Nothing I'm prepared to give up.
'I'm here for another few days at least.' The newcomer jerked his head at a handful of galleys anchored close to the shore. 'None of this morning's arrivals will be going my way. How about yourself?'
'Nothing for me so far. Any news to share from the ships you've spoken with?' Kheda asked with studied casualness. 'Anything from the south? I heard rumour Ulla Safar was getting above himself.'
'There's word of warfare.' His unsought companion looked puzzled. 'But that the Redigal and Ritsem domains are joining with Daish to divide the Chazen isles between them. Does that sound right to you?'
'I've heard stranger things.' Kheda sounded suitably dubious but a faint warmth kindled beneath his breastbone.
Surely that must mean Sirket is backed by the allies I hoped my apparent death would win him. The three domains must be proving strong enough to hold their own against the invaders, otherwise the news would have travelled north faster than the breaking rains. I'll take that as proof that I read the omens aright, to follow the course that brought me here. But how long can they hold out, once the rains retreat and withdraw the protection of the smothering storms.
Kheda looked beyond the scatter of little houses on the far side of the strait. A dark stone wall cut a line through the green of the trees. Shek Kul's compound: ringed around with high walls ceaselessly patrolled, a lofty watch-tower raised above the main gate vigilant day and night. Just beyond the tower Kheda could see a corner of a central palace doubtless built with defence at least as much in mind as luxury.
Somewhere inside that impregnable wall, someone knows how Shek Kul defeated magic and drove it from his domain. I have to know, if I'm to take back any hope of Daish holding off these savages whenever they choose to come north.
'What I was wondering,' continued his new companion in a wheedling tone of voice, 'is whether you'd hook up with me for the afternoon.' He twisted to look up the steep slope of the shore towards houses tucked in among lilla trees now moist with new green. The morning's rains had made pools of the sailer grain plots firmly edged with sharp earthen banks and ducks were foraging happily in the liquid mud. Hens looked on aloof from the shelter of fowl houses with fans of sailer straw making frivolous crests in their thatch.
'Someone up there should be happy to let two strong men hoe their garden while they sit in the dry and cook a dinner big enough to share round,' he urged Kheda.
Or one strong man and a narrow-shouldered runt with ribs plainly visible beneath his tight-drawn skin. No, that was unfair.
Kheda could see his companion was entirely willing to work. It was just that his narrow frame wouldn't exactly inspire confidence.
'That woman there.' The newcomer nodded towards one of the closer houses, where a brindled hound with heavy jowls lounged in the shelter of an arched gate set in a substantial clawthorn hedge. 'She gave me some meat for cleaning out her hen run a few days since.' The ugly beast pricked suspicious ears at the pair of them.
'I haven't seen any of the Shek so much gather their own wood since I got here.' Kheda surprised himself by speaking that sour thought aloud. 'Travellers do almost all their labours.'
Being aboard that galley loosened your tongue more than you expected, certainly more than is prudent.
'What of it?' The newcomer was growing impatient. 'Do you want to eat today or not?
Kheda noted his companion wasn't the only vagabond looking enviously at the shelter and food the islanders enjoyed, doubtless why spiked palisades or hedges surrounded each house and most boasted hounds bigger than any Kheda had ever seen in the southern reaches.
The spokesman of a large village would think himself lucky to win the least of these hounds as a reward from his lord. A warlord would think himself generous to make such a gift to a most favoured warrior. Here, they guard chicken houses.
'If you're not interested—' The newcomer rose, dusting with ineffectual hands at wet sand sticking to his scrawny rump.
'I'm interested. I have to eat.' Kheda spared one last look for Shek Kul's distant compound.
If I can't get inside those walls to find out how Shek Kul defeated insidious magic brought down by his erstwhile wife, perhaps someone outside might know something of use.
'I'm Shap by the way.' His companion led the way up the slope towards the house he'd pointed to before. The hound in the gateway rose slowly to its massive feet, russet hackles bristling and loose black lips curling back to reveal formidable yellowed teeth.
'Cadirn.' Kheda halted, folded his arms and stared the dog down.
Authority rather than challenge, just as Daish Reik taught you.
It held its ground but didn't start barking, plainly reserving judgement.
'Good day to the house,' Shap called out, watching the burly dog with considerable nervousness.
A woman appeared on the wide porch, wary of drips sliding down the nutpalm thatch over her head. 'What do you want?'
'We wondered if we could be of use to you today, in return for whatever food you might spare us,' Shap said humbly, taking a hurried pace back as the dog took an inquisitive step towards him.
'Wait there.' After some consultation inside the house, the woman reappeared. 'You can weed the reckal plot.' She jerked her head towards a row of neat furrows where pale-leaved seedlings were already showing themselves. 'As long as you know reckal from everything else?' Her question was severe.
'We do,' Shap assured her with ingratiating cheerfulness.
'Come in and be welcome.' The woman came down the steps of her house and opened the gate, nudging the dog aside with her thigh. Like most of the Shek islanders, she was taller and longer-legged than the women of the southern reaches. Shap made sure he kept Kheda between himself and the dog, to the woman's evident amusement. Once they were inside, the woman caught up the beast's chain and brought it inside the fence, fastening the gate securely. 'Leave your things with the dog. He'll keep them safe.'
'Thank you.' Shap handed Kheda an anonymous roll of closely woven cloth tied tight with dark, much-knotted cord. Kheda set down both their bundles by the gatepost.
'Good lad,' he soothed the dog as it cocked inquisitive ears at him. Realising the woman was looking none too patiently at him he followed Shap.
Reckal. Toothed leaves and dark green, reddish veins on the underside. Janne's cook only ever serves the roots and then only when he feels their orange colour will enhance the look of a dish, given they taste so bland.
'You start at that end and I'll start here.' Shap was already on his knees in the stone-bordered vegetable plot, teasing errant sprigs of green out of the moist earth with his fingers.
Kheda crouched at the far end of the seedbed, studying the two- and three-leaved seedlings with interest. He separated them with a careful forefinger.
Firecreeper, inevitably. Redlance, good for the blood and especially women's concerns. Aspi, leaves good against worms and yes, the root oil makes an excellent wound wash.
Shap looked up from his furrow, annoyed. 'The reckal's the only thing with toothed leaves.'
'There are some useful healing plants here.' Kheda looked at him. 'They could be planted somewhere else.'
'She said nothing about that.' Shap already clutched a handful of green and white tendrils. 'Leave the reckal and get everything else out, roots and all, mind.'
'Very well,' Kheda conceded stiffly.
'If we don't make a good job of this, we don't eat,' Shap warned sourly.
'Throw the weeds into the hen run.' Kheda glanced around to see that the woman had brought an embroidery frame out of the house together with a stool and a basket of brightly coloured silks. He watched her needle dart in and out of the white cotton until she looked over to see what he was doing and scowled at his lack of progress.