‘First things first. Let’s see who these beggars washed up on Chazen shores might be.’ Kheda looked down to find he was gripping one of his sword hilts and thrust it back into its scabbard with a muted click ‘And let’s get back to the ships before someone comes looking for us.’
Clearing out such parasites is something honest I can do for Chazen s good at least. Will they prove to be thieves, though, or truly paupers in need of our care?
Do you want to make any wager against the future here? If Dev is proved right, does that mean your best course will be to take him to the western isles in the hope of unravelling the mysteries of those savages? The warlord turned his back on the wizard, heading for the shore with rapid strides. He barely slowed as he entered the water, wading out to the ladders hanging from the Mist Dove.
‘Hesi hasn’t seen any sign of Nyral,’ Shaiam announced without preamble.
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ Kheda glanced over at the Yellow Serpent waiting patiently out in deeper water. ‘But he had better keep looking. As for ourselves, we had best set a course to the residence if we’re to be sure of arriving for the turn of the year. Won’t we make a quicker passage if we cut across towards the main sea lane coming down from the north?’ He looked at Shaiam, brows raised in query.
I hope that makes sense. I could almost wish for one of Dev’s treacherous barbarian maps of these waters. I don’t think I will ever understand Chazen’s isles and backwaters the way I did those of Daish. You have to be born to a domain to truly know it.
Shaiam nodded slowly, a little perplexed. ‘I don’t see it making much difference but we might pick up some wind to win us a few ship lengths.’
Kheda hid his relief as he feigned a new thought. ‘It’s always possible Nyral has sailed that way. Signal Hesi to follow us and the Yellow Serpent can search those reaches.’
As Dev climbed over the rail on to the stern platform, Shaiam moved to shout this new plan across to Hesi. Yere glanced curiously at Dev, to be met with a blank look that the barbarian edged with just a hint of challenge. The youthful helmsman turned his attention to calling down to the rowing master and settling himself at his steering oars.
As Shaiam set his crew hauling on their oars with a shout of encouragement, Kheda moved to sit cross-legged at the rear of the stern platform. He took off his helm and stared ahead, unseeing. Muddy seawater from his trousers spread across the deck, glistening briefly before the breeze brushed it away. Dev sat silently beside him, the barbarian fingering the links of his chain-mail hauberk as he dried in the sun.
Have there truly been such positive omens and so many favourable portents on this voyage? Can I be sure I’m not misreading them? Could the con-uption of the savages’ enchantments still be perverting the natural order in Chazen? Could my ties to past and present have been severed by the touch of Dev’s magic?
I’m sick of such uncertainty. My commitment to this domain must surely link me to its future. I must start looking to the heavens again. The stars ride far above any earthly taint. And I must be sure I am committed to Chazen. I must turn my back on Daish once and for all if I’m to be any kind of warlord to these people, or any kind of husband to Itrac Chazen.
As Kheda looked up, resolutely banishing recollections of clearer seas, the trireme broke free of the clinging islands to reach a broad channel opening still wider to the south. Kheda took an appreciative breath of the fresher air but noted the empty vista with displeasure.
Dev’s right to wonder at the lack of trade. There should be merchant galleys sailing north and south at this season—Chazen’s own and visitors from all the local domains proud to fly the pennants that give them the right of passage in our waters.
‘My lord!’ A shout from the prow was half-surprised, half-alarmed, and one of the youthful swordsmen came running back along the side deck. ‘There’s a boat in the water, my lord, overturned.’ His voice turned to outrage. ‘It’s been holed, my lord, deliberately. Looks like an axe did it.’
Is this a sign that we need not resort to any more lies to find these people?
Kheda forced himself not to look at Dev. Where has it come from? Shaiam, can you tell? Yere?’
‘On that side of the channel?’ The helmsman searched the murky water for the wreckage before leafing through his route record to confirm exactly where the navigable backwaters ran hereabouts. ‘It’ll have washed out of that inlet, I think?’ He pointed, looking to Shaiam for support.
The shipmaster nodded, tugging at his braided beard. ‘Or the one to the north.’
Kheda got to his feet. ‘Raise signal flags for the Yellow Serpent. We’ll take the northern channel, they can take the southern. Let’s see who thinks Chazen can afford to lose a serviceable boat for firewood.’ He stifled a qualm of apprehension as the vessel shot towards a gap in the chain of islands on the far side of the channel. At first glance, the narrow entrance offered no more than a stagnant dead end for the unwary, or worse, a deathtrap for the uninvited. The shore was thick with grey-brown knot-tree roots clawing at tangles of lily leaves. As the Yellow Serpent vanished down a similarly uninviting watercourse, the air grew thick and stifling once again. Kheda felt sweat trickle down his spine.
In contrast to his apprehension, this unexpected turn of events prompted a surge of enthusiasm from the rowing deck. The Mist Dove forced a path through the dense vegetation, branches yielding in a flurry of snapping noises.
‘My lord!’ Another of Aysi’s hopeful swordsmen was perched precariously out on the timbers that projected from the trireme’s bow to protect the foremost oars when ramming an enemy. He clung to the upswept prow with one hand. ‘A trading boat but flying no pennant!’
‘Follow it!’ Kheda shouted back.
Shaiam caught up his coiled brass horn and blew a terse demand that the smaller vessel stop to identify itself. Its master plainly had no such intention, hastily canting his sail to catch the wind and speed away. ‘Sound a signal for the Yellow Serpent,” Kheda ordered Shaiam, keeping his eyes on the fugitive.
As the horn’s cry echoed back from the green-cloaked isles all around, the Mist Dove’s piper picked up his pace and the trireme’s rowers followed suit. They were nearly on top of the trading boat as it rounded a shallow headland foul with muck and flotsam and fled headlong for a muddy cove. With a shock of relief, Kheda recognised the landing that Dev’s spell had shown him. Small figures on the shore froze in startled confusion as they saw the trireme bearing down on them.
‘We’re going ashore,’ said Kheda tersely.
‘My lord?’ Shaiam looked at him with surprise.
Kheda could see the unspoken words in the shipmaster’s dark eyes.
It’s not the place of warlords to get themselves killed in skirmishes like common swordsmen. That’s all very well, as long as a warlord has plenty of common swordsmen to do his bidding. ‘I’m going ashore,’ he reiterated, ‘and I want every oarsman trained with a sword to follow.’