Scimitar Sun (12 page)

“You have been a most excellent hostess and guide, Lady Camilla,” the count said, bowing stiffly to kiss her hand in farewell. “I have learned all that is necessary for my report to the emperor, and he awaits my return. I must be away before you, and this wondrous place, enchant me further.”

“Please give our regards to the emperor, then, and assure him that we are, and will remain, loyal subjects of Tsing.” Camilla was not fooled by his courtly manner; the count’s visit had been far too inquisitive for her comfort. Norris’ ingratiating manner made her teeth ache, and she felt as if he was laughing behind his hand at her, as if he had pulled off some great coup. “I will inform Mistress Flaxal of your visit, and pass along the emperor’s gift. I’m sure she will look forward to your return.”

“If I know Emperor Tynean, she will not have long to wait. He is a decisive man, and once he knows the facts, he will act.” Norris swept his hat in another courtly bow and boarded the longboat.

The sailors applied the oars and the crowded longboat pulled away from the pier. Norris waved farewell, then turned to face forward and did not look back again.

“That man worries me,” she muttered through clenched teeth. She turned and nearly ran over Dura, who had approached in uncharacteristic silence.

“Dura! I’m sorry, I — ” She could see instantly that something was amiss; the dwarf’s hair was disheveled and her muttonchops looked as if she’d been trying to pull them out. “What’s wrong?”

“I, uh…” One gnarled hand reached up to tug at her whiskers, then dropped when she realized what she was doing. “I seem to have misplaced somethin’, Miss Cammy. Somethin’ very important.”

“Misplaced?” Her mind clicked and she whirled to glare at the departing Count Norris. “Oh, no!” She whirled back to Dura. “Which plans were stolen?”

“Stolen? I wouldn’t go so far as to say they was — how did you know that — ?” Her eyes widened, fixing upon the receding longboat. “The wrench! The bleedin’ thief distracted me with a bleedin’ wrench! I’m thrice a fool, Miss Cammy! The bugger snuck in last night and took the draft plans for Mistress Cynthia’s new ship!”

“The new one? Which new one?
Peggy’s Dream
, or the one in the shed?”

“That two-hulled monstrosity! I shoulda known that bugger was up to somethin’!” Her fist cracked into her open palm with the impact of a mallet on a marlinspike.

“You’re sure
those
were the plans taken, not the ones for
Peggy’s Dream
?” It seemed unlikely that Norris was more interested in an experimental craft than one that had proven its worth. Then she remembered that they had not seen
Peggy’s Dream
; they didn’t know Cynthia had built a three-masted schooner.

“Oh, aye, Miss Cammy. I’m sure.” The dwarf gritted her teeth and cursed. “Let me pay the slimy thief a visit with about a fifty dugouts full o’ our friends, and I’ll get them plans back!”

“No, Dura!” Camilla said, her tone definitive. “The very
last
thing we want right now is a violent confrontation.”

“But why the bloody hells not? I say give ‘em a bloody nose! That’ll teach ‘em not to steal!”

“Because we’re talking about an
imperial
warship! If we attack them, we’ll be committing an act of war on the Empire of Tsing!” Realization struck the dwarf woman’s features. “We can’t even accuse him of stealing the plans. He’d just deny it, and then we’d have an incident that would ruin our chances of an amicable resolution to this mess.”

“Aye, I see yer point, Miss Cammy, but it just don’t seem right that he’s gettin’ away with it.”

“Oh, just wait until Cynthia finds out,” she said with a tight smile. “The count will have all Nine Hells to pay in gold when she learns of this.”

≈

“You are sure this is will work, milord Count?” Huffington asked as they neared the
Fire Drake
. He’d done as he was told to do, following the count’s orders to the letter, but he had a bad feeling about the tack the man was taking with the seamage Flaxal. The way the Lady Camilla had talked, the Flaxal woman could wipe the sea clear of any ship that opposed them, warship or no. “I mean, maybe we should talk with the seamage herself before we — ”

“Ridiculous, Huffington!” Norris said with a sneer. “We’ve learned everything we need to learn to convince His Majesty of the very real threat of allowing this seamage to control the Shattered Isles.”

“Yes, milord, but there may be an unacceptable risk in — ”

“The only unacceptable risk here is to continue to allow a powerful seamage to build her own
empire
armed with her own private navy of fast, maneuverable ships — obviously not merchantmen, and possibly built for
war
 — manned with her own private army of blood-thirsty savages who think she is some type of
god
!” Flecks of spittle flew from the count’s lips.

“The only resolution to this kind of treason is a show of imperial force!” he continued vehemently. “The Shattered Isles have been lawless and far too dangerous to shipping for far too long. I intend to recommend to the emperor that a permanent naval base be established right here! It is already fortified, has its own shipyard, and is quite defensible. With a few warships based here, manned with a sizable contingent of marines, we would control every strait through the archipelago. We could even charge tithes on passing ships to support the stabilizing force of our military presence.”

“Yes, milord.” Huffington had no crisis of conscience about stealing the ship plans, and really no problem using them to support the facts as Count Norris saw them. But to send a naval force against an entrenched and reasonably peaceful seamage of unknown power; well, the risk seemed far too great without further corroboration of her intent. He resolved to inform the emperor himself of the risks. He just hoped he would be as convincing as Count Norris.

≈

“The way I see it, Captain,” Sam began, hefting a dagger and stabbing its point into the spot on the chart that signified Plume Isle, “
that’s
our number one problem! We get rid of that sea witch and the rest is down-wind sailin’.”

“Aye, Sam, I can’t argue with you there, but I’m not about to try to take on the woman who destroyed Bloodwind’s whole fleet in a single day.” Parek sipped his rum and nodded to his first mate. “Eh, Farin? How would you feel about takin’ on the Flaxal witch?”

“Bloody insane, is what that is!” the mate agreed, sipping his own rum and shaking his head. “We wouldn’t stand a chance.”

“You’re absolutely right, Farin,” Sam agreed, catching both men off guard. “
We
wouldn’t stand a chance, but the way I’ve got it planned,
we
wouldn’t be the ones fightin’ her.”

“What’s that?” Parek sat up, narrowing his eyes at her. “You think we can get someone else to take her on?” She could see the wheels working behind his eyes, and saw that he already had the answer.

“Aye, Captain,” she said coyly, “that I do.”

“Emperor Tynean Tsing the Third, maybe?” he asked, a deadly grin spreading on his lips.

“Aye, Captain. The very one. And all it’ll cost us is a few days in Tsing spreadin’ the right kind of rumors.” She sipped the rum he poured into her cup and smiled the same deadly smile. “He’s already sent a warship to have a chat with her, so there’s plenty of fodder for harsh feelin’s. A few words in the right ears about that new three-masted schooner of hers, and them black-skinned savages she keeps like a pack of rabid dogs, not to mention the fish-folk that fawn over her like she was their queen…”

“Aye, I see that there’s plenty of rumors that we could spread, Sam,” the captain agreed, his eyes narrowing to a calculating mien that she knew all too well. “But the last thing we want here in the Shattered Isles is His Majesty’s Imperial Navy. I’ll warrant that the Flaxal witch is a pain in our arse, but a fleet of warships might be worse.”

“Aye,” Farin put in, more to remind his captain that he was there than to offer any meaningful input. “One’s bad enough!”

“Oh, but they can’t do what the Flaxal witch can,” Sam argued, raising her glass. “They can’t bring a school of a thousand merfolk up from the depths, or spawn waves that’d smash any ship that floats to kindling. They can’t command the winds and waves into maelstroms and waterspouts, and tame sea drakes to swallow men whole!”

Her tirade took the men aback, but the captain was the first to see the calculating glint in Sam’s eye.

“The way you say it, the imperial navy doesn’t stand much of a chance against the Flaxal witch,” Parek said, sipping his rum and eying her speculatively.

“The way I see it, if we play our cards right and are very,
very
lucky, when the two are done fightin’ each other, there won’t be nothin’ left in the Shattered Isles but us, Captain Parek.” Sam drained her cup and sat back.

“Nothin’ but us,” Farin put in, finally grasping her ploy, “and a whole fleet of merchantmen who ain’t got neither a seamage nor an emperor’s fleet to protect ‘em.”

“Aye, Farin,” she agreed. “What a shame it’d be if the Flaxal witch and the emperor’s whole fleet ended up sharin’ the depths of the Fathomless Reaches together.”

They all laughed long and hard, and the captain poured one more round for them to share. But they did not over-drink that night, for there was much planning to do.

≈

“And you agreed to it?” Rowland said, his mouth agape. “You agreed to take this boy to Fire Isle to become a firemage?”

“Yes, Row, I did,” Cynthia said, nodding to Marta as she dished out thin slices of roast pork and new potatoes. “I didn’t see any way I could say no. The lightkeeper was instrumental in saving my life!”

“Aye, that he was, Cyn, but he’s also one of Phekkar’s flamin’ fiends!” Rowland halved a biscuit with a butter knife like he was hacking at a buccaneer with a cutlass. “They’re not renowned for their even temperaments, you know.”

“The lightkeeper may be a pyromage, and perhaps he’s a little quirky, but I wouldn’t call him a fiend, Row. He’s been a valuable citizen of Southaven for longer than I’ve been alive!” She turned to Marta as the woman reached to fill her wine glass. “Marta, quit hovering. I can fill my own glass, and I’m not having any wine. The little monster in my tummy does tricks all night when I drink.”

“Takes after his mother, I see,” she said quick as a whip, drawing smiles from the others. She filled Rowland’s and Brolan’s glasses, shoveled another helping of meat onto Tim’s plate since Mouse had already stolen half the boy’s first serving, and sat down. “Rowland’s right, you know. Firemages don’t have a particularly good name. Why, I’ve heard stories that would set your hair afire!”

Cynthia laughed aloud, and said, “Funny you should say that. The boy, Edan, had a firesprite on a gold chain. I’d never seen one before. In fact, Mouse is the only sprite I’d ever seen. But her hair was an actual flame! I mean, she was really on fire!” She laughed again and sampled a potato swimming in garlic and butter. The familiar flavors clashed in her mouth, not an uncommon occurrence in these last few months of her pregnancy. She pushed the potatoes aside.

“He had a girl sprite?” Tim asked, poking at Mouse with his butter knife. The seasprite dodged, grabbed up a fork and lunged back. “What did Mouse do?”

“Oh, he tried to fly over to say hello, just as she did.” Cynthia shook her head ruefully. “Luckily, I pulled him back, and Edan held his sprite, Flicker, in check. I hate to think what would happen if the two got together.”

“Fire and water don’t mix too well, they say,” Brolan said, raising a glass to her.

“Love and sorrow…” Cynthia muttered, sampling a bit of the spicy roast pork. Her stomach did a flip-flop at the strong flavor; she swallowed forcefully, disguising her distress with a sip of water.

“I’d say, do what you got to do, but you best be careful with this fire-wizard apprentice.” Brolan watched her and smiled. “Just don’t bite off more’n you can chew.” He pushed the basket of biscuits and the crock of butter over to her with a knowing smile.

“Thank you, Brolan.” She buttered a biscuit and nibbled it, smiling in bliss as her tumultuous stomach settled. “And don’t worry; I’m always careful when there’s fire involved.”

≈

“Captain Brelak, I beg you to reconsider,” Sultan Mojani said. The three of them — Brelak, Mojani and Mieshala — strolled onto the broad balcony of the sultan’s palace. The lights of the city of Terokesh spread out below them like seed pearls strewn on a bed of black silk, the gilded domes of the temples glowing like topaz among them. “I offer you much. More than I have offered any man since I have become sultan. Do not hold such an offer in contempt, my friend, for it may serve you ill.”

“I do
not
hold your offer in contempt, Sultan Mojani,” Feldrin said, his voice even. He hated these games of words; why couldn’t people just say what they meant? “And your offer…” he cast a sidelong glance at the Princess Mieshala, “is more than generous. But I’ve got a wife, and a baby on the way. I’ve got to get back if I want to keep ‘em.”

If the truth were told, Feldrin had been more than mildly tempted by the sultan’s offer; and if he had any aspirations to power, he probably would have jumped at it. But he was not a man to turn his back on someone he loved — even if she refused to take him formally as her husband — and leave a son or daughter to grow up without knowing their father. That he would never do, not for the promise of an admiralship, a fleet of schooners outfitted for war, or even a princess and the title of prince for his own. It exasperated him that the young sultan would not take “no” for an answer.

“Bah! One wife? I have thirty! I offer you any of them! Any
ten
of them!” The sultan made a dismissive gesture. “Keeping them all happy is exhausting me anyway.”

“No, thank you, Sultan. One’s more’n enough for me most days.”

A servant appeared with a beautifully engraved silver blackbrew service. The sultan poured the blackbrew, as dark as a moonless night, into their cups. The serving of blackbrew by the sovereign’s own hand was ceremonial, and Feldrin knew better than to decline the cup, but he also knew how they brewed the stuff down here. He didn’t particularly care for it so hot that it would melt a silver spoon, and so strong it would peel paint if spilled. He eagerly accepted a dollop of honey, and stirred it thoroughly to cool the scalding liquid.