantee us as much good weather in the mountains as possible.” Schrader’s tracing finger followed the trade road route. “Once we get out of the mountains we should make good time for the Ypresian consulate in Armede and cross the border to Mykos, at which point we’ll meet up with the rest of your royal guard and take ship to Hellaspont.”

“About that, your majesty,” Kostas said, giving Matthias a respectful nod. “Will you be leaving your cavalry on the mainland or bringing them with you? We can transport horses if you wish, but we’ve learned from experience that it’s very stressful for the animals, and we can provide you with other mounts once we reach Hellaspont.”

“I’d already planned on leaving the horses at the Ypresian consulate,” Matthias said. “I’ll have some of the cavalrymen stay with them. The rest will accompany us to Hellaspont.”

“Very good, your majesty.” Kostas turned back to Danaë. “I’ll have word sent to make the boats ready as soon as we reach the border, your majesty. If we set sail with the mid-afternoon tide, we should reach Hellaspont in time for supper the next day.”

“Agreed,” Danaë said, taking a sip from the tankard a shy serving girl had given her. She’d shied away from offers of ale and beer, finding them too bitter for her taste, but this drink had a fruity flavor with a strong tang of alcohol underneath. “What is this? It’s delicious.”

Matthias tugged her hand to bring her tankard closer. He sniffed it, then grinned. “Scrumpy, at a guess. It’s made from apples.”

“Mostly apples,” Schrader murmured into his own tankard.

Kostas, however, looked appalled. “Majesty, perhaps you shouldn’t be drinking that,” he said, reaching for the tankard.

Danaë hoisted it out of his reach. “Am I likely to be poisoned here, lieutenant commander?” she asked Schrader.

“Doubtful,” the Ypresian officer said, sounding amused. “But then again everything you’ve eaten or drunk so far has been tested by one of my men. I’m cautious that way.”

Danaë saluted Kostas with the tankard. “There, you see? I won’t die from drinking scrumpy.” She took a bigger sip this time, enjoying the burst of flavors on her tongue. The rest of the tankard went down well enough, she decided to order another one as they continued discussing travel plans.

She regretted her decision the next morning when she tried to raise her head off the pillow and a booming noise started bouncing between her temples. It took her a minute to realize it was her heartbeat. She groaned and fumbled for the other side of the bed. It was empty.

“Headache, little bird?”

She cracked open an eye and immediately regretted it. “If you ever cared for me, kill me now,” she moaned.

The mattress sagged as Matthias sat next to her. He had a tray of dry toasted bread and a cup of what she prayed was water. The rolling motion made her stomach slosh and she swallowed hard against her rising gorge.

“I take it you don’t have much of a head for alcohol?” he asked, resting a cool hand on her throbbing forehead.

She smacked her lips. Her mouth tasted like it had been used to ferment fish sauce. “Wine, yes. It’s civilized. What in the gods’ name was in that scrumpy?”

“Apples, mostly.” One corner of his lip curved up. “Time for a little payback, I think.”

He helped her to sit up in increments, feeding her bites of dry toast until she was sure her stomach had settled. A sip of water went down, decided whether or not it was going to come right back up again, and opted to stay where it was. “Do we have to get on the road today?” she said, embarrassed by the whine in her own voice.

“I’m afraid so.” He leaned back, eyeing her. “But I think it’s best if you stay in the wagon with Magistra Ife again.”

Both her royal guard and the Ypresian cavalry were careful to maintain bland expressions when she staggered out of the inn towards the waiting wagon. From his horse Darius smirked and said, “Someone enjoyed themselves last night, I see. Shall I order a cask of their best to go?”

Danaë considered telling him where he could shove said cask, then settled for a glare and climbed into the wagon. One of the carters had been kind enough to make a pallet of folded blankets behind the seat and she stretched out along it, one arm thrown over her eyes.

She managed to doze for the rest of the morning, finally giving it up when the sun stood overhead. Sitting up, she saw Ife on the wagon seat next to the driver.

The mage turned and gave her a dry look. “Among the living again?”

“I suppose. Where are we?”

Ife glanced forward. “Approaching the Arpinnes foothills.”

Danaë got to her knees with caution, peering over the mage’s shoulder. Ahead of them the blue shadow of the mountain range had become much more solid.

“I’ve never been this far east,” Ife said, studying the mountain range with interest. “Will it take us very long to cross over to Hellas?”

“No. The trade road follows an established path through one of the passes.” With an effort, she thought back to her own recent crossing. “It’s a bit cold, but pretty. The border of Ypres lies almost immediately after the foothills on the other side. Hellas owns a small strip of mainland territory, then it’s all islands.” The idea of being back in fresh salt air made her feel better. “It’s one of the reasons why we wanted a treaty with Ypres. The Arpinnes range runs almost three hundred leagues north and south along the coast of the Eastern Sea, so the Kasterlee is the fastest way for our traders to reach the other kingdoms on the continent.”

Ife shook her head. “It’s all very different from Ghobos.”

Danaë thought back to her geography lessons. Ghobos was a kingdom on the western coast, a rough rectangle of orange desert sands and stark beauty that ended on the shore of the Teresan Sea. Its population had produced great warriors and scholars alike, and it was considered the proving ground of the continent. “If I may ask, how did you wind up in Ypres, of all places?”

Ife laughed. “Love, my dear. I was born in the city of Malawa. My father was a natural philosopher and my mother was a well-respected Ignis mage.” She tugged at her pale blue curls. “When my hair showed blue in my tenth year she was surprised, but adjusted after a bit. I joined the Order, went through my training and was made a magistra, and then met a Ypresian trader named Kalder Evaan at a dinner hosted by one of my clients.” Her expression turned contemplative. “Kalder looked like the element of fire made human. I couldn’t count how many shades of red, gold, and orange were in his hair, and his skin was the cream of goat milk scattered with cinnamon. I had never seen a man like him before, and he was as taken with me. Within a month we were wed and on our way back to Ypres. When our children started arriving Kalder sold his shares in the trading company and purchased a very lucrative glass business in Mons. We now manufacture a quarter of the glassware used throughout the kingdom, and a good half of the mirrors.”

Danaë sat up straighter. “Do you know if your company supplied the mirror that was used for the demon portal?”

The mage shook her head. “I checked the maker’s mark. It isn’t one of ours, otherwise I would have had my son locate its purchase details.”

Danaë sagged back. Another dead end.

“Another reason why Kalder purchased the glass company was for me,” Ife added. “I have a certain talent for imbuing mirrors with spells of communication and far seeing. It’s proved to be quite useful over the years.” She pulled up her back and brought out two round hand mirrors backed with pewter. “I thought we might spend the day working on how to bespell two mirrors so that you can talk to someone far away. It will be a useful talent for you when the king returns to Ypres.”

Danaë hesitated. Working with simple water spells in the palace courtyard had been one thing. This was something else, and smacked far too much of the afternoon she had spent on the cliffs overlooking the Eastern Sea. She had felt powerful, calling together the damp grey clouds and squeezing rain out of them.

Now she knew better.

Ife studied her. “Majesty, this gift will continue to live inside you whether you want it or not,” she said. “It’s best that you master its use. You already utilized it once to help save his majesty’s life. It’s not impossible that you will be called upon to do it again. In that case, wouldn’t you prefer to have full control of it?”

Father, I’m sorry. But I must.
Slowly, Danaë nodded, pushing away the guilt.

Ife held up a mirror. “Well, then. Let’s get to work.”

6

A PROPHECY

The makeup of the land changed as the convoy entered the foothills and began the ascent. Before, they had been surrounded by rippling grasslands broken by the occasional river or stand of trees. As they started climbing towards the Arpinnes the land became more thickly forested with scrubby pines and other evergreens. Their warm, resinous scent rose as each day warmed, and Matthias watched with quiet amusement as his queen sniffed the air with obvious relish.

The trade road also became rougher, worn by trading traffic, storms, mudslides and other natural events. A number of times the wagons had to be eased over a pitted stretch of road, or a downed tree had to be cleared. Matthias rode along comfortably enough, working with his horse to watch the road for bad patches, but he kept hearing Danaë curse under her breath as her bay mare jolted over yet another rut.

“Perhaps you should go back and ride with Magistra Ife,” he suggested after the umpteenth jolt and curse.

Danaë glared at him. “I can do this.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to in time, but—”

A cavalryman trotted back to them. “Your majesty, there’s a Tsinti camp on the side of the road. Commander Schrader asks that you wait here while we deal with them.”

Matthias frowned. “Define ‘deal with them,’ corporal.”

“Push them back into the trees until your party passes, sire.”

“Why? Are they threatening us in some manner?”

The corporal blinked at that. “They’re
Tsinti
, sire. Everyone knows they can’t be trusted.”

The loose amalgamation of migrant tribes known as the Tsinti possessed a spotted history. Recognizable in their colorful clothes and wagons, they prided themselves on being master storytellers, traders, and horsemen. Some also made a living as fortunetellers and petty criminals, preying on the foolish or the greedy. More than one person had come away from a Tsinti camp with a useless cure for some illness or curse, or missing his purse altogether.

Matthias glanced around the convoy. “How many of them are there, corporal?”

“Eighteen, including the children, sire.”

“And there’s nearly a hundred of us. I think we can deal with eighteen Tsinti, don’t you? Tell Schrader that they’re to be unharmed unless they try to attack.”

The corporal didn’t look happy about that, but turned around and trotted back to the head of the convoy.

Danaë urged her bay closer. “We don’t see Tsinti in Hellas very often,” she said. “Are they that dangerous?”

Matthias shook his head. “I’ve had dealings with them in the past. They’re a proud people, and fine horse breeders. More importantly, they travel all over the continent, so they often have useful information.”

Danaë’s eyebrows rose. “You want to ask them about Lukas.”

“Yes. A Tsinti camp is one of the places he could hide where we wouldn’t be able to find him. His coloring would make him stick out like a sore thumb, but there are ways around that.”

They rode on until they came to a group of cavalry officers along the side of the road, an annoyed Schrader in the middle of them. Behind them, crowded off the road, was a line of three horse-drawn covered wagons painted in worn shades of red, purple, and green. Matthias couldn’t see any of the described children but assumed they had been shuttled into the wagons with their mothers. A handful of dark-haired men stood outside the wagons in a defensive front.

“Your majesty,” Schrader said as soon as they were in earshot. “May I remind you that Commander Bardahlson put me in charge of the convoy’s guards for a reason?”

“I’m aware of that, lieutenant commander. But Ypres has never persecuted the Tsinti and we’re not about to start doing it now.” Matthias eyed the wagons and their watchful guardians. One wagon had a back wheel off, and it had obviously been in mid-repair when the first of the convoy guards arrived. “Who is your leader?” he called.

The men exchanged glances. A tall man with a luxuriant mustache stepped forward. “I am,” he said, his Ypresian accented but understandable. “I am Caldo, of the Mirga clan. If we have done something to offend you, my lord, you have my apologies.”

Matthias wondered how many times they’d had to start a conversation that way. “You’ve done nothing. I did notice, however, that one of your wagons has lost a wheel.”

Caldo glanced over his shoulder, then shrugged. “It will be fixed. We will be off your land soon enough.”

“There is no hurry,” Matthias said. “But we do carry materials and tools that may be of use to you.”

The Tsinti leader’s expression didn’t change, but two of the men in front of the wagons started muttering to each other. One of them said something to Caldo in a low voice. He held up a hand and studied Matthias. “What would you want in return, my lord?”

If Lukas was indeed hiding, Matthias doubted he would be using his title, or even his own name. “Information. We seek a young Ypresian man, in his late twenties. He’s been missing for the last three years.”

Caldo shook his head. “Then he is most likely with the gods, my lord.”

“We have reason to believe he still lives,” Matthias said, wondering if even he believed that anymore. “He has dark blond hair and hazel brown eyes, and he may go by the name Lukas or some variation of it. If you have no news of him, I understand, but if you did hear of him I would be very generous.”