He turned politely to his new head of the Mharian navy. "And what do you say, Commander?"
Lord Carroc Zhael, as tall and lean as Cutter was squat and soft, pursed his thin lips. He leaned back in his chair. "Well, we'd have to do it very carefully, that's for damned sure," he said. "The safe harbors requested by Captain Porbrough-that's easy enough to manage. He's in the navy now, with ships under his command. Every harbor is theoretically open to you, sir, and your men in His Majesty's Navy."
"But the men who haven't joined-what of them? They've served me well, and will continue to serve well, provided that you grant my requests."
Those requests had been expected. The pirates that, till now, had been plaguing the coasts of both Byrn and Mhar had agreed to ally temporarily with Mhar in the attack that Bhakir had been months planning. In exchange, they wanted a few safe harbors in Mhar, and first pick of the plundered city of Braedon. The former Bhakir had been willing to grant, and Zhael seemed willing to agree as well. But the latter… Bhakir took another sip of the fine Mharian wine as he watched the two men, so similar yet so different, interact.
"We could arrange a mass clemency, if your men agree to serve the interests of the navy."
Cutter spluttered indignantly. "They are pirates, sir, not members of His Majesty's…" Changing ideas in midsentence, Cutter turned toward Bhakir. "Speaking of His Majesty, when's the boy going to be brought into this? He didn't seem too eager to sup with us this evening."
It was an understatement. The dinner with Castyll, Cutter, Zhael, and Bhakir had been little short of a disaster. Castyll endured the event with poorly contained contempt and hatred, often making subtle, biting comments that Bhakir was able to counter only with the quickest wit. The two men had been left seething by the time it was over and Castyll "retired to his quarters."
"He won't be brought in at all," Bhakir replied sourly. "I'm afraid Shahil's ghost still lingers, gods rot his soul."
Zhael frowned. "If he opposes us-"
"He won't," Bhakir assured the commander smoothly. "I have him completely under my thumb, I promise you. When I cease to be able to manipulate the youth as I choose-well, then, accidents do happen, don't they."
He raised his glass and, grinning, heard the two other men silently toasted Castyll's eventual — and no doubt tragic-demise. At that moment, one of the guards burst in. Bhakir frowned. "You were told not to disturb me," he said in a warning, rumbling voice.
The guard bowed obsequiously low. "Your great pardon, my lord, but there is news I felt you would wish to hear." When Bhakir did not answer, the man continued hesitantly, "News from Byrn, my lord."
At that, Bhakir rose. "Excuse me, gentlemen," he said to his guests, "but a good cook sees to all his dishes, lest any of them spoil for want of attention."
Zhael and Cutter chuckled appreciatively, and Cutter reached for the bottle. "You're excused, sir, but I suggest you return or else Zhael and I shall put an end to this delicious vintage you've provided."
"There's more where that came from," Bhakir replied gaily, and hastened out as quickly as he could without seeming to be in too much of a hurry.
In a small receiving room, one of Bhakir's finest spies paced back and forth, looking up anxiously as his lord entered. Bhakir waved the guard away, then greeted his servant.
"Khem, I had not expected to see you back so soon. I hope the news you bring me is good, not ill."
"Indeed it is, my lord," replied Khem, his small eyes gleaming. "I have found you a worthy group of allies."
"Excellent! Don't tell me you've convinced a councilman to turn traitor?"
Khem shook his head. Bhakir winced a little at the odor of the man. In his guise as a less savory member of Byrnian society, Khem was able to move unnoticed among the populace. It was clearly a fruitful venture, but unfortunate from a hygienic point of view.
'There is a splinter group of thieves in Braedon, sir. Normally this wouldn't be of much use, but their leader has allied with a Blesser of Vengeance."
Bhakir's eyebrow went up. The Blessers were powerful people indeed. "Go on." "This Blesser," and Khem shook his head again, this time reaching for words. "He's not a well man, if you know what I mean."
"Sickly?"
"No, he's… I think he's but a step or two away from madness. He takes great pleasure in hurting things, sir. A few nights ago, we murdered a councilman's daughter for the leader's revenge. That Blesser-well, 'twas almost as pleasant for him as lying with the girl, sir."
"You weren't caught?"
"No, sir. This group-the leader's very smart, sir. Very intelligent. I spoke with her about supporting your cause- in a very roundabout way, of course-and she's very interested."
Bhakir could only gape. "Her? She?"
Khem looked uncomfortable, but did not flinch from his lord's displeasure. "Aye, milord. The leader of the splinter group is a woman. She hides behind a rough brute of a fellow, but not for much longer. The Blesser of Vengeance holds her in high regard-calls her Vengeance's Chosen. She's spent many years in Mhar herself, as a thief, so she is not a blind patriot to her country. I think we could use her. She has great goals, and I believe she is destined for bigger things than simple thievery."
Bhakir regarded Khem with a searching gaze. The man met his lord's eyes evenly. Khem was a good and trusted spy. He had proved his worth on more than one occasion, and Bhakir knew of no better judge of character. At length, the counselor sighed.
"Then you may go ahead and reveal what we have discussed. Ally yourself with this-what is her name?"
"Marrika."
"Marrika." A thought struck him, and Bhakir smiled. "She is the Chosen of Vengeance, eh? Then I have a gift for the Chosen and her followers." He leaned forward conspiratorially. "A dark gift, for performing dark deeds. A gift that will bear the mark of the god himself. An appropriate gift for a group of thieves who would overthrow their betters. Khem, when you return to Byrn, you will take with you the first Mharian warrior to lay foot on Byrnian soil- my first soldier."
Khem's dark eyes were confused, but he knew better than to question. "As you wish, my lord."
Allika nestled in among her pile of rags and sighed contentedly. It had been a good day for eating. She'd stolen a whole loaf from the bakers, filched fruit from a market vendor, and been able to gather many pocketfuls of nuts when the crate had unexpectedly broken open as it was being loaded onto the pier.
It was too warm for a fire, and she lay back, cuddling Miss Lally. The early summer storms had come and gone, leaving the occasional wreckage of small vessels on the shoreline of Braedon like ruined skeletons. A few days ago, Allika had found one such boat, half buried in the sand, and had decided to make it her home for the time being. Every home she had was for the time being; it could change from day to day, sometimes hour to hour.
The dinghy, about eight feet long, lay on its side, providing a perfect shelter from the winds that blew in over the ocean. It was easy enough to find a few rags and blankets to further block what little chill reached the girl, and as for her personal possessions, they all fit in the small pouch that was constantly by her side. Now she huddled back, gazing out across the sea that was lit up with starlight and moonlight.
"Pretty, huh, Miss Lally?" she asked the doll.
"Mmm-hmmm!" agreed Miss Lally, using Allika's voice. The waves sounded a soothing song, and Allika felt her eyelids start to grow heavy. By force of will she kept them open. Today was Lisdae. Most ships left port on a Travsdae if they could help it; it was a "lucky" day for travel. It usually took three or four days for a ship to reach Braedon from the neighboring port of Ilantha; hence Lisdae usually meant a lot of activity on the dock.