Tower Lord

CHAPTER TWO

Lyrna

Captain Belorath was a fine Keschet player, demonstrating a fundamental understanding of the game’s many nuances whilst employing the more subtle strategies that set the skilled opponent apart. Lyrna beat him in twenty moves. It would have been fifteen but she thought it best to allow him some dignity in front of his crew.

He glowered at her from across the board, hands moving in a blur as he removed the remaining pieces. “We go again.”

“As you wish,” Lyrna said, removing her own pieces. For all his skill the captain laboured against a basic misunderstanding of the most important element of Keschet: the placement of the pieces. Every move flowed from this seeming formality. She had already won when he failed to place sufficient spearmen on the left side of the board to counter the lancers she would launch six moves in. The game starts when you place your first piece, her father had instructed all those years ago when he first taught a five-year-old a game that baffled most adults. Within a year she had beaten him in an epic battle of one hundred and twenty-three moves that would have made a salient entry in the history of the game, if anyone else had been there to bear witness. They never played again and the board and pieces disappeared from her room soon after.

The captain slammed his emperor onto the third square from the left in the first row, a standard placement if one intended an aggressive strategy, or sought to conceal defence with offence. She responded by placing one of her archers in the middle of the second row, continuing to build a standard formation in response to his seemingly complex arrangement. The Emperor’s Gambit, she thought with an inward sigh as crewmen and Realm folk wagered around them. The odds seemed to be in her favour. Thirteen moves this time.

In the event she managed to string it out to seventeen, any more generosity would have been obvious.

“The Dark,” one of the crew whispered as she plucked the captain’s emperor from the board.

“Dark or not,” Harvin replied with a laugh. “You owe me two cups of rum, my friend.”

Lyrna cast her gaze at the placid sea as the increasingly red-faced captain set about removing his pieces once more. Three days and not a whisper of wind, she thought, straightening as a familiar sight came into view, the huge fin leaving an impressive wake in the becalmed waters before slipping under.

The captain had ordered the crew to the oars when the wind died, but the heat of these climes forced frequent halts lest the crew collapse from exhaustion. The Realm folk had taken their turn at the oars, Lyrna included, though their inexpert lack of rhythm often proved more of a hindrance. It was during the latest break from rowing that the captain had produced a Keschet board and commanded his first mate to play, beating him in only forty moves, apparently something of a record on the ship.

“Our lady can beat that,” Benten had said, his tone one of complete confidence.

“Is that the case?” The captain’s bushy brows knitted together as his gaze found her, rubbing her aching arms as she rested on her oar.

Lyrna gave the young fisherman a hard look. She hadn’t shared a single word with him about the game yet instinct seemed to tell him a great deal.

“I can play,” she replied with a shrug.

His third try was more impressive, abandoning long-established set attacks for a complex series of feints on the left, seemingly careless of losses, but masking the gradual approach of all three thieves towards the centre.

“Congratulations, Captain,” she said with a bow some thirty moves later.

“For what?” he growled, staring at the emperor in her hand.

“For providing me with a unique game.” She raised her head as a gentle breeze tickled the still-sensitive burns on her upper cheek. Strange to feel the wind and not have it tousle one’s hair, she mused. “I believe we’re about to resume our voyage.”

The breeze built into a strong westerly wind, known to the Meldeneans as the Fruitful Vine as well-laden merchantmen were often to be found following its course. Now though the ocean seemed empty.

“Nothing makes for a clear sea like war,” the captain said, joining her at the prow during her customary evening vigil.

“I thought we might see some Alpiran ships at least,” she replied.

“They’ll all be in port for a good while yet, if they’re smart. War makes pirates of all sailors.” He moved to the figurehead carved into the prow, a snarling woman with improbably large breasts, extended fangs and clawlike hands reaching out towards the oncoming waves. “Know who this is?”

“I would guess it’s Skerva, stealer of souls, in her true form. She was sent by Margentis the Orca god to punish men for their crimes against the sea. It’s said she walks amongst us in the guise of a comely maiden, seeking out the most valiant of men so she can feast on their souls.”

He traced a hand over Skerva’s wooden shoulder. “Have you ever forgotten anything?”

“Not to my knowledge.”

“You make my crew nervous, the more fanciful wonder if you aren’t her, trapped somehow between your two forms, waiting for the moment to strike.”

“Wouldn’t that require the presence of valiant men upon whom to slake my unnatural hunger?”

She saw him conceal a smile beneath his beard before he looked out to sea. “Your friend doesn’t help.”

The swell was high but she could still make out the shark’s fin knifing through the waves off the port bow. “That is truly something I can’t explain,” she said honestly.

“The crew bring word of what those other land-bound whisper in the hold. They talk of a beast charmer.”

Fermin’s smile before the waters claimed him . . . Remember your promise, my Queen. “He died to free us,” she said. “Called the shark somehow. Perhaps that’s why it follows, an echo of that calling. Such things are outside my knowledge.”

The captain snorted. “Finally, a flaw.” His mirth subsided quickly, his expression completely serious. “The Isles are less than a week away.”

“Where the Ship Lords await. I’ll keep my bargain. They’ll find me very convincing, I promise.”

“The Ship Lords are one thing, the Shield is another.”

The Shield of the Isles. Her brother’s spies had brought ample word of him, famed swordsman and pirate, given charge of the defence of the Isles. “He’s unlikely to believe me?”

“It’s not whether he believes that matters, it’s whether he cares.” He gestured at the deck and the rigging. “The Sea Sabre is his. He oversaw her birth in the yards. Every plank, nail and rope has his hand upon it, and there’s plenty of his blood in the deck too. For years we hunted the waves with her, took more gold and cargo than any ship ever born in the Isles. Yet here I am in command of her whilst he skulks on a wave-blasted rock. If his hand had been on her tiller we should have been home by now. And I doubt you’d’ve taken him in twenty moves.”

“Fifteen, I was being kind. Why does he skulk, this great captain of yours?”

Belorath turned back to the sea, voice soft with regret. “Because it’s a hard thing for a great man to fail, even when the failure is in securing his own death.”

“‘The predicted slave yield is estimated at twenty-five thousand,’” Lyrna recited. “‘This is low in ratio to the overall population, but the expected high cull rate must be considered. The true value of the Serpent’s Den lies in its ports and any ships our forces can capture, the islanders being uncivilised savages with surprisingly well developed skills in this area.’”

The assembled Ship Lords sat in silence as she spoke, most staring in dumb shock. Others, like the man seated in the middle of their line, with growing rage. A wiry man with the aspect of a fox, his gloved hands clenched repeatedly as she spoke on.

“‘The Serpent’s Den is known to retain a fleet in home waters for defensive purposes and resistance from this quarter can be expected to be fierce. A feinting strategy is therefore recommended, one division engaging the enemy to draw them away from the islands whilst another lands the invasion force. See table seven for suggestions on the makeup of the land forces . . .’”

The wiry man held up a hand and Lyrna fell silent. “Belorath,” the Ship Lord said to the captain. “You vouch for this woman’s veracity?”

“I do, Lord Ell-Nurin.”

The Ship Lord turned back to Lyrna. “You have prepared a full translation, I believe?”

“I have, my lord.” She came forward and handed him the bundle of parchment.

“What an accomplished hand you have,” Ell-Nurin observed, scanning the first page. “For a merchant’s daughter.”

“My father relied on me to pen his correspondence, his own hands being victim to the bone ague.”

“I am well acquainted with the merchants of Varinshold. Unlike most of my countrymen I was never a pirate and always found a welcome there, provided my hold was full of fresh tea of course. Tell me, what was your father’s name? Perhaps I knew him.”

“Traver Hultin, my lord. He dealt mostly in silks.” A real merchant with a real daughter, one of many to beg her father’s favour over the years.

“I’ve heard the name,” Ell-Nurin said. “And yours, lady?”

“Corla, my lord. Merely a mistress, not a lady.”

“Quite so. You wish to return to the Realm, I believe?”

“I do, my lord. As do those with whom I escaped.”

“The Isles has never welshed on a bargain.” He nodded at the captain. “See to it when we’re done here. For now, Mistress, please leave us to discuss these matters in private.”

She bowed and went to the chamber door, catching only a few words before they closed behind her. “You sent word to him?” Ell-Nurin asked.

“A boat was sent as soon as I arrived, my lord . . .”

The others were waiting on the quay, all dressed in a mismatched variety of Meldenean clothing and looking much like the pirates who had brought them here. They all rose as she approached, hope and wary expectation bright in their eyes.

“The captain will arrange a ship for us,” she said. “We should be on our way come the next tide.”

Harvin gave a whoop of relief, hugging Benten about the shoulders whilst Orena gave the first smile Lyrna had seen on her lips. Even Iltis seemed on the verge of a grin.

“Why?” said a small voice, and Lyrna turned to find Murel standing apart from the group, eyes downcast.

“What?” Orena asked her.

“Why go back?”

“It’s our home,” Harvin said.

“My home burned down with my parents inside,” Murel responded. “What’s there for me now?”

“The Realm is invaded,” Lyrna said. “Our people need our help.”

“What help can I give?” the girl asked. “I can’t fight, have no skills beyond needlework, and I was never even much good at that.”

“I saw you claw a man’s eyes out on the ship,” Harvin pointed out. “Seems to me you fight well enough.”

“She has a point,” Orena said. “All that awaits us in the Realm is war and death, and I’ve seen more than enough of both.”

“So now what?” Iltis replied. “You’ll just wait here for the Volarian fleet to arrive?”

“There are other ports,” Murel said. “The Alpiran Empire, the Far West.”

“You forget something,” Iltis said in a harsh tone, his expression bordering on anger. “We owe this woman a debt. All of us would now be resting in the shark’s belly but for her.”

“And I’m grateful,” Murel said, voice slightly choked as she reached for Lyrna’s hand. “I really am. But I’m just a girl, and I’ve been hurt enough.”

Queen of the Unified Realm, Lyrna thought. Unable to persuade five beggared subjects to risk themselves in her service. Watching Murel’s sniffling, she remembered her first sight of her, the veil of hair over her face as they led her aloft, her whimpered sobs. “I’m sorry,” she said, squeezing the girl’s hand. “I will not ask any of you to come, you must all make your own choice. But I will sail for the Realm, alone or not.”

“Not without me,” Iltis stated. “I’ve not killed enough Volarians yet. Not by far.”

“I’m with you, my lady,” Benten said. “My father will be expecting me. Can’t handle the nets so well by himself any more.” From the catch in his voice she knew he was talking about a dead man.

Iltis turned to Harvin. “What about you, outlaw? Got guts enough to fight as well as steal?”

“You saw my guts on the ship, brother,” Harvin replied with a dark glower before turning to Lyrna with apologetic eyes, reaching for Orena’s hand. “But I have . . . a responsibility now.”

Seems I don’t see everything after all, Lyrna thought.

“You don’t have to go,” Murel said, still clutching Lyrna’s hand. “Come with us. With you we could do anything, go anywhere . . .” She trailed off, eyes widening as she noticed something over Lyrna’s shoulder.

She turned, seeing Ship Lord Ell-Nurin approaching along the wharf with a purposeful stride, flanked by at least twenty armed sailors. He stopped a few yards short as the sailors fanned out on either side and the three men closed in protectively about the women.

“Belorath was slow in relating all details of your voyage,” the Ship Lord said. “Including your remarkable facility for Keschet. Traver Hultin liked Keschet too and he did deal mostly in silks, but he smuggled tea and his daughter was fat. Also he rarely shut up about his single visit to the palace, how he had met the King’s daughter and been greatly impressed with her knowledge of his favourite game, though he was a rather poor player as I recall.”

Ell-Nurin dropped to one knee, keeping his gaze fixed on her face. “On behalf of the Ship Lords’ Council, I bid you welcome to the Meldenean Isles, Highness.”

They put her in a well-appointed room on the topmost floor of a tall building overlooking the harbour. Iltis had stepped forward to prevent her being taken, Harvin and Benten close behind, but she put a firm hand on his chest. “No, brother.”

“Is it true?” he asked her in a whisper, eyes tracking over her face. “Highness?”

She patted his broad chest and smiled. “Don’t linger here. Take the others and go, far away like Murel said. Think of it as my first and last royal command.”

They left her alone for four days. Servants brought food, bowing and leaving without a word. Later, equally silent maids brought dresses. They were fine but simple, the colours muted. Suitable for an execution? she wondered.

Ship Lord Ell-Nurin arrived on the evening of the fourth day as the harbour lights came to life below her, the multiple god-crowned towers of the city fading to dim grey spear-points. The Ship Lord came alone, bowing low once again, face absent of humour or false respect, something she found stirred her gratitude.

“You have everything you require, Highness?” he asked.

“Save my freedom.”

“A salient matter we’ll get to shortly. I thought you might like to know your subjects refused to leave. They were offered passage to the Realm in accordance with our agreement but steadfastly declined to take it.”

“They are unharmed I trust.”

“We quartered them downstairs, quite unmolested I assure you.” He rose and went to the veranda, standing aside and indicating for her to join him. They stood regarding the darkening city for a time, Ell-Nurin’s eyes frequently returning to her face. After a moment she took the scarf from her head and stepped closer to him, angling her head to display the full spectacle. “Please, my lord. Feel free to take a good long look.”

“My . . . apologies,” he said as she stepped back, tying the scarf back into place. “I merely wished to confirm . . .” He paused, grimacing in discomfort. “I saw you once. It was after the war, you came to the Varinshold docks to present rewards to one of your brother’s ships, returned from a long exploration of some kind.”

“The Swift Wing,” she recalled. “The first Realm vessel to sail as far as the southern ice wall, though it took them five years to do it.”

“An impressive feat, but one accomplished by Meldenean sailors near twenty years ago.” He turned back to the city as more and more lights appeared in the blocky mass of shadows. “How do you like the view?”

“A pretty place.” She gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re about to tell me about my father’s terrible crime and the greatness displayed by your people in building beauty from the ashes of destruction.”

“Tales of your perception are clearly not exaggerated. However, I was also going to ask if you could offer any reasonable explanation as to why he did it.”

“Your raids were becoming more than a nuisance,” Lyrna said simply. “He couldn’t afford the Realm’s trade to be adversely affected, not with a long-dreamt-of war to plan.”

“So he was planning it even then? Our city was burned to the ground in service to a war not destined to take place for over a decade?”

“I suspect he had it planned before he even finished building the Realm. It was the glorious summit of his reign.”

“Utter defeat was glorious?”

Utter defeat was the point. “A young man’s dream turned into an old man’s desperate gamble. Perhaps, my lord, you would do me the courtesy of answering a question of mine. Just how did he persuade the Ship Lords to carry his army to the empire’s shores?”

“A lot of gold, a ship-load of bluestone and a promise: Untesh was to be ours when the war was won. One of the richest ports in the Erinean given over to the Isles. The Council thought it worth the risk, plus if it failed, they would have the pleasure of witnessing the ruin of the army that destroyed this city. All decisions taken before I secured my own Lordship, I hasten to add.”

He remained silent for a time, his foxlike face drawn with a mix of sadness and worry. “Will you fight?” Lyrna asked.

“What choice do we have?”

“Several. The Isles are rich in ships. Gather your people and flee, find refuge in Alpiran lands. The Emperor may be willing to forgive past indiscretions in return for such a sizeable and capable fleet. Or sail far away to a new land. The crew of the Swift Wing spoke of vast tracts of empty coastline in southern waters. It was one of my brother’s more lofty ambitions to send settlers there, if ever the treasury could yield enough coin to fund it.”

“Is that what you’ll tell your people when you return home? Leave the land of your fathers and just run away?”

“Does that mean you intend to release me?”

“The time when we could be select in our allies is past. Since your father’s crime we have not been idle, knowing that sound intelligence is the best defence, we sent spies to every port in the known world.”

“Hence Captain Belorath’s mission to capture the encoded book.”

“Quite. It was not easy placing an agent so close to the Council-man’s son. Luckily his greed worked to our advantage. We’ve also long maintained spies in your Realm, though I’m sure this is no surprise to you. They tell us the Volarian campaign is far from complete. Alltor still holds out against siege, slavers are afraid to journey beyond Varinshold’s walls and their armies find burnt crops, dead livestock and spoiled wells everywhere they tread. It seems you may still have some kind of Realm to return to, Highness. Though I can’t say for how much longer.”

“Then return me there. When I’ve won back my Realm our strength is yours. You have my word.”

“And I believe it, but it seems time is our enemy.” He took a small roll of thin paper from his sleeve, holding it out to her. Another code, simpler than the Volarian cypher.

“VF sailed from Varinshold,” she read.

“A pigeon brought it this afternoon. We have spies, as I said. It was dispatched two days ago.”

VF: Volarian Fleet. “How long until they arrive?” she asked.

“With a fair wind, two weeks.”

“My lord, if there was anything I could do . . .”

“There is, Highness.” His gaze was fierce with conviction. “You can redeem your father’s crime and give these islands its Shield back.”

“So that’s the Wensel Isle,” Harvin said, peering at the small outcrop of rock rising from the waves a half mile distant. “Doesn’t look like much.”

“Show some respect,” Iltis snapped. “You are privileged to look upon the birthplace of the Faith.”

“Not quite, brother,” Lyrna said. “Merely the site where the first catechisms were penned.”

Iltis bowed in contrition. “Quite so. Forgive me, my Queen.”

Stop doing that, she wanted to say, finding she much preferred his less-awed self. They had all begun to act much the same way since her identity became known. Murel was the worst, so stuttering and tongue-tied Lyrna felt tempted to slap her.

“I can’t see anything,” the girl said, leaning against the rail and peering at the rock.

“The Order House is carved into the rock,” Iltis explained. “The oldest in the Faith’s history and vault of the original catechisms. Even the Meldeneans respect its sacredness and leave the brothers in peace.”

The Sea Sabre had weighed anchor after a two-day voyage from the Isles, the seas had been kind up until this morning when the waves began to rise as they approached the Wensel Isle. Captain Belorath had advised that the waters surrounding the Isle were ever troubled, so many hidden reefs and conflicting currents making it a notoriously difficult channel to navigate. Is that why he chose it? Lyrna wondered, watching the waves crash against the rocky mound. Less chance of visitors.

Belorath strode up to her and bowed. “The boat is ready, Highness.”

“Thank you, Captain. The other matter we discussed?”

He nodded and beckoned to one of the crew who brought a canvas bundle and a small wooden chest, placing them at Lyrna’s feet with a clumsy attempt at a bow. Lyrna raised her gaze to the five people with whom she had suffered so much, realising any chance of friendship was lost for good. It had always been this way. Such things are not for us, Lyrna, her father had said as she watched the other children of the court run and play and laugh. We are not them and they are not us. They serve, we command and in commanding serve them in turn.

She crouched down and undid the bundle, revealing three swords of the Asraelin pattern. She stood and gestured for the men to take them. “This ceremony is normally more elaborate, and perhaps and at a later date we can arrange a more formal occasion. But for now, good sirs, I merely ask you a question. Your answer is your own to make, to be made without regard to prior obligation or fear of recrimination. Will you pledge yourselves and these swords in service to the Unified Realm?”

They were already dropping to one knee before she finished speaking. She was startled to see Iltis’s sword was shaking a little as held it up before his bowed head. “I will, Highness,” he said, quickly echoed by Benten and Harvin.

“You honour me,” she told them. “I hereby name you Swords of the Realm. All previous crimes and indiscretions are pardoned by the Queen’s Word.” She moved to Iltis. “Stand up, brother,” she told him as he continued to kneel.

He rose, standing at rigid attention and swallowing. “Lord Iltis . . .” She paused, realising she didn’t know his family name.

“Adral, Highness,” the big man said.

“Thank you. Lord Iltis Al Adral, I name you Protector of the Queen’s Person, until such time as you wish to return to your Order, of course.”

“That time will never come, Highness.”

She smiled and moved on to Harvin. “Don’t have a family name, y’Highness,” he said. “None that I know of anyways.”

“I see. In that case it’ll be Lord Harvin of the Broken Chain, until you find a name more to you liking.”

“Think I like that one just fine, y’Highness.”

“It’s just Highness, my lord.”

“Grey Gull, Highness,” Benten said when she moved to him. “Fisher folk take the name of their family’s boat. Boat might sink or get scrapped, but the name never changes.”

“Lord Benten Al Grey Gull it is. You and Lord Harvin will answer to Lord Iltis from now on. Your sole concern will be my protection. The Realm needs a head to wear the crown, you will ensure I keep mine.”

She lifted the small chest from the deck and turned to the women, both of whom were already on their knees. Lyrna opened the chest and held it out to them. “Not the style I would have chosen, but they’ll do for now.” The rings were both identical, simple silver bands inset with small bluestones, the best the Meldenean jewellers could offer at short notice. “A queen needs her ladies. But the choice is yours and the road ahead long and fraught with danger. So think well before you answer, will you stay at my side?”

Murel took the ring immediately whilst Orena was more hesitant. “My Queen,” she said. “My life before . . . It was not noble. I shouldn’t wish to besmirch your patronage with my reputation.”

“I think such trivia is behind us now, my lady,” Lyrna said.

Orena blinked away tears and took the ring. “Dunsa was my husband’s name. I should like to use my own, Vardrian.”

“Lady Orena Al Vardrian. Rise and take your place.”

Lyrna extended her hand to Murel, who took it and pressed a kiss to the fingers, weeping openly. “H-Harten, my Queen.”

“Lady Murel Al Harten.” Lyrna took the girl by the arms and gently pulled her to her feet, pushing the hair back from her face and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You really have to stop crying.”

The warden of the Wensel Isle greeted them on the flat section of carved rock that served as the island’s dock. He was an elderly brother of the First Order, wearing a once-white robe now grey with age and use, matching the extensive beard that swung from his chin like frayed rope.

“Grave news indeed, Highness,” he said when Lyrna had related her reason for coming. The sight of her face and word of the Realm’s troubles seemed to concern him no more than a bad turn in the weather.

He introduced himself as Brother Lirken as he led her up the carved steps to the Order House, hewn from this rock some seven hundred years ago. A few other brothers waited there, greeting her with bows but no sign of particular interest. Most soon returned to reading their scrolls or sitting in silent meditation. They were all of a similar age to Brother Lirken, making her wonder how they managed to subsist in such a harsh place.

“The rock pools supply crabs and mussels aplenty,” Lirken said in answer to her question. “And we gather seaweed at low tide. It’s surprisingly hearty if cooked properly. I can bring some if you are in need of nourishment.”

“I’m afraid I must decline, brother.” She cast her gaze around the chamber of elderly brothers. “Is he here?”

“Atheran Ell-Nestra does not live amongst us, Highness. In the months since he came here we’ve had no more than a few moments in his company. Come, I’ll take you to him.”

She followed the old brother through the Order House and out onto an uneven track leading along a narrow ridge to a promontory some two hundred paces away. “You would be well advised to keep low, Highness,” Lirken suggested. “The waves sometimes sweep over the ridge.”

Iltis stepped forward, the only escort she had chosen to bring. “This route is too treacherous, Highness. I’ll go and fetch him back.”

“No, my lord.” Lyrna stepped onto the track, finding the rock more damp than she would have liked. “This is something best done myself, I think. Wait here for me. I believe Brother Lirken can show you the original parchments of the first catechisms.”

“Indeed I can,” Lirken said, suddenly enthused. “You are a scholar, my lord?”

Iltis’s face was as hard as the surrounding granite. “I was a brother of the Fifth Order. Now I’m not. I shall wait here for my queen’s return.”

Lyrna suppressed a grin at the old brother’s discomfort and started along the ridge, keeping low as he advised. She was halfway across when the first wave came, smashing into the rocks and raising a tall cascade of spume, crashing down on her with considerable force as she sank to all fours, clinging to the stone. She got to her feet when it subsided, thoroughly drenched, and stumbled on. She was obliged to suffer two more near drownings before reaching the promontory.

There was a narrow ascending path carved into the irregular pillar of granite, leading to a cave from which a thin column of smoke could be seen rising. The path was sloppy with moss and she stumbled several times before reaching the cave. The view of the surrounding ocean was impressive at this height, the curve of the earth discernible through the occasional break in the weather. Below her the Sea Sabre bobbed on the waves like a toy. Sunlight broke through the clouds to bathe the small plateau and she wrung out the headscarf she had been obliged to remove on the ridge, tying it back into place to ward against the paining heat. A noise caused her to turn to the cave, making out a shadowed figure against the dim firelight inside.

“You have chosen an uncomfortable perch, my lord Shield,” she said. “But a fine view.”

The man who emerged from the cave was tall and broad across the shoulders, long blond hair trailing in the wind as he stood regarding her in silence.

Just as pretty as the spies said, Lyrna thought, noting the handsome features beneath the beard.

“You know who I am,” the Shield said after a long moment. “Who are you?”

“Queen Lyrna Al Nieren, of the Unified Realm.” She bowed. “At your service, my lord.”

Pale blue eyes searched her face for a moment before he turned away, returning to the cave without a word. Lyrna hesitated, wondering if she should follow him inside; however, he re-emerged soon enough bearing a steaming earthenware cup. “I just brewed some tea,” he said, holding it out to her. “The only luxury I find I can’t do without.”

“My thanks.” She sipped the beverage, raising her hairless brows in appreciation. “Very nice. From the southern Alpiran provinces is it not?”

“Indeed. One of the few lands whose ships always enjoyed immunity during my pirate days. In return they would deliver a year’s supply to the Isles, just for me.” He watched her sip more tea, arms crossed, the brisk sea wind ruffling his threadbare shirt. “I had the brothers send the Ship Lords’ messenger away,” he said. “Now they send you. Or have you usurped your brother and seized the Isles, I wonder?”

“My brother is dead. Killed by a Volarian assassin the night my Realm was invaded. She burned me with Dark-born fire, as you can see.”

“A terrible thing. My condolences.”

“Your own people will need your condolences soon, for the Volarian fleet sails to seize their islands as we speak.”

“They are fierce and well supplied with ships. I’m sure the battle will be a grand sight to see.”

“Ship Lord Ell-Nurin seems convinced of their defeat if you are not there to lead them. Captain Belorath also. He sailed the Sea Sabre across the entire Boraelin faster than any ship before to bring warning of the invasion.”

“My first mate always was the finest of sailors. Please send him my regards.”

She saw the hardness of his gaze then, the anger simmering away inside. “Lord Al Sorna is renowned as the finest warrior ever born to the Unified Realm,” she said. “Defeat at his hands carries no dishonour.”

“Defeat implies there was some form of contest,” he replied in a quiet tone, turning back to the cave. “Enjoy the tea. Leave the cup when you go, I only have the one.”

The cup shattered on the lip of the cave as he ducked his head to enter, turning to look upon her furious visage with narrowed eyes.

“It seems,” Lyrna said, “I have suffered many trials to come here and beg aid from a man who has suffered no more than humiliation, wallowing in self-pity whilst his people face ruin and enslavement.”

“Humiliation?” he asked, then began to laugh. “That’s why you think I’m here? Did your own people ever shun you, Highness? Did they turn their gaze from you at every opportunity, teach their children insults they were too craven to hurl themselves? Watch men you sailed with for years spit on your shadow? All because you failed in a murder they had lusted after for a generation. I did not exile myself, I was exiled. I am here because I can go nowhere else. My face is known in every port from here to Volaria, and I’ll find a well-earned noose waiting in every one.”

“Not in my ports,” she said. “I’ll pardon every ship you ever ransomed, every scrap of treasure you ever stole. Even every murder.”

“I never murdered. Never killed a man save in a fair fight.” He drew up short as something drew his gaze out to sea. Lyrna turned to see a familiar sight. The red shark was back, it’s full size revealed for the first time as it circled the Sea Sabre with slow flicks of its tail.

“Never seen one come that close to a ship and not attack,” the Shield said.

“If you come with me, I promise an interesting tale that might explain it.”

They stood side by side, watching the shark for a while, the Shield’s face unreadable. “Belorath says you blame yourself for not dying,” she said when the shark dived down into the murky depths. “That’s why you’re here. Waiting for the death you were cheated of.”

“I wasn’t cheated of anything. I was punished. Al Sorna knew well leaving me alive was a far worse fate than merely killing me.”

“I know Lord Al Sorna and he is not cruel. He spared a helpless man, that is all.”

Ell-Nestra gave the faintest of laughs. “I saw his eyes, Highness, heard his words. He saw my soul and he knew I deserved death.”

“Come with me and perhaps you’ll find it. Live and I’ll have the South Tower yards craft you the finest vessel you could dream of, the hold filled with bluestone from end to end.”

“Keep the bluestone, and the ship. I’ll trade it.”

“For what?”

He was too fast, grasping her arms and pulling her close, pressing his lips to hers. She shouted, feeling his tongue probing as her lips parted. Fury gripped her and she bit down. He released her, laughing and spitting blood on the stone. Lyrna glared at him, her heart thumping as she wished the throwing knife still hung about her neck. Instead all she could do was rasp at him, “And you said Al Sorna was cruel.”

“Not cruelty, Highness,” he replied, lisping a little as his tongue continued to leak blood. “Curiosity. And not yet satisfied.” He gave a practised and elegant bow. “Allow me to fetch my meagre belongings and I’ll join you forthwith.”