Geist (30 page)

“You’ll be able to do that admirably as they take me up to the gallows,” Raed muttered. He stroked his narrow beard for a second and glanced at her speculatively. “Are you sure this isn’t just an attempt to take the bounty yourself?”

“At times like this, I wonder about your education.” She sighed. “Whatever are they teaching at Pretender school these days? Have you not heard of the concept of sanctuary?”

A tremor of fear ran through his belly. “You plan on holing me up inside the Abbey?”

He watched as she slipped on one Gauntlet. She whispered, presumably for his benefit, “Seym.” When he took a step backward, she held it up. The rune was colorless but the air around her fingers moved as if with heat. “The rune of flesh, and I promise this won’t hurt.”

He’d already trusted her with everything he had, so when she placed her index finger against his forehead, Raed managed not to flinch. It was, in fact, cool on his skin, like a touch of an ocean breeze. A clean, sharp scent filled his nostrils. The rune of flesh. It made him think about what that word meant. A memory of all he’d seen last night up on the hilltop made him twitch, abruptly aware of how close the Deacon was to him.

“There.” She stripped off her Gauntlet, and he wasn’t sure if he imagined it, but her look was somewhat proprietary. “You are now officially held under the Sanctuary of the Order—not even the Emperor can break the seal without risk of losing the Arch Abbey’s support.”

Raed frowned at her particular choice of words. “So I am effectively your property?”

Sorcha looked smug, like a cat that had finally caught a pesky mouse. “Basically . . . yes.”

It was most definitely the
wrong
thing to say, and she had to have known it; when his jaw tightened enough to nearly break a tooth, she responded with a grin. For a moment the Pretender considered doing something foolish just to see that look wiped from her face. He was surprised when he felt her hand take his. Its warmth and strength was a shock, even more so when she gave his fingers a light squeeze. He wondered if she was resorting to using her feminine wiles on him, until he looked into the utter honesty of her blue eyes. “Until we find out why they want you, Raed, it is imperative we stick together. The sea is no longer safe for you.”

He looked down at her hand in his, and for a moment neither of them pulled back. His heart was beating fast, and this time it had nothing to do with the Rossin or the swordplay. Out of the corner of one eye, Raed glimpsed Merrick striding over to them, a sudden cold bucket of reality on their quiet moment. Their hands fell away from each other.

Raed could wait for the geist-driven ice to melt away, take
Dominion
out of Ulrich harbor and sail away, but really, there was nowhere to hide. All of his life had been spent facing up to uncomfortable realities; and besides, this realm was still his by right. He wanted to protect and serve it, even if his father did not. “I’ve been running all my life, Sorcha—I shouldn’t trust anyone, and yet I have already given my life into your hands twice this week.”

Sorcha’s lips twitched upward in a beautiful and cruel smile. “I’m just that sort of woman, my lord Pretender.”

The Imperial Dirigible outpost was unimpressive next to the large transports themselves. Two long cigar shapes twice the length of the building, with large boat-shaped quarters hanging beneath them, were tethered by thick cables into the rocks of the headland. They were both painted with the Emperor’s device, a green fist holding a skein of ribbons. A sharp wind had come up from the sea and they shifted like hunting dogs impatient to be let off the leash.

Shedryi tossed his mane, gave a whinny and then a little buck that Sorcha had to pull in quickly. He might be of the Breed, but horses were never overly fond of looming shapes that seemed to defy the laws of nature.

“Having a little trouble there?” Raed kicked his borrowed mount up next to hers with skilled ease.

She made a face at him and replied shortly, “You’re riding a nag. The Breed are somewhat more of a challenge.”

“Excuses, excuses,” he chided, then rose in his stirrups and called back to his men and Aachon. “Who wants to be last there?”

With a whoop of delight, the pirates galloped past. After being cooped up in a ship for years, undoubtedly there was a certain freedom in it—yet Sorcha couldn’t help but feel a little put upon. Shedryi clenched underneath her, upset that she wasn’t letting him have his head and show the inferior horses his heels. But there was certain decorum a Deacon had to maintain, and Merrick was taking the rear with Nynnia and her father. It would look bad if Sorcha took off chasing the scruffy pirates.

The mare Melochi must have felt it too, for she was chomping at the bit as Merrick held her to a trot. Their two tag-along guests were mounted on the shaggy ponies and were going as fast as they could.

Kyrix was pale, but remarkably his bruises were already fading. His daughter too seemed to have undergone a change. She’d followed them and actually watched as the Deacons performed the exorcisms on the affected children. It was relatively easy, but it was not a sight for those with a weak constitution. She hadn’t objected to them cleansing the girls, but neither did she allow them any but minimal time to prepare themselves. Raed had only a short moment to choose his men and give orders to those who were to remain in Ulrich with the ship.

Sorcha had observed that while the Pretender seemed to trust the Deacons, he had still instructed the remaining crew to careen
Dominion
—just in case it was needed.

She nursed the thought that they’d be lucky if any of them survived. Raed might have heard of the Murashev like all children had, but he had not read the thick tomes held in the Arch Abbey’s library. Her novice thesis, the requirement before gaining her Gauntlets, had been on this very thing: the dark threat that lurked in the farthest reaches of the Otherside.

It was not the numbing wind that made her shudder.

When they reached the dirigible base, she had another situation to deal with. A handful of shouting pirates descending on an Imperial outpost had caused some issues with the local guard. Sorcha kicked Shedryi into the gallop he’d been so desperate for.

The garrison commander, the type of seasoned old battler that the Emperor favored, was standing behind a rank of his troops—probably his
only
rank of troops. And yes indeed, as she neared, she could see that there were rifles raised.

At the sight of a Deacon among these reprobates, the commander called out, “Identify yourself!”

Sorcha heard the beat of Melochi’s hooves behind her and felt the reassuring warmth of Merrick’s presence at her back. “Deacon Sorcha Faris and Deacon Merrick Chambers,” she called, kneeing Shedryi up so that she was between the soldiers and the sailors. The troopers were unlikely to fire upon a member of the Order, unless things had gone very wrong here too.

They might not have recognized Merrick’s name, but at hers a flash of relief crossed the old commander’s face. He told his men to stand down and strode across to them, with only the barest of limps discernable. After they had dismounted, he took Sorcha’s hand in a warm shake. “Commander Boras Llyrich,” he said gruffly. “Apologies, Sister, but there has been some trouble from the town these last weeks.”

Sorcha’s lips quirked in a bitter smile. “No need to explain; we have come from there. Your caution is completely understandable.”

After shaking Merrick’s hand in turn, Llyrich studied the leader of those he had just considered assailants. His gray brows drew together and Sorcha knew immediately that there could be trouble; this didn’t look like a man who forgot to read dispatches when they came.

She flicked her hands and the cantrip of concealment blazed in white light on the foreheads of the pirates. It was not a rune, so would not last more than one night—but at least it would get them away from here. The rest would just have to look after itself.

Llyrich shook his head, shot her a glance and then snapped off a salute. “What can the Imperial Legion do for you, Deacon Faris?”

“We need to get to Vermillion immediately.” She gestured to the dirigibles. “One of these will be adequate. I trust an hour should be enough to get ready.”

The commander’s jaw tightened, his white beard fluttering in the wind against his dark blue uniform, but this was a man well used to taking orders, and the Deacons had carte blanche with any and all Imperial assets. “Captain Revele is the best we have. She commands
Summer Hawk
.”

“Then pray tell her she has a new course.”

Llyrich answered with another salute and hurried off to inform the Captain and crew that they would have to abandon their breakfasts.

Sorcha had flown several times with the Imperial Air Fleet, but it would be everyone else’s first time. She looked forward to their expressions once they took off. They boarded with brisk military efficiency. The Breed horses, their eyes covered, were loaded into the large hold of the dirigible, while troopers had been assigned to return the borrowed horses to their owners.

Captain Revele appeared from the depot, buttoning her flight jacket and hurrying over. She looked a smart woman, young and probably overly confident as most air captains were, but the gleam of real intelligence was in her green eyes, and she actually smiled at Sorcha as if she recognized her. The Deacon could be sure that they had never met.

“Captain Vyra Revele.” She snapped to attention before the assembled pirates, Deacons and various hangers-on. Even though it was necessary for a member of the Imperial forces to salute one of the Order, Sorcha appreciated the genuine nature of the gesture. “Pleased to meet you, Captain. This is my partner, Deacon Merrick Chambers.” She didn’t bother to introduce the rest and hopefully the Captain wouldn’t ask.

Thankfully the Abbey had a reputation for mystery. “Well”—Revele cleared her throat and led her way toward her vessel—“
Summer Hawk
is at your disposal, Deacon. We’ve been tied up here for a week after a trip from the Usul Mountains, and the crew have been itching to get moving. We were scheduled for reconnaissance farther north, but south works just as well.”

Summer Hawk
was new, as were all of the fleet, but she had the sleek look of a seagoing frigate. Sorcha caught Raed skimming his eye professionally along the keel as if she were just that. The usual complement was twenty crew, and Imperial marines in the order of a further eighty.

Sorcha liked the looks of both the ship and the Captain. She gave the latter a nod. “We will need you to run on a bare minimum of crew and marines. Speed is of the utmost essence. We have to get to Vermillion within three days.”

Revele’s frown was present, but not deep. A run to the capital was not fraught with much danger. “I’ll make arrangements.” She stepped aside. “If you’d like to board now.”

They walked up the gangplank laid out for passengers; horses and landlubbers needed special attention. Raed looked confident right up until the moment he set foot on the deck of the
Hawk
. He’d probably been expecting it to be the same as a ship, but though a dirigible might share a similar shape, it was a different beast. He glanced over the side and muttered something that sounded like, “How safe is this damn thing,” as the rest of his crewmates climbed aboard just as gingerly.

“Having a little trouble?” Sorcha asked sweetly, knowing her lips were giving the game away.

“Laugh all you want,” he shot back, “but this thing is a travesty of a vessel.”

The air Captain shot Sorcha a wide grin. “Many people say that before we cast off—amazing how quickly they change their mind.”

Raed looked skeptical and Sorcha found she felt a little sorry for him. Although these past weeks had been tough on her, she couldn’t imagine how it was for him. One moment a captain of his own ship, albeit with a curse hanging over his head, the next at the center of a geistlord conspiracy of unknown dimensions.

Revele was perceptive. “Well, I’ll get one of my men to show you to your cabins. With a reduced crew, you should all travel comfortably.”

After seeing his men settled, Raed asked to see the operation of the ship, and Sorcha tagged along just to watch his face. A small cabin boy called Hoise showed them around, even taking them down the length of the dirigible to where the propulsion system was housed.

“Weirstones.” Raed let out a little laugh. “Priceless! You lecture us on the use of them—and yet here the Imperial Fleet is powered by them!”

“There is a difference.” Sorcha patted the swirling blue sphere. The orb was smooth and cool under her hand. “These have been constructed by the Arch Abbey for this purpose. They can only be used by trained engineers, and they only provide propulsion.”

As if on cue, a gust caught the ship and bounced it around, even though they were still tethered. Raed grabbed onto her—half instinctually, but half for comic effect as well, she suspected. The touch of his hand on her body sent her blood racing, and Sorcha didn’t move it away.

Raed smelled of leather and sea salt, as if the ocean had invaded every piece of his being, and underlying it was a faint sweet smell, almost like honeysuckle. Unwittingly Sorcha drew in a breath, though her heart was definitely running faster than usual. The Bond she’d created was now a web for her, for she could feel his heart racing too, like a counterpoint to her own.

The Pretender did not move, but he smiled; his teeth flashed white against his suntanned face. On her arm, his fingers tightened slightly.

“The Captain asked me to show you to your cabin.” The young lad, Hoise, appeared around the edge of the weirstone array, and Raed let go of Sorcha and stepped back a little. “I think that would be an excellent idea.”

“It has been”—Sorcha cleared her throat, knowing that she was, of all things, blushing—“a long few days.” She couldn’t believe the warmth in her cheeks. What was she—eighteen again?