Prince Thief

CHAPTER EIGHT

Like many a ruler before her, Kalyxis wasn’t one to think through the finer points of her orders.

Thus it was that the actual logistics of chaining up a giant without said giant’s permission were left to a hastily gathered contingent made up from a dozen of the more savage-looking Shoanish warriors. For all their conspicuous muscle and their scars and their clothing made of animals they’d likely killed with their own bare hands, it was obviously a function that nothing in their previous experience had prepared them for.

Had time not been a factor, it would have entertaining enough to watch. The Shoanish brought long spears and circled around Saltlick, regardless of the fact that he’d moved not a finger against them and had followed all their orders with his usual polite good nature. That done, much pointing and unnecessary threatening conveyed us as far as a large tent on the west of town, close to the harbour.

Inside, I saw that six large metal rings protruded from the ground, presumably secured to posts beneath the dirt. Two chains ran from each, to end in leather straps. The moment we entered I was forced to my knees, and my wrists and ankles efficiently strapped behind my back.

Securing dashing thieves was one thing, though; doing the same to giants quite another. There was much muttering back and forth, as if they imagined Saltlick hadn’t yet worked out their intentions. However, with every man only able to communicate with his neighbours without breaking the circle, it was impossible for any real discussion to take place. No one seemed to be in charge, and as each minute passed without any sign of unanimity, so tensions in the enclosed space rose like the heat before a summer storm.

With as much reason as anyone to desire a swift outcome and my extremities already growing numb, I was ready to cheer when one particularly rough and ugly Shoanan finally broke ranks. My gratitude evaporated quickly when he paced to me, drew a knife from his belt and put the curved blade to my throat.

“Do you hear me, monster?” he barked at Saltlick. “Twitch a hair on your head and I’ll show you what the inside of your friend’s throat looks like.”

“Um…” There was obviously an art to speaking with a blade at your throat that I hadn’t grasped. Nor was it something I felt comfortable practising; even that one syllable had brought me dangerously close to gaining a new orifice. “Will… you…?”

“Shut up,” said the Shoanan holding the knife. But he did ease the pressure a fraction.

“Look… can you just…?” I was all ready to explain that Saltlick was harmless as a fly, and only at the last instant did it occur to me how unwise sharing that information might be. “He’ll… he’ll listen to me.”

My guard gave that a little thought. “Then tell him you don’t want to try and learn breathing through your neck,” he said, and eased up ever so slightly more.

I supposed I couldn’t begrudge him his caution; I’d just pointed out that the cart-sized wall of muscle across from us would do exactly what I told him to. “Saltlick,” I said, “I order you to stay still. However much you might want to tear someone’s arm off or rip out their heart and eat it, you won’t do any such thing. Do you hear? Just for once, restrain your inexhaustible lust for blood.”

I accompanied it with a clumsy wink, in the faint hope that the signal would mean the same to giants as men. Saltlick probably imagined I’d gone mad; but since there’d never been a possibility of him doing anything but politely sitting still, it hardly mattered. All that was important was persuading our captors not to waste the entire night in securing him.

To that end, at least, my words seemed to have achieved something. My new friend eased his knife away from my neck and beckoned over a couple of his companions. This time, it didn’t take long for a consensus to be reached. It was hardly the one I’d been expecting, though — for together, the three of them then hurried outside.

It wasn’t long before they were back, however, this time with armfuls of rope and chains. An end was in sight; but even with a dozen men working together and Saltlick crouched still as a statue, it still took them the better part of an hour to secure him to their satisfaction. By the time the Shoanish had finished, hardly a part of him wasn’t criss-crossed with rope, metal, leather or wood — for rather than remove his harness, they’d figured it into their construction — and the whole elaborate web secured to every one of the remaining hoops set in the ground.

Finally, they appeared satisfied with their masterwork, and I felt the time was right to move onto more meaningful concerns. “All right,” I said. “It’s safe to say we’re not going anywhere. Saltlick won’t be eating anyone who doesn’t want to be eaten. Now, can we please speak again with Kalyxis?”

“You’ll speak to Kalyxis when Kalyxis wants to speak to you,” replied the Shoanan who’d threatened me earlier.

“Which will be…?” I asked.

“When she says.”

As helpful an answer as I’d expected. My attempt at ambassadorship was a disaster, and if I didn’t think of something quickly, there was no doubt that I’d have the blood of Estrada, Navare and the others on my hands, not to mention a few thousand Altapasaedans. My slender remaining hope was that these fastidious barbarians would leave us alone now that we were trussed beyond any reasonable hope of escape.

Even that was too much to ask of my miserable luck. Ten of them trooped out but two remained, and, with initiative beyond the average guard, chose to make their vigil not from outside the tent but from within. It was a completely unfair strategy, and of doubtful professionalism; clearly here in the far north they were ignorant even of traditional guarding etiquette.

The minutes dragged by. I was growing close to despair. It was hard to believe that tying your guests to the floor was a preliminary to accepting their heartfelt pleas for help, even in Shoan; more likely, Kalyxis was busy pondering dramatic and amusing ways to execute us.

Then, just as I’d all but given up hope, I noticed our two sentries start and look behind them. A third figure had drawn up the tent flap and, as I watched, spoke briefly to them in hushed tones. I didn’t hear what was said, but the two gave us a last hard glance and followed the new arrival outside, dropping the flap behind them.

I doubted the three of them had gone far. In all likelihood it was just a changing of the guard, or a brief break to share some revolting northern liquor brewed from bits of dead horse. Nevertheless, it was the best and only opportunity I’d had, and I refused to waste it.

“Saltlick,” I hissed, “I know you can break those ropes, so get on with it. We don’t have all night.”

Saltlick eyed me mournfully. It might have been because he was exhausted from his day’s running; it might have been because I was wrong and he was too tightly bound for even his colossal strength to prevail. Knowing him, though, I suspected it had more to do with guilt at the prospect of undoing all of our captors’ hard work.

“Look,” I said, “I have a plan. But I’m going to need your help.”

Truthfully, I had no plan at all, no idea what I’d do if Saltlick could liberate us. It would likely achieve nothing. Yet knowing what hung on my actions and sitting there unable to move was killing me just as surely as our guards would if — or more realistically, when — they caught us. Anyway, I always thought best on my feet. There was a chance something would come to me, if only I could get free.

Because Saltlick still didn’t look convinced, I added, with all the urgency I could muster, “Quickly! Every minute we waste here could cost Estrada and the others dearly.” Another bluff, of course; for all I knew, this was the worst possible thing for Estrada. Maybe Kalyxis was at this very moment preparing to help us and all I was doing was jeopardising that.

But it wasn’t a possibility I was prepared to entertain. I had to be free. I couldn’t just do nothing.

Anyway, it seemed I’d finally gotten through to him. I’d hardly noticed at first how hard he was straining; he was so tightly trussed that his exertions were almost invisible. Now that I concentrated, though, I could see subtle motion: a chain link bulging here, a rope strained to its limits there. Looking back to Saltlick’s face, I understood that his expression showed not his usual dull placidity but the most intense effort, locking his features rigid.

Too late it struck that he really might not have the necessary strength. On his best day, I doubted any measures could hold him; even weakened by torture, I’d seen Saltlick tear through ropes thicker than these outside Moaradrid’s camp. Today, however, he’d run himself half to death, perhaps beyond the point of healing — and that after being almost drowned, battered on rocks and climbing a cliff. There had to be limits even to Saltlick’s vast strength. Maybe today was the day I found them.

A chain link popped, with a delicate ting. One rope rippled like smoke and fell in coils into the dust. The following pause dragged on for so long that I started to wonder if that wasn’t it, if those small achievements hadn’t sapped the last of Saltlick’s vigour. Then a section of rope thinned, unravelled and came apart, all in a moment. A leather strap ripped. Navare’s scratch-built harness, surely the weakest link in the entire arrangement, gave one deep, wailing groan, before the beam over Saltlick’s shoulders snapped clean in two and crashed to the ground.

I glanced nervously towards the door flap, expecting angry northerners and sharpened blades to come flooding in at the sound. Neither one materialised. Even as another chain lashed the ground, as two and then three more ropes split, our privacy remained undisturbed. It was perplexing, and perhaps I’d have questioned it more had it not been so hypnotic watching Saltlick free himself. Once when I was a boy, a band of travelling performers had passed through our village, and one of their number — a giant himself by any normal standards — had performed a similar stunt. Impressive as it had seemed, it was nothing to what Saltlick was doing now. Even battered and fatigued, the power in those muscles of his was phenomenal.

When he was done, when all that remained was a nest of torn rope, shattered chains, scraps of leather and splintered wood, Saltlick climbed shakily to his feet and trudged over to me. He reached behind my back and fumbled with the straps there. I heard a tearing sound, another, and with that I could move my wrists and ankles once more.

Unfortunately, since my appendages were utterly numb by then, I had no choice but to flop onto my side and lie like a beached fish while my circulation returned. Once I had a little feeling back I rubbed my hands together, despite the throb of pins and needles, and when they were usable again began to massage life back into my feet.

All the while, Saltlick watched me steadily. His skin was beaded everywhere with tracks of blood, where ropes and chains had nicked the flesh. He looked inexpressibly weary. It occurred to me then that even if I did have a plan, I would have no idea how to incorporate him into it. Even if I had a chance at escape, even assuming escape might achieve some useful end, I could hardly drag Saltlick around town without someone noticing.

A noise came from behind me. It was so subtle, like the sough of wind through grass, that I hardly registered it at first. By the time I recognised it for what it was, a blade slicing through the thick hide of the tent wall, and by the time I’d turned around, there was already an almost man-sized opening there — not to mention the almost man-sized figure crouched in the gap.

In the half-light, it took me a moment to recognise the sullen youth from earlier; he was the one who’d sat beside Kalyxis, the one I’d figured for the Bastard Prince. That moment was exactly as long as it took him to cross the short distance between us and bring his knife up.

The knife was a piddling thing compared to the one I’d had recently at my throat, not much longer than my hand, and I struggled to find either it or him intimidating. “You should put that down,” I said, “before someone gets hurt. Someone, of course, meaning you. It wouldn’t be very princely to accidentally chop your own thumb off, would it?”

“You know who I am,” he said, ignoring my advice. “So are you a spy then? Like my grandmother thinks?”

Was that really the conclusion Kalyxis had come to? She was even more paranoid than I’d imagined — or else the standard for royal spies was uncommonly low these days. “Everything I told her was true,” I said. “We need her help.”

The youth scrunched his face into an even denser scowl. “Well, I don’t care either way. I need your help, and you’re going to give me it. I heard you can command that thing?”

It took me a moment to understand what he meant. “That thing has a name. He’s called Saltlick.”

“That’s no name,” he observed with disdain.

I considered explaining that the blame for that lay with his father’s idiot thugs and their inability to pronounce Saltlick’s true, giantish name; however, the information was neither politic nor pertinent just then, and I had bigger questions on my mind. “He’ll do what I ask him, so long as he agrees with it. But why would you need our help? Aren’t you supposed to be royalty around here?”

“Pah!” The youth spat into the dirt. “A prisoner more like. The only one anybody listens to round here is my grandmother. Do you know what it’s like to grow up with everyone thinking you’re going to be some sort of legendary hero?” He looked me up and down. “Of course you don’t. Anyway, they can all go rot in the cold hells. I’m getting out of here. And you and your monster are going to help me.”

“What’s in it for us?” I asked, for no real reason other than that I was finding him intensely irritating.

“Are you an idiot? You get out of here.” He waved the knife in my direction. “And I don’t make that stupid-looking face look any stupider.”

I’d never been a fighter. I’d never truly cared for knives. I’d always preferred to talk my way out of danger, or run my way out on those not infrequent occasions when talking failed to do the trick.

But you couldn’t live a life of crime for as long as I had without picking up the odd thing along the way. And I knew without doubt that this Bastard Prince was standing too close; he was holding the knife too far across his own body.

I ducked forward and sideways, caught his wrist with my right hand and grasped his shoulder with my left. Then I shoved hard. I stopped when he let go and before his arm popped out of joint — but only barely. I let him get out one brief whimper before I kicked him hard in the arse; while he stumbled forward, I picked up the knife.

“So have you even got a plan?” I asked. “Or are we just walking out?”

“You…”

“Manners,” I suggested, tapping the blade against my open palm. “Because if we’re leaving, it’s on my terms.”

Not that I actually had terms. But surely a prince, especially this prince, must be a useful card to have up my sleeve. Might the palace soldiers trade him for the lives of Estrada and the others? After all, the King must surely be itching to meet his unruly grandson.

When, rather than answer, the youth merely stood glowering at me, I racked my memory until it coughed up what I was looking for and said, “Look… Malekrin, that’s your name, isn’t it? You don’t want to be here. I certainly don’t want to be here, and neither does Saltlick. Since that’s the one thing we all have in common, what say we concentrate on it?”

“Everyone calls me Mal,” the boy said sulkily — and in a way that made me suspect that absolutely no one called him that, however much he might like them to.

Still, it couldn’t hurt to try to get on his good side, assuming he had any such thing. “Mal, is it? Fine. Care to share your escape plan, Mal?”

To my amusement, he did perk up a little at that. “There’s a boat I use,” he said. “It should be big enough, even for… that creature, whatever you call it.”

“Saltlick,” I reminded him. “And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but he tends to draw attention.”

“Hardly anyone’s awake at this hour,” Malekrin said. “And those that are won’t be looking in our direction.”

He spoke that last with confidence. Did he know something I didn’t? If so then every minute I spent stood questioning him was a minute wasted. Coming to a swift decision, I said, “Hurry up, Saltlick; we’re getting out of here.”

“Plan?” Saltlick asked. As usual he spoke volumes with a single word — for there was a powerful note of doubt underlying that one syllable.

“Yes. This is the plan. Trust me, all right?”

Saltlick nodded. He did trust me, the poor, lumbering fool, and I’d never felt worse about the fact. Even I could see this was no sort of plan, and the odds of it helping the others were practically non-existent. Yet this opportunity had fallen into our laps, and I couldn’t imagine a better one coming along any time soon.

Malekrin had already ducked back under the improvised flap he’d made, and I hurried to follow. Saltlick made a brief effort to squeeze through the existing gap and then, realising its hopelessness, reached with both hands and tore the thick hide almost to its highest point. I winced at the noise; but no one called out the alert, no one appeared from the darkness.

As Saltlick hauled himself through the widened breach, I couldn’t but notice how badly he was limping. He could hardly put any weight on his wounded leg. He wouldn’t slow us down, his height would compensate for that, but I hated to see how he was suffering — and all for nothing.

As Malekrin led us past a gap between two tents, something even more arresting than Saltlick’s plight drew my attention. In the distance, an orange glow hung over the camp town, as though the sun were just beginning to rise there. Then a tongue of brilliant yellow licked into sight, followed by a pale gust of smoke. Something was burning, and burning fast; even as I’d watched, the fire must have doubled in size.

Malekrin had told me no one would be looking our way, and now here was something on fire, conveniently far from where we were. “Your handiwork?” I asked.

Malekrin gave me an unprepossessing grin. “It wasn’t easy, delaying it like that.”

“And you’re not worried about setting fire to your own people’s tents?” I asked, trying to keep any suggestion of judgement out of my voice.

“It’s just a store for hay, they won’t miss it,” he whispered back dismissively.

If I’d had doubts about Malekrin being Moaradrid’s son, they were starting to diminish. Disregard for the lives of others and a passion for setting their property on fire were certainly qualities Moaradrid had possessed in abundance. I was even starting to see a similarity in the boy’s face, even if he had none of his father’s hawkish intensity. “Did you have something to do with the guards leaving as well?” I asked.

“Of course. I told them relief was on the way and they were urgently needed to clean out my grandmother’s latrines… a punishment for taking so long to restrain you. They weren’t happy about it.”

“I don’t imagine they were,” I agreed.

Malekrin ducked around the corner of a tent and I stayed close. He was leading us by an indirect route to the dockside; keeping away from the main thoroughfare, weaving instead through the clusters of high-sided tents that bordered it. The shadows were thick there, for the night sky was overcast and there were no torches lit. Even if the town had been thronged with people, we’d have stood a chance of moving Saltlick unnoticed.

When we came out, there was nothing between us and the harbour but a stretch of gravelly sand. I could see no one. As we hurried across the intervening distance, I wondered again at the size and number of the craft moored there. What exactly did a tribe of nomads want with a fleet of what could only be considered ships? What was Kalyxis up to? She’d struck me as the kind of woman who by her nature would always be up to something.

I could have asked Malekrin, but we were already hurrying towards the end of the leftmost wharf by then, Saltlick crashing behind us, and I decided questions could wait. This was going to be a short trip indeed if anyone saw us leave. The boat Malekrin came to a halt before was tied amongst a flotilla of smaller vessels, craft presumably kept for fishing the nearby waters. His was no more impressive than any of the others; another statement, maybe, of how highly these people really considered their bastard prince. Regardless of whether his claims of being kept like a prisoner were true, he obviously hadn’t been living like any kind of royalty.

“I call her Seadagger,” Malekrin said, with obvious pride.

Even in such dire circumstances, I struggled not to laugh. “You can call it whatever you like… but if you’re saying it out loud, let’s stick with ‘the boat’, all right?”

Malekrin gave me the filthiest of looks, and hopped aboard. “Your pet monster better not sink her,” he said.

“Saltlick’s good with boats,” I lied, thinking back to the time he’d once rowed Estrada and I to safety and almost drowned us all in the process. However, Malekrin’s craft was larger than that measly rowboat had been, and though it had clearly been designed to be sailable by one man there was space for a couple more.

I leapt aboard. Malekrin had already brought out a pair of oars, and between us we manoeuvred the boat as close to the wharf as we could manage. Once it was brushing the timber, Saltlick knelt down and lowered himself in. His sudden weight set the craft rocking distressingly, but he was quick to crawl towards the centre. After a minute, though we were drenched from head to toe, we’d at least returned to an even keel.

Malekrin cast off the mooring rope, shoved us free and began to set sail. Whatever his failings of character, he’d been honest about his ability to handle a boat, for it took him hardly any time to get the small craft rigged, behind the wind and out into open water. We were free — and readying to leave the far north, Shoan, or whatever the damned place was called. So far as I could tell, no one had seen us go.

But how long could it possibly take them to realise we were missing? Or that their insufferable so-called prince was gone, and his boat too? Not long, I knew.

And after that, with us stranded at sea, how long could it be before I found out the punishment for kidnapping Shoanish royalty?