Oathen (19 page)

“I’ll take that as a maybe.” The pirate
grinned. “You’re the most reasonable victims I’ve seen in awhile.
What are your names? So if you’re accidentally killed today, I’ll
know who to mourn.”

After only a moment’s hesitation, the man
replied, “I am Count Braal Runcan of the Magister’s Dictat, in
Vint. I am most assuredly at your service, madam.” He gave her a
courtly bow. “My companion, Anjoya Meseer, hails from Salience, in
Hynd.”

Marela’s face changed; all trace of her
arrogant humor vanished. “Vint? You are from Vint?”

“I—I am,” stuttered Runcan, unsure whether
this was good or bad.

“You have a prince of your country, who is
abroad?” Marela demanded, stepping toward him and raising her sword
in his direction.

Anjoya frowned in recognition, confirming the
pirate’s question even before the man replied, “Yes, one of our
princes is abroad on a quest.” His eyes flicked to the sigil on the
Harbinger
’s prow, then up to the Ladies, and when they
returned their gaze the pirate captain again, new understanding
shone in them. “You’re Rhona’s mother. The Prime of Clan
Agonbloom.”

Marela’s wooden boot heels clacked down as she
rocked back in surprise. For a long moment, she only stared at
Runcan, her face working its way through several emotions. Then she
turned her head and yelled at the top of her lungs for her crew to
cease and desist. Anjoya clapped her hands over her
ears.

The deck of the
Shoon
was well and
truly crowded, as pirates and passengers all gathered around
Marela, Runcan and Anjoya, wondering what was going on.

“Here’s the bargain, Count,” Marela said, her
voice carrying. “Answer my questions, and if I like your words,
I’ll let the
Shoon
go.”

“I’ll do my best, madam Prime,” Runcan
returned.

She stepped closer. “Where in the lightless
bowels of the sea gods is my daughter?”

Anjoya and Runcan exchanged a glance. “If all
went well, she’s halfway to Shanal, to help Prince Geret and the
Shanallar destroy the
Dire Tome
.”

“Is there swag in Shanal?” the Prime asked.
Every Clan member leaned forward to hear the answer.

When Runcan hesitated, Anjoya stepped forward.
“Certainly there is,” she said in accented Versal. “I have heard of
the wonderful treasures of Shanal all my life. Their volcanoes
create raw diamonds in untold hundreds, and each child is given a
small golden dragon to protect them at the time of their birth.
Homes are decorated with the bounties of the earth, in precious
stones and ores that glimmer even in the moonlight. Truly, Shanal
is a land of plenty. Or so our Hyndi legends say.”

Marela stared at Anjoya, but the Hyndi woman
stared right back. Finally the pirate nodded. “Shiny, then.” She
lowered her voice so that no one else could hear. “And what of
Rhona and her princeling? Has she claimed him, or somehow come to
her senses?”

“‘
Claimed’?” Anjoya shook her
head.

“Has she bedded the lad?” Marela repeated,
impatient. “Some fool infatuation with a dirtwalker. Nothing good
blows on that ill wind.”

“Er. Likely not,” Runcan managed to
reply.

“I’ve found much benefit in the mixing of
cultures, myself,” Anjoya said diffidently.

The Prime snorted. “Mixing one dirt with
another just makes your hands muddy, Curly. Now: this Shanallar
wench. She’s really my great-grandmother, back from the
dead?”

“Well, it’s not that simple, but—yes,” Runcan
answered with a shrug.

Marela shook her head. “Deeps-blasted spirit
better not come back here, trying to challenge me for Prime rights.
I’ve already got Rhona to worry about.” She tipped her head back,
looking skyward for a moment. “You’re on your way to
this…Vint…then?”

“Yes. The
Shoon
is bound for Yaren
Fel.”

A roguish smile crossed Marela’s features at
the mention of the Kirthan capital. “Shiny. Good times there.
Unfinished business, too. Here’s the bargain, then: the
Shoon
is free to go.” The passengers began to shout in
celebration. “In return, I take you two and the swag my crew is
holding, but no more.”

“Us?” Runcan blurted.

“Aye. The pair of you will sail with us to
Yaren Fel. You’ll arrive a week early and I’ll treat you to an
actual Clan raid, up close and bloody.”

Anjoya’s eyes widened, and she glanced over at
the
Harbinger
.

“Don’t fret, Curly. It’s not you who should be
chary on her decks, but your man there. My women love the company
of educated men.” She turned to Runcan. “You read well?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Shinier and shinier. My officers are
enthusiastic fans of adventurous tales. Our last appointed book
reader had an unfortunate accident before he could finish reading
their current book. They have refused to finish it without a
suitable replacement.”

“Ah, yes…” Runcan’s expression looked pained
as he tried to bring himself around to embracing his new fate. “A
free trip to Cyrmant, and the company of a captive, well-armed
audience. Sounds excellent.”

Marela barked a laugh, grabbed him by the
collar and began forcibly escorting him to the rail. “This is me
not needing your approval, good Count. Now scamper aboard your new
home.” She swatted his behind with the flat of her blade as he
began to climb across the rail. Then she turned and hollered for
the rest of her crew to return to the
Harbinger
, causing
Anjoya to clap her hands over her ears again.

Marela returned to her own deck and handed her
two new guests a bottle of rum each. As the
Harbinger
sailed
away; the crew catcalled and taunted their would-be victims with
their bare buttocks for getting off easy.

As she took her place at the ship’s wheel,
Marela saw her first mate and several other women surround Count
Runcan, demanding that he begin reading chapter thirteen of the
proffered book to them immediately, and that he’d be wise to employ
various voices for the tale’s characters.

As the Count’s voice began extolling the
exploits of Chem the Darkwitch Hunter in gory detail, the
Harbinger
cut through the sea like a stalking shark, leaving
the
Shoon
behind as it turned toward Kirth. Anjoya
extricated herself from the rapt listeners and came to stand near
Marela.

“Next stop, Yaren Fel,” the Prime said. “I
hope the sultan survived that uprising a few months back. I’ve owed
him a return visit for a while now. And I’ll need to find my red
sash.”

~~~

The journey to Shanal led Rhona’s ships
northwest across the vast expanse of the Empty Ocean. Even the
charts Rhona had stolen revealed nothing but the distant western
coastline of Bermah’s Sacred Reefs. The sea beneath their keels was
deep, wide and restless.

As the weeks passed, the ships approached the
northern boundary of the tropics and passed into cooler, unsettled
weather. The storms that assailed them were nearly constant. Cold
winds whipped down from the north, bringing stinging rain and
slowing their progress significantly. The waves they encountered
often towered far above even the galleons’ mainmasts.

In this uncomfortable environment, Geret
received another new discomfort. Rhona stood up at the table one
night as supper was winding down, and made an announcement, holding
her wine goblet up. “Officers and esteemed guests of the
Princeling
, we’re over halfway to Shanal from Salience
Harbor, or so we hope amid these storms. I’m proud to announce that
Geret’s making excellent progress in understanding the ways of Clan
Agonbloom. He has a fine mind for details, as I’d expect of someone
undertaking such a colossal quest for the rescue of his cousin. My
pleasure with his progress knows no bounds.”

The officers raised their glasses immediately,
naming their captain a generous protector. Geret frowned, not
understanding the idiom. Ruel tipped his head toward the red
curtains, but he wasn’t smiling.

Geret felt his stomach lurch, flip, and drop
down into his boots; despite learning quite a lot about Clan
culture from Rhona the last few days, she’d given him no warning
for her announcement. He hunched in on himself as the officers’
comments made Rhona’s meaning clear to the others.

Meena raised her glass to Rhona, but the look
she gave the redhead didn’t look pleased. Kemsil demanded details
in the morning, while Salvor shook his head with a mirthless
laugh.

And Sanych: Geret took a quick peek at her,
afraid she’d be glaring at him. Instead, he saw her turning her
goblet by its stem, seemingly unaware of Rhona’s
announcement.

“Archivist?” Rhona said, drawing all eyes to
the short blonde. “Will you not celebrate with us?”

Geret tensed, ready to restrain Rhona in case
she went for a weapon.

Sanych looked up as if surprised. “I’m sorry,
how unforgivably rude of me. I found myself trying to calculate how
many Vinten noblewomen are in a position to make a similar match
with Prince Geret. I hadn’t yet finished compiling my list. I’ll
just have to enumerate the foreign candidates later. Geret’s a
large marriageable asset—” Kemsil and several pirates sniggered,
“—so any action he takes along those lines will draw the interest
of many nations as well as dozens of noble houses.”

Rhona looked at her with a blank
expression.

“You really should think these things through
first,” Sanych said, as if it were the most obvious decision. “Now,
if you’ll please excuse me, Captain, I’ll just pick a book from
your library and go read in my own cabin.”

The room quieted as Rhona gave her leave with
a wave of her hand. Sanych walked past the bookcase and dragged a
book out at random on her way out the door.

Once she was gone, Rhona waved her glass and
drew attention back to herself. “Who wants more wine?
Geret?”

Late that night, Rhona ushered Geret into her
cabin and bolted the door. She led him by the hand through the red
silk curtains, then pulled them shut behind her. Though his heart
was pounding, it had little to do with the russet-haired pirate
captain beside him. Sanych’s words at supper had been aimed at him,
not her, and Geret was grateful for her perspective. It made what
he had to do next a little easier.

~~~

“I didn’t know Vintens slept with their
clothes on,” Siela said. She and Rhona stood at the bow while Rhona
used her spyglass to look for the whale spout her lookout had just
alerted her to.

“Well, not all the time,” Rhona replied,
giving her a knowing look.

Siela giggled. “Who knew that
not
raiding dirtwalkers could be so much fun?” She turned and looked
back at Geret, who sat on the castle rail reading a book. He seemed
very pleased by it. She raised an eyebrow to Rhona.

“Aye, he reads a lot. Sanych picks his books
for him. I don’t know why he values her taste so much. She gives
him books on bogs and Daskan politics and Nen Thakkan fairy tales.
He tried to read to me from one called
The Holy Romance of
Mardimer
, but it was about a Byarran friar and his stupid
barefoot walk across the Desert of Glass. I had to tell him to stop
after two pages.”

Siela shrugged. “Dirtwalkers must really like
books about people who walk in the dirt.”

Rhona snorted. “If those books weren’t worth
more than this whole ship, I’d turn them into jetsam.” She looked
back though the spyglass. “That whale’s gone deep. Just in case
there are more trailing behind it, have Ruel turn two points to
starboard.”

“Aye, Cap’n.” Siela headed aft.

Rhona watched Geret read for another few
minutes. The mere sight of him brought last night’s emotions to the
fore of her mind, and she felt her breathing speed up. Finally she
tapped her spyglass against her palm and strode in his
direction.

Before she could reach him, however, he slid
forward off the castle rail, landing in front of her. He grinned.
“A fine morning, isn’t it?”

Rhona slipped her arms around his waist and
leaned close, but her expression was stormy. “You’ve been avoiding
me this morning, but I’ll have the truth, Geret. What in the dark
and withered nads of the death gods possessed you to turn me down
last night?”

His eyes flicked away from hers, and he drew a
deep breath. “I was pretty tired, and your bed was very
comfortable. I’d been wanting to try it out for weeks.”

“Liar.” She snatched the book from his hand.
He reached for it, eyes wide, but she tossed it across the deck.
“Is it her?” she asked, careful to keep her voice down.

He stilled.”What?”

“You’d prefer her to me. Is that
it?”

He licked his lips and gave her a weak grin.
“My uncle would remind me that I’m not allowed to consider either
one of you.”

Her lip curled. “Your uncle isn’t here, Geret.
But I am.” She grabbed him by his open collar and began to drag him
toward the stairs that led below.

“Rhona, let go.” He tried to take his shirt
from her hands, but she jerked on it. The fabric ripped, making him
stumble a step away. “Rhona!”