Stormed Fortress (81 page)

Feylind gave back her narrow-eyed stare.
'
You covet those limes, mister?

Then count them, or confiscate the bothersome lot!
'
Her shrug implied insult.
'
Alliance didn
'
t deal square, understand? Refused to pay near what those beauties are worth! Damned well you know the port towns up and down here are all sweating blood under embargo. Nothing moves, these days. Not unless there
'
s a troop destination and a spotless white bow with a puckering Sunwheel seal on it!
'

'
Not
like
you have problems with smugglers,
'
the mate sniped.
'
Even if tide-currents in these parts weren
'
t Sithaer
'
s gift to a gouging pilot, damned estuary
'
s clapped up tight in blockade as the slew on a westshore virgin.
'

Feylind snapped again, before the official could stiffen his back at Teive
'
s cheek.
'
You planning to crawl all over us on forced inspection? Then, fancy man, I suggest you jump to it. I
'
m wanting my crew out with buckets and holy-stones to scour the decks where you stand!
'

Set on notice for their fine furs and swank finery, the officials demanded due oversight nonetheless. Whistling sailhands enacted Teive
'
s order to unbatten the hatches. Since the hold
'
s contents matched the lading list that changed hands, the brig suffered through the invasion and received the requisite port stamps. Mooring fees paid, she was cleared to weigh anchor on the flood-tide.

'
Don
'
t let your crew linger town-side past midnight,
'
the exciseman warned as he filed the discharge documents in his case, then tucked his sweetening pay inside his glittering waistcoat.
'
Short-handed galleys are likely to press them. The Light
'
s captains
'
ll snatch anyone hale if they
'
re drunk, or up to no good, hanging idle.
'

'
No problem.
'
Teive flashed his most affable smile.
'
Any
'
s not rousted from port, then good riddance. Late for the tide, late forever on
Evenstar.
Laggard hands scrounge themselves a new berth without their quit pay and their sea chest.
'
The smile turned arch.
'
Sir! Such expensive furs, I declare. And those boots! You
'
ll want a hoist in the bosun
'
s chair, surely?
'

The portly peacock was off-loaded, and the barge shoved off to a warbling fanfare of trumpets. Teive stood, bemused, and even the quartermaster chuckled over the erratic departure that bumped from moored vessel, to anchor buoy, to snagged cable, with the oarsmen straining their brass-buttoned doublets in the roil as the ebb gained force in the channel.
'
Enough to give honest rowers the gripes. Didn
'
t the pudding-faced chap with the badges look like a fat whore who
'
d sat hard aground on her tackle? And wasn
'
t yon warning of press-gangs a shocking kindness, since we last ran a cargo through here?
'

'
We
'
re feeding the fanatics who
'
re making them rich,
'
Feylind surmised with dour humour.
'
And the bung-hole they
'
re spit-licking for favour
'
d be Lysaer
'
s. Praise his false Light, such convenience is useful. Before the sun sets, I want a glass in a tavern that hasn
'
t been scoured in brine.
'

* * *

Night fell, under cloud cold and dense as a blanket.
Even
star's
crew set sail under lanterns, pitching before a following wind, with the flood in the estuary pulling five knots, the race under the keel sucking into swift eddies. The gusts breathed of ice, harbinger of a fresh storm inbound off the Cildein.

'
We
'
ll have a fast passage,
'
Teive remarked from the dark. His arm circled Feylind
'
s cloaked shoulder, where she huddled alee of the wheel mount.
'
Too fast, maybe. More than a merchant craft warrants.
'

The rocky channel became a white froth in the rip, with the war-time patrol in tight force, and the light buoys and torch towers marking the shore-line unlit to discourage smuggling. As the fire-pans at Adruin
'
s harbour fell astern, and the crew aloft unbrailed the topsails to gain headway, the black hills of East Halla scalloped the sky
'
s edge, looming on the port side. Inside the narrows, the hazard of the opposite shore lay scarcely two leagues off the starboard rail. The quartermaster obeyed the command to head off, bearing westward down the tight estuary.
Evenstar
curtseyed, and ran with the elements, laced foam splashed off her bobstays drenching the leadsman who sounded the mark.

'
Not fast enough,
'
Feylind declared, almost reckless. The hand under her mantle stayed clasped to the chain that hung the signet ring of Rathain: Arithon
'
s token to honour an oath made to comfort her grieving mother. Every inch the brash captain, Feylind flinched from the thought of her own children, safe back at Innish.
'
I don
'
t like posturing under a Sunwheel banner, even out of necessity.
'

The shoreside news had unsettled her nerves: a horrific revenge wrought by Parrien
'
s fleet, and an uncanny event no one
'
s words could describe, but which had incited the refugee waves of desertion from both sides of the entrenched campaign. If no one had witnessed the usage of Shadow, the Spinner of Darkness was said to be active, supporting Alestron in arcane liaison. Past question, starvation threatened the citadel. The defenders remained hemmed in without recourse, drawn critically low on supplies.

Now the hour was ripe to deliver King Eldir
'
s relief. Feylind let go of Prince Arithon
'
s ring and regarded the mate at her side. A solid form, sensibly muffled, his face was obscured by the night. Always, his warmth allowed her to lean on the comfort of his close presence.
'
Regrets, Teive?
'

'
No.
'
Evenstar
'
s
first officer grinned.
'
In fact, never.
'
Head tipped to mark the hands
'
progress aloft, he called for the crew at the braces to trim the main-yards and haul taut.
'
This brig
'
s our home, love. If we
'
re going to pile her onto a shoal, I
'
d rather be pushing the odds for a friend. Not smashed to ruin by wretched luck, or a random bout of bad weather.
'
He added, content,
'
Everything won
'
t be stage dressing, besides. I
'
d have the relieving tackles set on the tiller under conditions tonight.
'

Weather thrummed through the stays. The fore-sails cracked, shadowed out by the main in the swooping veer of the gusts. Back-up gear would be needed to surmount the strain on the ship
'
s steerage as the bucking tide scoured the channel.

'
Speed us on, then.
'
Feylind laughed.
'
Give me the thrill of the careening run before riding a blizzard at anchor inside this bottle-neck. We
'
d have three cables out, and be tending for tide, chased by plagues of fiends on a storm charge.
'

* * *

Inside the s
'
Brydion stronghold, the state of scant supply became critical. The added provender from Parrien
'
s galley could not alleviate the relentless shortfall. Since the stores drawn to support the refugee exodus, the granary echoed, near empty. While the barrels of ship
'
s biscuit, salt meat, and ground barley were raised by hoist from the Sea Gate, and the flag galley was berthed in the caverns, the duke
'
s council-men convened for consultation. Two of them coughed with green colds. The others twiddled with their useless quill pens, or sat idle-handed, their mood grave, as they heard through Alestron
'
s Lord Seneschal.

Standing, his robes belted to his gaunt waist, and his whey-face pushed beyond haggard, that staunch worthy had no hopeful news.
'
We already face weakness. Famine will claim the first lives before the turn of the year.
'

Outside the closed chamber, with the chilly gloom a pervasive lead overlay, the watch paced the walls above nearly deserted town streets. Gulls soared and called, forlorn flecks of white buffeted by the stiffening breeze. Against the atmosphere of sullen resistance, and a garrison braced to resignation, one restless spirit
'
s pursuit stayed unfazed by desperate hardship.

Fionn Areth was left with loose time on his hands after Jeynsa
'
s departure. Freed also from the cold eye of Sidir, and excused from troop chores since Talvish
'
s change of allegiance, the Araethurian ducked under Vhandon
'
s oversight in hot pursuit of Parrien
'
s oarsmen. Seafarers talked. Cooped up for months on end with their fellows, they fed like sharks on the blood of past scandal. Given Parrien s
'
Brydion
'
s outspoken grudge against Rathain
'
s prince, his beached crew might divulge the man
'
s criminal history in full-blown, scurrilous detail.

Persistence unearthed a striking reward: the master shipwright who had betrayed Arithon
'
s piracy at Riverton eighteen years ago had claimed sanctuary from Lysaer
s
'
Ilessid
under ducal protection. He was here at Alestron, still. Given the name, Fionn Areth ventured down to the wharf-side to search out a craftsman called Cattrick.

The inquiry landed him at the chandler
'
s, which anywhere else would be a weathered shed, attached to a sail-loft, and a small foundry. At Alestron, the cavernous edifice was built into the buttressed stone of the sea-quarter bastion. Besides sundry ships
'
fittings, the blacksmith also forged tempered points for the arbalests. If the blockade against maritime trade had crimped commerce, demand had not slackened to idleness. Hemp rope and new chain, tanned ox-hides and tackles, and intricate joinery were also required for war. The fortified warehouse was not empty when Fionn Areth sauntered in from the dock-side.

Cloud-grey light stamped his brief silhouette. Then the plank door swung shut, leaving him in deep gloom, felted with the scents of pine and hot tar, overlaid by the taint of a fish oil lamp. His arrival met the hung silence of more than one paused conversation. Fionn Areth advanced. Hedged by tiered shelving packed with boxes and bales, and baskets glinting with cleats, he found himself pinned by the avid stares of a dozen rough-mannered craftsmen.

'
Ath
'
s glory,
'
declared one unshaven brute.
'
Before my two eyes, we
'
re getting a visit from Fellowship-sanctioned blood royalty.
'

'
Is he now?
'
That pealing jibe arose from a dimmed corner, underlaid by the scrape of stiff rope. A hunched figure, half-hidden, cackled with glee.
'
Then, buckos, sit up and ask why he
'
s here. Won
'
t be for our light entertainment.
'

Fionn Areth stifled his grass-lander
'
s drawl and announced to the ham-fisted gathering,
'
I
'
m looking for Cattrick.
'

'
Ah! So you could be.
'
Another gruff snigger: the wizened old splicer perched on a stool. His claw fingers busied with lacing an eye-splice, the unkempt creature declared,
'
In that case, we
'
re left awesome curious.
'
While his cronies lounged, grinning, the spokesman licked a spatulate thumb.
'
Come here, fellow.
'

'
Do I know you?
'
Fionn Areth demanded, his brisk imitation of Arithon
'
s tone used to further his prying inquiry.

'
Bad question.
'
Removed from the dizzying reek of the lamp, the cantankerous inquisitor swung his beaked face towards the approaching tread. His porcelain-white eyes were quite blind.
'
You, at least, are not Arithon s
'
Ffalenn,
'
he observed with supercilious certainty.
'
Your feet are too heavy, your voice is too loud, and stripling? You
'
re poorly informed in the bargain. Yon cocky, wee sorcerer knows me by name, mocked up in an Araethurian twang, or speaking the birth-born lack of it.
'

Someone else quipped,
'
Who
'
d forget you, old snake. Mug as ugly as yours could scare bones from the grave on a screaming flight to the devil.
'

Another man lounging nearby slapped his knee, to hooting mirth from his comrades.
'
Can
'
t hoodwink Ivel, boy. You must be the double. Why
'
s a goatherd come here seeking Cattrick?
'

Dice clattered across an up-ended barrel, as three burly longshoremen turned their backs and resumed an on-going game. The fourth and the largest among them ignored the thrown score. Rough-cut and corded with muscle beneath his leather jerkin, he straightened and tipped back a battered felt hat.

Fionn Areth confronted the squint of a measuring eye. The craftsman
'
s bristled jaw jutted as he said in the lazy vowels of the southcoast,
'
Better speak, infant. Don
'
t claim you were sent. His Grace won
'
t deliver his words in the mouth of another.
'

Snide as a whip-crack, the splicer took issue.
'
Are we mean-spirited? Ungrateful?
'
He freed a callused hand in magnanimous invitation.
'
Let the lad speak! What
'
s the harm? We
'
re not bored? Since the dock-side bawds flitted, we should pant for the chance to enjoy his command performance.
'

Fionn Areth shrugged his cloak straight, too brazen to shrink before ridicule.
'
Cattrick might prefer to receive my inquiry in private.
'

'
My stars!
'
Ivel thumped his thin chest.
'
It
'
s a closet spat? A tiff between lovers? Or no! Lend us your tender confidence, young sir. You
'
re here to confess that for weeks, from a distance, you
'
ve been nursing a moon-calf obsession.
'

Laughter from the bystanders cut off to a bang as the huge man at the dice game kicked over his seat and surged upright. He towered. Brown hair tinged with white tumbled to his broad shoulders, while fists like mauls braced with ominous care on the barrel top.
'
What makes you
think,
boy? Since we
'
re not delicate, why the implication you might be privy to everyone
'
s secrets?
'

Fionn Areth snapped up his chin.
'
You
'
re Cattrick? The same master shipwright who played on both sides, then turned coat until every staked interest at Riverton was betrayed to the opposite party? I want the reason you spurned Lysaer
'
s employ, and why, since the day you took sanctuary with s
'
Brydion, Arithon s
'
Ffalenn doesn
'
t speak to you.
'

'
Or to you, evidently,
'
the blind splicer attacked.
'
Whose side claims
your
loyalty, hinnysop?
'

Before Fionn Areth could retort, the snide dicer shoved forward to thrash him. A rabbit-fast nip behind the tiered shelving might buy him the moment to run. Hold his ground, and he would catch a bout of ham-fisted unpleasantness.

Except, at that moment, the latched door breezed open and let in one of Bransian
'
s warmongering sentries.
'
Cattrick!
'
The bursting shout rattled the sheaves in the tackles.
'
Half of my lot of winnings to you if my latest wager pays off. My coin
'
s laid on, that a merchant brig built to your lines flies a Sunwheel flag in the estuary.
'

'
What? Is this rape, or extortion?
'
The huge man bashed over the barrel. Dice flew, and a flittering hail of small coins. Cattrick batted them out of the air, cobra quick, as he roared away in bass umbrage,
'
Yon
'
s no ship o
'
mine, butty! Or be sure I
'
ll throttle the pirate myself, for putting a prize won in battle to a shameful endeavour. Don
'
t claim that brig
'
s running supply for the war camp! Not off a design I
'
ve sweated my own blood to keep close to my chest as a baby. Nor would I sell out to
s
'
Ilessid
, though his princely blue eyes should leak tears o
'
gold royals, and beg with a sealed pardon for granting the privilege.
'

The shipwright plunged forward. His charge met Fionn Areth, planted foursquare in the path to the doorway.

One crashing blow knocked the grass-lander sprawling. The young man struck the shelving, hands pressed to his face, while a tipped box of rivets showered over his head. Cattrick snatched his prey from the spill. Fist snagged in black hair, he said, snarling,
'
Insolent whelp! You
'
ll tell me
later
what gives you the right to think I should answer for what occurred in my yard back in Tysan.
'

The Southshireman dumped his brute hold straightaway. Fionn Areth dropped to his knees amid the scattered hardware. Stomped rivets clinked across the gouged floor-boards as the cantankerous shipwright followed the betting sentry into the street. The idlers crowding the chandler
'
s surged after, hell-bent on enjoying the outcome.

Which left Fionn Areth to nurse his bruised face in the splicer
'
s obstreperous company.

'
You think you hurt now, pup? Then count yourself warned. Cattrick
'
s meaner than a gaffed shark, once he
'
s crossed.
'
Thoughtful, in darkness, the old craftsman resumed weaving plies with the speed of experience.
'
Don
'
t press your luck. The last time a born fool messed with his business, the wretch wore the burn scars the rest of his life. You
'
ve got no sick taste for punishment? Then scarper while nobody
'
s looking.
'

Fionn Areth said nothing, his bitten tongue busy with counting his battered teeth. Some were knocked loose. Sleeve pressed to his split mouth, he swore at Parrien
'
s seamen, whose malice had neglected to mention the exiled shipwright
'
s vile temper. The grass-lander grappled for balance and stood. Snow scooped from a drift would ease his bruises, since he had every intention of pursuing his grievance onto the Sea Gate battlement.

When Fionn Areth arrived, out of breath, atop the rectangular keep, Cattrick leaned over the bay-side crenel, surrounded by his motley friends from the chandler
'
s. The ship
'
s glass he held was trained on the narrows between the keeps guarding the harbour chain. The tide was poised to turn. Under black cloud, the roiled water heaved pewter, chopped by the rip current
'
s whitecaps. The brig under survey bucked the frothing crests, head to wind and her tan-bark sails slatting.