9
I slipped out of bed the next morning, leaving Kral to sleep, and stretched, assessing my body. Bruised in places, yes, but deliciously so instead of the sick ache of wounds. I felt sated for the first time in weeks. How Danu’s priestesses managed total celibacy, I’d never fathom. I absolutely grasped the sacrifice aspect, however, in a way I never quite had before. Maybe Danu would be content to leave me be for a while and throw a bit less trouble my way.
Until we reached Dasnaria, where I assumed there would be plenty.
Now that I’d satisfied the other need, my body cried out for exercise. Magical healing did great things to sew up and even rebuild flesh, but it didn’t make up for days of stagnant lying about. Tanking on my endurance during that fish-bird attack had been a warning slap upside the head. I’d take advantage of the boon of the healing—hey, maybe Danu arranged it through Moranu, to help me out, cheerful thought!—and get myself in the best condition possible to face the Deyrr witches.
First, however, I’d be a diligent spy and read Her Majesty’s letter. Our cabin was as private as it got for me on the Hákyrling, so I locked the door, withdrew the undisturbed scroll, and—feeling all scholarly—sat at Dafne’s desk to read.
Once I unrolled the scroll, I heaved a sigh of relief. Thank you, Ursula! For this was indeed my captain and sister-in-Danu writing to me, not the High Queen. She’d remembered my marginal reading skills and used the shorthand we’d employed for missives within the Hawks—in her own hand, too, and hastily written. It made for a sort of encryption, I supposed. No doubt with Dafne gone she hadn’t wanted to dictate the message, either. To my surprise, it made me feel . . . I didn’t know. A little misty-eyed, maybe, at the sight of her writing. It brought back those early days with the Hawks, when—though she’d been a princess and heir to the High Throne—it had been easy to forget that half the time. We’d had some good conversations over a bottle a time or two. I’d even once told her my mother’s story, the only person I’d told it to. So far as I knew, she’d never told another soul, either.
This was why I’d taken on this mission instead of simply walking when she dressed me down for the screw-up with Kral. I’d follow her to Glorianna’s arms, if it came to that.
Got word from our shifty friend. None of it your fault. You did good. Don’t beat yourself up for the dragon king’s actions. That’s an order. Things will work out. I’m handling it. Maybe even better this way. Know our librarian relayed some of what she and I spoke of, but she may have been uncertain what to keep secret.
In case there’s doubt:
Determine if Ami’s annoying friend who visited her before we did can be found. Do not engage. Recon only.
Questions to answer regarding makers of our troubles, IF you can without ANY danger:
What do they know of a special jewel, how badly they want it, plans to acquire, plans to use. The why is critical.
Keep it simple. Do the job. Come home. Don’t be a hero.
You are, and always have been, my best scout. I picked you for a reason five years ago. I picked you for good reasons this time, too. Not the ones you think. When boulders speak, they give good advice. I listened and acted accordingly.
If this finds its way into a fire, all the better.
I read it over several times, an unaccountable knot working its way into my throat. I’d assumed from the beginning that Ursula’s anger over the Kral Incident had spurred her to send me along as Dafne’s bodyguard, but clearly not. She could be tailoring the history to make me feel good, but I doubted it. Our captain had always been fine with letting one of her Hawks believe she might be angrier than she was, in order to motivate them. I’d witnessed her employ that technique several times with new recruits.
It had never occurred to me that she might pull the same trick on me.
Taking the scroll up to the deck, I mulled over her message while I set the scroll aflame from a watch lantern, holding the parchment over the rail at the back of the Hákyrling, so the ashes scattered themselves in our wake. Fitting somehow, especially as Glorianna’s sun was just tipping over the flat ocean almost directly behind us. I felt frisky and cheerful enough, from the reassurance of the missive and from a night well spent, that, after I dropped the last flaming fragment, I drew a circle in the air toward the fickle goddess of dawn and sex, humming her morning song. I’d never observed Glorianna’s rituals beyond what was politic, though that had been substantial, as hers was the official worship under High King Uorsin. Because of that exalted status, Her temple sat on Ordnung’s grounds. The ringing calls to worship, along with the sunrise and sunset hymns, permeated life there, and evading them simply hadn’t been possible.
Even rushed, the Tala healer had packed quite the whammy, and I felt better than I had since before the unfortunate gutting episode. Either that or I could credit Kral’s truly talented and vigorous fucking. Could be a brilliant combo of both. We’d gone at each other hard pretty much all night, in between catnaps and pauses to feed each other food and mjed. As long as we didn’t talk, things went great.
And fortunately, I possessed a lively inventiveness for keeping his mouth otherwise occupied.
Because I felt so hale and hearty, I started into Midnight Form, the first of a set of twelve forms technically intended for longer blades. Ursula, like many others, preferred to run them with her sword, but she had the lankiness to make that work. Though I could pull it off without bringing shame on my tribe—or lopping off my own ear—I preferred a shorter blade. Not the twin knives I favored for Danu’s Dance and close infighting like the Whirling Wind pattern, but a bigger knife that I also used for hunting. That blade allowed me to accelerate the speed, while the heft made me work for it, which always gave me the best conditioning.
Nice to have the morning quiet to myself, the early watch crew far less boisterous than in the full day. Done correctly, the set of twelve forms brought on a centering, meditative state. I wasn’t much of a contemplative person, but given enough peace and quiet, I came as close as I ever did while running those forms. The physical work let my mind drift over the contents of the scroll. I might not read and write well, but my memory worked like a charm.
Ami’s annoying friend had to be Kir, former High Priest of the Church of Glorianna, who visited Queen Amelia at Windroven just before Ursula diverted us from Branli so she could be with her sister for her lying-in. And the makers of our troubles were undoubtedly the Temple of Deyrr, origin of the unsavory Illyria. I’d heard various whispers of what she’d been at Ordnung to obtain, as she’d asked around about it, and even demanded it outright the night Uorsin announced their engagement. The Star of Annfwn, which no one in my network had any knowledge of. However, Illyria had asked for Salena’s jewels, then demanded this Star when she didn’t find it. Ursula’s reference to a jewel in her note couldn’t be a coincidence. If Illyria had expected to find this Star in Salena’s jewels, it made sense that Ursula had inherited same from her mother. No one had told me as much, but I’d have to have been a blind fool not to notice that the cabochon topaz had gone missing from the hilt of Ursula’s sword, sometime after—or while—she killed Uorsin. It had been a talisman to her. Every fighter has them, and I’d noticed many times how she touched it while contemplating a problem. Or heading into a fight.
So, if the topaz was the Star of Annfwn, where had it gone? Deyrr wouldn’t have it, because I was to find out how badly they wanted it and their plans to get it since Illyria had failed to do so. The fact that Ursula wondered what they wanted it for spoke volumes. Apparently Salena hadn’t told her. Magic users keep their secrets and so do mothers. Double nasty when the two converge in your life.
If Kir had thrown in his lot with Deyrr, that added a whole extra layer to it all. I had avoided him along with most of the priests of Glorianna. Not my goddess.
Running the full set of twelve forms to completion, even at a brisk pace, takes more than an hour, so by the time I hit Noon pose—an excruciating position to hold, up on one toe, other leg poised for a snap kick, knife stretched over my head, coiled to lash into Snake Strike, my other hand palm out, steady in Danu’s salute—the sun had risen quite high. The Hákyrling sailed through a grouping of rounded islands, enough like Nahanau that it seemed they must be part of the same archipelago. I half expected to see Dafne in her nook of the prow, busily sketching her maps. I did spot Kral, talking to Jens, but observing me with burning intensity.
I sauntered over to him, treating him to my best smile. After his efforts of the night before, he deserved that and more. “Good morning, General, Shipmaster Jens.”
“You’re unusually gracious today,” Kral noted.
“I slept really well.”
Jens made a snorting sound and Kral took me by the arm, guiding me off to the side. “I was surprised to find you gone when I awoke.”
“Did you have some handmaidenly duties in mind for me?” I let my gaze travel over the golden skin exposed by his open shirt collar. Much better than the armor, though that turned me on well enough, too.
Kral trailed a rough fingertip down my arm. “You make an exceptional handmaiden, it’s true.”
“You were sleeping so hard I didn’t want to wake you. And I was restless.”
“I thought I’d worked that out of you. I’ll have to try harder tonight.”
“I’m up for that challenge.”
He ran his hand down the rest of my forearm, lifting my wrist to examine the blade I still held. “An impressive-looking knife. Larger than your gnat stickers. I don’t recall seeing it before. May I?”
I reversed it, handing it to him by the hilt. “It’s a bit large for me to comfortably wear, so I usually keep it in my packs unless I know I’m going to be fighting. Or training.”
He hefted it, holding it up to the sun to examine the double edges—one serrated, the other razor smooth—and the grooves etched down the middle of each flat side. “Functional for many activities. Where did you get it?”
“My mother gave it to me. She never said, but I believe it belonged to my father. Or another man who happened to be her lover around the same era.”
Giving me an opaque look, he handed the knife back to me. “Why do you think that?”
“She never said directly, but no one else among our people had one like it. I know she picked it up sometime during the Great War, but I’ve never seen another with the same design, so I’m not sure where it came from. Also, it held sentimental value for her. One of her shieldmates made the long journey to bring it back to me after she died, saying it was my mother’s last request.” Along with the knife belt I’d given Dafne. The knife and the belt didn’t match each other, anyway, even if that blade had been a comfortable carry for me. No sense keeping both.
“My sympathies.” Kral studied me, still a strange look on his face.
I shrugged that off. “It was long ago. She died an honorable death, on her feet, as would have been important to her.”
“How did she die?”
“Blade in hand. I’m surprised we’re going through islands again. Is this the Nahanaun archipelago still?”
Kral turned, surveying the islands with me. “Yes, we’re taking an indirect route through them, which is still the faster route. We dipped to the south by some distance to cross the barrier in open water, as that seemed the wisest approach, since we couldn’t be sure what would meet us on the other side and that at least upped our chances of making it through without trouble. By evening we’ll be out of the islands, and then tomorrow afternoon, landfall in Dasnaria proper, at Jofarrstyr.”
“Port city or capital city?” Dafne probably knew that. Another thing I should have asked. Maybe Ursula would extract her from Nakoa’s bed and send her along to Dasnaria. But no, that would require a barrier crossing, and judging by what it had taken out of Queen Andromeda, she wouldn’t be doing that again anytime soon, even if King Rayfe would allow. For the first time it occurred to me that I had no guarantee I wouldn’t be spending the rest of my life in Dasnaria, after all. Or at least outside the barrier surrounding the Thirteen. Had Her Majesty thought of that? She always thought to the long game, so surely she had a plan. I might have lit myself on her expendable list, but she considered Dafne practically a sister. There would have been some plan to get her home. It was all the conversation about my mother and what happened to her that had me paranoid.
“Both,” Kral replied, giving me a puzzled look when I blinked at him. “The port city is also where the palace is located, though some distance from the harbor. Isn’t that what you asked?”
Head in the fight. Bryn never look back. “I was contemplating the wisdom of having the capital city of an empire perched on the vulnerable coast.”
“As opposed to the center of the subject kingdoms, where it could be surrounded on all sides?”
Including its greatest enemy at its back, I mentally added. But Kral wouldn’t know about that, how Uorsin built Ordnung where he did to guard the pass to Annfwn, object of his undying obsession, due to its material wealth of all kinds. Waving any kind of wealth under Dasnarian noses was like showing meat to hungry dogs.
So, I cheerfully shrugged at that and let Kral believe he’d won the point. Then narrowed my eyes at a movement around one of the islands. “Friendly natives?”
Kral tensed. “Where?”
“There. Lee side of the third island to the right.” I pointed.
“I don’t see—” And the lookout’s warning call went out, interrupting Kral and making him scowl at me like I’d been at fault somehow.
“Best long-sight in the Hawks,” I informed him with a sunny smile. When something wasn’t stupidly magically invisible, that was. Kral strode away, snapping out orders that sent men drawing weapons and setting up defensive stations. Others climbed the rigging, adjusting the sails for maximum maneuverability. Not so friendly, those natives, it seemed. No surprise, as I made out at least a dozen longboats, with more appearing all the time. Good thing I’d kept the big knife out. Good homage to having stirred awake those memories of my mother, to whet the blade with some blood.
Thinking of you, Mom, wherever you may be.
“Get below,” Kral snapped at me as he passed in the other direction. I pictured his brain matter splashing into a mental rut and jolting along.
Oh, I don’t think so. But, to forestall the inevitable argument, I headed in the direction that would take me below—the picture of obedience—then slipped out of sight while Kral had his attention elsewhere. My muscles loose and limber, my blood high, I was spoiling for a fight and had no intention of hiding out.
Particularly as I counted at least two dozen boats, all bristling with at least ten Nahanauns carrying various weapons that glinted in the light, with more boats rounding the lee every moment.
Wishing I could look through the long-distance glass, I edged around to a different vantage point, keeping a low profile from both the Dasnarians and the Nahanauns. Stealth works in a number of ways, all requiring escaping notice from both the stalked and the ones who stalk. Fortunately, among the Hákyrling’s many clever features—though I really doubted Kral’s boast that he influenced the design—were some view holes tucked under the curve of the rail near the prow, and well out of sight of most ship activity.
That overhang, and my caution, proved quite useful when several arrows whistled overhead and thunked into the wooden deck behind me. In no danger of being pinned, I scanned the boats for the archers, spotting them in the semi-stable center sections of several boats, with impressively sized longbows, which explained the range. Kral’s battalion of soldier/sailors tended to be more hand-to-hand focused, so they likely couldn’t match that . . . and ha! Yes, there went easily a dozen Dasnarian arrows splashing harmlessly in the water, far short of the shallow boats.
If I had even two or three of the Hawks’ archers with me, they would not have missed. I could see Her Majesty’s point in denying me that request, however, as I supposed it wasn’t politic to take a crew of warriors on an ambassadorial mission. Thinking more like a diplomat all the time.
The arrow volley was enough to make the Nahanauns slow their approach, though. Odds were that Kral planned to let them attempt to board the Hákyrling and pick them off in small groups. From Harlan’s accounts, Kral’s men could each take on ten trained warriors. Even with their number reduced by a quarter over these adventures, they should be able to handle a force of around seven hundred, possibly more, possibly less, depending on strategic positioning. By my count, the Nahanauns had fielded nearly a thousand, with more coming. Therefore, Kral’s best bet would be to keep the invaders from swarming the rails, to keep that ratio below ten to one.
I didn’t have much—okay, any—experience repelling boarders from a sailing ship. I had no idea what my fighting ratio might be, though I supposed it depended a great deal on my own strategic positioning. I held my own one-on-one, but my strengths lay in speed, stealth, endurance, and surprise. No captain ever placed me in the center of the front line, if they knew their stuff. Send me to the trees and I’ll nibble away the edges.
Good plan of my own, then.
The lead boat grew closer. Covered by a steady barrage of arrows, several of their warriors leapt from the boats, diving into the water like blades themselves, swimming rapidly for the Hákyrling. My fault that the maneuver surprised me. You see in others what you see in yourself. I couldn’t swim, but these island people moved through water as easily as through air, sleek brown bodies like the seal forms the Tala favored.
Kral’s archers took out a few of the swimmers, but not all by any stretch. A number popped up from the water directly against the hull. I hadn’t seen them swimming, so they must have been deep under. Kral had muttered about rope ladders before, but presumably those would be deployed only for friendly boarding and strategically withdrawn under these circumstances. The Nahanauns didn’t seem to need ladders any more than the Tala had. They climbed the wooden sides of the Hákyrling with remarkable agility, blades in their teeth, spears and quivers riding their backs, finding finger- and toeholds that shouldn’t support a man or woman’s weight. But clearly did.
Farther down the deck, shouts went up as a group mounted the rail, battered back by two of Kral’s men, who indeed seemed to dispatch the invaders with reasonable ease. I kept an eye on a woman bristling with weapons who climbed near my position, and on two more men who leapt from the sea and began their ascent a bit farther down. Two more of Kral’s men could be in position for them quite readily, and my gal climbed faster, anyway.
I lost sight of her as she ascended the curve under my position, as the viewhole didn’t allow me to see that much of the periphery, but I had her speed figured, so coiled myself into a crouch. She made the rail exactly as I anticipated—not quietly at all—and one of Kral’s men spun with a shout of warning. I already had her, up and in, big-bladed knife to the gut, and back over the rail she went.
After that, the battle blur took over. Another sort of meditative state, but the opposite of peaceful and contemplative. I kept to my self-assigned quadrant of the deck, dispatching the men and women who stormed the rail only to find the surprise of my blade. Kral’s men left me to it—particularly after one rushed to rescue me from a big Nahanaun levering himself up with impressive muscles, and who fell again with one of my throwing knives in his eye.
Regrettable, the loss of that knife. With luck, though, the handsome fellow would survive. Pity for the world to lose that physique.
There’s a tenor to a pitched fight, even when one’s in the middle of it. A good warrior knows when the advantage shifts, like recognizing the shifting of a wooden deck beneath her feet, hearing the crack of wind in the sails that signals a change in direction. This is why Danu is also the goddess of clear-eyed wisdom. The frenzy of the fight is one aspect, the knowing when to pull back another.
That’s as close to philosophy as I get. Still, I knew it the moment we’d successfully repelled the attack.
A few stragglers still tried, here and there. I took a moment to survey the waters, gratified to see the fleet of longboats paddling away, occupants crouched under shields to ward off the following rain of Dasnarian arrows. Looping around to walk the long way back, I satisfied myself that no more boarders attempted that end of the Hákyrling’s steep sides. She was a good ship, and well constructed in a way I hadn’t previously appreciated. Kral’s battalion, too, had lived up to their fighting reputation. I’d wondered a bit, after that river monster managed to gobble so many, and with the fish-bird attack incurring such damage.
Keeping in mind my maturing, diplomatic self, I mentally excused them, taking back any uncharitable thoughts I’d harbored. When faced with human fighters, a known quantity, they’d done brilliantly. I would stop judging them for falling to the unknown. Magic skewed everything, after all.
The Dasnarians rounded up the bodies that remained on board, those still breathing and those not. Aha! That man had one of my knives in him. I crouched to retrieve it, cleaning the blade on my own shirt, as the Nahanaun wore nothing more than a loincloth. Another beautiful man. Such a waste.
“Idiot,” I said to him. “Why would you attack a ship this size—what could you have hoped to gain?”
“What does anyone want?” Kral spoke behind me, and I twisted to squint up at him. None of the blood looked like his. “They probably thought we carried treasure and sought to steal it.”
“Did you interrogate any of the wounded to find out for sure?”
“I’m about to, if you’d like to listen in, Ambassador. Since you’re on deck, instead of where you’re supposed to be.”
“Ah-ah, General. I decide where I’m supposed to be.”
“My ship.”
“Anywhere I am counts as neutral territory.”
He actually sputtered over his reply. Point for me. “That is not how diplomatic immunity works.”
“And you know this how? From all the other ambassadors the Thirteen Kingdoms has sent to the Dasnarian Empire?” I was beginning to get the diplomacy game. Not unlike sparring. Inventiveness counted here, too. As with a fight, the only rule that counted was winning and protecting what mattered. I smiled as Kral stewed, but resisted patting his cheek. “Let’s go ask some questions.”
With a gallant bow that oozed irony, he gestured for me to precede him. “Is any of that blood yours?” He muttered the question as I passed.
“I don’t think so. Didn’t feel anything hit. You?”
“A few scratches, nothing more.”
He led me to a man, bound with rope, too young to have much bulk yet. Probably his first battle, certainly his first against the Dasnarians, as he took in the armored warriors around him with eyes wide and black with shock. He spoke quickly, babbling some explanation in the islander language. Dafne had complained quite bitterly about what a challenge that language presented. It sounded almost like singing to me, which I now knew indicated that pitch influenced meaning. A woman of the world, the new Jepp.
“Why did your people attack us?” Kral demanded.
The boy shook his head, speaking more of his tongue.
“I don’t think he speaks Dasnarian,” I pointed out, most helpfully, I thought.
“Brilliant observation, Ambassador.” He heaved out an impatient breath. “You . . . spear . . . me . . .”
I could just picture Dafne’s expression as Kral butchered the islander language. We really needed her. No wonder she’d been so annoyed with the Dasnarians calling the Nahanaun archipelago a protectorate while not being able to talk to the people.
To keep from kicking Kral, I surveyed the other prisoners. One woman, hair matted with blood on one side, watched us with alert interest. More than the expected interest in keeping her skin intact, and quite a bit more alert than the head wound would suggest. I didn’t much care for the way several of Kral’s men discussed her while ogling her scantily clad, quite lovely body. Not that I didn’t do my share of ogling. I didn’t like their intent behind it. She didn’t either.
I ambled over to her, hunkered down. “Do you speak Dasnarian?”
Her liquid dark eyes sharpened, calculating her reply, though I already had my answer. “Here’s the deal,” I said. “Answer my questions and I’ll see you get off this ship without difficulty.”
She considered a moment longer, her gaze flicking over the men, then spoke very softly, in Dasnarian. “No rape?”
“Not while I’m alive. Though if you’d like to try one or two, I can vouch they give a good time.”
She shuddered lightly. “I don’t care to. I have a husband, children.”
So much monogamy going around. It was like an epidemic.
“I have heard tales,” she continued, so quietly I had to lean in to hear, “that the Dasnarians abduct females and keep them sequestered. Not exactly slaves, but close enough. I’d rather you killed me, so my family can grieve and my husband move on.”
I sat beside her. “How about you talk, and I’ll handle the rest. My vow to you that you’ll go home to your family. Why attack us?”