Aurian

12 The Nightrunner

It was the day before Solstice Eve, but Vannor’s daughter Zanna was finding that seasonal goodwill was in short supply. She and Dulsina, the housekeeper, had been forced to make a special trip to the food markets of the Grand Arcade for Vannor’s cook, who had been in a terrible mood. It was Sara’s fault, of course. The meals for the festival required considerable planning in advance, and Hebba, who had cooked for the family for years, had her Solstice routine organized with immaculate timing, right down to the last delicious morsel. Her reaction, therefore, when Sara had decided the day before the Solstice celebrations were due to begin that it was time to make some changes, had been a mix of horror, outrage—and utter panic. Vannor was out, and his eldest daughter, Corielle, had recently wed the son of a wealthy sea captain, and moved to the port of Easthaven with her new husband. It had been left to Zanna, as usual, to deal with the trouble as best she could.

As Hebba would not trust the kitchen maids with the errand—(“What? Send them girls down there to dawdle and dally all day?”)—Dulsina and Zanna had been sent off with a long list of delicacies by the frantic cook, who was turning the kitchen upside down in her frenzy. Zanna was glad to escape— the two kitchen maids had already been in tears. She couldn’t blame poor Hebba, but Zanna resented the fact that the rest of the household, and herself in particular, had to bear the brunt of the cook’s temper, while Sara, as usual, had escaped the consequences of her thoughtlessness. While Hebba might call Sara “a little guttersnipe” behind her back, she was not prepared to cross the mistress of the house.

Because it was almost Solstice, the Grand Arcade was crowded to overflowing. At first, Zanna had enjoyed the bustle. The long, colonnaded aisles were brightly lie by endless lines of glowing Vamps, and the air was fragrant with the mingling aromas of spices, cheeses, smoked meats, and seasonal fruits. The stallholders were shouting to draw attention to the best of their wares, and people called out cheerful greetings to friends that they met in the crowd.

As time wore on, however, and the stocks of delicacies were depleted, folk became tired, cross, and despondent. The crowd seemed to be increasing all the time, and the building, for all its vast size, became unbearably stuffy and hot. Zanna, overburdened with purchases, felt sweaty and bedraggled. Her ribs were bruised where she had been elbowed by the thrusting crowds. Her feet had been trodden on repeatedly, and were sore from trudging the hard stone floors of the Arcade. Her head ached, she was desperately thirsty, and the tottering pile of packages in her aching arms was hampering her progress through the crush of people. Really, she decided, this is impossible! We’ve done enough, and if Sara wants anything more she can bloody well come and get it herself. She turned to say as much to Dulsina—and discovered, to her horror, that the housekeeper was nowhere in sight. I must have lost her in the crowd, she thought. Dear Gods, how will I ever find her again?

Zanna tried to stop, and was cursed by impatient folk who jostled her roughly aside. Because of her short stature, she couldn’t see a thing, and she was carried along helplessly, forced to move with the flow in order to stay on her feet. Zanna bit her lip, determined not to panic. I have to get out of here, she thought—but how?

“Ho, Zanna? Are you all alone?” A steadying hand grasped Zanna’s shoulder. A slight, but respectful space opened around her in the crowd, and to her relief, she found that she could breathe again. She looked up, with gratitude, into the kindly face of the Lady Aurian, who was -accompanied by Lieutenant Maya from the Garrison. “Gods, what a dreadful crush,” the Mage said cheerfully. “I’m not surprised you were struggling! Maya and I slipped down here to buy a gift for Forral, and we’ve been just about trampled to death!” Her arching brows twitched together in a slight frown. “Could Vannor not spare a servant to send with you?”

Zanna, who had met both the Lady Aurian and Maya on several occasions when she had wheedled her father into taking her with him to the Garrison, admired both women tremendously. But the Mage, in particular, was everything that Zanna wished to be. Feeling overawed at finding herself in such exalted company, she explained about losing Dulsina, and found herself telling her syrqpa|hetic rescuers the whole story of her disastrous day. At the mention of Sara’s name, she saw the two women exchange a grimace. Aurian opened her mouth as if to comment, but, on catching Maya’s eye, closed it grimly again, with a slight shake of her head.

“Right,” Maya said briskly. “Let’s get you and your parcels back to your carriage—if Dulsina has any sense, that’s where she’ll be. I expect she’s in a rare panic by now!”

The Mage and Maya divided Zanna’s purchases between them, and escorted her out of the Arcade. The crowd seemed to melt away before the two grim-faced women in their fighting clothes, and Zanna was tremendously impressed. As Maya had predicted, they met the housekeeper in the great arched en-tranceway. Dulsina, frantic with worry, had been just about to go back inside to search for her missing charge, Zanna was embarrassed by her fussing, and grateful to Aurian for cutting her short.

The Mage herself helped Zanna into the carriage, and settled her packages around her. Vannor’s daughter looked back wistfully as the carriage drove away, calling out her thanks again to the two women, who were already turning away to walk along the street. The sound of their conversation floated back to her on the still evening air,

“Gods, Maya,” she heard the Mage say, “That wife of Vannor’s is such a bitch!”

“You’re telling me! If it were up to me, I’d drop her in the river—in a sack! Do you fancy a beer now?”

Zanna smiled to hersejf. Somehow, it helped a lot to know that she was not alone in her opinion of her stepmother.

The errands had taken longer than Zanna had expected, and dusk was falling as they clattered across the Academy bridge and turned to climb the wooded hill that led to home. It looked as though it might snow again. The hazy sky above Nexis was suffused with an unearthly copper glow, etched by lines of smoke that rose straight as penstrokes in the still air. Zanna snuggled into the thick fur of the carriage rug, fidgeting with the discomfort of frozen fingers and aching feet. She sighed wistfully at the thought of the cookfires glowing in the city’s different homes, the scents of citrus and spices and roasting meats, and the bright, excited faces of children. She knew that she would be going home to a very different scene. Hebba never worked well when she was flustered, and after today’s upheavals, this year’s Solstice celebrations at Vannor’s house were likely to be a disaster.

The lamplighters were at work, and as the carriage labored up the steep, snowy hill, a string of golden globes burst into life one by one, to mark the road ahead.

The snow had been raked from the curving sweep that led to the mansion, and the coachman, relieved at getting up the slippery hill without injuring Vannor’s priceless black horses, finished the journey in style, rattling up to the door in a spatter of gravel. Zanna had meant to accompany him to the back door, to help unload the precious packages, but Dulsina was having none of it,

“No you don’t, my girl!” she said. “Get inside and I’ll fetch you a nice hot drink. Put your feet up for a while. It’s bad enough you had to traipse round the market like a serving wench—your poor mother, bless her, would turn in her grave . , .”

Zanna let her rattle on as they went inside, knowing that the housekeeper’s indignation was really on behalf of them both. Dulsina bore her years well; her skin was clear and un-lined, and her dark hair without a trace of gray. She had been very close to Zanna’s mother, and it was that friendship, so kitchen gossip said, that had kept her feelings hidden frpm Vannor after his wife’s death. The servants, however, had looked upon her eventual marriage to the merchant as a certainty— until Sara had come along.

As Dulsina bustled off down the kitchen stairs, Zanna paused in the spacious hall to unwrap the cloaks and shawls in which the zealous housekeeper had swathed her. She sighed. Dulsina meant well, but she was tired of being coddled like a child! Inevitably, her thoughts turned to the Lady Aurian. Mage and warrior, she could ride and fight like a man, and you wouldn’t find anyone wrapping her in half a shipment of wool! I wish I could be like her, Zanna thought. She was unwrapping her scarf from around her ears when she heard a resounding screech of rage, Gods! Not another disaster today! Zanna ran. She was halfway upstairs when she heard the howls of her little brother.

The noise came»fe>m Sara’s room—and in other circumstances, Zanna might have laughed. Antor, now a mobile and mischievous three-year-old, had escaped his nursemaid, and found his way to Sara’s open door. Unfortunately, she had been out at the time, but the collection of jars on the mirrored night table had proved an irresistible temptation to the child.

The reek of spilled perfume hit Zanna as she entered. She took in the whole scene at a glance—the powder spilled across the carpet; the upended jars and bottles, their lotions pooling on the table; a frieze of greasy, colored handprints that tracked across the wall, the furnishings, and even the counterpane. And Sara, her face contorted and flushed with rage, was hitting Antor over and over again.

Zanna never stopped to think—her resentment of Sara and her fierce protectiveness toward little Antor fused in a flash of rage. “Leave him alone, you bitch!” She flew across the room and dragged the child away. She had never meant for things to get out of hand—this was her stepmother, after all—but when Sara slapped her, Zanna lost all sense of restraint. She got in one good hard blow before Sara started hitting back, and then they were on the floor, biting, scratching, pulling each other’s hair and screaming like wildcats, with Antor, in the background, adding his own shrill wails to the commotion.

Neither of them heard Vannor enter. The first that they knew of his presence was when he waded into the fray and flung his daughter and wife apart. One look at his face, and the fire of Zanna’s rage turned to ashen horror. Antor’s howls were the only sound that broke the silence—until a chuckle came from the direction of the door. “On my oath, Vannor—you’ve a pair of hellions here! I had no idea your home life was so interesting.”

To Zanna’s horror, a stranger stood in the doorway, witness to the disgraceful brawl. Despite her acute embarrassment, she felt her heart turn over at the sight of the handsome young man. Vannor scowled, looking angrier than ever, then he turned to the visitor and forced a smile.

“Why don’t you go downstairs, Yanis, while I sort this out,” he said. “You know where the drink’s kept!”

The interruption had given Sara time to gather her wits. As soon as the stranger had gone, she seized her husband’s arm.

“Vannor, she attacked me! And look what that wretched brat has done! I insist that you punish them, or—”

“Or what? You’ll go back to the poverty I took you from?” Vannor’s face was bleak as stone. Sara turned white at his words, and shut her mouth abruptly. Zanna sighed with relief. Her dad was so entranced by his new wife that she had feared he would take Sara’s part—but her relief was short-lived when Vannor turned to look at her. With a sinking heart, Zanna realized that Sara was not the only one who was in trouble. “Get to your room,” Vannor growled. “I’ll deal with you later!”

Zanna had been prepared for her father’s anger, but his disappointment was more than she could bear. “I thought I could depend on you to be sensible,” Vannor stormed at her. “I know you miss your mother—don’t you think I miss her, too? I know you don’t want Sara in her place. But I won’t have my home turned into a battlefield, Zanna! Sara is your stepmother, and you’ll treat her with respect!”

Zanna, choking with tears, was unable to speak. Vannor, who had been about to leave, turned quickly and came to her, putting his arms around her as she sobbed. “Look, lass, don’t cry. I’m not such a fool as to put all the blame on you for what happened—I’ve spoken to Sara.” He looked so grim that Zanna wondered what had been said between them. “She’ll not mistreat Antor again, I promise. But she isn’t used to children, and—”

“Curse it, Dad, why must you make excuses for her? Can’t you see she’s—” The mad, untirrielywords spilled out of Zanna before she could stop them—and were silenced abruptly by Vannor’s slap. “You watch your mouth, girl, or by the Gods I’ll—” His face twisted with rage and anguish, Vannor stamped out, slamming the door behind him.

The merchant went downstairs, completely at his wits’ end. He was ashamed of what he had just done, and sickened by his earlier scene with Sara. He adored both his wife and daughter—but why couldn’t they try to get along? He rubbed his aching head. Gods, what a night! When he’d left that morning, everything had been running smoothly as usual. He had come back a few short hours later to find the house in an uproar!

In the brief time since his return, Vannor had calmed his bawling son and turned him over to a bristling Dulsina, (who, judging by the look on her face, meant to have words with him before the night was out). He had dismissed the nursemaid, who’d been outside, flirting with the gardener, while Antor was getting into mischief. Having sent the girl packing, in tears, he had found himself confronted by a furious cook, with baggage, who announced that if her Solstice Feast was no longer good enough for him, he had better make his own in future! Hebba had marched out, leaving him gaping. As if these disasters were not enough, he had followed them up with a blistering row with Sara, who was no longer speaking to him, and had hurt his favorite daughter. What a bloody awful Solstice this is going to be! Vannor thought bitterly.

It was only then, as he was heading for the welcome sanctuary of his library, that he remembered the visitor. Vannor groaned. If that idiot Yanis was desperate enough to come to the house, it had to mean trouble. Yanis, who was sitting by the roaring log fire, leapt to his feet when Vannor entered the library, his handsome face taut and anxious.

“Vannor, I’m sorry to come here like this. I know what you said about secrecy, but . . .” He looked away, biting his lip. “Oh Gods,” he muttered. “It wasn’t my fault, I swear! How was I to know they would—”

“Whoa, whoa!” Vannor held up a hand to stop the young man in mid-protest. “If this is more bad news, Yanis, for the Gods’ sake, let me get myself a drink first!”

Vannor had not been Zanna’s only visitor that night—her stepmother had come close on his heels. Sara’s visit had been brief, and she had said very little, but her words had turned Zanna cold with fear. “Well, brat—since you are so protective of children, perhaps you ought to have some of your own,” she had said, with vicious sweetness. “Now that you’ve turned fifteen, I must take my duties as a stepmother more seriously, and start casting around for a suitable husband for you!” And with a whirl of skirts, she had gone.

Long after Zanna had wept herself out, she lay awake in the darkness, dreading the future. She knew that Sara would never rest now, until her troublesome stepdaughter was out of the way for good. Vannor s daughter was a practical girl, and she faced facts squarely. Marriage was the obvious solution to Sara’s problems, and Zanna felt a chill go through her. Oh Gods, she thought. She’ll dress me up like a stupid doll, make Vannor give me an enormous dowry, and hand me over to the first witless, overbred merchant’s son who wants the money! The thought filled her with such panic that she wanted to run—but where could she run to? Suddenly, for no apparent reason, the face of her father’s mysterious visitor came into her mind: his shaggy dark hair falling across those dark gray eyes, which crinkled at the corners when he smiled . . .

The door of her room opened quietly, and Zanna started, blushing as though her thoughts must be transparent. To her surprise, her visitor was Dulsina. “Shhh,” the housekeeper whispered. “Light the candle and get dressed—you’re going away for a while.”

“What?” Zanna froze. Horror congealed like a choking lump in her throat. “Dad?” She could hardly form the whispered words. “Is he sending me away?”

“No, you goose—as if he ever would! Listen, Zanna. Your stepmother is as furious as a wasp in a bottle tonight. Now that you’ve made trouble between her and Vannor, she’ll—”

“I know what she plans to do,” Zanna said wretchedly, “and it’s worse than you could possibly imagine. She wants to marry me off, Dulsina!”

“I heard,” Dulsina said grimly. “It’s a housekeeper’s privilege to eavesdrop! Not that Vannor is such a heartless dolt as to force you to wed against your wilt . j. But you know how desperate he is for his daughters to make a good match. There would be pressure on you to consent. Anyway, you’re young yet to be thinking of husbands, no matter what the custom is among these witless merchants! I thought to send you to my sister Remana until the fuss dies down. Antor can go, too— doing without the pair of you for a while might bring that old fool Vannor to his senses!”

Zanna wondered if she was dreaming. Though it might be wise to get away until Sara had calmed down, it was not like levelheaded Dulsina to come up with such a wild idea. And never before had she heard the housekeeper criticize her father. In a daze, she dressed herself warmly and began to pack some clothes under Dulsina’^direction, while the housekeeper explained: “You’ve a good head on your shoulders, Zanna—I know you can be trusted with the secret. My sister Remana is— was, I should say—wed to Leynard, leader of the Nightrun-ners.”

Zanna gaped at her, a nightgown, half folded, forgotten in her hands. The Nightrunners? The elusive smugglers who traded with the prohibited Southern Kingdoms for silks, gems, and spices and had driven generations of Garrison Commanders to despair? Prim Dulsina had a sister wed to a smuggler?

“You may as well know,” Dulsina was saying. “Your dad made his fortune through trading in partnership with the Nightrunners. His visitor tonight is my nephew Yanis—he became leader last year when Leynard was lost at sea. When he goes back, he’ll be taking you with him.” She paused, her eyes twinkling. “Mark you, he’s afraid of Vannor, so the less he knows of the truth, the better. I’ll give you a note for my sister —Remana will take care of you.”

“But what about Dad?” Zanna protested. “He’ll be so angry. And what if Sara arranges a husband for me in any case? Anyway, if I know Dad, he’ll come and fetch me straight back again. Besides, I’ll miss him so! How can I leave him—and at Solstice, too?”

“Child, you worry too much!” Dulsina hugged her. “Vannor won’t blame you—it’s me he’ll be angry with. And Sara will be much too busy to make mischief.” She grinned. “With you away, Vannor will see who was really running the household— and I won’t be taking up where you left off! Let Sara occupy herself with all those tiresome details that you and I have been taking off her shoulders. If she wants to play the great lady, it’s time she learned that there is far more to it than sitting around counting her jewels!”

“But what if Dad comes after me?” Zanna persisted.

“Impossible!” Dulsina said briskly. “The smugglers’ hide-out is a deadly secret—so much so that Leynard wouldn’t even tell his partner. Vannor won’t know where you are, and I won’t tell him—not unless there is a real emergency. Just trust me, my dear, and all will be well.”

Zanna hesitated. Then she thought of what her future would be like, married to a dull merchant’s son who did not love her. She had no illusions about her looks—she was short and sturdy, like her father, with a plain, no-nonsense face: A far cry from the willowy, delicate creatures that the well-heeled merchant classes liked to decorate their opulent homes. She was clever and quick-minded, and it was her greatest frustration that her dad would never let her work with him in trade. “Whoever heard of a lady merchant?” he would chide her gently. “Why, it’s just not done!”

There are lady Magefolk, though, Zanna thought resentfully—and lady warriors. Why not a lady merchant, I’d like to know? Inevitably, her mind went back to that afternoon, and her meeting with Aurian and Maya. Well, you wanted to be like them, she told herself—maybe this is your chance. Lifting her chin, she turned to Dulsina. “You’re right,” she said. “I’m ready to go!”

Yanis left the mansion in a hurry, by the back door, his ears still ringing from Vannor’s epithets. Dear Gods, but when his father’s old partner flew into a rage, it was enough to scare the wits out of a man! “It wasn’t my fault,” he muttered helplessly. After the unpleasant evening he had just spent with Vannor, the excuse was starting to sound rather thin, even to himself.

“Where am I going wrong?” he sighed as he made his way back to the river, slinking through the merchant’s terraced garden with his sea boots crunching softly on the snowy ground. It had all seemed simple when he had accompanied his father to the South. Leynard had taught him^how to find his way to the remote, secluded bay that was the clandestine rendezvous with the Southerners. Yanis knew the series of lamp-flashes that were the secret signal to grant him safe passage in Southern waters. Unfortunately, the one vital piece of information that his father had not passed on, was how not to get swindled by those slimy Southern bast—

“Hist! Yanis!”

The smuggler whirled abruptly, his hand on his sword. He was astonished to see his aunt Dulsina beckoning to him from the bushes at the bottom of the garden, near the small, ornate boathouse where Vannor kept his pleasure craft. In the dim snowlight, it looked as though she were carrying a large bundle, so thickly swathed in shawls that it looked almost circular.

Grabbing his arm with her free hand, she pulled him into the shelter of the shrubbery.

“Listen,” she told him without preamble. “Vannor wants you to take his children to stay with Remana for a while.”

Yanis blinked. “He does? He never mentioned it. And why are you all hiding in the bushes, Aunt Dulsina?”

Dulsina sighed. “Because you shouldn’t be here, remember? Vannor thought that if you left the house with the youngsters, it would attract too much attention, so I brought them down here to meet you. Off you go now—take good care of the children, and remember to give my love to your mother. And Yanis—be careful. Don’t get caught!”

Before Yanis could say a word, she had dumped Vannor’s son into his unready arms and bustled away, with a quick parting hug for the cloaked and muffled figure that must be the merchant’s daughter. Yanis, speechless, thrust his squirming burden at the girl, and bent to pull on the rope that tethered his small boat beneath the concealing sweep of willows at the water’s edge. Somehow, he managed to get them, with their several bundles, off the frost-slick jetty and into the little craft. The girl was sniffling into a lacy slip of a handkerchief, and the smuggler’s heart sank,

“Are you all right?” he asked nervously,

“Yes.” The voice was little more than a whisper—then to his relief, she sat up straight, settled the infant on her lap, and put the handkerchief away. “Yes,” she repeated firmly. “I’m fine. I don’t like leaving Dad, but I always wanted adventure. I’m sick of sitting at home sewing, and all that tedious female stuff!”

Yanis grinned. She was going to be all right, after all, “You sound tike my mum,” he told her. “She wanted adventure too— and ended up marrying a smuggler!”

A chuckle emerged from the shadows of the girl’s hood. “Xt \east Ym going to the right pVace, then.”

She was a droll little thing, and no mistake.’ Snorting with laughter, Yanis picked up his oars and set off to row swiftfy downriver through the frost-glittering night, to his fast little ship that vjas mooted in a quiet cove around the headland from the port of Norberth.

Yanis, thankful that it was Solstice, and the hours of darkness were so long, ordered the ghost-gray sails to be unfurled. Steering his sleek little ship out of the twisting inlet that had shielded it from prying eyes, he headed, with a tremendous sense of relief, out to sea. His passengers were safely asleep below, tired out from their journey. Two children would only be in the way as he dodged along the treacherous coastline in the darkness, avoiding the safer sea lanes that were crowded with fishing fleets from the villages and the clumsy, wallowing vessels of the legitimate merchant-traders.

Besides, it was best to keep the youngsters out of sight of the crew, who were in a state of near rebellion after the disastrous voyage to the South. They had made it clear to Yanis that they were far from happy with the responsibility of these unexpected passengers. Vannor might have made the Nightrunners rich through his trading connections, but they were still in awe of his reputation as a dangerous man to cross.

“What if there’s a storm?” Gevan, the mate, had whined, “What happens if the young’uns fell overboard and drown? What will Vannor say if we’re caught with his brats on board, by one of Forral’s patrols? That big bastard from the Garrison is getting too clever by half!”

“What if—what if!” Yanis had mocked, “Why, Vannor himself sent his youngsters with us!”

“And what about that girl?” Gejran had continued, undeterred. “I always said a ship’s no place for a woman!”

“You’d better not let my mam hear you saying that,” Yanis grinned. “She’ll stretch your guts for rigging!”

“I don’t count your mam as a woman—she’s a sailor born and bred, that one—which that little lass below is not!” The mate stumped off, still muttering darkly.

In truth, Yanis had his own misgivings, but they differed from those of his crew, who had only seen Zanna’s small figure muffled up in cloaks. They thought she was still a child—but he had seen her up at the house, brawling with Vannor’s wife, and she was older than she looked.

During the long and tiresome trip downriver, Yanis had been putting two andjwo together—and he was far from happy with the result. Why had Vannor suddenly decided to send his children to the smugglers? Why had he not mentioned it earlier? Why had Aunt Dulsina appeared with them so unexpectedly, and hurried them off so quickly? There could only be one answer. “That cunning bastard!” Yanis muttered. “He’s sending his daughter to spy on me!”

Suddenly it was all too clear. Vannor, angry because Yanis had been cheated by the Southerners, had sent his wretched girl to mingle with the smugglers and probe their secrets. And then —Yanis swore. The leadership! Vannor meant to depose him, and take over the smuggling operation himself.

“Oh—we’re sailing!”

The voice, so close at hand, made Yanis jump. That wretched girl had crept up so quietly while he stood at the wheel that he was taken completely by surprise. Startled and unthinking, he gave voice to his suspicions. “Spying already, eh? Well, I know what you’re up to, girl, and it won’t work, see?”

Yanis had been so kind to Antor and herself on their way downriver that Zanna was shocked by his sudden hostility. Biting her lip, she fought back tears. The rest of the crew had looked so unfriendly when she ventured up on deck that she had been counting on the support of their leader. What had she done to earn his anger? Remembering the grave, dignified manner with which Dulsina deflated Vannor’s fierce rages, Zanna drew herself up to her full, albeit scant, height. “If you know what I’m up to,” she said coldly, “I hope you’ll tell me—for I’m sure I have no idea.”

“You have no idea, indeed!” Yanis mocked her. “You and Vannor didn’t think I had the wits to work it out, did you? Poor, daft Yanis—he’ll never guess he’s being spied on—he’s so thickheaded that he gets cheated by Southerners!”

Most of this outburst was a mystery to Zanna, but she heard the bitterness in his voice—and caught the name of Vannor. “Dad? But he doesn’t even know I’m here—” Horrified, she caught herself up with a hand to her mouth, but it was too late. Yanis looked at her with narrowed eyes. “What?” he yelped. “He doesn’t know you’re here?”

Gods, but he looked so fierce! Zanna backed away from him, the words tumbling out of her as she tried to explain. “Well, he must know now, of course, because Dulsina will have told him, but he didn’t know, when we came away ...” Her words trailed off. Yanis looked at her, stone-faced, not helping at all.

“I had to get away from Sara!” she protested. “She meant to marry me off to some moon-faced merchant’s son—”

“Vannor didn’t send you?” Yanis was gaping at her.

Zanna sighed. No wonder he was cheated by the Southerners, she thought. “No,” she repeated. “Dulsina said you wouldn’t take us if you knew, so—” She shrugged. “I’m afraid she didn’t exactly tell you the truth—”

“Gods’ bloody teeth! I have to get you back, before he finds out!” Yanis spun the wheel, and the ship lurched and shuddered, heeling over as the wind spilled from its sails. Curses and shouts of protest could be heard all over the deck as the crew were tumbled about.

“No,” Zanna cried. “You can’t!” Without thinking, she tried to wrench the wheel from his grasp, to return the ship to its original course. For a grim moment they grappled, while the vessel wallowed and tipped.

“You idiot!” Yanis bellowed. “You’ll have us over!” Giving in to her, he let the ship swing round, heaving a sigh of relief as the tilting vessel straightened and the wind swelled its shadowy gray sails once more. “Get below!” he snapped at Zanna. “I ought to throw you overboard!”

“Not until you’ve heard what J haye to say.” Zanna stood her ground. “You can’t take us back,” she insisted. Didn’t this fool realize that she was trying to keep him out of trouble? Yanis was not to blame for the disappearance of Vannor’s children—but her father wouldn’t see things in that light! Desperately she tried to think of a way to change the young smuggler’s mind. “Do you want your crew to see how you were taken in? You’ll be a laughingstock!”

“What in the name of all the Gods are you playing at, Yanis? Are you trying to send us to the bottom?” Gevan thrust forward, his weatherbeaten face pale with anger.

“It was my fault,” Zanna said quickly, trying to look meek. “I—I thought I could steer it, but—”

“You let this child take the wheel?” Gevan turned on Yanis.

“Have you lost your mind?” The crew, limping and rubbing their bruises, were gathering around, awaiting the outcome of the confrontation with avid curiosity.

“You can’t blame Yanis—I told him I knew how to do it,” Zanna insisted.

“What?” Yanis looked baffled. “But—”

Zanna kicked him sharply in the ankle. “I’m truly sorry, sir—I only wanted to try . . .” She turned her most winning smile on the mate—and jumped, as Yanis whispered in her ear.

“Take the wheel a minute—just keep her exactly as she is,” Before she knew it, Zanna, rigid with anxiety, was hanging on to the wheel with trembling hands.

“Thara’s titties!” Gevan spat disgustedly. “I don’t know which of you is the bigger fool—” His words ended in a choking gurgle as Yanis lifted him off the deck with a twisted handful of shirt, and pinned him, struggling, across the ship’s rail with a knee in his groin and his head hanging down toward the waves that surged and foamed along the vessel’s side.

“Now,” said Yanis, “you’ll apologize to the lady for your foul language, and then you’ll apologize to me!” He loosened his grip slightly on the pop-eyed mate’s collar, still holding him in his perilous position while Gevan gasped out his apologies, Yanis lowered the terrified man to the deck and stepped back to look at his dumbstruck crew.

“I know you don’t think much of me, compared with my dad. Oh yes—I’ve heard you muttering and whispering in corners! But there can only begone captain of this ship, and one leader of the smugglers, see? If anyone else wants to take over, you can speak up now or not at all, but you’ll have take me on, first—and you’ll take the leadership over my dead body!” For a long, grim moment he held their eyes, until one by one, the crew turned and slunk away.

Zanna felt like cheering. She gazed at Yanis with shining eyes, but he was looking past her at—

“Look out!” Pushing her roughly to one side, he seized the wheel and wrenched it hard over. The ship swung and heeled, its timbers creaking in protest, and Zanna, as she tumbled into the scuppers, caught a glimpse of a dark, jagged shape against the starry sky, and the thundering crash of waves on rock.

As the vessel straightened, Yanis turned to her with a grin, and extended a hand to help her to her feet. “Got to keep your eyes skinned, sailing this close to the coast at night,” he said cheerfully. Zanna, her heart still hammering, looked at him openmouthed.

“Apart from that, though,” he added condescendingly, “you did very well for the first time. We’ll make a sailor of you yet!”

“I wouldn’t count on it,” Zanna said weakly. “Gods, Yams —I never saw that rock! It was se dark. How did you know?”

Yanis winked at her, and his teeth flashed white as he laughed. “See—not as daft as you thought, am I? Even though I did get cheated by the Southerners!”

“I never said you were daft!” Zanna protested.

“No, but your dad did, and a lot more besides!” Though he spoke lightly, she could hear an undercurrent of bitterness in his voice,

“What happened?” she asked him softly,

Yanis sighed. “It’s been going on for a long time, this trade with the Southerners—in the family, you might say. When Vannor came in with Dad, and found us new markets, we started to prosper. We trade with the Corsairs, who are supposed to defend their coast, but who are the worst bunch of knaves and scoundrels you’ll ever see. They’ll do anything to line their pockets!”

“What do you trade?” Zanna was fascinated,

Yanis shrugged, “Various things. Theirs is a hot, desert country and not much grows thece. We trade them wood and wool and grain, mostly—-common enough stuff here, but worth a fortune to the Southerners. In exchange, we get spices, silks, and gems—or we’re supposed to!” he added glumly, “This time, when we got back and opened the caskets, they had the good stuff on top, but the rest was worthless sand!”

“But didn’t you think to check?” Zanna asked in amazement.

“Check?” Yanis glared at her fiercely. “It’s not a bloody game, you know, it’s deadly serious—and deadly dangerous. We have no time to check! We slip in, exchange the goods as fast as possible, then we run for home as fast as we can.”

“Hmm . . .” Zanna frowned thoughtfully, “Then the whole operation depends on good faith,” A surge of excitement ran through her. This was a real challenge! “Leave it to me!” she told Yanis. “I’ll think of a way to beat those crooked Southerners—I promise!”

The young smuggler’s mouth twitched for an instant, but he failed to hide his smile. “Of course you will,” he said kindly, as though addressing a very small child.

Drat him, Zanna seethed. He doesn’t believe I can do it! Still, Yanis had only just decided not to take her back to Vannor —she wouldn’t risk a quarrel now. Zanna turned away from him angrily. “I ought to get back to Antor,” she said mildly— but really, it was an excuse to go below and do some hard thinking. I’ll show him, she thought. Just wait. He may not know it, but he needs my brain. I can make a place for myself among these smugglers, I know I can. I’ll make them respect me if it’s the last thing I do!