The Seascape Tattoo (7 page)

Neoloth waited.

The door at the far end of the outer chamber opened. Three men were ushered in. They were tall and sun-darkened. They had spent time in the desert.

Mercenary sorcerers who would sell their arts to the highest bidder. One of them glanced directly at Neoloth's hiding place, as if he could see through the curtain. Then he looked away.

“Oh Great Queen. We bear greetings from the ruler of Shrike.”

Yes. The kingdom north of Nandia, Princess Tahlia's destination. A closed kingdom ruled by a despot. They traded goods, of course, but only with the most stringent of oversight, and their citizens traveled abroad less frequently than those of any of the Eight Kingdoms.

Further, rumor had it that families never traveled together, wives and children acting as hostages against betrayal.

This was very, very bad indeed.

“Welcome to my kingdom, great ambassadors,” the queen said. Her voice was so strong and regal. It was possible that only a liar as accomplished as Neoloth himself could have detected the tremor therein. “Upon your return, convey greetings to your great king. Tell me how I may serve you.”

“We come seeking no service, Great Queen,” the tallest of them said. “Rather, we seek to offer service.”

“Service?” Her puzzlement seemed real.

“Yes. One of our trading vessels, bound for the southern kingdoms, encountered flotsam from one of your sailing ships, with sailors clinging to broken wood. Obeying the code of the sea, we rescued them and, upon hearing their tale and provenance, wish only to return them to safety.”

“While I appreciate the rescue of our brave sailing men, I do not yet understand why my advisors considered this an emergency requiring my immediate personal attention.”

“Your Royal Majesty. Upon interviewing the rescued sailors, we learned a fact that disturbed us deeply. A fact it would have been remiss not to bring to Your Majesty's attention. Those rescued claimed to have been sailors aboard three of Your Majesty's ships. They tell us that the flagship, the
Proud Abyss
, carried the royal daughter. Would these be considered facts?”

Neoloth could not see the queen's face, but he could visualize its sudden tightness. “Yes, it is true.”

How it must have pained her to say this. What strength it required to keep the strain from her voice, Neoloth could only imagine. What he did know was that he was witnessing magic of a very different variety.

“Your Majesty, it is our sad duty to recount their tale.”

“Or rather,” said a shorter man, “allow the sailor to tell his own tale.”

He clapped his hands again, and the door opened. Two small, dark Shriker types dragged in a man on a canvas travois. He looked dead but for a fitful, wet snore. A seventh man, face pale and clothes torn, shuffled into the room as if his feet were shackled.

“Oh mighty Queen,” the man said, and he was shaking, afraid to meet her eyes.

“Rise,” she said, as kindly as possible—again, Neoloth wondered where she found the strength. “Tell me what happened. Omit nothing.”

“I'm Sanam. This is Glarios, but he cannot speak. He's been sleeping since they fished him out of the sea…” He told of an uneventful voyage, ending with, “We were returning from the wedding,” he said, “and there was a storm.”

“Your ship foundered in the storm?”

“No, Your Majesty. Our sailors were up to the mark. But in the midst of the storm, strange vessels appeared…”

And here the man's tale turned strange. Out of the storm came small fire-breathing vessels that attacked the three royal sailing ships. They carried no flags. No masts. Fire and thunder erupted in the midst of the rain. Sanam's ship, the
Domino
, groaned and sank in a chaos of shattered wood and screaming sailors. The next thing he knew, he was being plucked out of the sea by a ship flying under Shrike's flag. And there remained no trace of the
Proud Abyss
.

The queen cleared her throat. Her angular face had darkened, as if choking on her urge to scream curses and accusations at the man cowering before her. “Do you know what happened to the
Abyss
?”

“No, your majesty,” he said, unable to meet her eyes. “Four were pulled out. Only me and Glarios are still alive.”

“These … fires and explosions. Did you see such eruptions aboard the
Abyss
?”

The sailor hung his head in anguish. Such misery made it obvious to Neoloth that he was telling the truth as he saw it. On the other hand, there was something about the three men who had brought him. They were not sailors. Nor were they the usual ambassadors. Or soldiers. No. They were magic users of some kind, but they were either weak (no great surprise, in these milk-water days) or so powerful they could effectively shield themselves, even from the concealed Neoloth.

“No, Your Grace.”

She nodded. “Is there anything else you wish to say?”

His eyes shifted. “No, Your Grace.”
Later, perhaps.

She nodded. “Please take these brave men to the healers, and to food and rest. I'll find a wizard as well and will come to you later.” The sailors were led away, leaving the other three in the middle of the throne room.

For a long time no motion disturbed the room. The air was still. Silence reigned, as if the humans within, royals, nobles, advisors, and guards, were engaged in a test of wills to see who could longest refrain from speech.

“Have you more to tell me?” the queen asked. “Is there no word at all of my daughter? Has the ocean swallowed her entirely?”

“I do not believe that is the case,” the tallest of the three ambassadors said. “We believe that these strange burning ships that throw fire are the same vessels who have attacked our own fleet. We seek them, but confess to surprise that they travel so far south. We seek them north of our own borders. We have agents among the Northfolk, and believe that, given time, we can learn what has happened.”

“What is your belief?”

“I believe that the princess is alive and held by these men. They have raided ships before, seeking slaves, women, loot. While ruthless to men, they are not known to slaughter women. Rather, they hold them for ransom … or…” He paused significantly. “Keep them for themselves, if you understand the implications. We believe that we can find her, if she is where and with whom we believe her to be.”

“The royal personage would appreciate any assistance you can offer. We will, of course, make our own inquiries.”

“The sea leaves few traces, Your Majesty. We were fortunate to find witnesses at all.”

That was certainly true. But better that these sailors had been swallowed by the waves if the smallest portion of their story proved untrue.

The tall man paused again. The silence thickened. This time, one of the queen's advisors seemed to recognize her distress and spoke in her stead. “We appreciate your return of our sailors. And any efforts you can make to recover our beloved princess. What can we offer you as a token of appreciation for your efforts?”

There it was. To maintain the pretense, the ambassadors could not ask for blackmail. It had to be offered.

The man bowed. “We wish only to continue making safe passage through your waters. That you allow us to conduct investigations and pursue our financial affairs as we see fit. In exchange, I believe we can promise that we will find and return the princess.”

Neoloth reeled. The implied threat was more brazen than he would have believed.

There was more said, but after a relatively short exchange, the ambassadors retired from the room.

*   *   *

The next day was a whirlwind. Sanam the sailor was allowed to eat but not sleep. He was drilled endlessly on everything he had seen and heard. He said he had been treated well by the Shrikes. He bore no sign of coercion or magical control. Again and again he told the same story: A storm. Small steaming ships coming out of the night. Explosions. Sinking. Those steaming ships swarmed the
Abyss
instead of trying to take her down.

And that was the only consolation any of them had.

At midnight, the queen summoned Neoloth back to the throne room. “Great Mage,” she said. An edge of desperation had crept into her voice. “What words of wisdom have you to offer?”

“This is like no magic I've ever heard of,” Neoloth said, “and I thought I knew of every form of magic.”

“My daughter?”

“It was a veiled threat, of course,” he said. “They captured the princess and wish you not to interfere in their affairs.”

“For what purpose?”

“I do not know,” he replied honestly. “What I can say is that the very need to control us suggests that the princess yet lives. I would expect that in a moon or so, they will present a letter written by your daughter and supposedly smuggled out. It will contain information only she would know and will calm you.”

He could see that she wanted terribly to believe what he was saying but was no fool. “And their ultimate purpose?”

“War, perhaps. They wish to be certain that you do not side with another kingdom against them.”

“And they kidnapped Tahlia for this purpose. What can we do?”

“They perceive you as weak. They doubt you will launch an attack against them. After all, they merely returned two of your sailors and offered assistance. It would be difficult to get another of the kingdoms to stand with us on such meager evidence.”

Despite her trappings of power, she seemed … diminished. Desperate. “Can you use your arts to find her? If so, your reward would be great.”

A thought seemed to occur to her suddenly, and she raised her voice. “Send out the call,” she said to an advisor. “To the princes who sought the hand of Tahlia in marriage. The royal or noble personage who returns my daughter to me wins my approval, and rich reward. He will wed her and inherit my kingdom. Send the word.”

And so it was sent.

 

SEVEN

Wizard at Work

Reinforced by the talisman's powers, Neoloth-Pteor's scrying pool swirled, foaming into images of storm and sea so realistic they threatened to soak the room. He saw what the sailor saw, as the man had surrendered his mind to Neoloth's spells.

It was truth. All was as the wretched sailor had testified.

Vessels with neither mast nor sail, pouring smoke. Explosions like lightning striking dry trees but in the midst of the storm.
Drowning, gripping something as it banged against him, clinging, fainting.

He tried other spells, other techniques to see if there was more information that could be extracted from the mind of this simple, honest man. He just didn't know enough.

And, failing that, were there other ways he could see into the future, determine what had happened, where the princess might be, and what might be done?

He tried everything he knew, and nothing worked. Twenty hours later, he was shaking and exhausted and frightened by the implications. Was a wizard blocking him? Or—

Wizards couldn't see into their own futures. If there was something
he
could do for the princess … it would not show in his scrying pool. Nothing to show for his work but this damned fog.

Shrike had once been an equal member of the Eight Kingdoms, but in recent years it had become more insular, less open to trade or cultural exchange. No one outside Shrike really seemed to know what was happening within it. Rather than respect or affection, the dominant emotion felt toward the northern kingdom was fear.

If
they had kidnapped Tahlia, then minions of Shrike hadn't merely plucked her from the sea … they had actually strolled into her mother's throne room and announced their actions while maintaining plausible deniability. Which meant that they didn't merely want her life. Or a ransom. There was another game in play.

And the ambassadors had arrived in Quillia so openly that it was impossible for her citizens not to know.

This was a direct warning for Quillia to remain neutral. But neutral to what? Neoloth knew of no current events that might matter here and no ways that Quillia was involved in anything concerning Shrike. But this outrage might relate to something that would
become
known in the future.

Something huge. Something brewing in the heart of Shrike. No single kingdom could stand against the other seven kingdoms. Quillia was one of the strongest … and Quillia had now been neutralized. What if Shrike had found ways to neutralize the others as well?

It was a game of chess played with invisible pieces, on a board of unknown dimensions, with unfathomed rules and objectives. The puzzle pieces chased themselves around and around in his head, whirling as if caught in a cyclone.

The princess had been kidnapped to retard response. He could assume that she had been taken by Shrike, but where exactly was she? An invasion would accomplish nothing and might kill the princess. What action could the queen take that would return her daughter?

Perhaps none. But, then, what could she do to protect her kingdom and her authority?

She could offer reward for the return of her daughter, and she had. That would free individual action, and that might work. Where a large-scale assault would almost certainly end in Tahlia's being murdered, it was just possible that smaller actions might suffice. And the queen had unleashed the fortune-seeking princes of seven countries to save her child.

Shrike had opened a door, and the queen had responded in kind. And whatever marched forth from that door might change their world with their struggles.

But with all of the storm and fury, all the war elephants clashing and rending the earth, all that might come …

It was possible, just possible, that a mouse could slip out of one door and through another.

Why had the queen brought him into the throne room and yet concealed him from sight?
She wanted him to know.
She was asking for him to take action.