The other lands

CHAPTER SEVEN

On the eve of his departure for the Other Lands, once all the preparations that could be made had been made, Dariel carved out a few afternoon hours to spend with his nephew, Aaden. He buried any appearance of worry about the coming trip under a string of fanciful tales. He was going to sail the Gray Slopes around the curve of the world and right into the great maelstrom through which the Giver had escaped! Yes, that's exactly what he would do. He was going to track the wandering god down and talk his ear off until he changed his mind and came back. And if he could find Elenet along the way, he would give the young man a piece of his mind. Stealing from a god like that? Mucking about with the Giver's tongue? The cheek of it! To do all this, he would have to be slipperier than a snake, smoother of tongue than a floating merchant, more cunning than a Sea Isle brigand.

"Oh, wait," Dariel said, a sly grin growing with his realization. "I am a Sea Isle brigand! That's lucky. Elenet doesn't have a chance!"

Together, uncle and nephew ran through the hallways and up and down the stairs that fed out onto the main courtyard of the upper palace. They sparred with light wooden swords, alternately laughing and threatening. At times like this, Dariel's mind was as nimble and fanciful as a child's. There was nothing linear about their play, no thematic cohesion to it. One minute they were shipmates aboard the Ballan, the next they were Edifus and Tinhadin unifying the Known World, and just as quickly they were two laryx fighting for leadership of their pack, or an architect conferring with his worker on a great project. They were, for a few hours, two boys dashing through a palace full of servants who jumped out of their way. Some tutted and scowled. Most of them smiled, for the sight of them was a rare and welcome lightness in a court that Corinn tended with a solemn air.

For his part, Aaden listened to his uncle with an expression that at times said he was humoring the old fellow and at others betrayed rapt interest. He was just a boy, Dariel knew. Though his life had shown him no hardship, he already had a tendency toward seriousness. Corinn's work. There was no doubt that she loved her son deeply, but she had begun molding him some time ago. She would likely do so with greater and greater pressure as he turned toward adolescence. Dariel did not envy the boy.

Dariel tried to lead Aaden down into the subterranean world he had explored as a boy, but the palace walls and passageways defied his memory. He was sure that there was a route from his old nursery into these hidden realms, but he could not find it. He peeked behind wardrobes and reached under wall hangings. He kicked at corners and even got on his hands and knees as if close study of the walls' intersection with the floor would provide some clue. But he found nothing. Before long Aaden grew bored, not to mention skeptical. Another of his uncle's jokes, no doubt, just not an amusing one.

"When I get back we'll have a proper search," Dariel said. The two of them sat munching cheese from a plate on the floor of Aaden's room. "I swear there's a passage to be found here. Your mother knows about it. She had the Numrek use it in the last war."

"So what are you really going to do on this voyage?" Aaden asked, returning to a line of questioning Dariel had fended off earlier. "Does it have to do with the quota?"

Drawing back, Dariel asked, "What do you know of that?"

Aaden held his gaze a moment. "I know enough. Mother said that since I am older than the quota children now, I am old enough to know about them. If they're brave enough to go into the unknown, I should be capable of at least knowing about it."

"Corinn told you that?"

"Yes, but don't tell her I told you," Aaden said. "Sometimes she acts as if I'm too young to know certain things. And at other times you're not supposed to know things that I know. Does that make sense?"

Rising and stepping away from the boy, Dariel picked up his wooden sword and fenced the air with it. The motion was just an excuse for a few moments to think. Of course Corinn had told him some things. She knew as well as he that royal children should not be raised in ignorance of the unpleasant workings of the nation, as he and his siblings had largely been. But he also knew that Corinn considered this aspect of her son's education to be her province. He needed to be careful what he revealed.

"Yes, my trip does have something to do with that," he said. "I mean, it has to do with the Lothan Aklun and our dealings with them. I should not talk about it, though. Ask your mother if you wish to know more."

"Are you so afraid of her? You can't even stand still."

Dariel stopped his nervous sparring dance. "Corinn is my sister," he said. "Why should I be afraid of my sister? Don't be silly, and don't try to trick me. She's my sister, but she's your mother. If she wishes you to know affairs of state, it's up to her to tell you about them."

Aaden pierced a grape with the cheese knife. He lifted it and studied it as if he had not even heard his uncle. "It's just not right. I don't see any way that it's right. Children should not-"

"Wait, Aaden-"

"Be sent off into slavery. Mother told me she knows it's not right, and yet she allows it. Children, Dariel, younger than me. They get taken from their parents! I know you understand what that means. You were sent alone into the world when just a boy, right?"

Dariel lowered himself to his knees, setting the wooden sword to one side. "Yes, I was."

"And it was bad, yes, to be alone like that? On your own, with the whole world around you."

Dariel remembered the aching fear he had felt when alone in that dilapidated hut at the edge of the abandoned village in the Senivalian mountains. A chill, black night, the world like a mouth about to clamp shut and devour him whole. He only said, "Yes, that was not easy."

"So will you stop it? Go and see what it's about, but if it's bad, promise me you'll stop it. Even if mother gets mad at you for it. I would do it myself, but I'm not old enough yet. Promise me you'll do what's right, and when I'm king I'll remember it." Aaden, still holding the grape on the tip of the knife, slanted his gaze up toward his uncle and waited for an answer.

The response he gave still rang in his ears the next morning, as he made his way through a dock thronging with workers and guards and animals, sailors and Ishtat Inspectorate officers. He had heard of the Rayfin, the league clipper that would transport him on the first leg of his journey, but he had seen it only from a distance. On reaching it, he stood a moment, gazing at it, unmoving among the commotion around him.

The ship was a marvel to look at, built for speed with the skill the league had been refining for generations. The body of it was sleek and dangerous looking, covered all over with the shiny, brilliantly white coating that all league vessels wore. He knew it was made with sap from certain trees in Aushenia, but the exact formula they used was a carefully guarded secret. For that matter, just what its function was remained something of a mystery, too. It covered every beam of the hull, the railing, and the deck. It was as if the craft had been dipped in a vat of the stuff and lifted out shiny, slick. Once the ship was at sea, the rows of wide-armed masts would unfurl sail. He had seen that from a distance, and imagined they could set several jibs as well. The ship was likely the fastest Dariel had ever laid eyes on.

Rialus was there to meet him on deck, looking paler than usual. The councillor had proposed that they journey by land across the Tabith Way, reaching the port of Tabith and sailing from there onto the Gray Slopes. The proposal had made Dariel grin. Though it was a reasonable enough suggestion, it was clear from the manner in which Rialus proposed it that he was not comfortable with the idea of being so completely in league hands. Dariel was not either, but they were going to have to get used to that. Sire Neen himself would be traveling by sea, so it would look awkward if they did not as well. Plus Dariel loved the sea. He had loved it when he was hunting league vessels; he was sure he would still love it now, despite the strangeness of being a guest of his old enemies.

"Is that Rialus Neptos?" Dariel asked, grinning. "Or is it his ghost come in his place?"

Rialus did not catch or acknowledge the prince's humor. "The captain says we should leave within the hour to have advantage of the tide. Have you come ready to sail?"

"Yes, yes. All my things were loaded yesterday." He looked down at his new clothing, at the Marah sword at his side, and at the supple leather boots he now wore, as if to say he carried all his possessions on his person. "I'm as ready as I'll manage."

And just like that he was thinking of his last moments with Wren. He knew it would not be the last time. He would smell of her still, and each morning he would awake thinking of her. That was how it had been during his work in Aushenia. He would wonder if he had at last planted a child in her. They had certainly been hoping for one, for years now, it seemed. Perhaps he would return to find her rubbing a small bump in her belly. He hoped so, but he had decided the trip was worth its perils. The promise he had made Aaden-for he had agreed to the boy's request-convinced him of that. Perhaps he would accomplish greater things than Corinn had planned. He would achieve more on this mission than had been asked of him, and she would later come to thank him for it. That was what happened with his rebuilding projects. It could happen with this, too.

"You said your farewells to the queen-"

"Yesterday," Dariel said, a little sharply.

There had been a small banquet in his honor. Nice enough, Corinn wishing him success at strengthening the empire's bond with the league, as if that were his only mission. More than one person had asked veiled questions about his feelings about the league, considering his conflicts with them during his youth. He had joked in answer, his grin and humor seeing him through it. Inside, he harbored the same unease himself.

For her part, Corinn seemed completely unconcerned. Perhaps she was concerned, but how to read that possibility Dariel was not sure. She had embraced him in parting, looking into his eyes and saying the kind things one expects a sister to say to her only brother. It had felt wonderful at the time, as if he were still a boy and her affection for him a balm. In the bright light of morning-and with Aaden's request still on his mind-he saw her face but no longer felt the warmth he wished he could.

"I can't wait to get outward bound," he said, to himself as much as to Rialus. "Ocean air: that's what I need."

"Finally!" Rialus said. "Calrach. I was starting to doubt he'd come."

But come he did, and he did not seem too happy about it. He strode at the front of a small band of Numrek. His feet smacked audibly on the stone dock. His arms swung about him as if they wanted to batter somebody, as if he was just hoping an offender would be fool enough to get in his way. He snapped his head from side to side, looking for an insult that the backing-away crowd did not offer. His hair, long and black as a courtesan's, swirled about him as he moved. It was an odd display, full of agitation. That was something Dariel had witnessed often enough on Numrek faces, but this was different. Whatever had insulted Calrach was not to be found in any of the cowering folks around him.

"What's he in a huff about?" Dariel asked.

"That's not anger. That's the Numrek version of fear."

The Numrek entourage mounted the gangplank like invaders. They were up in a few moments. Calrach shouldered through the Ishtat guards who awaited him. They milled about, several with their hands at their sword hilts. But the Numrek were no martial threat. They carried no weapons, and whatever angered Calrach had no human form. He roared something to his companions. They answered back just as belligerently. A moment later they had all vanished into one of the hatches leading belowdecks.

Rialus whispered details of the preparations Calrach had demanded. Dariel listened, as alarmed as he was amused. Chains? The threat of some blood-rage madness once they were out of the sight of land? He had never heard anything like it. "The Numrek fear the sea? Why?" Dariel asked. "It makes no sense."

Rialus shrugged. "They're strange brutes. If it weren't for the chance to see their beloved homeland again, I doubt they'd ever board an ocean-bound vessel. They say they can't swim. Too heavy, apparently. That could be true, although I've never seen one of them so much as try. Sunning on the beaches of Talay suits them, but they never actually went in the water."

"Anyone can drown, Rialus. Left adrift in the open ocean, everyone does drown. Even you, my friend, but I don't see you shouting to be chained. From all I've seen and heard, the Numrek are fearless. They fight to the death for an afternoon's amusement. What's that game they play where they take turns throwing spears as one of them runs an obstacle course? How can you do that on a whim and yet be afraid of-" The prince paused and studied Rialus. The small man had gasped something and stood clenching the railing, looking queasy. "Are you going to be sick, Rialus?"

"Of course not."

Dariel took a half step to the side, not trusting the man's self-assessment.

The councillor sputtered a moment before finding his voice again. "Who-who can explain another's fears?"

"My sister can," Dariel said wryly. "Or at least she knows how to exploit people's fears." He checked himself and said no more. Why had he even said that? Rialus was still Corinn's trained weasel, likely making notes of any slight uttered about her, even by her brother.

Dariel excused himself. He drifted away without a precise notion of where to go. He knew there were many eyes on him. Ishtat Inspectorate officers stood at silent attention at regular intervals around the deck. Sailors glanced at him as they prepared the ship for departure. A small group of leaguemen stopped their conversation with a pilot and watched him with their expressionless faces. Some even looked down-archers who sat guard in baskets atop the masts.

Dariel would be watched every minute he was aboard. So he would try to get used to it, to ignore it. He could not help taking in the details of the ship, and nobody had yet told him not to. He ran his hand along the railing, feeling the strange yet graspable texture of the white coating. It slid beneath his fingers when he moved them, but with the slightest pressure the stuff gripped his skin. The surface was not entirely easy to walk on, and-noting that many of the crewmen went barefoot-he decided that helped them keep their footing better than shoes. He imagined that water, on the other hand, must slip along the ship's hull without the slightest friction. This ship must be fast, indeed; and it must cut the water with such stealth that the waves might barely note its passing.

It took him a moment to notice the hush, but when he did, he looked up and around. The ship had gone quiet. The workers all paused. The group of leaguemen rushed forward on silent feet and lined the railing. Rialus still stood a way off, his eyes fixed on the docks. Following his gaze, Dariel picked out the only spot of motion among the suddenly stilled throng.

Sire Neen. He was perched in a small chair, an awkward-looking metal contraption in which he sat with his arms draped on the armrests, his chin raised and his eyes above the crowd. Two men bore his weight, one before and one behind him. They were slender but tightly muscled, with haughty looks on their faces. The crowd had parted to let them through. Most stood with their heads downturned. Strange, Dariel thought, but they were league employees. This whole section of the docks was a different world. In it, it seemed, sires were met with, well, with a good deal more deference than a prince!

Not for the first time, Dariel wondered if Corinn had truly ensured his safety. She must have, of course. He was no longer a brigand; the league was no longer allied to an enemy. What's past is past, Corinn had said. In war, crimes are done that must be forgiven during peace. That was simply the way of war and peace. As he watched Sire Neen stand and slowly ascend the gangplank, Dariel hoped the leagueman subscribed to the same doctrine.