The skyraft had been docked at Harnspire for three days of almost non-stop celebration, always the way when the skyrafts came in bringing trade and news from the farthest edges of Crua. She wondered where the people got their energy from. After the first night she had been forced to put soldiers on the streets, not because she feared revolution or riots, but because the fires were getting out of hand and most of Harnspire outside the spire ring was wood. There had already been one fire that had burned down half the city while she ruled, and keeping her hands on power during that crisis had reminded her how precarious her grasp was. If not for Rai Galderin she would have lost her seat.
She had first met him when he brought her news of treachery. A group of Rai had used the smokescreen of the fire to feed their cowls on a few unlucky citizens. Then they had stormed the spire, full of their own power. Only to walk into a trap set by Galderin.
Kirven was not a fool. She half suspected that Galderin had goaded those rebellious Rai into action, if not personally then through some intermediate who no doubt went on to feed Galderin’s cowl. Then used their rebellion to advance himself. The Rai loved nothing more than finding ways to destroy their rivals and cement their own power. Knowing who hated who was often her best weapon.
She could hear the markets of Harn; they had begun to move out of the central ring as the skyraft was getting ready to leave and trading there was done.
The skyraft family were the Harrender. All brightly dressed in tight fitting yellow and blue wool, bound tightly with straps as any loose material was likely to get caught in the many pulleys and winders that were used, not only to steer and sail the raft, but to power its lifts and doors. Two lifts were currently in operation, a large cargo lift that went into the belly of the raft; it was filled with crownheads, and a smaller one with a cage around it went through a hole in the centre of the raft to the main deck, for passengers and crew.
On the lower hull of the skyraft they were getting ready to load on new gasmaws to keep the thing in the air. The huge nets that held the creatures against the bottom of the northern side of the raft had been loosened, freeing the gasmaws to fly around inside it. Without their buoyancy a quarter of the raft was listing noticeably.
Rafters hung from long ropes by the loose net, shouting to each other and laughing as they weeded out sick gasmaws that had lost their buoyancy and were sinking towards the bottom. They used long piercing saws, jabbing the used-up gasmaws and slashing their gasbags, the serrations on the saw ripping large holes. Then the broken maws fell into the bottom of the net. There the children of the skyraft families gathered up the dying gasmaws and threw them into a huge bag to be hoisted up into the body of the raft where they would be used as feed for healthy maws. It seemed very wasteful to Kirven to kill so many, though she knew the truth of it that was there was no other way. Once sick gasmaws always died, and they could not be eaten as their flesh was poisonous.
But gasmaws were easy to breed, they laid eggs in the thousands and grew quickly. The economy of many smaller villages depended on the constant churn of gasmaws to the skyrafts, skippers and rafters. To the villagers the creatures were valuable. To the people who used them they were disposable. Their lives short and their destiny to be ground up to feed the next generation of maws tethered beneath the rafts.
There was metaphor there, she supposed, for the whole of Crua and the way it worked. Be a gasmaw, or be a rafter.
She would never let herself become a gasmaw.
The raft family were packing away what they had bought or bartered into large boxes. They were a merry lot, singing as they worked. Somewhere an instrument was being played, something made of wheezing bellows and no doubt the sound was pleasant to those with an ear for it. Kirven had never enjoyed music. Madrine had been a keen musician.
The High Leoric was dressed for travelling. She would have preferred armour but it was not fitting for her to wear armour, it would be seen as an insult to the Rai chosen as her guard. She could not risk that. Instead she wore the clothes of wealth, the softest wool, folded many times over as much for warmth as it was to show she could afford it. The trousers so wide they were more like skirts, the top so big it made moving her arms uncomfortable. She wore only a light powdering of white on her skin, as was becoming fashionable, and it left her feeling naked. The paint of her lineage did not show as well, though she had no need to proclaim who she was. All knew Kirven Ban-Ruhn.
“High Leoric!” she turned. Rai Vanhu approaching and with him came Kyik, a Rai Kirven barely knew, one of the new recruits from the southern families. By Kyik was Sorha, she carried her helmet in one hand, better for Kirven to see how annoyed she was with this duty. She thought herself better than this and Kirven knew it. She had hoped that some time doing guard duty under Vanhu would teach the woman her place. Sorha saw the High Leoric looking at her, sneered and turned away. Between Vanhu and Kyik walked Venn in full armour, expensive, well-fitted. She felt very proud, seeing them as what they would become. Rai. Powerful. Played right, her child would be the left hand of the Cowl-Rai. The conduit for power. It would give them both a strength and security she had never dreamed of in the days she sat and waited in fear for Madrine to return.
She smiled at them. Venn looked away and her blood slowed in her veins.
“Vanhu,” she hissed, “come to me.” The Rai nodded and turned to Kyik.
“Take them to the lift, I will join you.” Unlike Kirven, Vanhu wore his white clay thick on his face. His lineage painted in red today rather than black and she wondered if this was a subtle nod to Chyi, who he had once served. She almost wished she could have seen Vanhu’s face when he discovered Rai Galderin was also on the raft. They were not friends. “You wanted me, High Leoric?” he said. She nodded. He licked his lips. The double meaning of his words implicit in his eyes.
It had been a long time since she had taken a lover and was conscious of the space left in her life, but Vanhu was not the person to fill it. He was cruel, and she had no wish for Rai as lovers. Besides, they would be on a skyraft for the next few days, and there were no secrets on a skyraft.
“Is this really necessary, Vanhu,” she said, looking over as Venn stood before the lift, their back to Kyik and Sorha. “Could whatever it is you and Falnist plan not be done in the spire?” He smiled at her. It was not a pleasant smile.
“The child is comfortable there, High Leoric.” She had no doubt he thought her at fault here. Thought she had coddled them. “They know they are safe in the spire,” the man’s voice was a growl, as though his throat had hardened and made words difficult to form. “We must break that idea, put them somewhere they no longer feel safe.”
“And you think that is Harn-Larger?” She stared over at Venn as they watched a cage full of histi being taken to the goods lift. “They are not afraid of mud.”
Again, Vanhu’s smile, a hollow thing, more an old habit than an expression of emotion.
“Not Harn-Larger,” he glanced over at Venn. “I said I wanted to stop them feeling safe, I will take them to Harnwood.”
“You would take my child into the forest?” She spoke too quickly, too harshly. Vanhu blinked, sensed some break in her armour he might be able to use one day.
“You are afraid of the forest, High Leoric?”
“The forest is…”
“Dangerous,” said Vanhu, “as you well know. But you need not worry. Three Rai accompany your child, and we will not go in too far. Only enough to unsettle them.”
“And then?” she said.
“Then,” said Vanhu, “I will use what they believe against them. I will turn weakness into strength, High Leoric, and we both will advance ourselves through it.”