The Crown of the Usurper (47 page)

  Ullsaard pulled his wife close again, smelling the fragrance in her hair and feeling the warmth of her against his skin.

  "I've always tried to stay one step ahead of the pyre, but wisdom is the bitch of desperation. These otherworld bastards are going to learn that desperate men make for dangerous enemies."

 

The wind had not yet turned to coldwards and summer's grip still held firm along the coast of Maasra. A break in the cloud allowed the weakening morning sun to reach the bireme Noran had hired two days before. The noble moved to the port rail, out of the shade of the mainsail to catch what warmth he could. From this position he could see out across the Nemurian Strait to the smoke-shrouded horizon. He had not mentioned his intent to land on Nemuria when he had approached the ship's captain, Haukin Maanam, but he had heard that Maanam was something of a maverick and would dare the ban. Noran had a fortune to spend, after all, to persuade the captain that it would be worth his while.

  That would be only the first obstacle to overcome. Noran was not convinced that even if Maanam was willing, the Nemurians would allow any human ship to approach their island. There was, Noran decided, a good chance that they would be sunk or attacked or otherwise stopped from reaching the opposite shore.

  It did not matter, the simple truth was that the Nemurians might prove vital to Ullsaard's defence of the empire and Noran was not about to turn back just because circumstances might turn difficult, even lethal.

  Noran remained at the rail while the crew busied themselves on the ship and quay, casting off the thick ropes and hauling at the lines of the sail to bring it into trim. Three men leaned on the tiller arm as the ship started underway, guiding the bireme away from the dock.

  Wondering if he would see any part of the empire again, Noran glanced back across the ship to Askhira, and the sight jogged a memory of when Ullsaard had been making his claim for the Crown and Askhira had been home to his fleet. In the end the fleet had been nothing but a huge feint, drawing the defenders of Askh away from the Wall to the coast.

  Noran was forced to consider that his mission to Nemuria was also a diversionary tactic. Certainly there was little enough chance of success, but his presence in Askhira would surely have been noted and reported by the Brotherhood. He had laid low as best he could, but the Brothers had ways of knowing things, just as they had strange ways of communicating across the length and breadth of the empire. It was entirely possible that Ullsaard had no confidence at all that his emissary to the Nemurians would succeed, but that the act of trying to establish contact with the Nemurians was part of a greater plan, timed to inconvenience Urikh and his unnatural allies.

  It reminded the nobleman of how much Ullsaard had changed. He remembered a time on another ship, on the Greenwater, when Ullsaard had been asking about the nature of politics. A smile crept across Noran's lips as he also remembered Ullsaard's pledge to stay out of politics altogether. It made Noran reconsider everything he had known about the man who had befriended him in Askh so many years ago.

  Ullsaard had been made first captain of his beloved Thirteenth and had come to Askh to receive orders from Lutaar, and to receive the praise of his sponsor, Aalun. Noran had no doubt that Ullsaard had been genuine at that time, and his claims to have achieved his ambitions truthfully spoken, but all the while he had unknowingly been a child of the Blood. How much had the Blood been responsible for Ullsaard's rise to power? Had it been driving him for his whole life, and secretly affecting those around him, projecting his innate power in a way that others could feel but not identify?

  A quiet word from a sailor moved Noran away from his place at the rail, so that rope could be stowed. The nobleman moved to the aft deck, where Haukin Maanam was overseeing his crew. The captain was about the same height as Noran, and a little younger. His black hair was cropped short – unusually short for a sailor, Noran thought – and his open shirt revealed a tattoo of a reclining harlot across his lightly haired chest. She held a snake in her arms, which wound up around Manaam's throat and under his ear, so that its forked tongue seemed to lick at his right eye from the captain's cheek. It was an impressive piece of body art, and was matched by numerous smaller images across his arms and stomach.

  "Fair wind for coldwards," the captain said, glancing up at the sky. "We'll make the Askhan coast in four days, I reckon."

  Noran was not sure whether to speak now about their true destination, or wait until they were further out to see. If he spoke now, Maanam could easily turn the ship about and put back into Askhira; if he waited too long they would waste time heading coldwards and be forced to travel back against the wind to reach Nemuria. He was not sure whether days were so tight yet, but Noran had no desire to eke out this journey for longer than necessary.

  "Captain, there is something I need to discuss with you," said Noran, speaking quietly. "Concerning our route, I mean."

  "Really?" There was a disconcerting half-smile on Manaam's lips. "What would that be?"

  "I apologise, but I may have misled you somewhat when I told you it was my intent to travel to Askhor." Noran found a piece of dirt under the nail of his right middle finger. He fetched out his knife and began to pick at it intently, avoiding the gaze of the ship's captain.

  "Is that right?" said Maanam. "And why would you feel the need to, er, mislead me about our destination?"

  Noran ceased his fidgeting and looked the captain in the eye. The nobleman took a deep breath, preparing himself for scorn or derision.

  "I need to get to Nemuria," he whispered, glancing at the men manning the tiller.

  "I see," Maanam said slowly. The captain looked to his left and right conspiratorially and nodded. "Well, we best go down to my cabin for the rest of this discussion, hadn't we?"

  "I'm willing to offer you triple the rate…" Noran realised that Maanam had not objected outright. "Of course, down in your cabin. Yes, after you."

  He followed Maanam down to the main deck and then under the aft deck. The captain's cabin was located right at the stern of the ship, running almost the full width of the ship. A cot was attached to the port hull and a table and chairs affixed to the floor on the starboard side. A chest of drawers formed a chart table in the middle, but there were no maps on display.

  Along the aft bulkhead, small windows overlooked the white froth of wake cutting through the waves. Peering out, Noran saw the coastal buildings of Askhira almost directly behind them, the bay of the harbour curving to the left and right along the shore. It struck him as odd that they were putting out directly into the strait for what was normally a run along the coast to Askhor.

  Realisation dawned as Noran thought about this and Manaam's casual attitude to the change of plans.

  "You already knew we were going to Nemuria!" he said accusingly, turning to confront the captain.

  Maanam shrugged, laughed and leaned against the edge of the table.

  "It was not the greatest of mysteries to solve," said the captain. "When I told you the price for heading up-coast, you didn't even haggle a tin about it. That told me that you were expecting to pay a lot more than you were saying. Also, I can tell by your luggage that you've come from Okhar. Nobody travels all the way from Okhar to Askhira to get to Askhor; you travel right up the Greenwater and go via Narun. The only place worth going to from here is Nemuria."

  "I stand humbled by your deductions," grumbled Noran. "Although, I must point out that only a fool would travel to Narun at the moment. All right, but I have to tell you that I am not planning at stopping at the one-mile limit. I mean to go to Nemuria itself."

  "That will certainly cost you extra, but you can afford it, I'm sure." Manaam's smile faded and he tapped a finger to his chin for a few moments. "The thing that will cost the most, though, is having to move away from Askhira."

  "I don't understand," said Noran. "I do not expect you to wait for my return. You are free to do what you wish once you drop me off on the island."

  "I have something to show you," said Maanam, nodding towards the door.

  The captain led Noran back to the gangway outside his cabin and produced a long bronze key from a pouch at his belt. He opened a small door to their right and ducked inside the room. Noran followed him in. What he discovered caused the nobleman to straighten in surprise, crashing his head against a deck beam above.

  "Shit!" Noran snarled, clapping a hand to the back of his head. "What is he doing here?"

  Sat on the pile of blankets, a small stool with a candle stub on it beside him, was a young man in the black robes of the Brotherhood. There was a thick bruise on his temple and his right eye was blackened. He looked up at their entrance, the slim volume of the Book of Askhos open in his lap. The Brother's good eye opened wider as he recognised Noran.

  "That's the one," the Brother exclaimed. He tried to get to his feet, but Maanam laid a hand on his shoulder and kept him down. "That's Noran Astaan! Captain, I will forget my rough treatment and you will be richly rewarded if you return to Askhira immediately."

  "Meet Brother Hasdriak, an unintentional stowaway," said Maanam. "The funny thing is, he came to me yesterday, warning that some agent of the rebellion might approach me and ask for passage to Nemuria. He reminded me of the ban and said I would be well paid for any information."

  "I see that you have already decided not to accept his offer," said Noran. "Thank you."

  "Never liked the Brotherhood, and certainly don't like them without Governor Kulrua keeping them in check." As he spoke, Maanam grabbed the collar of Hasdriak and hauled him to his feet. Noran saw that the Brother's hands were bound with thin rope, and the pages of the Book of Askhos shook in his nervous grip. "I just needed to make sure it was you he was talking about."

  Pushing Hasdriak in front of him, Maanam marched up to the deck, Noran a couple of steps behind. Those crew that could see what was happening stopped in their work to watch Maanam guide Hasdriak to the rail. The captain drew a knife from his belt and sawed through the Brother's bindings.

  "That's Askhira back there," said Maanam, pointing aft at the town that was now nothing more than a smudge of white against the green and grey of the coastline. "Have fun getting back."

  Noran watched as Maanam tipped the Brother over the rail, Hasdriak's cry of fear ending with a loud splash. The Nobleman stepped up to the rail and saw Hasdriak floundering amongst the waves as he swept aft, his heavy robes dragging him down. Moving aftwards, Noran continued to keep his eye on the flailing man, who managed to wriggle out of his black robes, but was being repeatedly forced under by wave after wave.

  "He cannot swim," Noran said, turning back to Maanam.

  "Then he shouldn't have set foot a ship, should he?" replied the captain. "Bastard Brotherhood have no business on my deck."

  Noran looked again for the drowning man, but saw nothing save the blur of his robes drifting further and further astern.

  "How much does that cost me?" he asked, when Maanam stepped up beside him.

  "Pretty much everything you've got," said the captain. "You're the one who doesn't want bringing back, so we'll just keep those chests of yours, eh?"

  Looking around, Noran saw the hardened expressions of the crew; not one of them seemed shocked or saddened by the callous murder of the Brother.

  "When my informants told me you were a maverick, did they, by any chance, actually mean to use the word 'pirate'?" Noran asked, his voice a whisper.

  "And smuggler," Maanam replied with a grin. "Good job you came to me first. Who the fuck else is going to be able to take you across to Nemuria without the Brotherhood and the scalies knowing, eh?"

 

They had turned hotwards after another hour, taking the wind onto the port beam and making good speed down the Maasra coast. Maanam informed Noran that the approach was best made at dusk, from hotwards. The weather seemed set fine for the rest of the day, and so Noran dozed on the aftdeck in a folding, canvas-backed chair that Maanam brought out of his cabin for the nobleman's use.

  When the sun was not far above the dark line of the coast, the captain ordered the ship to come about, to make their runin towards the Nemurian coast.

  "The ban hasn't really changed anything," Maanam explained as they made good speed across the waves, the main sail full and the men at the tiller holding hard on a course that seemed set for the centre of the smoking isle ahead. The smoke of the volcanoes made silhouettes against the dark blue of the approaching night, and Noran could see how one might easily slip into the shadowy fog unseen. "There's been folks hiding out in coves and caves on Nemuria since before our greatgreat-grandfathers were born."

  "You are not Maasrite though, are you?" said Noran. Despite his name, Maanam was too tall and well-built to hail from Maasra.

  "Mother was, so learnt the trade from her father," replied Maanam. "Other half of me is Ersuan. Father was a brick trader. Boring as anything, he was. Spent all my time on grandpa's ship, and learnt the little nooks and crannies on both coasts where the Brotherhood and the scalies don't look."

  "So you've done this a lot, yes?" Noran was feeling more reassured about the unsavoury company he had accidentally chosen.

  "A few times," said Maanam. He took a few steps towards the main deck and shouted orders to the crew to bring the mainsail to half-mast. When he returned, Noran noticed the tension in the captain's face.

  "How many times?" the nobleman asked. "How many times to Nemuria?"