Weight of Stone (36 page)

If all was ready.

“We will be ready,” the vine-mage said, hearing the unspoken worries. “The final piece is being set in motion. All who might have defended against us are silenced or dead, and none think to look beyond their own countrymen to point a finger and shout accusations. Exactly as was planned.” He smiled, and lifted his glass to the Praepositus. “At this time next year, my prince, you will be restored, and our people will be safe, no longer at the mercy of these fickle lands but masters of their own fate once again.”

Ximen did not raise his glass in return, despite the insult that could be taken. Not for the first—or even the tenth—time, he felt the stirrings of foreboding. This could not end well, the means the vine-mage had chosen. But he, Ximen, had set his feet on that road as well, and must perforce follow it to the end.

Reluctantly, aware the vine-mage saw that reluctance, he lifted his glass and drank.

Jerzy woke one
morning, nearly three months into their journey, with a headache, bringing him to full awareness well before dawn, despite the fact that he wasn’t due for a watch until then. Unable to fall back asleep, he emerged from the sleeping area and took a breath of fresh, salted air. Ao had the last night watch, but only raised a hand in silent greeting.

Jerzy moved quietly to the side of the ship and leaned against the railing, watching the distant shoreline pass by. Unlike the more populated, well-mapped shoreline farther north, this was a sparse, forbidding landscape of jagged rocks and overgrown beaches, without a single village to be seen. Once or twice Mahault or Ao claimed they had seen small boats, hugging close to the shore; fishermen, perhaps, or travelers, but Jerzy, who refused to climb the rigging, had only their word for it, and Kaïnam refused to let them take their only, irreplaceable spyglass up to take a closer look.

The taint dragged at him, reassuring him that they were headed in the right direction. More, now he was sure that it came from this coastline, the land Kaïnam’s maps listed only as “Unknown Ifran.” Outside of the Vin Lands, Jerzy knew nothing of who lived there or what they
did, and even Ao, normally full of stories about lands so far away they seemed almost unreal, could say only that great treasures came from the depths of the land … but he knew no one who had ever seen them.

The sun rose enough that the shoreline was tinted with rose and purple shadows, and Jerzy’s headache ebbed slightly as he watched fish swim along the bow of the
Heart,
shimmering schools of them like a herd of deer, turning and breaking when one of the birds, hunting in the dawn light, swooped down to catch one in its beak.

“Ifran,” he said out loud, looking at the landmass as the dawn brightened to day, and someone—Mahault, from the tread—came up out of the sleeping quarters, splashing water from the wash bucket onto her face. “You, Ifran.” As though he was calling it, or accusing it.

“Jer?”

He had almost gotten used to the abbreviation of his name; by now Mahault and even Kaïnam used it, as he used the shortened versions of their names. From nameless slave to the formality of the Vintnery, to the casual intimacy of life shipboard … there were times Jerzy could not remember who he was, or what he was doing, until the taint hit the roof of his mouth again, and it all flooded back.

“It’s closer,” he said suddenly. “There.” Then, shouting, his voice thick from salt and too much wind, “Ao! Pull us landward and look for a place to shelter.”

He had found the source of the taint.

I
T WAS SEVERAL
hours later when Ao finally found a place Kaïnam considered acceptable, with what they hoped was a village visible just beyond the ridge. The weigh-anchor was tossed overboard, and Jerzy and Mahault pulled the tiny sideboat out from under the railing where it had been stored, out of harm’s way. Mahl inspected it dubiously, poking at the lightweight frame, even as Kaïnam pulled a dark canvas covering out from a storage bin and unfolded it, revealing a skin of sorts to slide over the frame.

“It’s water-tight?”

“It will get us to shore and back,” Kai said calmly, directing Ao and Jerzy on how to stretch the cover over the frame so that it fit snugly. “I paid solid coin for this; they’re made in Ekai, near my home. And yes, Ao, if we survive this, I will introduce you to the makers so you may negotiate whatever trade Agreement your heart desires.”

Jerzy wasn’t as convinced of the craft’s seaworthiness, and, from the look on her face, a line drawn between her brows and her brown eyes clouded, neither was Mahault. But when Kaï and Ao lowered it to the water, they allowed themselves to be coaxed down the rope ladder and to settle themselves onto the floor.

The craft dipped and swayed as Kaïnam pushed them away from the
Heart,
but it did not sink, and Ao’s hand on the paddle carried them slowly but steadily toward the shore.

By now, Jerzy’s headache was so fierce, his head felt as though his scalp had shrunk around the bones of his head, and the sway of the sideboat made him feel the first hint of seasickness he had suffered during the voyage. This close, they could see netting resting just below the surface. Jerzy poked at one, his hand dipping elbow deep into the water, distracted.

“Trap nets,” Kaïnam said, seeing his curiosity. “Low enough to catch fish easily, but not tangle boats coming in and out. Whoever lives here are fisherfolk, experienced ones.”

The small, sloping beach was cleared of debris, allowing them to paddle directly onto dry land. Ao stowed the oar, and Kaïnam jumped out to pull the nose of the boat farther onto the shore.

Jerzy got out as well, his boots sinking into the wet sand, and looked up. The village they had seen from the ship was now only just visible. He had to crane his neck back, up the jagged, rocky cliff covered with rough vegetation, to see rooftops patched here and there with black, and walls a paler red and dusty gray, with open windows set up high under those roofs. Other than the steady noise of the ocean at his back, the shore was quiet, no sounds of life carrying to them.

Behind him, the others got out of the sideboat, and he heard the sound of their packs hit the sand with quiet thumps.

“It’s here?” Kaïnam sounded dubious.

“Not here, not the taint itself. It’s beyond.” Jerzy’s gaze went over the rooftops, as though some light might come down through the now-overcast sky to guide them to their destination. But the air remained still, the low-lying clouds blue-white and featureless, masking the interior from sight. There were mountains there, he thought.

“How far beyond?”

“I don’t know. Inland.” Jerzy had been certain when he directed Mahl to change direction and head for the shore, but the closer he came, the less solid that certainty felt. What little confidence he had eroded like the dry sand under their feet.

He reached down to touch the sand, letting it crumble through his fingers. Not vineyard soil, but ground nonetheless. “Guardian?”

For the first time since Malech’s death, he felt that cool weight slip into his awareness. Distant, so very distant, but present. Aware. No longer split between two Vinearts, the stone dragon seemed to have a greater range.

You are Vineart.

The reminder seemed less helpful this time.

Malech trained you. He believed you would outstrip him, in your prime.

Jerzy blinked and could almost feel the tips of his ears pink, even over the golden brown the sun had turned his skin. The Guardian neither lied nor exaggerated; it did not know how.

Be careful.

“Keep them safe,” he said in return, and the stone weight was gone.

The others were waiting, Ao looking at the cliff rising ahead of them thoughtfully, the others staring back at the water and the
Heart
floating peacefully offshore, carefully giving him a sense of privacy and solitude. After the plague ship, even Ao had left him alone, although Jerzy occasionally wondered if it was not respect for his privacy they were showing, but something closer to fear.

The thought distressed him, but he had no idea what to do with it, or
if there was anything to be done at all. He might, he knew, have misread things completely.

“All right.” Jerzy stood up again, stretching his body, lifting his arms above his head until he felt something in his back crack and relax. The extra weight of clothing—boots and sleeved tunic plus a surcoat, at Ao’s suggestion—felt odd after so long shipboard, but the air was cooler here, with a bite to it that suggested more Harvest than spring. Plus, he suspected that they would not be all too impressive to anyone who met them, looking the way they had the previous evening. Now, with the ragged edges of their hair trimmed, bodies washed and properly dressed, they had a better chance of getting people to speak with them. Assuming, he realized suddenly, that they could find a language in common.

“This isn’t a Vin Land,” Ao said, as though he had sensed Jerzy’s thoughts. “Are you sure there are vineyards here?”

“Yes.”

That much he was certain of. It was nothing he could explain; even more than the feel of the Guardian’s voice, it was faint but real, and it was coming from these shores. More, the sense of the vines carried a similar feel to the taint he had sensed in the sea serpents, in the aide … not the same, not as distressing, or unnerving, but definitely the same legacy.

Master Malech had not been able to identify the vines from which the spellwine that animated the first sea serpent had come; the Mage-wine had not recognized it. If it came from a land that was not recognized as part of the ancient Lands Vin, from before the time of Sin Washer’s touch on the land …

Jerzy’s headache intensified at the thought; he couldn’t begin to imagine what that might mean. The First Vine had been identified and the boundaries of the Lands Vin known and marked more than two millennia ago. Could the Breaking have scattered the pieces so far? There was legend of such things: wild vines, they were called—left to go feral,
to forget all the cultivation, the connection to the Vinearts who had tended them. But how could anyone in this land have known what they were, and how to work them?

“The slavers travel everywhere,” he said out loud, answering both his own question and Ao’s. “They are supposed to take only children from within the Vin Lands—that is their charter—but I remember boys who spoke no Ettonian at all, who knew even less than the rest of us, and were chosen nonetheless.”

Some of them had been bought. Some had not. There never seemed to be a pattern around who would be marked by the vines. If the slavers went this far in search of merchandise … might not a Vineart also come?

Master Malech might have known. Jerzy could only guess.

“So the magic has spread beyond the borders,” Kaïnam said, following Jerzy’s words. “Does that make this now part of the Vin Lands?”

Jerzy laughed, a harsh bark of amusement that startled him. “I leave that to the Vinearts of Altenne,” he said, referring to the vine-scholars who reportedly held the knowledge of every grape that was created in the Breaking. “It will be their headache. Mine is more immediate.”

Immediate, and worsening. He was curious; he did not deny that. The thought of wild vines, reclaimed, intrigued, but it did not matter. His purpose here did not allow for distraction. If those vines were the source, then the Vineart they searched for would be here, as well.

Jerzy’s lips pressed together in an unconscious imitation of his master, and he rubbed at his forehead again, fingers catching at the salt-crusted tangle of his hair. If he was right, then Master Malech’s killer would be here. Somewhere.

“That way.” He pointed. “Farther inland.”

“And we’re to just leave the
Heart
there, unprotected?” Ao protested, even as the others went to pick up their packs. “I’m sure the locals are all perfectly honest,” he went on, in the tone of voice that suggested that he believed anything but, “but leaving her without anyone at all to make sure things remain as they ought, with us heading off who knows where …”

“I’m not staying behind,” Mahl said, before anyone else could speak. “Don’t even think of suggesting that.”

Ao looked at the other two, then looked at the ship again. “I suppose I should be the one, then,” he said, and his disappointment was clear. “As we’re not to leave Jer here, clearly, and I don’t think Prince Kaïnam will agree to stay behind as guardsman.”

Kaï didn’t disagree with that assessment, but frowned. “I would prefer not to be without Ao’s skills of discussion,” he said, the closest he would come to complimenting the other. “Vineart, is there anything you can do, to safeguard the
Heart
?”

Jerzy squinted in thought, trying to will his headache away so that he could concentrate. “I don’t know. I … no, wait.”

When he had gone to Aleppan to study with Giordan, the casks of wine they were carrying had been out of his sight, when they overnighted at an inn, stored where anyone could reach them. Master Malech had enspelled the casks so that they would remain untouched. So it must be possible. The problem was in determining how.

“I don’t think there’s a spellwine we have that could do it,” he said, thinking out loud as though he were back in Master Malech’s workroom, being posed a question about the elements of a particular incantation. “Healwines would protect, but I don’t know how well they would work on something that was not alive. Firewines … would repel an intruder, but how would it know?” He had brought an assortment of flasks and wineskins with him—not willing to rely purely on what he might find along the way to their destination—but it was limited to their available stocks and his ability to carry it with him.

There were other spellwines that might work, but Jerzy did not know them, had never worked with them, and most important, did not have them. There were a number of small flasks of water- and earth-related wines in his pack, most notably the growwine Master Malech used to work with healwines to ensure that wounds scabbed over properly, and bones strengthened after a break, but he could not see how they might meet what he needed.