Scimitar Sun (29 page)

The crack crew on the
Clairissa
slipped her mooring with military precision and little delay. The boatswain called for the sweeps, and long oars were run out of the lowest row of ballistae ports; their blades dug into the water, adroitly turning the huge ship in the crowded harbor. Before her escorts had finished hauling their anchors, the sweeps had been stowed and the emperor’s flagship was making headway toward the harbor mouth under a dazzling tower of white topsails and jibs.
Fire Drake
and
Lady Gwen
soon followed, and the three ships departed the harbor in a neat row, the two warships in the fore, and the supply galleon bringing up the rear.

The commodore looked back at the following ships, his lip twitching in a repressed smile. That pompous twit Norris and his entourage were sailing in the
Lady Gwen
, cramped into passenger quarters. The
Clairissa
and
Fire Drake
carried only military personnel, though a full battalion of four hundred marines made even the emperor’s flagship somewhat crowded. He and the captain were, of course, well appointed; the flagship sported two vast greatcabins aft, one above the other, the sweeping stern windows giving both light and welcome ventilation in the stifling heat. Captain Flauglin was in command of the
Clairissa
and her day-to-day operations, but Twig outranked him and commanded the entire armada, so he gave the orders that would ultimately affect their mission.

The first swells of the Great Western Sea lifted the immense bulk of the
Clairissa
as she turned south. They would have to tack far out to sea before they picked up the trade winds. Then they could set a course straight for Plume Isle. Twig smiled at the thought of the haughty seamage’s face when she saw the emperor’s flagship on the horizon.

Superfluous indeed
, he thought, gripping the rail and looking out over the deck, with its double row of massive catapults shrouded in canvas, and the files of marines scurrying around stowing their gear. With a full complement of more than twelve hundred sailors and marines, the
Clairissa
was no less than a mobile fortress, able to reduce even a fortified keep to rubble.

“We shall see who is superfluous, Seamage of the Shattered Isles…”

≈

Cynthia stepped from the sea’s embrace into the waiting embrace of Feldrin Brelak. His arms enveloped her and held her close, and she wondered how she had lived so long without him. The sea was, as she had oft said, a harsh mistress, and while she felt a certain rapture and wonder under the sea that could not be paralleled ashore, there was nothing as comforting, as solid as Feldrin’s huge arms enfolding her. She knew he would never betray her, never treat her like an intruder or accuse her of manipulating him for her own ends.

She squeezed him back as hard as she could, which drew a deep chuckle from his barrel chest. One of his huge hands cupped her head like a child’s, patting her hair, and it was all she could do to release him and step back.

“Now, lass, why the tears?” he asked, wiping water from her cheeks with his thumbs.

“Tears?” She hadn’t realized that she was crying, but it didn’t surprise her. Lately, her emotions had been tossing and turning like a fishing smack in a summer squall. She sniffed and smiled up at his concerned face, into his twinkling dark eyes, and lied. “Just thinking how much I missed you, I guess.”

“Oh, now that won’t wash with me, and ya know it.” He put her hand on his arm and started their stroll up the pier. “Them fishy friends of yours get yer dander up again?”

“How did you know?” she asked, poking him in the side and eliciting another chuckle. “You learn mind reading from that princess of yours?”

He patted her hand on his arm and smiled. “No, it don’t take mind readin’ to know you’ve got yer knickers in a knot over the mer. I’ve watched ya dealin’ with them off and on for almost two years, and I see how frustratin’ they are to ya.”

“You have no idea, Feldrin,” she said, with relief. Although she didn’t want to worry him with her problems, she was glad that he’d guessed the real source of her distress; it was nice to have someone to talk to about it. “They’re like spoiled children. It’s like they
want
war. I don’t understand them half as well as I should, and my father’s notes on them are sketchy at best.”

“Well, ya ever think that maybe they
do
want war?” he asked, taking her aback.

“But who would ever…” She let that thought slide away at the knowing shake of Feldrin’s head. Maybe that was her problem; instead of denial, she should be looking for reasons. “Why would they
want
war with the landwalkers?”

“I have no idea, Cyn, but ya gotta understand that not everyone wants peace, and not every war is a bad thing. Take what Mojani did down in Marathia. That revolution damn near ripped the country right down the middle, but they’re better for it. The bad thing is that, with that success under his belt, the sultan started lookin’ to carry the war beyond his borders, to keep up that feelin’ of power and control, and perhaps fill the country’s coffers.” He stopped at the steps to the keep and looked down at her. “What ya gotta ask yerself is: What do the mer stand to gain from war?”

“That’s just it — I don’t know! It’s not like they can invade the land and claim it, and they don’t require its resources; the sea gives them everything they need. They’re spoiling for a fight, and I don’t know why.”

“Well, maybe it’s a matter of respect,” he said, motioning to the bustling throngs of dark-skinned natives in the shipyard who were moving the masts of Cynthia’s new ship to where they would be stepped. “Like yer friends here; give ‘em credit fer runnin’ their own lives, point ‘em in the right direction and give ‘em the tools, and they’re busy as a hive of bees.”

“Well, I can’t very well ask the mer to help me build ships, can I?”

“No, I don’t suppose ya can. Not unless ya can design one that sails under the water.” He chuckled, but stopped as her brows knitted in thought. “Now, Cyn, don’t get any hair-brained ideas! Ya got enough problems right here without designing
another
new ship! Besides, I got one more problem for ya, and I think it’s a doozie.”

“Oh, what now?” she said a bit irritably, her mind leaping ahead to all the things already on her plate.

“It’s Cammy, Cyn. She asked me to send you up to talk to her.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Is she having more problems with Edan?”

“Don’t know, but she didn’t look so good. Like she hadn’t slept in a coupl’a days.”

“Great. I’ll go talk to her as soon as I get up the energy to climb these blasted stairs.” She looked up and sighed, but before she could lift her foot to start the climb, she found herself whisked off her feet and lifted up by massive arms. “Feldrin! Stop it! I’m not an invalid!”

“Oh, I know yer not, lass. Just relax and enjoy the ride.” He strode up the steps without a pause in his stride, as if her weight did not affect him at all — and it probably didn’t. “Besides, I’m not doin’ this fer you. I’m just givin’ me boy his first pony ride, is all.”

“Bloody jokester,” she said, poking him in the chest but unable to hide her smile. She planted a kiss on his cheek and leaned her head on his shoulder. Yes, she had missed Feldrin Brelak a great deal indeed.

≈

“Leaving?” Cynthia stood shock-still, her eyes wide and disbelieving. It wasn’t just Camilla’s pronouncement that she would move to Southaven permanently; they’d discussed it before, so it wasn’t a huge surprise. What shocked her was the state of Camilla’s rooms…and Camilla herself.

The wardrobe doors were wide open and the expansive space was empty. Some of the dresses were strewn around the room in crumpled piles, so contrary to the meticulous care Camilla generally took with her clothing. But most of the dresses were draped over the curtain rod above the closed shutters that led onto the balcony, forming a rainbow-hued barrier to the outside world and casting the room in shadow despite the mid-day sun. And Camilla, as Feldrin had said, looked like she had not slept in days. She looked fevered: her hair was a tangled mess about a face the color of white cheese, sharply punctuated by red-rimmed eyes. She wore a thick woolen robe that hung on her like a tent, and her hands shook when they weren’t clenched into white-knuckled fists or thrust into the robe’s pockets.

“What’s happened, Cammy? What’s going on?”

“It doesn’t matter,” the distraught woman snapped, pacing through the frothy piles of silk and satin. “I just think it would be best if I left. You were right; I can conduct your business better in Southaven, and if you’d still let me stay in your old house, I wouldn’t have to pay for — ”

“Cammy, please. Stop for a moment and think about this.” She stepped into the woman’s path and gripped her shoulders, forcing their eyes to meet. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong!” Camilla said through clenched teeth, pulling away and taking two steps back, almost stumbling over a pile of discarded clothes. “If you won’t let me stay there, I can afford a place of my own. I’ve got to go, Cynthia. That’s all there is to it!”

“Cammy! Of course you can stay in my home. That’s not what I’m saying at all! If you must leave, I’ll have you out on
Peggy’s Dream
on the next tide. But there’s more to this than you’re saying!” She took a careful step forward, but it only elicited another step back from her friend. She’d never seen Camilla so terrified before. Cynthia had always marveled at her friend’s strength; the only thing that had ever scared Camilla was being coveted by Hydra and Bloodwind. The answer hit Cynthia like a slap in the face, and she clenched her teeth in anger. “It’s Edan, isn’t it? He didn’t — ” She stopped at the horror on her friend’s face.

“Don’t, Cynthia! Don’t confront him! He hasn’t touched me, if that’s what you’re thinking, but there’s more to him than just the cloistered little boy I thought he was.” She wrung her hands and turned away. “He scares me, Cyn. He’s fixated on me. He
wants
me.”

“I’ll have Feldrin tell him to — ”

“No! Don’t confront him!” Her face had gone totally white, and her eyes brimmed with tears. “He’s too dangerous — he will be, with the power he’s going to gain with his ascension. If I don’t leave, he’ll get what he wants. He’ll get
me
, Cynthia, or he’ll burn this entire island!”

≈

Under the light of a waning moon, a catboat edged through a gap in the reef of Plume Isle, sails furled, four crewmen straining on the oars to keep the craft off the razor-sharp coral. Once inside the tiny lagoon, just south of the main channel into Scimitar Bay, the little craft surged forward until her prow grounded on the sandy beach. There was almost no surf on the lee shore of the island, so the sound of wood against hard sand was loud over the distant crash of waves on the outer reef.

Two crewmen jumped over the side to steady the craft as a third slim figure vaulted from the bow onto the damp sand, barely wetting her feet. Sam bore only a small bundle of clothes and her dagger, and she dashed into the cover of trees without looking back. By the time the catboat had turned and passed through the gap in the reef, Sam had made her way up the narrow trail to the ridge that overlooked Scimitar Bay.

Moonlight illuminated the scene before her, giving her a good view of the shipyard, the native village and the edifice that had once been her lord and master’s lair.

“Made a few improvements, have we?” she muttered under her breath, noting that the shipyard was now larger and cleaner than it had been, and that not a single wall remained of the shantytown that had been her home during her time here. Then she noticed the two schooners at the pier, and let out a low whistle. She’d only been expecting to find one — the new three-masted ship. That in itself was a wonder, but it was the second ship that held her eye. She would have recognized it anywhere; it was the ship that had led the assault on Blood Bay to overthrow Bloodwind, and she welcomed the sight of it.

“You’ll be mine or on the bottom of the sea when I’m done with you,
Orin’s Pride
,” she muttered with a cruel smile as she moved off the trail to a hidden vantage point. She would watch for a day or two, get the lay of the land and memorize the daily routines, then work her way into the little community. Then she would wait and, when the time was right, she would strike.

Chapter Nineteen

Confrontations

“The way I see it,” Cynthia said, surveying the array of charts strewn across the dining table, “
Orin’s Pride
is the logical choice. The
Dream’s
just too big to handle in such tight quarters.”

“I’d say yer right,” Feldrin agreed, squinting at the maze of numbers, contour lines, current arrows and the star symbols of submerged rocks that represented the most recent survey of the waters around Fire Isle. He poked at Mouse, who was curled up atop one of the charts, bored and dozing, to get a better look, and was rewarded with an annoyed “Eep.” The chart’s accuracy was dubious; it had been compiled by Cynthia’s father over twenty years ago. For a coral reef, twenty years was but an instant of its life, and Cynthia found most of his charts to be unerringly correct. But in the area around Fire Isle, the underwater topography changed often and rapidly; magma seeped from the volcano to produce new hillocks and rises, and seismic activity broke the substrate into fissures and ledges. No one anchored there: the jumble of broken rock and smooth, solidified lava offered poor holding at best; a broken anchor and a ship on the rocks at worst.

“I gotta say, though, even with you aboard, I’m not too keen on bringin’ the
Pride
in through
that
.”

“I’ll ask the mer if they have any suggestions, but I don’t think they’ll be much help.” She sipped her cup of blackbrew and sighed; they’d been poring over the charts for more than an hour, and the worst was yet to come. “They don’t like Fire Isle any more than you do.”